Whiskey Island (30 page)

Until Lena’s mother was with them and Terence could find a better, safer job. Until they could move up the hill and farther away from the fumes of progress and the sad spectacle of their desecrated river.

Until Whiskey Island was only a memory.

“You’re certain we have enough?” She steadied herself by clinging to his shoulders. “You’re certain? Even with winter here and no promise the boats will get through much longer?”

“I am. We’ll have our celebration now.”

He wouldn’t tell her more, although she tried to draw it out of him. He pulled her along beside him, over slippery pathways, around Sunday strollers, until they came to a small hotel she had passed many times when she did her shopping at the Pearl Street market. He tugged her into the doorway. Then he held out his arm to escort her inside.

By no one’s standards was the hotel fancy. Most likely its clientele were tradesmen who traveled from city to city hawking their wares. Through the window she could see that the lobby furniture was shabby, the wallpaper peeling in evenly spaced spirals. Yet to her, it was a palace. She pulled back, afraid to venture inside.

Terence read her thoughts. “It’s all right, Lena. An Irishman owns it. I’m told we’ll be welcome in the dining room.”

She had seen too many signs in shop windows assuring her that she and her kind were not welcome. “An Irishman, Terry? You’re certain? How can he afford such an establishment?”

“By the sweat of his brow and a bit of good fortune. It’ll happen to us, too. I swear it. We’re on our way now, Lena. I can feel it.” He touched his chest.

She had an overwhelming urge to tell him about the good fortune she might be carrying inside her. But she knew if she was wrong, she wouldn’t be able to face his disappointment. It was better to wait until there was no mistaking the truth.

She slipped her hand through his arm and gazed up at him. “I’ve had more than a bit of good fortune in my life. I found you, didn’t I? And we married.”

He squeezed her hand. Then, drawing her farther into the doorway, he kissed her lightly on the lips before he led her inside.

Terence had quietly, carefully saved enough for dinner at the hotel and for the streetcar to and from Euclid Avenue. Each day Lena turned over all the money she earned, and each month he added it to his own wages, carefully calculated the next month’s expenses and hid the remainder under the loose floorboard beneath their bed. No day would be happier than the one next week when he would empty the metal box and buy passage for his parents.

Meantime, though, he knew that this day of fun for Lena was long overdue, no matter what it cost them.

“Terry, would you look at that now? Have you ever seen anything so grand?”

Terence himself hardly knew where to look. They were the poorest of the poor ogling the richest of the rich. He had seldom ventured into this part of town, and never just to stroll the sidewalks.

“I’ve never seen anything so fine,” he agreed. “Or so unjust.” The last part slipped out before he could stop himself.

Lena tightened her grip on his arm. “Are you thinking these people don’t suffer as we do?” She paused, slyly watching his face flush with the sentiments he was struggling to suppress. “I’m certain at the end of the day they’re every bit as tired as we are. Think of it. Servants to manage, banquets and balls to attend, holidays in the country, visits to the docks and foundries to be certain their money is safe.” She shook her head sadly. “My heart goes out to them, as should your own.”

He laughed. “Better to put all that out of our minds and enjoy this beautiful day.”

And it was a beautiful day. Even through a fog of disapproval, he could see that. The huge elms bordering the Avenue were heavy with snow glistening in the sunlight. The Avenue itself was white, a frozen river with sleighs and cutters of all descriptions dancing over it.

“The men who live here are too fine to bear the sight of streetcars running in front of their houses. That’s why the sleighs can race here. The tracks diverge to Prospect at Erie Street, where we departed the streetcar, and begin again after Case. In between, there’s a mile or more with nothing to stop the races.”

“And Rowan’s working here today?”

“Only this morning, I think,” he said vaguely. Rowan might have another surprise. Terence didn’t want to tell her and spoil the fun.

“I see now why he loves to go to work.”

“The police stop traffic on the side roads whenever the snow falls so that no one can interfere with the sleighing.”

“What a fine job that must be. To watch this every day.” She stopped, and Terence stopped, too.

