Winter
John followed Dottie up the tree, scrambling to keep up with her much faster pace. He felt unusually nervous, but he kept his fears to himself as his friend seemed to have none of her own. On a normal day, he had no qualms climbing trees, but the branches were snowy and with his gloves on, he struggled to keep a firm grip. Dottie, however, had no such problem.
"Stop peeking up my dress," she called down teasingly.
"Ew, I'm not looking up your dress," John replied. "And if you're so worried, maybe you should wear pants like a real person."
"Hate to break it to you, but women are real people."
"Hardly," he muttered, almost sensing her eye roll. "Would you slow down?"
"Would you hurry up?"
John's foot slipped but he quickly caught himself. He glanced down at the ground and felt a twinge of anxiety. "How high are we going?"
"To the top."
He let out a sigh. "Maybe you are," he said. "I think I'm going to stay right here. It's high enough."
"Chicken."
"Oh, dry up." John reached for what seemed like a sturdy branch, intending to wait for Dottie to climb back down. However, he heard a quiet creak. Before he could react, the creak escalated into a loud crack and suddenly he found himself falling backward. Branches tore at him as he clawed back at them, desperate to break his fall.
The impact with the snow-covered ground sent a sharp pain radiating through his arm and for a moment he laid there, stunned and wondering if he was dead. Then, he took a breath and, wincing, sat up.
"John!" Dottie's concerned voice called from above as she swiftly descended the tree like a nimble squirrel. "Are you alright?" She leaped down the last few feet to join him.
John looked at his arm and frowned. Something didn't seem right. "Think that's…I think I need to…" He fought to hold back tears. He didn't want to cry, especially not in front of Dottie.
"That's broken," she calmly observed. "You need to go to the hospital."
He shook his head, a knot of panic forming in his stomach. "My mom will kill me." She was always telling him not to climb trees, that something terrible was sure to happen.
"I think she'd kill you more if your arm falls off. Come on." Without waiting for a response, Dottie took hold of his good arm and helped him to his feet.
Every step sent more pain jolting through his arm despite his attempts to keep it still. Worry began to creep in. What if his arm couldn't be fixed at all? How would he manage? He'd never learn to drive a car. He'd be entirely helpless for the remainder of his life, however long it might be. The thought of it left him feeling despondent.
They finally reached home. Dottie opened the back door and stuck her head through. "Mrs…John's mom?" She called out.
Sarah came into the room, looking confused.
Upon seeing his mother, John immediately began to cry. "I was climbing…and then…broke…tried to but I couldn't…I don't want my arm to fall off," he choked out the words between sobs.
"He's trying to say that he fell out of a tree and broke his arm," Dottie calmly explained. "At least I think it's broken. It looks broken."
"I see." Sarah gently touched John's arm and he whimpered. "Oh, John," she said gently, pulling him into a tight hug. "It's alright. Broken bones are fixable."
"Dottie says I have to go to the hospital."
"You do," Sarah replied, guiding him onto a chair. "But we have to wait until your father gets home."
"But that'll be forever."
"The hospital is too far to walk," she said. "Two hours won't hurt you."
"I can drive," Dottie suddenly piped up.
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a license?"
"No."
"What about a car?"
"No."
"Didn't think so."
"But I still know how," Dottie insisted.
"MOM!" John was nearly in tears once again.
Sarah kissed his head. "If you like, I can make some cookies while we wait."
He sniffled. "Chocolate cookies?"
"Yes, chocolate cookies."
John considered for a moment and then nodded.
Dottie pulled out a chair and sat next to him. "I'll keep you company."
"Would your parents worry?" Sarah asked from where she was busy measuring flour.
"Nah, they don't care what I do so long as I come home for dinner."
John wiped his nose with his sleeve. "I'm sorry I cried earlier," he said. "I didn't mean to."
"I broke my ankle once." Dottie made a face at the memory. "Cried a whole bunch too. It really hurt."
"Yeah, but you're a girl," he said. "That's to be expected."
"Since you're wounded, I'm not going to smack you for that," she replied. "I was just saying that I don't think there's anything wrong with crying when you're hurting." She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. "Better than getting angry and throwing stuff like some men do."
John looked down at his arm and felt a wave of despair wash over him. He hadn't ever been to the hospital before but, by the way his parents spoke of it, it was a terrible place where terrible things happened. Where people died and came home distraught. After the last time his mother was in there, she hardly left her bed for months afterward. "What are they going to do to my arm?" He asked, suddenly.
"They'll fix it," Sarah said as she stirred ingredients together.
"How?"
"They'll cover it in plaster so the bone can heal and then in a couple months, you'll be as good as new."
His eyes widened. "A couple months? I might as well be dead!"
"Oh, hush. The time will fly by, I promise," Sarah assured him.
"At least you didn't break your leg," Dottie helpfully reminded him. "Or your neck."
"I guess," John replied without much enthusiasm. He didn't see much difference. A broken bone was a broken bone and he was already dreading being cooped up inside for what was sure to feel like an eternity.
It had been Sarah's idea to have Tommy spend the week with them in order to give Kate a little ease in her workload. His strange reluctance to return home afterward left Pat concerned but he didn't want to trouble his sister with it. He was sure that it must've been the typical sadness that came at the end of a holiday and nothing more.
Pat lingered for a time after bringing Tommy back. Henry sat on his lap, happily chewing on the ear of a plush teddy bear while Kate made them some tea. As he sipped it, his thoughts drifted to his own child on the way. He still hoped it would be a girl.
"Have ye thought of any names yet?" Kate asked, seemingly reading his thoughts.
He shook his head. "Not goin' to, until I lay eyes on the child," he replied. "This is…'' he hesitated. "This is about the time she lost the last one."
"I'm not goin' to tell ye not to worry," she said. "But I do have a good feelin' about this one."
"Sarah still hasn't told me." Nearly every day since Christmas, he had been expecting her to break the news to him but each day passed and she hadn't said a word.
Kate sighed. "I think she's a bit fearful to speak it out loud, ye know?"
"Maybe."
"And, honestly, ye know how perceptive she is," she continued. "I'm sure she already knows that ye know. Ye truly can't hide anythin' from her, that's for sure."
Pat smiled. Sarah did seem to always know everything that went on. It was impossible to keep secrets from her, not that he had any desire to.
Henry began to squirm, the plush bear dropped to the ground, and he let out an indignant cry.
Kate stood and scooped him up. "I think I goin' to go put him down for a nap before he has a chance to really get goin'." Henry scrunched up his face as though preparing himself for a battle. "Will ye be headin' off soon?" She asked Pat.
"I'll wait until after ye get back."
Not long after she left, Tommy came into the room with something in his hands and made an immediate beeline for Pat. "This is what I was telling you about before." He held a small ship made of sticks. "Mama gave me some fabric for the sails." He pointed to them. "I was going to make it out of matchsticks but Hugh said they were too expensive."
Pat was surprised to hear Tommy call the man by his first name but, as he considered it, Hugh didn't seem the 'father' sort. "He said matchsticks were too expensive?"
