1920
Winter
Everything felt right. Sarah lay there, her eyes still closed but wide awake. Her head rested gently against Pat's chest, his steady heartbeat echoing in her ears like a comforting melody. It was in moments like these that all the terrible things she had experienced seemed to fade away. She wished those moments could last forever.
His arm, wrapped protectively around her, gave a slight squeeze. "I can tell yer awake."
A smile flickered across her face. "I am not," she murmured.
His hand traced a slow, teasing path down her back, eliciting a soft laugh. She lifted her head and opened her eyes to see Pat watching her with a mischievous grin. "Fine, I'm awake," she admitted. She pushed herself forward to kiss him.
In one swift move, Pat rolled her over, positioning himself on top of her.
A loud crash echoed from somewhere in the house, interrupting their moment.
Sarah's attention shifted, her brows furrowing with concern. "John," she said. "He must be trying to make his own breakfast."
"I've no doubt he can handle himself," Pat replied, his lips brushing against her neck.
Another crash, louder and more disruptive, echoed through the house
"He's only seven and he's going to destroy the house."
"Is he?" Pat murmured the question against her skin.
His hand slid up her nightgown, causing her breath to catch. "He doesn't know how to use the stove so I'm sure…" Her words trailed off as she pulled him closer for another kiss.
"He's a clever lad," Pat said. "He'd likely be able to figure it out."
But in an instant, Sarah's mind was seized by a sudden and vivid image—their house engulfed in flames, the result of a curious child and a dangerous mistake. The thought snapped her back to reality and she abruptly pushed Pat off of her. "You shouldn't have said anything. This is entirely on you," she teased, a playful glimmer in her eyes, as she took in the disappointed look on Pat's face. She stood and pulled on her robe, shivering slightly in the chilly air. She approached the window and looked out at the lazy drift of snowflakes dancing through the air. "Could you shovel the walk today?"
"I will as soon as the snow stops fallin'," Pat replied.
"What if it doesn't stop?" Sarah asked. "What if we need to leave?"
Pat reached out, his fingers closing around the tie of her robe and gently tugged her back towards him. "Ah, but then we'll just stay right here," he suggested, their lips meeting in another kiss.
"Mama!" The urgent shout reached them.
She gave him one last lingering kiss before reluctantly untangling herself from his embrace. "Shovel the walk," she instructed, her tone firm as she left the room.
No one could deny that it was a magnificent estate. Its grounds, a sprawling blend of manicured gardens and dense woodlands, housed an imposing clock tower and a recently completed pool. It was a place designed for entertainment. Cal couldn't complain when it was filled with people, which happened often enough. But during the quieter times, it became a cheerless and empty space.
Seizing the chance when his family happened to be home—thanks to Dinah's last-minute canceled trip—Cal bundled up the children, hoping to explore the grounds with them before his wife's return from her shopping or visiting friends or who knows where. He no longer cared about her whereabouts or activities.
Victor, the older child, was an incessant narrator since the moment they left the house. Already Cal had learned all about his nanny, his favorite color, and the time he found a really large rock that his mother wouldn't let him bring into the house on account of it being muddy. "Want to hear me count by two's?" Victor asked, switching to the next topic. "I'm really good at it. Two, four, six, ten." He laughed. "I meant eight. I have to start over. Two, four, six, eight, ten…are you even listening?"
Cal paused as Arthur stooped to pick up a fallen leaf. The toddler examined it for a moment before attempting to put it into his mouth.
"No, no, Arthur. That's not... don't do that." Cal quickly took the leaf from his hand.
"Are you listening?" Victor asked again.
"Of course I am. That's very impressive."
"Mama says it's not."
"Well, your mama is a—" Cal's words trailed off abruptly, a surge of restraint halting him from venting his own frustrations. Despite her fears of him turning the children against her, he had no interest in doing such a thing. He wanted their children to form their own impressions when they were old enough.
"Is a what? What is mama?" Victor looked at him with wide eyes.
Cal sighed. "She's an exceedingly complex woman who's impossible to please."
"Why?"
"She holds herself to very high standards."
"Why?"
"I suppose it's how she was raised."
"Why?"
"Why do you think?" Cal asked, turning the tables on the child.
"Um…I don't know." Victor admitted, briefly looking disappointed. He looked around, his gaze landing on the nearby pool. "Can we go swimming?" He asked eagerly.
"It's far too cold to swim."
"Why?"
Cal looked at the snow on the ground. "Because it's winter."
"Oh." Victor's face fell. "Can we go swimming later?"
"When it warms up, you can swim to your heart's content," he promised.
"Mama says I'm not allowed to go swimming. She says I'd be drowned. What's drowned?"
Suppressing his irritation towards his wife, Cal reluctantly answered, "It's when you die," feeling uncomfortable giving too many details to a five-year-old.
"Like Mr. Hersey!"
"Who?" Cal asked, momentarily caught off guard.
"Mama's friend. He gave her a necklace and then he drowned. Like this." Victor dramatically clutched his chest, contorting his face, and collapsed onto the snow. Arthur looked at his brother before mimicking him and doing the same.
"What on earth are you doing?" A tall woman's voice pierced the air, her figure sprinting toward them with urgency.
At once, she scooped up the toddler and roughly brushed the snow from him. "How dare you take them out of the house without telling me. Both are probably going to catch a cold."
Victor sprung to his feet and tugged at her arm. "Mama," he said. "When it warms up, we can go swimming. I won't drowned."
