Bicycle Built for Two (24 page)

“They are, indeed.” Mrs. Finney patted her
hand again.

“I’ve only met the one, Bill, and he’s a
brick,” agreed Alex. “He’s smart, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if
he’ll be making his fortune before he’s too much older.”

Kate searched his face for signs that he was
attempting to humor his companions, but didn’t see any. “You really
think so?”

Alex shrugged. “He’s smart and ambitious. He
wouldn’t be the first man in America to turn his circumstances
around and create a fortune for himself and his family. This is
really the land of opportunity, if a person uses the opportunities
available.” He grinned. “A little luck doesn’t hurt, either.”

“I guess not.” Shoot, he sounded
sincere.

“Brace yourselves,” Alex advised before Kate
could think anymore. “Mary Jo is a pistol.”

Again, Mrs. Finney laughed. “I can’t wait to
meet her.”

A tiny, pointy dart of jealousy nicked Kate
in the heart, and she gave herself a hard mental shake. Was she so
insecure that she couldn’t allow her mother to like another human
female? Brother, was that notion a kick in the teeth. Kate decided
to do a little self-survey before going to sleep that night. She
was discovering all sorts of things about herself that she didn’t
like.

The carriage entered a sweeping circular
drive and slowed to a stop in front of the porch. Both English
ladies had descended the stairs to the porch, Mrs. English with the
grace and dignity befitting her years, Mary Jo with a whoop and
several long bounds. Kate, who hadn’t until this minute known
proper ladies behaved so enthusiastically, was impressed.

“Alex!” Mary Jo shrieked.

Grinning from ear to ear, Alex paused before
opening the carriage door. “Better brace yourselves. My sister
takes some getting used to.”

Kate, wide-eyed with astonishment, only
nodded. Mrs. Finney laughed again.

Alex hollered, “Stand back, you little imp!
We have two ladies in here!” He didn’t add that one of the ladies
was infirm, which Kate appreciated.

“I won’t be pushy,” his sister promised.

Eyeing her curiously, Kate saw that she was
a pretty girl, with curling brown hair and huge pansy-brown eyes.
Her dress was pretty, but it wasn’t brand new. It even looked as if
someone had lengthened it at one point, and had covered the faded
former hemline with a row of rickrack. In other words, someone had
done to this girl’s clothing exactly as Kate and her mother had
been doing for ages now. This seemed strange to Kate, who had
assumed all people who weren’t dirt poor threw old clothes out and
bought or made new ones whenever they felt like it.

Mary Jo had taken to
jumping up and down and uttering small, joyful screams, while her
mother eyed her and laughed indulgently. Alex’s sister, in short,
looked as if she could be a handful, and Kate’s theories about rich
folks suffered another slight wobble. Shoot, maybe rich folks
weren’t so different from her class of people after all. Of course,
having money made a whole lot of difference to the general comfort
and health of one’s relatives, but that might possibly—Kate wasn’t
about to jump to conclusions—be the only difference. Or
one
of the only
differences.

This weekend should prove to be interesting,
if it turned out to be nothing else. Kate only prayed it would be
serene and peaceful for her mother. Kate herself was willing to
suffer the martyrdom of a saint if necessary in order to spare her
mother pain. That being the case, she pasted on what felt like an
artificial smile and prepared to meet Mrs. English and Alex’s
sister.

“Don’t attack me, Mary Jo. I’m going to put
the steps down.” Alex grinned as he said it, but Kate detected
steel behind the joking words.

“I won’t,” Mary Jo promised. “Mother told me
that Mrs. Finney isn’t well.” She clapped her hands over her mouth,
as if she were conscious of saying something she shouldn’t
have.

But Alex only shook his head in mock
disgust. Mrs. English sighed and said, “Mary Jo,” and Mrs. Finney
laughed, so Kate didn’t guess she had to reprimand the talkative
adolescent. She turned to her mother. “Here, Ma, take my arm.”

Alex had descended from the carriage first.
Kate acquitted him of doing so for any improper reason. He’d done
it not because he wasn’t a gentleman, but because he wanted to
assist Mrs. Finney as much as possible.

Therefore, with Kate assisting from inside
the carriage and Alex taking the sick woman firmly by the arm and
guiding her slowly down the stairs, Mrs. Finney finally set foot on
the grounds of the English family farm. Kate followed quickly after
her mother.