Tommy shrugged. "That's what he said."
"Matchsticks or not, this is really somethin'," Pat said, handing the ship back. "Well done, lad."
"I'm going to try it out in water once it warms up," Tommy replied eagerly. "Going to see if it—" He stopped abruptly as Hugh entered the room.
"What're you doing here?" The man asked, giving them both a look.
"Droppin' Tommy off," Pat replied sharply.
"He's dropped," Hugh said, while rummaging through a cabinet. "Shouldn't you be getting on home then?" Just as he pulled out a bottle of liquor, Tommy attempted to slip past him. "Move out of the way," he demanded, giving the child a forceful shove that sent him to the ground. "Always underfoot, I swear." He followed up with a kick to the ship that had fallen from Tommy's hands.
Pat was immediately on his feet, his heart pounding in his ears.
Hugh looked at him and made a derisive noise. "You have something to say to me?"
But before Pat could respond, Kate came into the room. She took one look around and immediately turned on her brother. "Pat, go home."
"Ye know what he did?" Pat asked, frustrated that she had taken Hugh's side so quickly without even knowing what had happened. "He pushed yer son down."
Hugh scoffed and looked at Tommy. "Did I push you?"
Tommy shook his head timidly.
Kate frowned. "Tommy, go play."
Tommy looked uncertainly at the adults, then scooped up his ship and ran outside, not even pausing to take a coat in his haste to escape the room.
Once he was gone, she put her hands on her hips. "Don't be draggin' me son into whatever little feud ye have goin' on between the two of ye," she said.
"This isn't some little feud," Pat retorted, his anger boiling over. "Ye need to open yer eyes, Katie. Ye married yerself a brute."
Hugh took a step forward, his temper flaring, but Kate positioned herself between them. "Just go home," she told Pat, frustration in her voice. "Please."
"Ye don't even care, do ye?"
She pointed to the door. "Get out of me house."
"Katie—"
"Go," she said. Her voice shook as she spoke. "If ye can't be civil, ye can't be here."
Feeling hurt and defeated, Pat turned and left. How could she be so blind to what was happening in her own home? He didn't understand.
Cal had reached his limit with Dinah's constant provocations and he stepped out of the house in search of an escape. Leaving meant losing time with his children but losing time was better than losing his temper in front of them. His father had always been a model of perfect control to him growing up and while there was a great deal he disliked about the man, that control was one thing he admired and wished to emulate in his own life.
As he strolled down Locust Street, he considered ducking into the 21 Club for a drink. But, yet he hesitated, well aware that once he started drinking, the entire day was lost.
While he was still debating, he looked up to see Fabrizio and Lelia walking toward him. He stared in complete surprise as they were the last people he expected to see in Philadelphia. With all of Fabri's talk about not being able to miss work or spend money on anything, he didn't think they'd ever leave New York.
"What are you two doing here?" Cal asked, a smile crossing his face.
"Late honeymoon," Fabrizio replied with a grin of his own. "Thought we come visit you."
"It was between here and Spokane," Lelia said. "And here is closer."
"Also, we thought you need the company."
Cal was still trying to work out if he should feel offended by Fabri's idea that he needed company when Lelia spoke up again.
"We already stopped by your house," she said. "But a woman turned us away."
"She call us beggars," Fabrizio added.
Cal sighed. "That must've been Dinah," he replied. "I'd apologize for her but…well, that was likely her being nice. It could've been much, much worse. For instance, she could've called the police and accused you of attempting to burgle the place."
"She would do that?"
"She's done that," he said. "To me. That was, of course, back when she still cared whether I came home early or late." It wasn't a pleasant memory but most of his memories involving his wife could be classified as various degrees of unpleasant.
"Well, we were thinking of getting dinner somewhere," Lelia said. "If you know someplace nice."
"The Arcadia is good," Cal replied. "Or Ralph's if you like Italian."
Fabrizio laughed. "I not mind Italian."
As they conversed, Cal noticed two men across the street eavesdropping on their conversation, sparking an uneasy feeling within him. "Really? I would never have guessed."
"We were hoping you'd come with us," Lelia said.
Cal nearly agreed. He certainly wanted to. But he was suddenly too aware of the men watching them, his own contemporaries, talking, judging. A multitude of lessons ingrained from his upbringing echoed in his mind. "I don't think…I have a lot I need to do."
Fabrizio looked at him suspiciously. "You not have time for—"
"No, I'm afraid not," Cal interrupted, taking a step back. Another glance at the two men reinforced his discomfort. There were rules, after all. "Perhaps another time."
"Tomorrow then"
"My week is full."
"You not planning to eat all week then?" There was a note of accusation in Fabrizio's voice.
"Fabri," Lelia said softly, taking his arm. "We're bothering him. We should go."
"Yes, we not want to be rude," Fabrizio replied dryly.
Cal watched them walk away for a moment before ducking into a nearby shop, out of sight of the watchful eyes of everyone on the street. He had regretted his decision almost instantly, knowing deep down that Fabrizio had always been a supportive friend. For so long, he had wished desperately to escape his life but when presented with a brief moment of happiness, he had run right back into the old rules and expectations.
With a deep sigh, he stepped back onto the street with the intent to apologize but they were already gone. He had never bothered to ask where they were staying or how long before they returned home. Feeling despondent, he made up his mind. Early or not, the 21 Club beckoned to him.
"You're not listening, are you?" Sarah asked, her hand gently resting on her belly. She sat on the sofa with her bare feet on Pat's lap, trying to share the news about the letter she recently received from Fabrizio. He and Lelia were planning on surprising Cal in Philadelphia, but it was evident that Pat hadn't been paying much attention.
"I'm hearin' ye," Pat replied, giving her foot a gentle squeeze. "Fabri is goin' to…a place for…I don't know."
Sarah frowned. He had been distracted ever since he brought Tommy home and she didn't know why. If it were anyone else, she would've just asked but she knew from experience that prying only made Pat close up tighter. She had to wait and let him volunteer whatever it was that was bothering him.
But the worry gnawed at her and she attempted to broach the topic delicately. "Pat," she began. "Did everything…how was—"
The door suddenly flew open and Kate stormed in, not bothering to knock and looking visibly upset. Her gaze landed on Pat who flinched beneath it. "How dare ye come into me house and accuse me of not carin'."
Sarah sighed wearily; it seemed they were arguing again.
Pat's grip on her foot tightened momentarily. "Right ye care so much, ye rather take his side than—
"He's me husband. I have to take his side."
"He pushed Tommy."
Sarah brought her feet to the ground with a soft thud. "He did what?"
Kate seemed taken aback. "Tommy is fine," she replied, defensively.
Pat glared at her. "He was on the ground."
"Hugh says he tripped over him." Kate looked to Sarah for help. "It was an accident."
"It wasn't an accident," Pat replied. "I saw it happen. For God's sake, what has he done to ye?"