Cal glared at her. "I am their father so it's hardly your business what I do with my own children."
She scoffed. "Father…that's a laugh," she uttered, her words dripping with disdain.
His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed, his anger threatening to boil over. "It's rather hard to be a father when you're constantly whisking them away," he shot back, his words laden with accusation. "And who, I wonder, is Mr. Hersey?"
"None of your business."
"Well, I'm sorry to hear about his demise."
Silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken tension. Without uttering another word, she firmly grasped Victor's hand and turned on her heels, forcibly dragging the child along. Victor managed to steal one last glance at his father, waving hesitantly, before Dinah reprimanded him, and he obediently turned away.
Cal watched them leave, his anger simmering beneath the surface. He looked around, longing to throw something, but the wintry landscape offered nothing. Frustrated, he kicked at the snow and stormed off in the opposite direction.
The aroma of a hearty breakfast enveloped the room, permeating the air with the savory scent of sausages and hot biscuits. Potato cakes sizzled on the skillet. Kate moved about the room, her apron covered in a dusting of flour. Seated at the table, bathed in a warm glow of morning light, was a young woman, dressed to perfection. Impatience and restlessness flickered in her eyes as she tapped her heeled foot against the floor.
"I think my parents are wanting me to marry Walter Kelly—he's a friend of theirs, well the son of a friend of theirs. But I'm not too keen on him." She paused, adjusting her dress over her legs. "James Robles is better looking and I think he's keen on me. He's the one who told me I'm prettier than Miss Spokane. He says that if they held the contest now, I'd be sure to win. But I'm not so sure I'd be pretty enough to even enter." Doubt crept into her words as she sought validation. "Do you think I'm pretty enough?"
"Vera," Kate replied. "Ye look absolutely darlin'."
Vera shrugged, looking unconvinced. "I don't know if I want to marry James though. I like his flatters just fine but there's something too eager-to-please about him, if you know what I mean. Now, there's a man at the mill who says he's going to marry me once he gets enough to support me but I don't know if I want to marry him either."
As Kate placed a plate of food in front of her, a sudden cry erupted from the adjacent room, where Tommy, nestled snugly in his Kiddie-Koop, sought attention. She paused, listening intently, until the baby settled and quieted himself. "Yer not talkin' about me brother are ye?"
Vera made a face. "Oh, no. I've never said two words to your brother."
"I'm only teasing ye," Kate reassured her, placing her own plate on the table and settling down beside her. "Ye know, ye don't have to be marryin' anyone."
Vera laughed. "Of course I do. Could you imagine goin' through life all on yer own? How dreadful."
"Aye, it's a terrible situation," Kate replied sarcastically. She thought of Tommy in the next room, the child she was raising on her own and frowned. She managed fine by taking in lodgers to make ends meet, so she wouldn't call her situation 'dreadful.' But she often wished for more. "Now, when are yer folks comin'?"
"In a week," Vera said between mouthfuls. "Then I'm out of your hair for good." She took another bite. "This is good. Could I pay you tomorrow? I don't get paid until then and I'm a bit short on funds."
Kate raised an eyebrow. "Ye were a bit light on funds last week as well," she pointed out. Then her tone softened and she relented. "Pay me what ye can and I can sort out the rest with yer folks when they arrive. Although, they might not be too pleased with the bill," she warned.
Vera's grin widened mischievously. "They're never too happy with any of my bills."
Glad to be back at work, the hum of the steam-powered sawmill welcomed Pat like an old friend. He had grown restless during the winter break, despite enjoying the extra time with Sarah. The truth was, without the rhythm of labor, he found himself uncomfortably dependent on her. Not that she ever mentioned it—Sarah's kindness remained steadfast.
Among the workers at the lumber mill, Pat was among the lower-paid ones, but at least he wasn't stuck gathering scrap like some of the others. Someone saw value in him and that was a comfort he clung to during the long shifts.
Today, he found himself partnered with a newcomer to the mill—Hugh Werner, a sawyer who had recently joined the crew after his own mill in a neighboring town had succumbed to a devastating fire. Using cant hooks, they maneuvered a colossal log onto the waiting carriage and Pat deftly secured it in place.
The relentless noise of the machinery drowned out any hopes of conversation, forcing them to work side by side in silence. Until Pat noticed Hugh trying to say something to him.
Leaning closer, Pat strained to catch his words above the din. "What?" he called out.
"I said, have you been here long?" Hugh repeated as the saw blades momentarily fell silent.
"Seven months, not countin' the break."
"I can tell," Hugh remarked, a hint of smugness underlying his words.
Irritation simmered beneath the surface but Pat pushed it down.
"Harris told me you were on the Titanic ," he said. "That must've been exciting."
"That's a fine word for it, I suppose," Pat grumbled, his gaze fixed on the log as he turned it. Stepping back, he watched intently as the log journeyed through the unforgiving jaws of the saw blades.
"You have family in the area?"
"Just a sister," Pat replied curtly.
"You married?"
"No."
Hugh continued to pry. "What about your sister? Is she wed?"
"She's widowed." Pat deliberately turned away from the man.
But he pressed on. "Was she on the Titanic with you?"
"I'd rather be workin', if it's all the same to ye," Pat said, sharper than he intended.
Hugh threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Just trying to be friendly," he retorted, his voice barely audible amidst the metallic screeching of the saw blade.