She was shocked speechless
when, as soon as she was out of the carriage, Mary Jo threw her
arms around her and hugged her hard. “Oh, Miss Finney, I’m
so
happy
to meet
you! I can’t
wait
to talk to you about what you do at the Columbian Exposition.
Your jobs sound so exciting!”

“Mary Jo,” Mrs. English murmured again. Her
voice held an interesting degree of hopelessness, as if she didn’t
really expect anything she said to curb her daughter’s
boisterousness.

Kate, who also doubted that such a mild
reproof would quell the lively Mary Jo, had been about to say
something polite before she was struck speechless by Mary Jo’s hug
and her artless comment. When she caught her breath and stabilized
her hat, which Mary Jo’s exuberance had caused to teeter, she said,
“Um, really?”

“Please forgive my sister,” Alex said, his
voice heavy with censure. “She seems to have forgotten all the
lessons in manners our mother tried her best to instill in
her.”

As if she realized she’d committed a social
gaffe, Mary Jo leaped away from Kate. This movement was as abrupt
as the hug had been. Kate, caught unawares twice in less than
thirty seconds, staggered slightly. “Oh, please,” said she, “don’t
scold. I don’t mind.” It startled her nearly senseless to realize
she’d spoken the truth.

“Well,” said Alex, unconvinced, “I’d rather
not reward my sister for outrageous conduct.”

“I’m sorry,” a contrite Mary Jo said,
clasping her hands behind her back and looking embarrassed. “I
didn’t mean to be so stupid.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Kate, shooting Alex a
quick glare that dared him to say anything else that might wound
his little sister. “I don’t mind at all. In fact, you made us both
feel welcome. I think we ought to meet your mother now,
though.”

“Of course.” Mary Jo stepped back, looking
even more chastened than she had before, and Kate wished she’d kept
her big mouth shut. She didn’t know how to behave in polite
circles, and she ought just to observe these Englishes for awhile
before trying to enter into their conversations.

Alex, apparently satisfied that his sister
aimed to behave from now on, stepped aside and presented Kate’s
mother to his. “Mrs. Hazel Finney, please allow me to introduce you
to my mother, Marguerite English.” Smiling at his sister, he added,
“And, as you’ve probably guessed, this rambunctious urchin is my
youngest sister, Mary Jo.”

“How do you do?”

Kate watched her mother be as gracious as
any great lady to Alex’s mother and sister, and her heart swelled
with love and pride. Marrying Kate’s father had been a hideous
mistake on Hazel Finney’s part, but it had been one Mrs. Finney
hadn’t anticipated. Kate didn’t think that misjudging a person
who’d probably misrepresented himself to begin with should be held
against a woman forever. She resented the Church, where she’d gone
for assistance and guidance once or twice, for telling women it was
their duty to remain in miserable, and even dangerous,
marriages.

Mrs. English took Mrs. Finney’s hand in both
of hers and smiled warmly. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Mrs.
Finney. I’m so glad you could visit us. We get lonely way out here
on the farm, and it’s such fun to have company.”

“I hope you’ll think so after we’ve
inconvenienced you for two days,” Kate’s mother responded,
laughing.

Holding her breath in anticipation of a
coughing fit, Kate couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen her
mother so perky. It astonished her that Ma could be so natural and
comfortable with a woman whose position in life was so far above
her own. She decided it might be a good thing if she watched how
her mother behaved with these people and took notes. Thank God, a
spasm didn’t follow Mrs. Finney’s laugh.

“And Mary Jo,” continued Mrs. Finney, her
smile becoming more intimate, “it’s so nice to be around young
people again. My own children are all grown up, and I miss their
youthful high jinks.”

Mary Jo executed a perfect
curtsy and smiled at Kate’s mother. “Thank you for being nice about
my bad manners, Mrs. Finney. Alex is always scolding me for acting
like a hoyden. My mother really
has
tried to teach me, but I keep
forgetting.”

Alex snorted. His mother laughed. Mrs.
Finney squeezed Mary Jo’s hand. “I’m sure she’s done a wonderful
job with you. You only need to get out into the world a little and
practice some more.”

“That’s what I keep telling Alex.” Mary Jo
spoiled her mother’s lessons by sticking her tongue out at her big
brother. “That’s why I want to go to Chicago for a visit.”