Sarah grabbed his arm. "Pat, stop." She loved them both and knew how volatile things could become when they argued. She hadn't forgotten the heated argument seven years earlier when they nearly wished each other dead and she was certain Pat hadn't forgotten it either.
But, of course, Pat didn't listen to her. "The Katie I know wouldn't have stood for him mistreatin' her child."
A dark look crossed Kate's face and Sarah could see her tense up. "Stop interferin' in me life," she said, turning to leave.
"Has he laid a hand on ye yet?" Pat called out, unable to let go.
"Pat!" Sarah looked at him in shock.
Kate remained silent, one hand on the door.
"Has he?" He repeated.
There was a sharp intake of breath and Kate turned to look at him, tears welling up in her eyes. "If ye won't stay out of me life, I'll cut ye out of it." She left, slamming the door behind her.
Sarah quickly followed her out. "Kate!"
Kate stopped and looked at her.
"I don't know what's going on between you but..." Sarah wanted to hug her but thought better of it. "Pat's not trying to interfere. He's worried about you. I think he's trying to protect you."
Kate wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "I know that and I'm not angry with him. I'm really not. I just…" She took a deep breath before she began again, in a lower voice. "Hugh frightens me. Sometimes, when he's been drinkin' or when he's angry. And all I can think of every time I see Pat startin' another fight with him is that one of these days, Hugh's goin' to kill him."
Sarah thought of the incident at the mill, the suspicions that she had never brought up to anyone…not Pat…not Kate…and felt a flutter of unease. "That's not going to happen," she said, at last. "I promise."
Kate smiled softly. "I'm sure yer right."
"I know I am." Sarah only wished she felt as certain as she sounded.
Spring
John was fairly certain that he must've been cursed. There was no other explanation for breaking his arm right in the middle of peak sledding season. All of that beautiful snow that had fallen throughout January and February and it was other children who flew down the hills and built the snowmen. Not that he was planning on letting his plaster cast stop him. His mother had confiscated his sled and scolded him…something about needing to let his arm heal or not being able to get the plaster wet…he wasn't paying any attention. It hardly seemed important. And it was simply impossible to build a snowman with one arm. He certainly tried but the snow only fell apart, he couldn't lift the head onto the body, and he ended up with a lopsided lying down snowman that sent Dottie into a fit of laughter.
And now that his cast was finally removed—sweet freedom, indeed, he still wasn't allowed to do anything fun as he had been strictly forbidden from climbing trees. Without any other way to pass the time and Dottie MIA—she had said something about being forced to spend time with her family, he had nothing else to do but sit on the porch swing, his bare feet up along the backrest, and watch a beetle slowly crawl along the underside of the porch roof. There was a spider web sitting directly in its path and he was curious to see if the beetle would see it before it was too late. At last moment, the insect spread its wings and flew away and John let out an audible sigh, bored once again. I wish I was a beetle , he thought. Then I could go somewhere interesting.
"There ye are," Pat's voice broke through his thoughts. "Put yer feet down. I have somethin' for ye."
John obediently swung his feet down and looked over only for his gaze to land on a green bicycle. His eyes widened in amazement only to narrow in suspicion. For years, he had been told that bicycles were too expensive and he had long ago given up hope of ever having one of his own.
"Yer mother wanted to wait until Christmas but I thought ye looked like ye needed somethin' to do," Pat explained. "And it's not brand new, only secondhand." He looked at the bicycle and frowned. "It took me forever to track it—"
Unable to contain his joy a moment longer, John interrupted him with a tight hug, wordlessly conveying his gratitude.
Pat looked surprised and patted him on the back. "Ye know how to ride?"
"Some of the boys at school let me ride theirs during breaks." John ran his hand along the frame, feeling the cold metal beneath his touch.
"In that case, don't be goin' too far and if ye fall, fall on yer right side," Pat said teasingly. "Yer left breaks too easy, ye know?"
John looked up at him. "You mean I can ride it now?"
"It's yers isn't it?" Pat ruffled his hair. "Just keep out of traffic, mind ye."
John hopped onto the bicycle, feeling the sharp edges of the pedals beneath his bare feet. As he pedaled away from the house, he thought he heard his father say something about needing shoes but he had no intention of turning back.
Dottie was going to be so surprised.
Fabrizio sat across from Rose, picking at his stuffed duck without much appetite. His mind continuously drifted away from the conversation. Her words about some work-related issue echoed in his ears but they seemed distant and fragmented. Writers wanting more money, actors demanding less money? It was a jumble of sounds that he struggled to piece together, only catching every third word or so.
Instead, his thoughts remained locked on Cal and the uncomfortable situation they had all found themselves in not so long ago. While Lelia had already dismissed it, attributing it to Cal having a bad day, Fabrizio couldn't so easily brush it off. He was still confused, hurt, and angry.
Abruptly, Rose set her fork down with a soft clink. "What is going on with you? I don't think you've heard a single word I've been saying."
Fabrizio looked at her and sighed. He had never considered Rose as someone he could confide in. Their lunches usually involved him as the silent listener while she unraveled the threads of her own life. However, this time, she looked at him with genuine interest in her eyes. And, although he was hesitant, considering her previous history with Cal, he couldn't hold back. "Lelia and I, a few months ago, we went to see Cal but he…" He began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words.
"He wanted nothing more to do with you?" Rose finished the sentence for him.
Fabrizio nodded, surprised that she understood so readily. "It make no sense."
She laughed suddenly. "I'm sorry but that is Cal for you," she explained, leaning slightly forward. "Appearances have always been everything to him and, with you showing up unexpectedly into his world, you upset his precious life."
Despite her certainty, Fabrizio couldn't shake his own doubts. "But maybe he changed."
"I don't believe that for one moment. I do believe that he might've been bored and found it a lark to try something new for once. His own form of slumming, I suppose. But a tiger doesn't change his spots."
"Leopard."
"What?" She looked perplexed.
"A leopard not change its spots," Fabrizio explained. "Tigers have stripes."
Rose shook her head. "Whatever it is, Cal is still the same man he always was. I'm sure of it," she said, taking a sip from her glass. "You forget I was engaged to him. I know him."
She seemed so confident, so certain. But he was still unsure. He had to believe that people could change because otherwise, what was even the point? He was about to bring it up again but Rose had already launched into another tirade against greedy actors. Fabrizio sighed and returned to picking at his duck.
Pat was jolted awake, startled by a sudden scream. It took him just a fraction of a second to remember that he was in his bed with Sarah beside him and not on the slanting deck of a ship full of terrified people.
"Sarah?" He called, trying to gently shake her awake. But she remained caught in the throes of her nightmare. In an effort to see better, he turned on the bedside lamp, its glow casting shadows across the walls, and Sarah abruptly woke. Still half-living the horrors of her dream she immediately started to cry.
Pat reached for her but she pushed him away. "Sarah, it was only a dream," he told her. Sarah said something, her words undecipherable. But somewhere in her distress, he thought he caught the word 'wrong.'
