Winter
~~~
Awakening beside Louise, Cal's immediate thought was one of regret. Every week, he vowed it would be the last time. But yet, as the weekend neared, they fell into the same routine—dinner at an upscale restaurant followed by a retreat to her hotel room. Occasionally, he'd gift her things that made her happy, never jewelry, but she delighted in furs and the tiny mesh bags that seemed so impractical to him. He told himself that this was not who he was. He was better than Dinah and her multitude of affairs. But was he really? He knew there was no love between him and Louise, they had both been clear about that from the very beginning. But it changed nothing.
There was a gentle touch on his arm but he brushed it off, his attention directed, instead, to a strand of pearls suspended from the back of a nearby chair. They reminded him of Kate and suddenly he felt another wave of guilt. An unexplainable guilt as he didn't owe her anything. They were both married.
But why hadn't he heard from her? For some time, she had written regularly and then the letters had stopped. Sarah had tried to reassure him that Kate was fine, that Henry was a handful. But the doubt still persisted—maybe his letters weren't reaching her at all.
Louise's words resurfaced—her notion that perhaps Kate had fallen in love with her husband. At the time, he had dismissed it as absurd. But should it be so unbelievable? She had willingly chosen, married the man—there had to be love.
Why did it matter to him so much?
The touch returned to his arm.
"Did you speak to Hugh?" Cal asked suddenly.
"Who?" Louise's voice still held a playful note as she traced her nails across his chest.
"Kate's husband," he replied. "When we were at her wedding, did you have a chance to speak to him?"
There was a silence and he could nearly feel her irritation without even seeing her face. "Why are you asking me this?"
"I was just thinking—"
"Well, don't," she cut him off. "You're spoiling the mood."
"I apologize."
Louise leaned closer, her lips a whisper away from his own.
"You don't think Kate might be angry with me, do you?" Cal asked, unable to stop himself.
She sighed and shifted away from him, sitting up to dress.
Cal looked at her in confusion.
"I'm not your therapist," she remarked, her tone curt.
"I didn't think you were—"
"How about instead of bringing Kate up every thirty seconds, maybe you go to Spokane and see her for yourself." She shook her head. "I don't know why you're so concerned in any case because the woman is clearly happily married and what are you even expecting anyway? She won't leave her husband for you and, even if she had, you're still married because you refuse to take the necessary steps for a divorce." She reached for her coat and slipped it on.
Her words caught him off guard. "I don't understand why you think—where are you going?"
"To get a drink."
"It's 8 am."
"It certainly is." Louise smiled sweetly. "Call me as soon as you get this all sorted out. I'm not a fan of complications." With a final kiss, she left the room.
Cal laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, considering her words. He wasn't disappointed that she had gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Her advice had some merit to it even if her accusation that he was hoping Kate would leave her husband for him was pure foolishness. His concern for Kate was merely that of a friend. Nothing more. He was certain of it.
~~~
Pat wished he had never told Sarah what had happened at the mill. She hadn't brought it up again but he noticed her keeping closer to him than usual—which he didn't mind. But she also wasn't sleeping—which he did mind. At first, he considered that it might've been preoccupation with the baby but Eileen was already six months old and sleeping through the night.
He was still debating on whether it'd be a good idea to bring up his concerns when the entire issue was driven from his mind by the arrival of a letter asking about the Titanic . As he stared at the paper addressed to him, he thought it must've been a joke or nosy reporter but why would someone be reaching out to him fifteen years later? He couldn't imagine the sinking still being newsworthy. Most people have moved on with their lives long ago.
Decidedly confused, he skimmed through the letter and frowned:
"...a writer who is deeply captivated by historical events that have left an indelible mark on our world...devoting my time to researching and chronicling the heart-wrenching story of the Titanic . It is with the utmost respect and humility that I reach out to you today...recounting such memories can be a daunting task, as they undoubtedly evoke a complex blend of feelings. If you would be willing to share your recollections with me...utmost sensitivity and reverence. I am committed to preserving the authenticity...more than willing to accommodate your preferences regarding anonymity or any other consideration. Your comfort and peace of mind are of the utmost importance... "
As he reached the end of the letter, his eyes lingered on the signature," With warm regards and heartfelt respect, Walter Lord," he read aloud.