Until now they had strolled slowly, dividing their attention between the spectacle of the horse-drawn sleighs and the huge houses set far back from the Avenue behind parklike gardens. Now Terence saw that the sleighs themselves held Lena’s rapt regard.

And a splendid sight they were. He hadn’t realized there were so many varieties. The cutters were low to the ground, built mainly for racing. Drawn by one horse, with one passenger, they were sleek and lightweight. Some were done up in bright colors and adorned with painted landscapes or pictures of jungle beasts. Others were ornately carved and gilded. All, in their own way, were works of art and pleasing to the eye.

There were larger sleighs, too, drawn by two horses, most with a high seat in front for the driver and two seats facing each other for passengers. These varied, as well. The more sumptuous were elegantly draped with fine furs, and the hardware—even to his untutored eye—was clearly gold or silver. Others were far more modest, some little more than wooden boxes set on metal thills, their occupants covered by knitted woolen afghans or inexpensive buffalo robes. All glided on the snow like swans in a summer pond.

“The horses, Terry. Look at them.” Lena pointed at a matched pair of bays with identical white stars on their foreheads. The two-seater sleigh was moving slowly for now, and the bays stepped high, their hoofs lifting in perfect harmony.

“Do you see their harnesses?”

He realized that the buckles, the rings and rosettes on the bridles were shining silver adorned still further with horsehair plumes. All the horses on the Avenue wore bells, which rang gaily with each movement, but this pair had garlands of bells around their necks, as well as additional garlands around their bodies where their checkreins were hooked. He imagined the choirs of heaven were dull in comparison.

Lena lowered her voice. “What must it be like to ride behind them? Like flying, I suppose.”

“When they race, surely. But Rowan says there’ll be little racing today. Sundays are the quietest.”

“That’s because the Irishman works every day but Sunday. Why should these men provide a free bit of entertainment on the one day he doesn’t?”

He laughed. “It’s enough to see the houses and the sleighs. And they’ve yet to find a way to take our money simply for walking their street.”

“Best be quiet, or they might try.”

He tucked her cape closer around her shoulders, and they set off again.

The afternoon unfolded before them, each house, each sleigh a part of an endless, carefree panorama. They stood outside it—Terence was acutely aware of this. But for this afternoon, if for no other, they could be, at the very least, spectators. At one point they warmed themselves at a small fire built beside the road. A vendor with a sack of hot potatoes fresh from the ashes sold one to Terence, which they traded back and forth to warm their hands until the potato was as cold as they were. Terence ate it and fed a protesting Lena the last little bits to keep up her strength.

Snow fell intermittently, but most of the day the sun continued to shine. The Avenue’s legendary racers didn’t materialize, but several elaborate family sleighs filled with laughing, handsomely dressed men and women drew side by side and measured paces against each other, moving faster and faster, their occupants’ laughter floating behind them even when they were no longer in view.

Terence knew that Lena wasn’t growing tired of any of it, that she was young today in a way she rarely had the chance to be. She was by far the most beautiful woman on the sidewalks, even though many others were wrapped conspicuously in rare furs or adorned with jewels. He had seen more than one man turn to look at her, even though she seemed unaware of the attention. Her new dress, for all the joy it brought her, was drab in comparison to those around her, but her hair shone like a candle burning on a dark night, and her face was radiant.

He wanted to give her everything. The moon, the sun—which was a rare gift indeed in winter—the heavens themselves with all their promised rewards. He wanted to buy her the finest set of horses and a sleigh painted in the bright greens of their emerald island. But it was enough, at the moment, to have afforded the price of the streetcar and to watch her happiness.

“Will we catch the streetcar soon?”

He hugged her closer. “Why, are you growing too cold to enjoy yourself?”

“No, but I know you’re tired, Terry. And if we have to walk back the way we’ve come…”

“We can catch the streetcar ahead. No need to worry.”

She smiled up at him. “You need your day of rest.”

“I’m happier to be here with you.” He was so busy drinking in her answering smile that he missed the man he’d been searching for. He was as surprised as Lena when Rowan approached and tapped him on the shoulder.

“There you are. I’ve had the devil’s own time finding you.”