"What's wrong?" He moved closer to her. "Are ye—" But as his gaze fell upon her rounded belly, he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. The thought of losing a second child, particularly when she was so close, was unimaginable.
"Us. Everything," she forced the words out between sobs. "I shouldn't be doing this."
"Oh, Sarah." He wrapped his arms around her and drew her close, refusing to let her pull away. "It's only yer night terrors talkin'."
She cried softly onto his shoulder and he rubbed her back.
"What was it now that was hauntin' yer sleep?" Pat asked.
"We were on that...that ship," she began in a weak voice. "And it was sinking but faster than it did. All the water was coming up and I could see it. I had the baby in my arms and I tried to get into a lifeboat but there wasn't enough room for the both of us. Which is absurd. She was so tiny. I could've just held her. But…" Her voice faltered and she struggled to go on. "Pat, I threw her overboard. Right into the water. Like she was nothing." She looked at him, her anguish spilling over. "I don't deserve this child."
"Of course, ye deserve—"
"I threw her overboard."
"In a dream," Pat reiterated, his voice gentle yet firm. "Ye'd never do something like that in yer wakin' life."
"But what if—"
The bedroom door suddenly swung open to reveal John standing in the doorway, a shoe held up in his hand. "I heard screaming."
"It was only a nightmare," Pat explained. "Go back to bed."
"Are you sure?" John looked around the room. "Someone could've broken in."
"I'm certain. Now go on."
John gave them a look. "Fine. But let me know if someone does break in."
"Goodnight."
As John left, Pat attempted to lighten the atmosphere, however briefly. "Brave lad," he said. "He was ready to take on a robber with just his shoe."
A muffled sound escaped Sarah, part sob, part laughter, and Pat felt a flicker of relief. "Are ye feelin' better?" He asked.
She sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. "It just seems so impossible that something good could possibly happen to us."
"Sarah, we've already had good things happen to us," Pat replied. "And why wouldn't we deserve more?"
She took his hand and placed it on her stomach. "Feel," she said. "He hasn't stopped moving since I woke up."
"She," Pat corrected.
"You don't know it's a girl."
"Ye don't know it's a boy either," he pointed out.
"No, I suppose I don't." She leaned in to kiss him.
As Pat felt the gentle movements beneath his touch, a soft smile spread across his face. Despite his words, it did seem so unreal that something so good was happening for them. He said a brief silent prayer that everything would continue that way.
Cal had tried to forget it and move on. Immerse himself back into his own world...the world where he belonged. Among his own kind. But he despised every moment of it. He longed to return to the time before the sinking when he lived in the blissful ignorance of his insulated world, where he didn't care that his "friends" were merely drawn to his status and wealth. But he couldn't. He had seen what it was like outside of his class's microcosm and it was all he could think of.
He knew that he needed to make things right with Fabrizio and Lelia. He had so few true friends, people who cared about the man beneath the money. He couldn't afford to turn anyone away, especially not those who had seen the real him and accepted him for it.
Cal sat on the steps outside of Fabrizio's building. At least, he was fairly certain that it was the correct building. He didn't know which apartment he was looking for specifically and he certainly didn't want to go around knocking on every door, but he hoped to catch the man returning home from a day of work. He looked up at the building as he waited, several windows thrown open to coax in the spring breeze, and wondered if it was one of those blocks of 'squalid apartments' that Dinah detested so much.
Before long he saw Fabrizio approaching and he jumped to his feet.
An unpleasant look came over Fabrizio's face. "How you find me?" He asked, a hint of unpleasant surprise in his voice.
"It's not all that difficult," Cal explained. "With enough money—"
"Go away."
"I want to explain about what happened before," Cal persisted, stepping in front of Fabrizio as he tried to reach the door.
Fabrizio crossed his arms and waited for him to continue.
Cal took a deep breath. "I was...uh…" He found it difficult to put into words when he didn't fully understand why he had done what he did. All because he was afraid of a few people's opinions. He didn't even care for those people. But it was like there was something innate inside of him that he couldn't stop, a deep-rooted fear of judgment that had always haunted him.
"You can't explain."
"I am truly sorry," Cal sincerely apologized. "I had acted rudely and that's not the way I was raised—"
"No," Fabrizio interrupted him. "It is way you were raised. We only friends when no one you know can see us. You made that very clear."
He was beginning to feel desperate. "That's not true one bit."
Fabrizio's expression softened slightly, but he didn't back down. "No, it is," he said. He pushed past him to reach the door. "Now please go before Lelia come home. I won't have you bother her." Without waiting for a response, he went inside and the door closed behind him.
Cal stared at the closed door for a moment, not at all surprised. If their places had been reversed, he wouldn't have forgiven him either. At last, he sighed and turned to leave. A wasted trip.
Summer
Sarah was utterly exhausted, but it was a good sort of tired. She sat in bed, her back pressed against the headboard for support, Pat sitting close beside her. Cradled in her arms was the tiniest baby—a little girl who, in Sarah's eyes, embodied perfection. Sarah couldn't help but be captivated by her, wanting to study every inch of her—her tiny fingers, her nose, and the deepest blue eyes. Sarah had heard that baby's eyes would sometimes change colors, but she secretly hoped those blue eyes would stay that way.
"I'm going to do so much better with you," she said softly. "You're never going to doubt that you're loved."
"She truly is perfect, isn't it?" Pat said, just as much mesmerized by her.
Sarah smiled. "Ten fingers and ten toes," she replied as she leaned her head on his shoulder. "She still needs a name."
In the quietness that followed, the baby stirred, opening her eyes and peering up at them as though wishing to take part in the decision making.
"Eileen," Pat suggested at last.
"Eileen," she repeated thoughtfully, testing it out. "I like it. It fits her perfectly."
"It's me mother's name," he shared, his voice carrying with it a touch of melancholy.
"I like it even more now," Sarah said. She looked at him. "You've never talked about your mother before."
Pat shrugged. "Likely as not, I'll never be seein' her again."
"You don't know that."
"She's rooted in Ireland and ye couldn't bribe me to set foot on a ship again."
"You managed it twice before," she reminded him.
"The first time, I didn't realize how terrible it'd be," he replied. "And the second, I did it for yerself." He kissed her cheek affectionately. "And it was worth it."
Eileen let out a tiny yawn and her little arms jerked.
"What's she like?" Sarah asked.
Pat was looking at the baby and didn't respond immediately.
"Pat, tell me about your mother," she repeated.
He sighed. 'Not sure what to say. She played the piano. Taught Katie a bit of it. Tried to teach me but I never sat still long enough to learn."
Sarah laughed softly. "I can imagine."
Pat smiled. "Me father's always lookin' for somethin' better. And me mother, bless her heart, she'd follow him wherever he led, never once complainin'. Whether it was tryin' out a new crop or raisin' goats, which turned out to be a proper disaster, or the time he decided on a whim to pack us all up and move to Queenstown." He fell silent.
Sarah, suspecting that he wasn't finished, waited for him to continue.