He tried to imagine himself sharing his story, seeing it written down before him, and felt more than a trickle of fear at the thought of reliving it all. The last time he had even spoken about that night—other than the briefest of mentions to an infant Eileen—was when he had told Sarah everything on the Carpathia —Sarah who had been a complete stranger at the time.
Pat looked at the letter again and sighed. Part of him wanted to throw it away and forget about it at once but the other part of him was afraid that he would regret doing such a thing. Instead, he brought it to Sarah.
She read it over, her brow furrowed, and shook her head. "I never received one."
"Maybe yers is still on its way," he suggested helpfully.
"Maybe." She looked closer at the signature. "Walter Lord... Are you going to answer him?"
He hesitated, feeling no less uncertain. "I feel like I should but..." His voice trailed off.
Sarah handed the letter back. "Pat, you still haven't been able to tell your sister what you had gone through that night."
There was no note of accusation in her voice but he still couldn't help but feel guilty. He knew he should've shared everything with Kate long ago, especially after she had no hesitations in sharing her own experience. But he never did and as time went on, she stopped asking. And now, without her prompting, he knew he would never be able to bring it up himself. "I know, but..."
"What do you want to do?"
Pat closed his eyes and thought of that night. The infuriating maze of corridors, the terrified screams, and the freezing cold. The bone deep fear that never seemed to fully go away and he shuddered. He opened his eyes and looked at her. "I don't think I want anythin' to do with it."
Sarah smiled. "Then we can just pretend that you never received it." She took the letter from his hand and dropped it in the trash. "Now," she said, taking his hand. "I want to show you my plans for the garden this year?"
"Ye found a new variety of peas?"
"Very funny," she replied. "I was thinking tomatoes."
He followed her out the door but, a moment later, he slipped back into the room. Quickly, he fetched the letter from the trash, folded it small, and tucked it into his pocket. He didn't know why he couldn't just let it go.
~~~
Every time Kate watched a movie, she couldn't help but notice the actress' short hair. Clara Bow, in particular, looked so stylish and wonderful with her bob. And while her own hair didn't contain the same sort of curls and waves that she thought might've been necessary, Kate was still dying to try it herself. After all, it was only hair and nothing she did to it would be permanent.
Sarah was willing to cut her hair for her, but she absolutely refused to go too short. Nothing like Aileen Pringle and, secretly, Kate was glad. She was afraid that without anyone saying no, she'd go too bold and end up having to wear a cloche for months on end until it all grew back.
"It would surely be much easier, I reckon," Kate said, still rationalizing to herself, as Sarah hovered over her with a pair of scissors. "It'd be much quicker to style in the mornin'. At least I think it must. It'd be less hair, in any case. And it'd dry faster after washin' which would always be nice."
"Stop moving," Sarah replied. "Or this is going to be uneven."
"Sorry," Kate said, trying to keep her head still. "I'm just nervous or excited or I don't even know what." She reached back to touch her hair but Sarah lightly slapped her hand away. "Hugh's goin' to be so surprised," she continued.
"He doesn't know?"
"Nah, I thought it'd be best to surprise him."
"Oh."
"Oh?" Kate tried to turn her head. "What's that mean, then?"
"It's just..." Sarah hesitated. "Do you remember when he pushed you into the wall?"
Kate felt a knot tighten in her stomach. "Why are ye bringin' that back?" She asked. "It happened once and he said sorry for it."
Sarah took a moment to respond as she snipped away at a few more hairs. "I just worry that he might try it again and I don't want anything to happen to you."
"Nothin's goin' to happen to me," Kate replied defensively. "Hugh loves me." No matter what else, she was at least certain of that. At times he might've been rude and aggressive but despite it all, he chose her. He cared for her. Not anyone else.