“Rowan!” Lena gripped his hand. “We hoped to see you.”

The two men exchanged quick glances. Rowan gave a short nod in answer to Terence’s unspoken question, and Terence’s heart soared.

Rowan turned his attention to Lena. “And aren’t you a sight for sore eyes in that dress, darling. It suits you well.”

“Do you think so?”

“Now she’ll preen for you,” Terence warned. “Just when I thought we’d finished with that.”

Lena poked him playfully. “It’s a husband’s duty to admire his wife and to never be finished with it.”

“Nor will he ever be,” Rowan said gallantly. “For there’s always something to admire about you.”

“Now, will you listen to your best friend and learn a thing or two?” Lena asked Terence.

“I don’t see my best
friend
with a lady of his own.”

“Aye, but you haven’t looked hard enough, is why.” Rowan motioned to someone behind them, and when Lena and Terence turned, it was to watch the approach of a slender young woman wearing a plain gray cloak and a ready smile.

Rowan waited until she was upon them before he spoke. “May I introduce Miss Nani Borz.”

Everyone murmured appropriate greetings, Nani’s in a lilting accent that, though different from their own, pointed out that she, too, had not been born in America. Nani had black hair and pale blue eyes, a short nose and a square jaw that dominated her other features. But her smile was friendly, and she seemed genuinely pleased to meet them. Terence warmed to her immediately.

“Nani’s in service right here on the Avenue,” Rowan explained. “Her family’s from a village near Budapest, and she lives on this side of town.”

“I’m the upstairs maid in the Simeon house.” Nani fussed with her cloak, but not nervously. She seemed to have an excess of energy, as if she was unprepared for standing still.

“And which house would that be?” Terence asked. “I’m guessing it’s the same Simeon whose ore I shovel every day.”

Rowan confirmed it. “That would be the same one. James himself. Known far and wide for his iron, and lately for his steel, as well. We’ll walk that way.” Rowan held out his arm to Nani. They strolled four abreast.

“Do you like your work, Nani?” Lena’s tone was friendly, and Terence could see that she liked Nani, too.

Nani was silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was low. “Mrs. Simeon, she’s a good woman. Everything I do for her is…how do I say it? To me it is pleasing.”

“They’re lucky to have Nani,” Rowan said. “She does the work of two with no complaints.”

“I am lucky to have work. It’s difficult for someone like me to find any job at all.”

“And the house? Is it as much a palace as the others?” Lena swept her hand to their left. They were in between two of the estates. One house spread across its elaborately landscaped lawn, a masterpiece of brick and stone, towers and wings, windows and arches. The second was more subdued, yet somehow more elegant because of it. White columns supported a vast second-story porch fronted with a long row of tall windows. One side of the house mirrored the other perfectly, from the trim beds of evergreens to the placement of wings.

“Mr. Simeon, he will always find the best. He collects the best things of every.”

Rowan grinned at her reply. “It’s the Simeon house where I found your stove,” he told Lena. “The moment James Simeon knew there was something better on the market, he wanted the old one gone.”

Terence tried to imagine what it might be like to live that way, but he couldn’t. Their world was so different from that of the Simeons they might as well live on a distant star.

“The streetcars begin again, just ahead.” Rowan pointed several blocks in the distance. “The sleighs turn here to go back the way we’ve just come. When they’re racing, they walk the opposite side of the avenue, then turn here and pick up speed. When they find another driver they want to race, they surge ahead. Anyone not inclined to take part pulls to the side and lets them pass.”

“The sight is so fine, my heart beats like the wings of a bird. From an upstairs window I can see them racing.” Nani pointed, too. “There. The Simeon house.”

Through a thicket of leafless trees Terence could see chimneys. He supposed that, from this angle, in the summer the house would be nearly hidden since, even more so than its neighbors, it was set well back from the Avenue. As they moved closer, the outline of the house itself began to materialize. His breath burned in his chest. All the homes on the Avenue inspired envy, but this one had been built to stir even the coldest ashes of jealousy and resentment. Because surely a more expensive, a more excessive home had never been built outside the countryside of Europe.