After a moment, Pat went on. "Katie was always frustrated with her, ye know. She'd say she should've put her foot down, stopped him from bouncin' from one endeavor to the next, instead of actin' the meek, dutiful wife." He looked at Sarah. "But I never saw her that way. I think she just believed in him that much, had faith in his dreams." He sighed. "And now here is Katie fallin' into the role of meek, dutiful wife. I never would've thought it of her."
"You're being unfair," Sarah said gently. "Most women don't get to choose their roles." She looked at him kindly. "But you know Kate. She'll be fine. I don't think there's much out there that she can't handle."
"Maybe yer right," Pat admitted.
"I am," Sarah said with quiet certainty, leaning her head on his shoulder again. She had no doubt that Kate would always come out on top, no matter who or what she was up against.
While Hugh was at work, Kate took the opportunity to build a fort on the porch using kitchen chairs and blankets stripped from the beds. After setting it up, she prepared a spread of egg and cheese sandwiches, a bowl of strawberries, and a special plate with everything cut into small, easy-to-grab pieces for Henry. To complete the meal, she included a box of Nabisco Sugar Wafers for dessert. Once everything was set, they gathered beneath the fort, with Henry on her lap and Tommy by her side as they dove into their lunch.
"But why can't I?" Tommy whined. He had been asking to take his little boat out onto the river for months.
"I've told ye this before. The river is too big," Kate explained patiently. "But we can fill the tub up later if ye want to see if it floats."
"It has to be a real river," he insisted. "With fish and waves and everything."
Her lips pressed into a gentle line and she shook her head. "I said no." It was all too easy to imagine him falling in, lost in the current with no one there to save him.
Tommy looked down at the sandwich in his hands and let out a dramatic sigh.
"What if I find ye a smaller river for yer boat?" She suggested, wondering just how she would manage something like that.
"Outside?"
"Aye, outside."
Tommy's face lit up but after a moment it was as though the light went out. "Probably won't float anymore."
"And why would ye be sayin' that?"
"Because he broke it."
"Yer father?" Kate asked. "Or Henry?" The toddler looked up at his name.
"Hugh," Tommy replied with all the vehemence that a seven year old could manage. "And he's not my father. My father's dead."
She felt a flicker of irritation run through her. It wasn't Hugh's business to tell Tommy anything about her first husband. "Of course, he's yer father."
"He says he's not."
Kate took a moment to kiss the back of Henry's head. "He was likely only teasin' ye," she replied. "Of course, he's yer father."
Tommy simply shrugged and reached for a second sandwich.
"He cares about ye," she continued, hoping it was true but remembering his words after Henry had been born all too clearly.
"He broke my boat." Tommy shoved the remainder of his sandwich into his mouth. "I don't like him," he grumbled, his words muffled by the food in his mouth.
Kate didn't know how to respond. To hide the silence, she opened the box of cookies and offered one to Tommy. "Did I ever tell ye about me father? That'd be yer grandfather."
Tommy shook his head.
"Well, he grew up on this massive farm. Stretched as far as the eye could see. There were horses and goats, and this cranky old chicken that used to chase him around the yard."
He looked at her in wonder. "Is he still there? Could we go see it?"
"No, the farm went through some rough times, it did. He had to sell it when I was sixteen," Kate replied. "And then we all moved to a big city."
"So you got to play with the goats and the horses and the—Henry, no!" Tommy suddenly scolded Henry who had been reaching for the cookie in his hand. The toddler's face crumpled and he immediately burst into tears.
"For a time." Kate reached for a piece of strawberry and offered it to Henry who stopped crying at once. "I spent most of me time at a boardin' school."
"What's a boarding school?"
"It's a school ye can never leave."
"Did you escape?" Tommy asked in a low voice.
"I did, indeed," she replied with a conspiratorial whisper, leaning in closer to Tommy as if sharing a secret. "I escaped in the dead of night."
"Wow," he whispered, completely enthralled. "Then what happened?"
"I was chased across all of Ireland," she said. "Hopped on a boat and now here I am."
"Are they still chasing you?"
"Nah," Kate replied with a grin. "Yer uncle fought them all off." She reached for a cloth and began to wipe Henry's face and fingers clean.
Tommy looked down thoughtfully at the cookie in his hands. "Could he fight off…" His voice stopped abruptly.
"Fight off what?"
"Nothing." He shrugged and popped the cookie into his mouth.
Kate was fairly certain what he had been about to say and the realization nearly broke her heart.
With his new bicycle, John felt as though he were no longer constrained to the woods behind his house. Despite being told to stay close, he could go anywhere and do anything he wished. It was Dottie's idea to go to the Liberty Theater, even though they lacked the money for admission, and they couldn't agree on which film to watch—Dottie insisted on "Son of the Sheikh," while he argued for "The Black Pirate." Still, they clung to the hope that an unlocked door or a compassionate soul might purchase them tickets.
"Would you go faster?" Dottie asked from where she sat perched on the handlebars of his bicycle. "We're going to miss both films if you don't hurry up."
"I'm trying but you're too heavy," John replied. "And this is all uphill."
"Are you calling me fat?"
"No, not fat, just... you know. And it's hard to see the road."
"I'll let you know if you're going to hit something."
John sighed and pedaled harder, his legs burning with effort.
"So what's she look like?" Dottie asked suddenly.
"What's who look like?"
"Your new sister."
"Oh, her." John considered the question for a moment. "She's kind of ugly and she's always crying." Day and night...sometimes it felt as though she never stopped.
"Babies cry a lot."
"She also smells," he insisted.
"But do you like her?"
He shrugged. "I suppose if I don't have to smell her or hear her, she's alright."
Without warning, the front tire struck a rock, and before John knew what was happening, his balance was lost. They all tumbled to the ground, the bicycle crashing down on top of them.
Slowly, they both rose to their feet. John glanced down, noticing his bleeding knee, and he brushed his palm against it, feeling the sharp sting. Sighing with relief, he murmured to himself, "At least nothing's broken."
He looked over at Dottie who was busy inspecting her elbow. "Did you break your arm?" He asked, wondering how they would explain another broken bone.
She shook her head. "Just a skinned elbow. Think I'll live."
He righted the bicycle and looked at it carefully. It seemed alright and he let out a second sigh of relief. A broken bone would've been hard to explain, but breaking his new bicycle—the one his father had spent forever tracking down—would've been impossible.
"I can pedal for a bit, if you want," Dottie offered.
John shook his head. "Absolutely not," he said. "But I think we should walk for a bit. At least until we get over this hill."
"Fine."
They started walking, the bicycle by his side.
"Do you think your mother's going to have any more babies?" Dottie asked.
"I hope not," John responded honestly. The thought of more crying, smelly babies in the house was overwhelming. One was more than enough.
Sarah was asleep, enjoying a much deserved rest and Eileen rested in her crib nearby, close enough that her cries would wake her. But Pat wasn't about to let that happen. The first moment the infant made a sound, he gently scooped her up.
"Hush now," he softly told her. "Ye need to let yer mother rest." He looked down at his wife but she remained asleep.