Pat's patience teetered on the edge as he stepped forward, ready to grapple with the next colossal log. To his dismay, a young man joined them. "Harris said you guys might need help on this one?"
"And he sent you?" Hugh was skeptical. "We'd do better on our own."
Pat shared Hugh's annoyance, but he refrained from voicing it. Instead, he directed the young man. "Stand on that end there," he instructed, pointing to the far end of the carriage.
Obediently, the young man positioned himself as instructed. Cant hooks in hand, Pat and Hugh synchronized their efforts, preparing to hoist the massive log onto the awaiting carriage. Suddenly, the young man's feet slipped, wedging themselves beneath the rolling log. A startled cry escaped his lips, borne more from surprise than pain.
Pat lunged forward, joining the frantic efforts of others who had rushed to the young man's aid. Together they strained against the weight of the timber.
As the log was finally rolled back off the carriage and the young man's feet were pulled free, Hugh let out a laugh. "Stupid kid. Should've kept an eye on his own feet," he jeered.
Pat eyed him suspiciously. "Ye could've lent a hand, ye know."
A sly grin flickered across Hugh's face as he casually shrugged. "Could've but didn't."
Pat decided at that moment that he didn't like him.
Spring
The lobby of the Famous Players-Lasky Corporation buzzed with activity, a bustling symphony of hurried footsteps and hushed conversations. Fabrizio moved through the crowd swiftly, paying little mind to the curious glances from the well-dressed people who always lingered on the tile floor. He was used to them. He went up the stairs and down the hall, before letting himself into the office at the end.
A young woman sat at the desk, her auburn hair in finger waves. Her face brightened at his arrival.
'Miss Parlatore, you look lovely," he said. "Is Miss Dewitt-Bukater in?"
"It's Lelia and you ask me that question every month and my answer is always the same," the young woman replied. "She's always in and you know it. And she's always expecting you," she added. "I don't know why you even bother with my desk at all."
"Maybe I just like seeing you?"
"Don't flirt with me," Lelia warned playfully.
"I only be friendly," Fabrizio replied. "Nothing more."
"Well, Mr. Friendly," she said. "You can continue to bother me or you can have a seat and wait."
"I think I bother you."
She smiled. Pulling out a small stack of paperwork, she opened the top file and picked up a pen.
"You meet many interesting people here?"
"Oh, I meet all sorts of fascinating people," Lelia replied, the pen still held poised over her work. "And then also you."
He leaned over her desk. "You tell me today where you from?"
"I've told you a thousand times," she replied. "I'm from New York."
"You're not from New York." Fabrizio snatched the pen out of her hands. "Parlatore is Italian. I think you from Italy." He didn't know why he needed to know so badly, but the fact that she refused to tell him more kept him intrigued.
"That's an interesting thought," Lelia replied, taking the pen back.
"Interesting and true?" Fabrizio pressed, studying her face intently.
Lelia smiled sweetly and winked at him.
A man suddenly emerged from the adjacent room. He gave Fabrizio a curious look and discreetly handed Lelia a folded note.
She frowned as she read it aloud. "Detained in meeting, reschedule lunch. Tomorrow?"
Fabrizio shook his head. "I work tomorrow. Today is only day free."
"Don't you worry about it," Lelia said. "Come next week and I'll have it taken care of."
"You're an angel."
Lelia blushed. "What do you two even talk about? If you don't mind me asking?"
"Mostly she talk and I listen."
"Lucky her," Lelia murmured, her gaze lingering on Fabrizio.
Sarah and Pat sat snuggled up on the sofa after John had gone to bed. Fire in the fireplace even though it was starting to warm up outside. His arm around her, fingers entwined. Her head rested comfortably on his shoulder.
She watched the flames dancing in the fireplace. There was an unspoken question that lingered over them and for a while she had tried to come up with a way of broaching the topic. "Do you think Kate's going to marry again?" She asked, breaking the silence and trying a different approach altogether.
"I've no doubt she will." He leaned over and left a series of kisses that trailed across her lips, cheek, and down to her throat.
"I mean just because she's a widow with a child, it doesn't make her unmarriageable," Sarah continued in a subtle plea for understanding.
Pat's response carried a hint of confusion. "Are we really discussin' me sister right now?"
A soft smile formed on Sarah's lips as she kissed him. "I'm sorry, I was only thinking," she whispered against his lips. But after a moment she couldn't help herself and kept talking. "I hope Kate marries again. I know she wants more children."
Pat let out an exasperated sigh. "Perhaps we could return to the present moment?" He suggested, his impatience creeping into his tone.
"I wouldn't mind a few more myself, I think," she continued, giving him a sideways glance. "If it's not too late, I mean..."
Pat took his arm off her shoulder and looked at her. "Sarah, what are ye up to?"
"Patrick," she said, her voice steady. "I could ask you the same."
A heavy silence settled between them, the crackling fire providing the only sound.
He shook his head. "Katie has a way of fallin' in love swiftly," he said after a moment. "I'm certain she'll be gettin' married again soon enough."
Sarah's brows furrowed, disappointment etched on her face as he had evaded her question. "And you? Are you quick to fall in love?"
"No, I'm not," he replied honestly. "Do we really need to be discussin' this now?"
As Pat leaned in for another kiss, Sarah gently pushed him away. "No, we don't," she replied curtly. "I'm going to bed." She stood and left the room, leaving him to sort out her meaning.