"I hope so," Sarah said. "Did you want me to cut some bangs?"
"I don't know...maybe that's goin' a bit too far? What do ye think?"
But before Sarah could respond, Hugh walked in. "What are you doing?" He asked incredulously.
"Just tryin' somethin' new," Kate replied. "I was hopin' to surprise ye but yer home too early." She reached up to touch her hair but once again Sarah slapped her hand away. "I'm goin' to look just like Clara Bow."
He stared. "You mean you'll look like a boy."
"Clara Bow doesn't look like a boy."
"No, but you're not Clara Bow."
Kate didn't know how to respond. She touched her hair once again and could feel her eyes well with tears. She wished she could tell Sarah to stop but it was already too late.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sarah asked, suddenly.
Kate turned to look at her in surprise. "Sarah!"
"Excuse me?" Hugh stepped threateningly close.
But Sarah stood her ground, the open scissors held out in front of her, and looked him in the eye with an unwavering gaze. "You heard me."
"I think you should get out of my house," Hugh said.
"And I think you should go to hell."
Kate looked between them, horrified. She couldn't even begin to understand why Sarah, who was always so kind to everyone, was behaving in such a manner. "She didn't mean it," Kate interjected. "What has gotten into ye?" She whispered urgently to her friend.
Hugh came up behind her and gripped her shoulder tightly. Kate winced at the pain. "Go," he said, pointing to the door.
Sarah stared at him a moment longer, then her resolve seemed to waver. She sighed and handed Kate the scissors. "I'll talk to you later," she said. "You look wonderful, by the way."
After she left, Kate turned to her husband. "What did ye do to her?"
He rolled his eyes. "I haven't done a damn thing."
"You must have—"
"I must have?" He glared at her. "Or maybe she's just as loony as her husband."
Kate bristled at the jab on her brother. "He's not—"
"Not what?"
"You're always so cruel to him," she replied. "He's never done a thing wrong."
"Ah, yes. Your brother, the poor innocent victim," Hugh said sardonically. "Give me a break."
She could sense something lying just beneath his words. "What do ye—"
"How long until your hair grows back?" He reached out and ran his fingers through her hair.
Kate was taken aback by the change in subject. "A few months, I suppose."
He sighed. "I suppose it could be worse." He took the scissors from her hands. "Don't cut any more and maybe you can wear a hat for a while."
She nodded. She learned long ago it was better to agree with her husband than to argue with him.
~~~
John had been allowed to eat dinner with Dottie's family. He was surprised that his mother had let him do it, particularly considering that she hadn't even met her parents. For all anyone knew they could've been criminals. But, as he dug into his tuna loaf and creamed parsnips, he found himself forced to admit that they were entirely ordinary, potentially leaning on boring.
Dottie's father gestured with his fork as he spoke about a trip they had recently taken to the Puget Sound. There was a bit of food clinging to his mustache and John found it mesmerizing. He was thankful that his own father didn't sport a mustache; he always thought they looked ridiculous especially when they were full of food.
Dottie's mother had hardly said a word since they sat down aside from the occasional 'yes, dear' and 'that does sound dreadful, dear' which he found strange. But he reminded himself that ordinary families must've been like that. His own family, he knew, was far from the norm.
"Have you ever been?" Suddenly all eyes were on him and Dottie's father looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.
John stared, taken aback. "Um..."
"To Liberty Lake," her father clarified. "We've been considering spending a few days there this summer."
"It sounds lovely but you never can tell until you're actually there," her mother jumped in.
Liberty Lake? John hadn't been anywhere. But admitting such an unfortunate fact in front of Dottie's family, who seemed to have traveled everywhere, was out of the question. "Oh, that," he said, feeling a flush of self-consciousness. "We went last summer." Beneath the table, he felt Dottie kick his shin.
"Is there a great deal to do there?" Her father asked.