Pat carried her down the stairs and stepped out onto the porch. It was an ideal summer day, a bit warm in the sun but comfortably cool in the shade with a pleasant breeze over all.
"So this right here," he said, stepping out onto the front lawn. "This right here is where I first laid eyes on yer mother." He thought back to Sarah throwing her arms around him, breaking down in tears. Except that wasn't the first moment. "The first time I saw her after I came back," he corrected himself. "The very first time was in a lifeboat, although I don't remember it. Yer mother remembers it, but I don't. Perhaps that's for the best." There were days when he was thankful that the hours after the sinking were lost to him, only showing up in his nightmares. "The first time I remember seein' her was on another boat, a much larger one. I think it was rainin' at the time. And then," he turned the infant toward the porch. "This, right here by these steps, is where I first kissed her. Well, she kissed me...a bit of a bold move, if ye ask me. I had just fixed these wind chimes for her and I reckon she might've been a wee bit grateful." He ran his fingers through the wind chimes, listening to their soft tinkling. "That was also the moment that I thought I might've loved her."
Pat turned away from the porch and walked around the house. "Ye see all these lovely trees? I reckon yer brother's fallen out of every one of them." He didn't know how the child hadn't broken anything more serious than his arm yet. "And see them green things growin' up along that trellis?" He asked as he walked by the garden which was more of a tangle of weeds than a proper one. "Those are peas and the moment yer old enough to grasp them, yer mother's goin' to make ye help shell them. It's terribly borin' and takes forever, but ye'll help anyway just because she's the one to ask and ye can never say no to her. But maybe that's just me." He paused next to John's stone, still meticulously cared for after all the years. "Yer mother's goin' to have to tell ye all about this but ye should know that it means a great deal to her which means it also means a great deal to me as well."
He left the yard and stepped into the woods, following a path that John had worn through the underbrush. Pat stopped in front of a cluster of salmonberry bushes already full of bright orange berries just waiting to be picked. "And this is where I realized I had to marry her," he said. "For purely selfish reasons, of course. I wanted her all to meself."
Pat turned at the sound of approaching footsteps and smiled at the sight of Sarah.
"Oh, thank God," she said. "I woke up and she wasn't there and I thought—"
"Did ye think she went for a walk?" Pat asked. "She can hardly lift her head."
"Don't laugh at me."
"I'd never laugh at ye," he said sincerely. "I was just showin' her around. Ye know she hasn't had a proper tour yet."
Sarah laughed. "What could you possibly be showing her?"
"All the important places," he replied. "Like right here."
"Here?"
"It's where I asked ye to marry me," Pat smiled at her. "But that's not the important bit."
"It's not?"
"What truly matters to me is that ye said yes."
Sarah stepped forward and kissed him. "And I'd say yes again," she said softly.
Fall
Fabrizio had received yet another letter from Cal. He had already written several times, apologizing persistently, but Fabrizio wasn't even sure he wanted to read the letters anymore. He did notice that Cal never sent a letter to Lelia, respecting his wish not to bother her with his apologies, and for that he was grateful.
Lelia, however, had noticed the letters piling up and, at last, she stopped him, curiosity and concern in her eyes. "What does he want?"
"He tried to apologize but I'm not listening."
She reached out and gently took the letter from him, opening it to read its contents. After a moment, she sighed softly.
"What?"
"I think that maybe you should listen to him," she suggested.
"Why?"
"Because you're friends and he's admitted his mistake and now he's trying to fix it."
"We're not friends," Fabrizio replied bitterly. "He made that very clear." He had also tried to apologize, going so far as showing in New York but Fabri had a hard time believing any of it.
"You were friends enough to want him at our wedding," Lelia reminded him. "And he was friends enough to want you to go to Kate's wedding with him."
Fabrizio looked at the letter in her hands and frowned. Rose had laughed when he told her what had happened. Had said that that was who he always was.
"He's clearly trying," she continued.
"Rose said—"
Lelia rolled her eyes dismissively. "Why in heaven's name would you listen to her?"
"She knows him and she said—"
"She was what? Engaged to him for a year and before that knew him for another year, maybe two?" Lelia shook her head. "Fabri, you've known him for twelve years. I think, by this point, you know the man better than she does."
Fabrizio took her hand and brought it to his lips. "What you want me to do?" He asked, looking her in the eyes.
"Start by reading his letters," she suggested, handing him the letter in her hand. "The man is clearly hurting and it won't hurt you to at least give him a chance..a real chance to explain.
He looked at the letter and sighed. "I think on it."
"That's all I ask," Lelia replied with a gentle smile.
Kate held Eileen on her lap, overjoyed at seeing her new niece. She knew how badly Sarah and Pat had wanted a child and she was thrilled for them, especially knowing how much her brother had hoped for a daughter. "She has Murphy eyes," Kate observed with a smile.
"What?" Sarah looked at her curiously.
"Everyone in our family has that shade of blue," Kate explained.
"They could change," Sarah said. "I've heard baby eyes can change colors."
"These won't," Kate said confidently. "She looks just like Pat." Henry made a noise from the Kiddie Koop where he was playing. She looked at him for a moment and, after making sure he was fine, turned back to Sarah. "How's she been so far?"
"An angel of a baby," Sarah replied happily. "Already seems to prefer Pat. I don't know why everyone always prefers him."
Kate shrugged. "Maybe they all see him as a giant child himself," she teased. "Has he been helpin'?
"He's been wonderful."
"Aren't ye the lucky one."
Before Sarah could respond, Hugh walked into the room and an uneasy silence fell upon them.
He immediately approached them, his eyes fixated on Sarah. "I heard you had a baby," he said.
"I did," Sarah replied. "This is Eileen."
Without waiting for permission, Hugh reached out and, before Kate could react, he picked the child up off her lap. Beside her, she could see Sarah tense up.
Hugh bounced the baby playfully. "It's too bad about it being a girl though."
"We're happy she's a girl," Sarah replied coolly.
"I suppose Pat couldn't do any better."
"Please hand her back." Sarah stood and reached for her.
But he moved the baby just out of her grasp. Eileen, catching sight of her mother, began to cry.
Sarah tried again to retrieve her daughter, but Hugh stepped away once more. "Give her here," she demanded, desperation in her voice.
But he simply brushed off her plea. "She's fine," he retorted.
Sarah darted forward. With a smirk, he teasingly swung the baby around and laughed.
"Hugh!" Kate grabbed the screaming baby from his arms and handed her back to Sarah.
Sarah clutched the child tightly, murmuring soothing words in an attempt to console her, her face flushed with anger.
Having had enough, Kate grabbed Hugh's arm and roughly pulled him to the side of the room. "What's the matter with ye?"
At first, Hugh seemed taken aback by her sudden grip on his arm, but his surprise quickly turned to irritation. "It's fine. It was only a joke."
"It's not fine," she continued. "Sarah's beside herself."
As he attempted to step away, Kate's frustration boiled over, and she gave him a forceful shove.