Cal sat in his library, a book open in his lap, and frowned at the pages. He had no issues with reading—although it was never his first choice of entertainment—but the book had been recommended by Sarah. He couldn't tell if she was trying to be funny or if the similarities between himself and the main character were merely a coincidence. He flipped the book over to look at the title.
"Man of Property," he muttered under his breath. "A lot of men have property. That doesn't have to mean anything." And it wasn't as though the similarities were recent. Dinah was certainly no Irene and he had no desire to possess her. And his engagement to Rose was long in the past. Cal admitted to himself that the comparison might have held some truth nine years ago, but he firmly believed that he had changed and changed for the better.
"Oh, look," Dinah's voice rang out as she entered the room. "You're reading."
"I am and I'd prefer to read in peace," Cal replied, not looking up from his book.
"What are you reading?"
"A book," he replied. "I'd offer to lend it to you once I'm done, but it might be a bit advanced for you."
Ignoring his jab, Dinah rang for tea. "Surely not, if you're reading it." She waited until her tea was in hand and took a delicate sip. "I ran into Mrs. Cardeza the other day…or rather I paid her a visit and she mentioned to me that she was thinking of holding a bit of a soirée to honor the completion of her wall—"
"Her wall?"
"The wall she's having built around her estate," Dinah explained. "Surely you know this. She started constructing it after the Homer estate was sold into pieces."
Cal knew better than to get sucked into a conversation with his wife but he couldn't stop himself. "A wall seems hardly necessary to me."
"Of course it does to you ," she said. "The rest of us would prefer to look out our windows and not see a row of squalid apartments staring back at us."
"Clearly the sight of a wall is preferable," he replied sarcastically.
Unfazed by his tone, Dinah pressed on. "What I was trying to say earlier before I was so rudely interrupted, was that I thought we should attend. The Cardezas are a lovely couple and—"
"Cardeza."
"What?"
"Charlotte and James divorced years ago," Cal said. "Surely you know this."
"Regardless, they are still an amiable—individual," Dinah corrected herself. "It would be pleasant for us to go together."
Cal stared at her. "What do you want?"
His wife offered him a sweet smile. "I only wished for a pleasant convers—"
"We don't have pleasant conversations," he said simply. "So again, what do you want?"
The smile slipped from her face "Money."
"Fine."
"Just like that?"
Cal let out a sigh. "If more money makes you go away, then take all you need."
A glimmer of triumph sparked in Dinah's eyes and she leaned in closer, testing the boundaries. "I could take it all."
"Fine."
"What sort of game are you playing?"
"I am not playing any sort of game. I want you to leave me alone," Cal said, his voice sharp. "I'm tired of this damn charade every time you want something. Either you respect me as your lawful husband at all times or we both face the truth that this marriage was a mistake and we part ways for good."
"A mistake?" Dinah laughed. "Cal, my dear , I only married you for your money," she said. "Because you're neither charming nor interesting. So this marriage has been everything I had been hoping for. That's hardly a mistake."
Cal's jaw tightened in anger. Of course, she disagreed with him on the state of their marriage, she had already disagreed with him on everything else. He took a deep breath in an attempt to rein in his emotions. "It's a mistake in my books. Couldn't you just go away again?"
"As soon as I'm able," Dinah replied coldly. She rose from her seat and set her mostly full cup of tea on the end table. "And I'm taking Victor and Arthur with me."
He was quickly on his feet. "You are not taking them this time."
Dinah smiled slyly. "Try and stop me." With those words, she turned and strode from the room.
Cal watched her leave, his frustration boiling over. The moment she was gone, he seized the cup of tea and flung it against the door.
Kate hummed to herself as she hung laundry on the line to dry. The day was beautiful, the promise of summer just around the corner. Blue skies and fluffy white clouds that hardly looked real. Vera was off somewhere, lost in her usual whirlwind of flirting, while Tommy dozed peacefully in his Kiddie-Koop, basking in the gentle warmth of the sun.
She reached down for a sheet and as she turned to hang it up, she jumped, startled at the sight of Sarah watching her. "Where in the world did ye come from?"
"My home," Sarah replied, her voice carrying a trace of melancholy. She reached into the basket and grabbed an item to help.
Kate paused, her hands frozen in mid-air. "What's troublin' ye?"
Sarah shrugged but didn't reply.
Kate felt a twinge of annoyance. "What did he go and do this time?"
"He didn't do anything."
Kate scoffed. Whatever it was that was bothering her friend, she knew her brother was behind it. He was always behind it.
"He really didn't," Sarah insisted. She sat on the grass and briefly put her face in her hands. "What am I doing?"
"Sittin' on the grass? Helpin' me with me laundry?" Kate offered. She hung up the item in her hands and took a seat next to her friend. "What is it?"
"Why doesn't he want to marry me?"
"Ah, so it is Pat's doin' then?"
"Kate," Sarah said. "Is there somethin' wrong with me?"
"It's more likely there's somethin' not right with him, I'd say."
"I was thinking…" Sarah hesitated. "Maybe I'm too old? I know I'm older than he is and–"
Kate looked at her in surprise. "Sarah," she said firmly. "I highly doubt Pat has the slightest idea how old ye are in the first place. He's not that clever."
Sarah looked unconvinced. She plucked a blade of grass from the ground and tore it into pieces.