"Sure," John replied. "We rented a big boat and went fishing every day. Caught so many fish. It was so copacetic," he added, with a touch of forced casualness. He assumed a place labeled 'Lake' would have boats and fishing. Dottie's foot struck him again and he winced.
"I greatly admire your parents," her mother began. "Having the courage to set foot on a boat again after what they went through. I don't know if I could manage such a thing."
"Yeah, that sort of thing doesn't bother them." He could see Dottie trying to get his attention out of the corner of his eye so he kicked her in return.
As the dishes were being cleared away after dinner, Dottie leaned in close to him. "Why'd you tell them that?" She asked in a near whisper. "You've never been to Liberty Lake."
"What does it even matter?"
"You shouldn't lie."
"It's not like I've had a chance to go anywhere at all."
"You shouldn't lie, period," she repeated.
"It's not my fault."
"Why not just ask your parents to take you?"
John scoffed. "You know how that'd go. The moment I mention a boat or a lake, my mom would clam up or my dad would leave the room. Or they'd exchange one of those weird looks and change the subject. It happens every time I bring up something fun. Like going to see fireworks."
"I thought you got to see those?"
"Only that one time," he replied, bitterly. "I didn't get to go last year, did I? I had asked and they said yes but then suddenly it was 'oh, your sister's too little, your mother's too tired, the weather's too hot, blah, blah, blah.' They could've left Eileen with Aunt Kate and my mother didn't need to go but nooo. None of that is even an option because the real reason I don't get to do anything fun is because my dad's too crazy to leave the house." He took a deep breath.
"Are you finished?" Dottie asked.
"Yeah."
"Feel better?"
"No." If anything, he felt worse for having said what was on his mind. As though he had betrayed his own family by voicing his thoughts aloud.
"Want me to ask my parents if you can come with us?"
"I wouldn't want to impose."
"Are you kidding? Spending time with you beats spending time with my boring parents any day. They're planning to go dancing... dancing ." She uttered the word in a horrified whisper.
As Dottie's mother set plates of apple pie—still warm—in front of them, John could feel his mood lighten. He dug into his pie with gusto. It was good, although not quite on par with his aunt's. Better than the tuna loaf, at any rate.
Dottie broke the silence suddenly. "You don't really believe that about your dad, do you?"
He shrugged.
"Well, I don't believe it."
"You've never met my dad."
A pause followed his words. "Still don't believe it," she stated. "And I don't think you do either."
~~~
Spring
~~~
Sarah was afraid to sleep. She usually didn't suffer from nightmares except during the last few months of her pregnancy. But now she couldn't escape the ones that plagued her nights. Each and every one involved Pat, the mill, and Hugh. Always Hugh. She wished she could stop thinking about him. That she could push away the feeling she couldn't seem to shake, the premonition of something terrible looming. No small part of her wished that Pat hadn't told her what had happened, that he had kept it to himself like he did so often. She regretted the vivid images that now invaded her thoughts day and night.
She began to keep close to Pat, as though her very presence would keep him safe, despite knowing that he didn't like her hovering over him. She told herself it was foolish. She knew it was foolish. The incident had happened five years earlier and nothing else had happened since then. But still, the fear persisted, growing stronger every time she saw Hugh. She hadn't cared much for him before but now she despised him.
And then Eileen fell ill and her cries nearly broke her. Sarah gave up even attempting to sleep as she remained by her side, convinced that this was the dreaded catastrophe she had anticipated.
As she sat on her bed, holding her child—who had finally stopped crying—in her arms, Pat entered the room. "Sarah," he said softly, taking Eileen from her arms. "Ye need to go lie down."
"No, I need to stay with her."
"Ye need to sleep," he replied. "I know ye haven't been."
She shook her head.
"Alright then, I am goin' to put her down for a nap and then we're goin' to talk for a bit."
After he left the room, Sarah remained on the bed, her legs crossed at the ankle and one foot tapping anxiously against the floor. She felt close to tears and didn't understand why. Nothing had happened.