Kate had been taking a gander at the
surrounding countryside as these pleasantries went on. When she
heard Mary Jo’s last comment, she turned and stared at her. “You
want to leave this for Chicago?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Um . . . Why?” Kate couldn’t conceive of
such a thing.

Alex, chuckling again, made a herding
gesture to the gaggle of women. “Let’s discuss this inside over
tea, shall we? It will be interesting for you and Mary Jo to
exchange ideas about Chicago, Kate. I have a feeling you’re going
to have a hard time convincing her that the country’s better than
the city.”

“My goodness,” Kate said, stunned.

Mrs. English laughed. Alex took Mrs. Finney
by the arm and guided her up the porch steps.

As soon as the quintet entered the house,
Kate was struck by several things at once. The first thing she
noticed was the overall charm and warmth of the house itself. The
front door opened into a large open room that Alex called the hall.
The room’s floors were some hard, dark wood, and were sprinkled
here and there with rag rugs of the sort Kate’s own mother made.
The aroma of cinnamon and ginger kissed Kate’s nostrils, and
blended well with the smell of furniture polish and wax. The room
was big and warm and friendly, and made Kate want to live in
it.

A woman in a white apron and cap appeared,
beaming at the newcomers. Alex said, “Mrs. Gossett, please let me
introduce you to Mrs. Finney and Miss Finney. These ladies will be
staying with us for the weekend.”

Mrs. Gossett dropped a curtsy. “Pleased to
meet you both.”

“Likewise,” Kate murmured, wondering who Mrs.
Gossett was in the overall scheme of things.

“Thank you, Mrs. Gossett,” said Mrs.
Finney.

Mrs. Gossett turned to Mrs. English.
“There’s tea and gingerbread all ready, Mrs. E. Shall I set it up
in the parlor?”

“Please do,” said Mrs. English. “And tell
Louise to see the Finney ladies to their rooms, if you will.”

Rooms? Did this mean they were each going to
have a room? Until she’d taken her one-room flat above the
butcher’s shop, Kate had never had a room to herself. Heck, she’d
never even realized people had rooms to themselves.

“Yes’m.”

After executing another curtsy, Mrs. Gossett
departed. Kate marveled at the speed at which another maid servant
appeared. She assumed the newcomer to be Louise. Kate suspected
this routine had been rehearsed or learned over a number of years,
since the timing of the servants’ arrivals and departures was so
exquisite. Assuming Mrs. Gossett to be some sort of housekeeper,
she then marveled at the English family being able to afford both a
housekeeper and a house maid. And a carriage driver. Good Lord
Almighty, the man must be positively rolling in dough.

“Good afternoon, Louise,” said Alex,
confirming Kate’s suspicion as he stripped off his gloves and acted
as if the arrival of a housemaid was merely a part of life—which it
was, to him—“please take Mrs. Finney and Miss Finney to their
rooms.”

Louise bobbed a curtsy, smiled at the Finney
ladies, and said, “Please follow me.” She headed for the stairway,
which lay straight ahead of them as they stood in front of the big
front door.

Alex said, “Just a minute, Louise.” He
turned to Mrs. Finney. “Do you need help climbing the stairs? I’ll
be happy to help you. Carry you, if need be.” His smile made Kate’s
stomach pitch.

“Don’t be silly,” said Mrs. Finney. “I
wouldn’t want you to have to do that.” She gave a low chortle, as
if she’d never heard of anything sillier than Alex’s offer to carry
her upstairs.

“Nonsense,” said Alex. “You can’t weigh much
more than a feather. I’m sure I have muscles enough for that.” He
winked at Mrs. Finney to let her know he meant it and that she
wouldn’t be imposing.

“You’re a good man, Alex,” Mrs. Finney said,
her smile going a little mushy, in Kate’s opinion. “But please
don’t carry me. I hate feeling helpless, even if I am sometimes.
Please let me walk as much as I can.” She sighed as she gazed at
the staircase. “I used to zip up and down stairs like nobody’s
business.”

“I’ll help, Ma,” Kate said, feeling left
out.

“Good. Then I’ll go supervise the
gingerbread.” With another wink, Alex left them with the impression
that supervision in this instance meant sampling the cake to make
sure it was tasty enough for the rest of them.

Kate tried to resent his assumption of
authority over her and her mother, but couldn’t do it. He was too
darned nice to resent. “Here, Ma, take my arm.”