"I haven't a clue what's goin' on inside his head—I've no real desire to know, if I'm bein' honest," Kate said. "And I can't say why he's not keen on marryin' ye. But I do know that he loves ye. I've never seen anythin' so obvious. He's been completely smitten with ye since the day ye crossed paths on the Carpathia. "
"He what?" Sarah's eyes widened in surprise.
"Didn't ye notice?" Kate shook her head. "The entire time we were in Ohio together, before he up and vanished in the middle of the night, all he talked about was ye. And for six long years, he wrote letters to ye instead of his own sister. If that's not love, it's pure infatuation. Either way, ye hold a power over him and ye can likely make him do whatever ye please."
"Except marry me."
"Ye want me to yell at him?"
"No," Sarah quickly replied. "I don't need you two fighting again."
"Then, in that case, I have a daft suggestion," Kate said. "Have a chat with him instead of me." She really didn't want to get caught in the middle of whatever was going on between them if she could help it.
Summer
They had gathered outside to escape the stifling heat indoors, grateful for the slight breeze. Sarah had been struggling to bring up the topic of marriage with Pat ever since her conversation with Kate a month earlier. But she hadn't been able to find the courage to do so. She was convinced that if he truly wanted to marry her, he would have broached the subject himself. She feared her words would make little difference.
Sarah sat beside Pat at the weathered table in the backyard, her attention fixed on John as he climbed a nearby tree. A silence hung over them, filled with unspoken thoughts.
"Pat?" Sarah said after a moment, breaking the silence. "Could you teach John to swim this summer?"
"No," he replied quickly, his gaze fixed on the tree.
Sarah looked at him in surprise. "You're the only one who knows how to swim."
He shook his head. "I can't be doin' it."
Sarah gently took his hand. "Then teach me and I'll teach him," she offered.
"No."
With a frustrated sigh, she withdrew her hand and gave him a searching look. "Why not?"
He shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "I don't want to," he replied simply.
Sarah felt frustration run through her. It had seemed like such a simple request to her. "For God's sake," she exclaimed, her voice unintentionally rising. "We live next to that damn river and every year he nearly falls in and one of these years he's going to drown."
Pat shifted uncomfortably. "I just can't do it," he admitted. His voice was tinged with anxiety.
Suddenly, John tumbled from the tree and Sarah's heart leaped into her throat. But within a split second, he bounced back to his feet, unharmed, and swiftly climbed back up. She couldn't help but think of the sheer miracle it would be if he made it to adulthood in one piece.
"Don't you even care?" She asked.
A look of hurt crossed Pat's face. "Of course, I care–"
"Then why can't you just teach him? Just one lesson," she pleaded. "Just enough that he won't immediately drown if he falls in."
Pat shook his head. His face was drained of color. "I can't do it." Panic crept into his voice. "I can't…I just can't…" His words trailed off.
In that moment, understanding dawned on Sarah. She reached over and pulled him close. "I'm so sorry." She kissed his cheek. "I hadn't thought. You don't need to do anything."
Taking a deep breath, Pat steadied himself. "I don't want him to–"
"We'll find someone else who could give him lessons," Sarah reassured him. "You don't need to do it."
"Mama!" John's voice floated down to them, brimming with excitement. "Look how high I am!"
Sarah couldn't see him among the leaves. "Very nice! Please climb down now." Squeezing Pat's hand, she offered a faint smile. "Maybe it's not the river we need to worry about," she mused. "It's that stupid tree. I don't suppose we could find someone who could teach him how to fly."
Pat laughed, the tension dissipating. "I'll be keepin' me eyes open."
With a triumphant shout, John tumbled down the last stretch of the tree. At once he bounded back to his feet and ran to the next one.
Fabrizio looked around the room, taking in the tall mirrors along the walls, the rock crystal chandeliers that hung over every white linen-covered table. The sight of finely dressed patrons, adorned in embroidered dresses and tailored three-piece suits, only deepened his sense of unease. He looked down at his own clothes and frowned.
"I don't like this place," he admitted. "I look out of place."
Rose's response was quick and reassuring. "You look fine," she replied. "Completely respectable."
He would have personally chosen a different restaurant, one that was frequented by a more humble clientele. But since Rose was footing the bill, he felt he had no choice but to go along with her wishes.
"I thought you not liked all this…" He gestured towards the lavish surroundings. "Money."
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the tines of her fork across the pristine tablecloth. "That is what I told Jack," she confessed. "But I've come to realize that money you've earned yourself... it tastes different." She leaned in closer, as if sharing a profound secret. "It makes me feel powerful. Like I'm in control of my own life for once." A grin spread across her face. "It's intoxicating."
Fabrizio nodded. "I get there, one day," he replied.
"I know you will."
Rose had once extended a generous offer, a significant sum of money that would have ensured his comfort for a long time. However, he had adamantly refused, threatening to sever ties with her if she insisted further. She quickly withdrew the offer and never brought it up again. It was as she had said, he preferred to be in control of his own life, to build his fortune himself.
Their conversation paused as their food arrived. It was all unfamiliar to Fabrizio and he couldn't help but wonder what Jack would have thought of him indulging in smoked salmon and savoring filets smothered in a velvety mushroom sauce, accompanied by wine secretly hidden in coffee cups.
"Where is Lelia from?" Fabrizio suddenly asked.
"My secretary? New York," Rose responded, setting down her fork. She shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry but I don't know more than that. I don't know her all that well."