He looked at her, something unreadable in his expression. Then, with a sudden burst of aggression, he seized her shoulders and thrust her hard against the wall.
The impact made her head pound, but she blinked back the pain.
He held her pinned there for a moment, his gaze intense. "Don't you ever do that again. You understand me?" he warned, his voice tight with control.
Kate nodded, unable to speak as her voice was caught in her throat.
A smile spread across his face and he released her, his fingers grazing her arm. "Now how about pot roast for dinner?" He casually suggested, as if trying to brush off the tense encounter.
She forced a smile, not wanting to show him how much his actions had affected her. "I'd…I'd have to start it now," she managed to say, still struggling to find her voice again.
"Then you best get to it," Hugh replied, tapping her nose with his finger before walking away.
Kate remained where she was for half a moment, gathering herself. She turned and saw Sarah watching her, a strange look on her face.
Kate wiped her hands on her skirt. "I did give him a wee shove, to be fair," she said with a small laugh. "Don't know what I was expectin' to happen."
"Kate—"
"It's fine," she cut her off. "I need to be gettin' dinner goin'."
"Has he done that before?"
"Sarah." Kate looked at her sternly. "I don't mean to be rude but if I don't get this roast in the oven in the next few minutes, we'll be eatin' in the dark."
Sarah looked as though she wanted to say more but after a moment, she nodded. "Alright," she said, handing Eileen to Kate while she pulled on her coat. "But we're going to discuss this later," she added firmly.
Kate handed the baby back and offered a weak smile. "Later," she replied softly.
After Sarah left, Kate took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, and rubbed the back of her head. It wasn't the first time Hugh had shown aggression and it always left her shaken afterward. "Alright, the pot roast," she murmured to herself, trying to refocus her thoughts as she set to work on dinner. She could dwell on her problems later.
Cal's apologies to Fabrizio had gone ignored. Kate hadn't replied to his last few letters. Dinah had taken the children and left once again. As it had been a whole year, he wondered if she was gone for good this time. He had no qualms with Dinah never returning but he wished she had left Victor and Arthur behind.
Lately, he had been spending most of his time at Max Hoff's speakeasy. He liked the man even if he was certain that he was involved in something more illegal than bootlegging. Those suspicions were all but confirmed when Hoff asked him for an alibi one night. Already a few drinks in, he agreed to the request without much thought. Not three days later, when two policemen knocked on his door, he had nearly forgotten his agreement. After one confusing moment, squinting into the glaring early morning sun with a headache pounding behind his eyes, everything clicked into place and he had agreed that he and Hoff had, indeed, gone hunting together. Ever since then, it was nothing but free drinks wherever he went.
Not much longer after that incident, he was already three sheets to the wind, leaning on the fourth, and debating whether a trip to Spokane was in order—he was genuinely concerned that something terrible must have happened to Kate—when he smelled a familiar flowery perfume. He followed the scent to a table where Louise was waiting, seemingly for him.
"How've you been?" She asked as she sat sipping her sidecar. "It's been a long, long while."
Shrugging, he slid into the seat across from her. "Let's see. I can't divorce my wife. I haven't seen my children in a year. Fabri's no longer speaking to me. Neither is Kate. I'm fairly certain her husband must've killed her because I can't think of any other reason why she'd stop writing."
"Maybe she fell in love with him," Louise suggested.
Cal paused, his glass halfway to his mouth. "She wouldn't…"
"She might've," she replied. "And wouldn't that be better than her being dead?"
"I suppose so." He took a drink.
"Now, why isn't Fabri speaking to you? Is Lelia behind it?"
"No, she has nothing to do with it."
Louise smiled. "I didn't think so," she replied. "Lelia's a sweet woman. And, honestly, too good for him."
"This is, in fact, my own fault," Cal admitted with a sigh. "They came to visit and I was a bit rude." Frowning at the memory, he couldn't even recall the names of the men whose opinions he had been so concerned with. "I wanted nothing to do with them.
"Well, that is just terrible."
"It is, indeed."
Louise reached across the table for his hand and, for once, he didn't pull it away. "Fabri will come around. He might be stubborn but Lelia will make him."
"Maybe." Cal looked at her hand resting over his own.
"I'm sure of it," she replied. "She's a very forgiving person. Too forgiving, if you ask me."
His gaze trailed along her arm, up to her bare shoulders.
"Can't help you much with your wife though," Louise said with a shrug.
"Nothing can." Unless Dinah was suddenly struck by a car but Cal didn't believe he was fortunate enough for something like that to happen.
"It's a real shame you can't catch her with another man," she mused.
"An absolute shame."
Louise tapped her fingers on his hand. "Have you considered paying someone to do the hanky panky with her?"
"What?" He tore his gaze from her bare shoulders, taken aback by the suggestion.
"Hanky panky," she said, raising an eyebrow. "You know, the deed."
"I know what 'hanky panky' is."
She shrugged. "Well, you're not always up with the times."
Cal stared into his drink as he considered her suggestion. Though the idea wasn't entirely without merit, he couldn't ignore the potential scandal that would arise if he was caught, which he felt was inevitable. It would be worse than if he simply paid for an investigator to follow her. And that was, of course, assuming she would even fall for a ruse of that nature, which he doubted she would.
"Oh, don't be offended," Louise said, mistaking his silence. "I told you I like older men."
"You like men with money, let's be honest here."
She nodded unabashedly, her gaze fixed on him as she intentionally knocked her beaded clutch off the table. As she bent down to pick it up, he couldn't help but notice how the back of her dress plunged daringly to her waist. She returned the clutch to the table, a confident smile playing on her lips. "What is so wrong with knowing what you want and going after it?"
"It's against the rules."
"To hell with the rules," Louise declared, finishing her drink and rising from her seat. "I think I'm going to call it a night. Would you be so kind as to escort me back to my hotel? It's not far."
Cal looked at her uncertainly.
"I don't know this city and I'd hate to be vulnerable on the way," she persisted, leaning in closer." I thought you were a gentleman."
He sighed, reluctantly giving in. "Alright."
As they walked back to her hotel, they exchanged few words. True to her word, the hotel was only a block away. When they reached the door, he opened it for her.
"Walk me to my room?" She asked hopefully.
Cal looked at her, feeling strangely disconnected as though he were walking through a dream instead of his waking life. "Fine."
Once at her door, she looked at him, her hand on his arm. "Thank you."
He should have left. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to turn around, to escape from the dangerous path he was treading. But his feet felt rooted to the floor, as if some invisible force was pulling him closer to her. And before he knew it, her door was open, her hand with its red-painted nails gripped his shirt, pulling him inside.
The room was cloaked in darkness, the air thick with the intoxicating scent of her flowery perfume. Cal could feel the weight of his own loneliness, the emptiness of his heart, the yearning for human connection, for something, anything to fill the void left by his crumbling life. Desperation and longing hung in the air, suffocating him with each breath.