Pat returned a few minutes later and sat next to her. "Now why aren't ye sleepin'?"
"Eileen is sick and—"
He put an arm around her. "Ye haven't been sleepin' long before she fell ill."
Sarah laid her head on his shoulder as she struggled to find the words. "I've been having nightmares," she said at last. "Every time I close my eyes. I just...I can't..." Her voice trailed away.
"So what's happenin' then?"
"In the nightmares?"
"Sarah, ye only have terrible dreams when yer facin' something in yer wakin' life. Like before we married or before ye had Eileen," he explained. "So what is it this time that has ye so afraid?"
"I don't know." Her foot began to tap anxiously again. Tap. Tap. Tap. "I just keep thinking about what happened and it's in my dreams and I keep thinking that—"
"I'm sorry but ye need to be more specific because a lot has been happenin' over the previous few years," Pat interrupted. "More than is natural, if ye want me opinion but...I'm gettin' a wee bit off topic."
"What happened to you, I mean," she said quietly, unable to meet his gaze.
"At the mill?" There was a note of surprise in his voice. "Why are ye so worried about that?"
"Hugh tried to kill you."
"But he didn't. I'm fine."
"What if he tries it again?"
"Why would he?" Pat asked. "Sarah, would ye look at me?"
Reluctantly, she lifted her head to meet his gaze. "Why wouldn't he?"
"Sarah..."
"Don't call me crazy."
"I didn't. I wasn't goin' to," he replied rather defensively and Sarah felt a twinge of guilt at her choice of words. "Why are ye so fixated on this?" He asked.
"Why are you not?"
"It's been five years. What do ye want me to do about it?"
Sarah looked away from him again, feeling foolish and overly emotional.
"Sarah, ye always do this," Pat said softly. "Ye let the fear of losin' what ye have consume ye." He reached over and brushed her hair away from her face. "Everythin' is fine. I'm fine. Eileen is fine. It's only a bit of fever. We're fine."
The tears came on unexpectedly before she even had a chance at trying to hold them back. "I lost John."
"I know ye did and that's terrible and unfair," he replied. "But yer not goin' to lose me."
"I can't go through it again." The first year after losing John was horrific on a level she couldn't imagine surviving a second time.
"Ye won't." Pat held onto her tightly.
"You don't know that."
Eileen let out a cry from the other room and Sarah moved to get up.
But Pat pulled her back down. "I'll watch her for a while," he said. "Ye need to lie down and get a few minutes of sleep."
With her thoughts still on her nightmares, she looked at him uncertainly.
"If ye look like yer trapped in a nightmare, I promise to wake ye up," he said.
She still hesitated.
"Ye really think somethin' might happen to me within our own home?" He asked. "Lie down. Everyone's fine." He gently kissed her forehead. "There's nothin' to worry about."
After he left, she reluctantly followed his advice, lying down as told, but she didn't feel any better.
~~~
Cal had wanted to go straight to Kate's house to sort out whatever misunderstanding—for surely it was one of those—had happened between them. But, instead, he found himself knocking on Sarah's door, knowing that he couldn't be in Spokane without seeing her first.
She opened the door with a baby on her hip, looking tired but happy to see him. "You really need to start writing before you randomly show up on my doorstep."
"It was a spur of the moment trip."
"I suppose I'll forgive you this time," she replied with a slightly strained smile.
"So who is this?" He asked, his gaze on the baby.
"This would be Eileen. Nearly nine months old already, although it's hard to believe."
"They do grow so fast." He thought of his own and how much quicker they seemed to grow when he rarely saw them. "She looks just like you."
"You must be blind then because she's clearly all Pat." There was a flicker of something in her eyes.
"Are you—" He began to ask.
But Sarah cut him off. "Not that I'm not happy to see," she interrupted. "But why are you here?"
Cal hesitated. It seemed like such a foolish reason to travel across the country. "I was concerned about Kate."