He raised an eyebrow. "She work for you for two years, yes?"
"I'm busy," she confessed. "I hardly have the time to sit down and have a chat with her."
He smiled. "But you have time for me, yes?"
"Of course I do. You knew Jack," she said. She picked up her fork again. "I also enjoy your company," she quickly added.
"I like you too," he replied. He understood why Jack had liked her so much. "Tell me what you working on now."
"This stays between us," she began, casting a quick glance around the room to ensure their privacy. "And that waiter over there who's clearly eavesdropping." The waiter swiftly averted his gaze and retreated. "Right now we're working on a comedy about a young woman who falls in love with a Count."
"That is every picture," he teased.
"This one is different," Rose insisted.
Fabrizio laughed. "You said that last time."
Rose playfully tossed a piece of bread at him, which he effortlessly caught in mid-air. "You'll see it when it's finished though, right?" She asked him.
"Of course," he replied. "I always see them. They very good."
Sarah had made it clear that she didn't want Kate involved, but she couldn't simply ignore the situation. She knew her brother too well—his stubbornness, his obliviousness to the bigger picture. He needed someone to spell it out for him and Kate doubted that Sarah would be able to do so.
She left Tommy with Sarah while she supposedly ran errands, instead walking swiftly to Sarah's house. She knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Annoyed, she circled around the building, drawn by the sound of chopping wood.
"A bit warm for a fire, isn't it?" She asked.
Pat paused in his chopping, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and gave her a questioning look. "If ye're searchin' for Sarah, I reckon she's at yer own place."
"I'm not searchin' for Sarah. I'm searchin' for yerself."
A look of skepticism crossed his face.
Stepping forward, Kate reached out and gently took the ax out of his hands. "For me own safety," she explained, not that she really believed she was in danger. "Now, I'm goin' to ask ye something and I need ye to be honest with me."
"Sure," Pat said, keeping his gaze on the ax.
"What is the matter with ye?" She had meant to ease into it but the words slipped out before she could stop them.
He sighed. "Whatever it is, I'm sure yer about to tell me."
"Why haven't ye married Sarah yet?"
Pat crossed his arms. "Now who's meddlin'?" He asked.
"Just give me an honest answer, will ye?"
"It's not any of yer concern, now, is it?" he replied.
"Patrick Murphy." Kate took a step towards him. "She's already havin' a tough go of it here. Ye shouldn't be makin' it any harder."
A look of confusion came over his face. "Sarah seems perfectly content to me. Can ye hand that back? I'd rather not end up in pieces."
"Aye, well yer not the brightest then," Kate said.
"Katie, the ax—" His voice carried a note of urgency
"I reckon ye haven't heard a whisper of what folks are sayin' in town, have ye?"
Pat rubbed the back of his neck. "No one's uttered a single word to me."
"Of course they haven't, not to you. Because ye're a man, and men can go about as they please." Kate narrowed her eyes. "It's always the women who bear the burden. Tell me, have ye even noticed how she hardly steps foot outside the house?"
"I'm at the mill six days of the week, how could I—"
Kate cut him off. "I'll put it plain and simple for ye." She absentmindedly ran a finger along the blade. "Either marry her or move out before ye destroy her reputation beyond repair. Now, I know ye don't give a damn about yer own reputation, but ye better care about hers."
"Are ye tryin' to threaten me?"
She blinked in surprise. "What?" She looked at the ax in her hands. "Ah, I forgot about that." She tossed it into the grass and sighed heavily. "Patrick, I'm askin' ye to consider someone other than yerself for once."
"Please go away," he insisted.
"I'm goin'," Kate replied. "Just think about what I said."
As she walked away, the sound of chopping wood resumed and she frowned. She didn't know if she had made things better or worse. "Oh, I pray it's not worse," she silently pleaded as she hurried back to her own home.
Fall
The 21 Club was packed as it always was but Cal managed to find himself an empty seat at the bar. The soft glow of light reflected off the bottles lining the shelves and shimmered against the sequins adorning the women's dresses. The room was loud, filled with a cacophony of laughing and each person nearly shouting to be heard over each other. Cal was always filled with amazement at the sight. If he had to guess, he would've said that Prohibition had only increased the place's business.
He sipped his bourbon thoughtfully as he considered Dinah. He would've given anything to turn things back and married differently or not married at all. It would've been easier. But people of his class weren't given a choice. They consolidated and added to their fortunes while jockeying for position on the social ladder. Love was always an afterthought, if it came into the picture at all.
"Who're you drinking away?" A man had squeezed himself into an open space beside him. Sporting a bow tie under his chin and a white fedora on his head, he flashed a wide grin.
Cal studied him, raising an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" He asked.
The man tapped the glass with a finger. "A man only drinks like that if they're drinking someone away. Usually a woman."
"I'm not drinking anyone away," Cal replied. "I'm only drinking."
"And looking mighty unhappy at doing it."
"I'm not unhappy," he insisted.
"No?" The man gestured to the room. "Everyone else seems much happier."
"Maybe they've over-happy."
The man laughed. "Max Hoff," he said, holding out his hand. "Apologies for prying. I can't stand seeing someone not enjoying themselves at my bar."
Cal shook his hand. "Caledon Hockley. This really your place?"
"Indeed," Max replied, puffing out his chest in pride. "One of several establishments I own."
"Forgive me if this seems impertinent," Cal began. "But how do you get away with a place like this?" The bar was positively overflowing with illegal liquor.