With practiced expertise, she undid the buttons on his shirt as they stood in the dimly lit room, her fingertips brushing against his skin, her touch sending electrifying sparks through him. He swallowed hard, his breath catching in his throat. Her shoulders felt soft and warm beneath his touch as he gently pulled the straps of her dress down her arms, revealing the curves of her body as the fabric cascaded to the ground, pooling at her feet.
Louise kissed him deeply with a hunger that mirrored his own and all rational thoughts evaporated. Her nails traced a path down his stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before hooking into the waistband of his pants, urging him closer, towards the edge of the bed. In that moment of vulnerability, Cal allowed himself to surrender to the fleeting desire to be wanted and desired, even if it was just for one night.
They lay together in bed, with baby Eileen making soft noises in the crib nearby, still not quite asleep. Sarah's gaze was fixed on the wall, her expression distant and preoccupied. Pat couldn't shake the feeling that something must've happened during her visit to Kate's, as she had been perfectly fine before that. "What is it?" He asked at last.
Sarah let out a weary sigh. "I'm just thinking."
"About?"
There was a long pause before she finally answered. "I'm worried about your sister."
He looked at her in concern. "Did somethin' happen?"
Another pause followed before Sarah responded. "No."
A sense of unease settled over him. He knew her well enough to recognize when she was holding something back. "Sarah," he urged, reaching out to touch her arm. "If somethin' had happened—"
"She said it was nothing."
Pat gently pulled on her arm. "Sarah, if somethin' had happened—"
"He pushed her into the wall," she finally revealed.
The words landed hard and he immediately sat up.
Sarah put a gentle hand on his arm. "You can't react like that," she said. "Kate was fine. She actually laughed it off."
"Was he angry?" He questioned sharply.
"What?" Sarah looked slightly taken aback by his intensity.
He tried to push down his own irritation. "Was he angry when he pushed me sister into the wall?"
"When is he not angry?"
That wasn't the response he was hoping for and Pat felt angry. "I'm goin' to have a word with him tomorrow."
"No, you're not," Sarah stated firmly.
"If he's hurtin' her—"
"Kate doesn't want you involved."
He let out a mirthless laugh. "So I'm supposed to just sit back and let him—" He began, his voice growing louder with each word, but his sentence was cut short by Eileen's startled cry.
Sarah gave him a pointed look, then moved to pick up their baby.
Speaking in a quieter voice, Pat continued. "I'm not goin' to let him hurt Katie just because she thinks me tryin' to protect her is meddlin'."
"She doesn't think that at all."
"No?" Pat raised an eyebrow in surprise. "What was it she said, 'stay out of me life'?" The words hung heavy in the air.
"Pat, she's worried about you." There was a pause as Sarah made a face at the baby, eliciting a small giggle. "What happened at the mill?"
Pat was confused by the sudden change in topic and stared at her.
"When you nearly died, what actually happened." She repeated the question, giving him a penetrating look.
"I tripped."
"I know you didn't trip."
Pat reached toward Eileen and she grabbed his fingers in a surprisingly strong grip.
"I'm fairly certain I already know," Sarah persisted. "But I want to hear it from you."
Pat looked at Sarah who was watching him and sighed. He didn't know why it was such a difficult thing to talk about. He didn't know why it was easier to pretend that nothing had happened at all. "It was…" he began slowly, his gaze on Eileen who was watching him with innocent curiosity. "The end of the day and we were...I don't know...shuttin' everythin' down. And we were the only two left on that floor. Most everyone else had left already. Hugh was angry at me." He hesitated, the memories still vivid in his mind.
As if in response to the tension, Eileen let out a wide yawn and stretched her tiny arms.
"Why was he angry?" Sarah asked.
"He had been cuttin' corners and he didn't care much for me bringin' it up but someone was goin' to get hurt. I was goin' to get hurt. And since he wouldn't listen any to me, I reported him. Harris took him off that position and moved him somewhere less important. Less pay too."
"Who's Harris?"
"The foreman."
"Oh, that's right. Go on."
Pat hesitated. Eileen had fallen asleep and all he could think about was how foolish he had been. He had caused everything by not wishing to get hurt but then that was exactly what had happened. He made an enemy as well although Hugh never liked him much to begin with.
"Pat."
"My back was turned and he shoved me right into the damn blade." The words rushed out as if he couldn't keep them inside any longer. "I didn't think I was hurt at first because I didn't feel anythin', just thought how lucky I was. Those things are sharpened twice a day, mind ye. Men have been cut in two before."
He swallowed hard. "But then I couldn't…" His eyes closed involuntarily, as if trying to shut out the harrowing memories. He remembered the vice-like grip of Hugh's hands, pressing him against the sharp blade and the sound of his threatening whispers in his ears. "I didn't hear a word he was sayin'. All I wanted was to get away from him, to go home. I…"
He could still hear the sound of approaching footsteps on the creaky mill stairs, a haunting echo in his mind. "I..." he hesitated, struggling to voice the rest of his recollection. Hugh hurriedly letting him go, calling out for help, and fabricating a lie about Pat tripping into the blade.
"He let go of me at some point," Pat said, his voice thick with resentment. "And then told everyone I had tripped into it. They all applauded him for actin' so quickly." As he looked over at Sarah, he could see the same anger mirrored in her expression.
"Why didn't you say what he did?" She asked.
"Because no one would believe me," Pat replied. "And why would they? I'm just a dumb mick. No good for anythin' but settin' logs"
"Oh, Pat," Sarah said quietly. "No one thinks that. I certainly don't." She leaned closer to him and squeezed his hand. "But you should've told Kate what happened before she married him," she continued.
"She still would've married him."
"You should've given her more credit than that." She stood to return Eileen to her crib, then climbed back into bed and turned away from him.
Pat looked at her in surprise. "Are ye angry at me?"
She sighed, her tone softened but firm. "I'm a bit angry at your stubbornness," she replied. "If you had just said what had happened, your sister would've never married him and none of us would be in this situation. But, no, you have to hold everything to yourself." She looked at him. "For God's sake, you could've at least trusted me. I'm on your side. Always." She looked away again. "I just don't understand."
"Sarah—"
"Goodnight," she interrupted, cutting off further discussion.
Her anger caught him off guard, leaving him to lie down and stare up at the ceiling. Kate would still have married him. He was sure of it.
Suddenly, Sarah's voice pierced through the darkness, reaching out to him. "Pat?" she called softly, breaking the silence. "Could you hold me?"
"I thought ye were angry at me."
There was a long pause. "I still love you."
Relief washed over him and he pulled her close, embracing her tightly. "I love ye too."
Sarah nestled against him. "I'm glad yer alive."
"Me too."
"And if you want me to kill Hugh, I'll do it."
Pat laughed. "Ye don't need to do that," he said, kissing the top of her head.
Sarah took a deep breath and he could feel her relaxing against him. "I might anyway," she murmured softly.
"I might have to kill him first," he whispered but Sarah had already drifted off to sleep.
He couldn't shake the fear he felt for Kate, being married to such a man. He felt trapped, unsure of how to protect her. He knew he would do anything to get her out of such a situation. He just didn't know how.