"Ah, that's an easy secret," Max said. "You just need to respect everyone's self-interest and speak easily about it."
"Wait, what?"
Max beckoned to the bartender. "Get him a complimentary bottle," he instructed, then clapped Cal on the back. "Enjoy," he said before vanishing into the crowd, leaving Cal bewildered.
Cal shrugged. He took the bottle and refilled his glass.
A woman suddenly fell into him, jostling his glass and spilling bourbon on the counter. "Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized. "It's these heels. I just can't seem to be walking in them." Her beaded dress emitted a soft clicking sound with each movement.
Cal looked down at her feet and frowned. "You're barefoot."
"Well, that's the problem then, isn't it? My feet are expecting heels and they just aren't there."
"Did you arrive in heels?"
She shrugged. "I think I must have."
"Do you need help finding them?" Cal didn't know how it would be possible to find a pair of shoes in the crowded bar.
"Oh, no," she replied. "I'll put them back on when I leave." She reached across him, grabbed his glass, and took a drink, leaving a trace of burgundy lipstick on the rim. "Care to trade shoes?"
Cal snatched his glass back from her. "No."
She looked at him and tilted her head to one side. "Are you rich?"
"No, not at all," he replied, sarcastically. "I'm on the brink of bankruptcy, my dear."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," she sympathized, her hand patting his arm comfortingly. "You'll get yourself back on your feet in no time, I'm sure of it. But not if you spend your time in a place like this." She leaned heavily into him and spoke in a loud whisper. "Money has a way of evaporating here. It's the strangest thing."
"You don't say."
She nodded seriously. "It feels like the more you drink, the less money you got. I think they may be connected."
Cal laughed. "That is usually how a bar works."
She reached for his glass again but he quickly moved it out of her grasp. She scrunched up her nose. "I came here with a man," she pondered. "And I think I should find him again before he worries about me. He must be lost."
"I think that's a very good idea."
She gave him a questioning look. "You're not jealous?"
"I don't even know who you are."
"Alice," she replied. "And I cannot believe you're not even the tiniest bit jealous."
"Fine, I'm absolutely jealous," he acquiesced. He studied her and wondered who she really was and what she must be like when sober. Despite her expensive-looking dress, he was certain that she wouldn't be accepted among his circle.
Her face brightened. "Well, that can't be helped." She tapped his arm again.
"I think I see your friend over there," Cal said. He pointed to the far side of the room.
Alice followed his gesture. She stood on her tip toes and looked into the crowd. "Oh, right. There he is."
"Really?" He couldn't help the surprise in his voice. "I mean, of course that's him. I think he's looking for you."
Alice smiled at him. "I'm sure you're right and I best be off. How's my lipstick? Have you seen my shoes?" She spoke too quickly for him to answer.. "It was nice meeting you." She leaned in to kiss him but he stopped her.
"No, no. No need for that," Cal said. He took her bare shoulders and turned her around. "Go that way." He put his hand on her back and gave her a tiny push.
She pouted for a moment but her disappointment was fleeting. "Your loss," she called over her shoulder. With slightly unsteady steps, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving Cal momentarily captivated by their encounter.
Sarah didn't like going out and rarely did it unless it was absolutely necessary. Usually, she took Kate with her but she wanted to prove to herself that she could leave the house and run errands on her own. So, instead, she brought John.
The grocer was just a quick stop, and Sarah hoped to be in and out before her anxiety could catch up with her, reminding her that she was surrounded by unfriendly strangers. The streets were a blur of passing cars, while the sidewalks teemed with a sea of people beneath the vibrant autumn foliage. Sarah quickened her pace, her gaze fixed on the ground, attempting to shield herself from the prying eyes of passersby. In one hand she held a basket and the other clutched John's hand as she pulled him along. A few times he tried to break free, enchanted with the sights around him but she only tightened her grip. The last thing she wanted was for him to dart into traffic.
Slipping inside the grocer, Sarah's heart sank at the sight of the long line snaking towards the counter. She let out a quiet groan, inhaling deeply to steady herself before joining the back of the queue. At once John pulled free from her grasp and ran off to the other side of the store to stare open-mouthed at a tower of canned goods that lined the wall.
"John!" Sarah called to him. "Come back over here."
A woman took her place behind her in line. "Mrs. Clarke! Imagine running into you here," the woman said before bringing a hand to her mouth. "Oh, I'm so sorry. That must not be right. I'm afraid I don't know your maiden name."
Sarah forced a polite smile. "My surname is still Clarke."
"But you were hardly married."
"I don't believe 'hardly' exists in marriage." Sarah beckoned to her son again. "John, come here ."
"John was such a wonderful man," the woman said. "He is very sorely missed."
"I agree, I miss him too."
A hint of sympathy flickered across the woman's face, but it quickly faded. "I don't know how you manage to stay in his house. I couldn't do it. It must feel like sleeping in someone else's home every night."
"Well, it doesn't," Sarah replied through gritted teeth. Hearing her own worries spoken aloud by a stranger made her feel cold in the pit of her stomach.
"You know," the woman continued. "At one time I had hoped he might settle down with my own Helen." The woman sighed wistfully. "But there's no helping preferences. I told Helen that you must've been a very special woman if he had preferred a stranger over her."
"I was not a stranger," Sarah clarified. She had known John for so many years before their brief marriage. "We grew up together."
Finally, John returned to her side and looked up at the woman with curious eyes.
"Why, aren't you a handsome lad," the woman said, directing her attention to the child. "You look so much like your father…same eyes, unless I'm mistaken." She crouched down to his level, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Does your mother talk about him often?"
John silently shook his head.
The woman reached out and touched his arm. "Some people are rather quick to move on…it can't be helped."
Sarah swiftly pulled John away from the woman's touch. "It's been eight years," she said matter-of-factly.
The woman straightened herself out and looked Sarah in the eyes. "Eight years and you've already taken in a lodger ." She smirked. "You must really be struggling for money."
Sarah could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. She looked down at John then back at the woman. "I'm sorry, I've completely forgotten. We have an appointment. We can't be late."
The woman raised her eyebrows. "Well, young man," she said, looking once more at John. "If you ever wish to know more about your father, you come find me."
With those words left hanging in the air, Sarah firmly grasped John's hand and pulled him away, leaving the woman and the store behind.
"What about the flour?" John's innocent voice broke the silence.
"We'll borrow some from Kate," Sarah reassured him. "It's not like I can make anything good out of it anyway."
John struggled to keep up with his mother's longer strides. "I don't like her," he said once they were some ways down the street.
Sarah slowed down. "I don't either," she replied, thinking that she was never going to leave her home ever again.
This is goin' to be an utter disaster, Pat thought as he approached Kate's door. It was the dead of night, with the entire neighborhood lost in slumber. He started with a gentle knock, hoping for a response. When no one answered, he mustered the courage to knock again, this time with more force, his anxiety mounting with each passing second.
The door swung open abruptly, revealing Kate standing there in her dressing gown, arms folded and annoyance written on her face. "Are ye really poundin' on me door in the middle of the night?" She demanded.
"Could I have a word with ye?" Pat asked.
"In the middle of the night?"
Just turn around. Just go home. "It's important," he managed to utter.
She stared at him for a moment before shaking her head. "Fine."
"Could we speak privately?"
Kate looked around at the dark street. "More private than this?" she remarked dryly. "There's no soul around, because, once again, it's the dead of night."
Pat felt his resolve wavering. "This was a... I reckon I'm just goin' to go back home," he said.
"Hold on a moment," she said in a tired voice. "We can have a chat up on the roof. Come on."
"The what?"
"Aye, the roof," Kate replied curtly as she led the way through the house. "Sarah and I used to sit up there for a chat. Well, at least before ye showed up."
Pat followed her, stepping out through the dormer window onto the roof. He took a seat away from the edge and out of his sister's reach–just in case her anger got the best of her.
He looked up at the sky, the vast expanse filled with shimmering stars and couldn't help but remember a sky of stars eight years earlier. The last moment everything was right. The last moment they were happy.
"Do ye recall that night when we all went up on deck to gaze at the night sky and there were countless shooting stars?" He asked his sister.
Kate stared at him incredulously. "Ye wake me up in the middle of the night, makin' me climb up onto the roof because apparently an empty street isn't private enough for ye, just to talk about the stars? I'm not doin' this." She moved toward the window, ready to retreat back inside.
"I can't be marryin' her," Pat blurted out.
Kate returned to her seat and looked at her brother. "Why not?"
But now that he had admitted it, he couldn't bring himself to say any more. Instead, he stared up at the stars and didn't answer.
"Patrick Murphy, ye tell me right this moment why ye won't be marryin' that woman or I'm goin' to push ye off this roof," Kate said. "That's not a threat, it's a promise."
He took a deep breath. "I have nothin' to offer her," he admitted at last.
"That's true," Kate quickly agreed.
Pat ignored her comment, his gaze still fixed on the sky. "And everywhere I go, I hear about this wonderful John and how he was all perfect and I can't be livin' up to that."
"This town truly had a love for John," she admitted. "And I'm certain he was a fine man, but he's passed on and yer still here. And for some reason, I can't fathom, Sarah's chosen to be by yer side."
Pat watched as a shooting star streaked across the sky. In the distance, a dog barked, breaking the silence of the night.
"What are ye so afraid of?" Kate asked in a softer voice.
"I can't be takin' care of her and if I were to marry her, I fear she'd grow to resent me," he confessed. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I can't help but wonder if her affection for me is misplaced entirely. Perhaps she's only feelin' sad."
"Oh, Pat," Kate said with a sigh. "Every single day since yer return, I've been tryin' to convince Sarah that she deserves someone far better than ye."
"Have ye?" He wasn't surprised. His sister had never been one to keep her feelings to herself.
"Of course I have," Kate replied. "But Sarah doesn't be wantin' better. She wants yerself." She looked at him. "Though it might just be for yer swimmin' ability. I can't see what else ye have goin' for ye."
Regret for his past mistake still lingered in his mind and he winced at her words. "Are ye ever goin' to forgive me?"
Kate shrugged. "Not yet in any case." She pulled her dressing gown tighter around her as a cold breeze blew over them. "Do ye truly want to marry her?"
"More than anythin' in this world."
"Then marry her."
Still, Pat felt unsure. He looked back up at the sky again and frowned.
"And ye should know," Kate continued, her tone shifting to one of warning. "Sarah may possess the patience of a saint," she said. "But even saints have their limits. And when she finds someone else who's willin' to give her a family and decides to cast ye aside, don't ye be thinkin' ye can come movin' in with me."