"Kate's fine," she quickly replied.
"She stopped writing and that didn't seem like her."
"I'm sure it's nothing. Probably been busy and Henry is—"
"Yes, that's what you said." He could hear the impatience in his own voice. "I just needed to see her for myself."
Sarah directed her attention to the baby in her arms, making a face and eliciting a cascade of giggles in response.
"Why do I feel like there's something going on that I'm not aware of?" Cal asked.
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's because you only come to visit once a year, if that," she replied.
"It's three days by train."
"Then it's a good thing you don't have anything more important to do."
He stared at her, confused by her sudden shift in tone. "Alright, what's going on? I know there's something."
Sarah smiled suddenly. "Nothing," she assured him. "Go see Kate. But...if you see Hugh around, you might want to come straight back. I don't believe he'd like you being there."
Cal left her house feeling more confused than before. He was certain that Sarah was struggling with something and, briefly, he wondered whether she and Pat had been fighting. He supposed there could have been other reasons but he pushed those worries aside. That was a problem to be dealt with later.
He reached Kate's house on foot, enjoying the warm spring weather and the short walk between houses. At once, he spotted Kate bent over her flowerbeds, clearing out dead leaves and other debris. Cal watched her for a moment as she worked, filled with relief at the sight of her doing something so mundane.
Kate must've felt his gaze as she quickly looked over and a smile filled her face.
Cal returned the smile, noting her shorter hair and the giant smudge of dirt on her face. Without waiting for her to say anything, he immediately approached her and pulled her into a hug, lifting her from her feet.
Kate laughed. "I'm covered in a wee bit of dirt," she said.
"I don't care," he replied, stepping back to look at her. "You cut your hair."
Her expression faltered. "It was an impulsive mistake. It should grow back soon."
"I hope not." He reached over and touched her hair. "I love it. Très chic."
"I don't rightly know what that means, but I'm goin' to assume it was somethin' good," she said, her face lit up with a smile. "Ye know, I didn't expect to see ye. Why have ye come?"
"You hadn't been answering my letters and I was starting to get a bit concerned."
Kate looked puzzled. "Ye haven't been writin' to me," she said. "Not for a long while."
"I certainly have."
"Well, that's good to hear then because here I was thinkin' I had offended ye somehow." A sudden look came over her face and the smile faded. "Oh."
"What?"
She shook her head. "It's nothing," she said, smiling once again. "The post office here can be a bit...well, they were likely misdelivered."
"Kate." The feeling of unease, the certainty that something was amiss, returned.
"If yer writin' to me, ye should send them to Sarah instead of here."
"How would that—"
"Or," Hugh's voice sliced through the air. "You could just not write to my wife."
They both spun around to see the man watching them.
Cal thought he caught a fleeting look of fear on Kate's face as she quickly stepped away from him. He looked back at Hugh and felt anger simmering just beneath the surface. He had disliked the man when they had first met; he hated him even more at that moment. "It's none of your business who I write to."
Hugh closed the distance between them. "What my wife does and who she speaks to is my business."
The words had hardly left his lips before Cal's fist connected with Hugh's jaw. The impact shot a jolt up his arm, intertwined with a rush of adrenaline that seemed to fill his veins. Almost instinctively, Hugh lunged at him, his shoulder colliding with Cal's chest, propelling them both to the ground and landing his own blow in the process.
Disregarding the pain, Cal drove his fist into Hugh's ribs. He pushed against him, successfully shifting their positions. Now straddling Hugh's chest, he saw a flicker of surprise in the man's eyes, a vulnerability that spurred him to seize the advantage. His fist hammered down twice on Hugh's face, the strikes quick and driven by years of pent-up anger and frustration.
But before Cal could deliver a third blow, a firm grip seized his arm and pulled him away. He was left breathless, chest heaving as he fought to regain his composure. His gaze, unwavering and unrelenting, remained locked on Hugh. Tension hung in the air like a storm cloud, foreboding and charged with the promise of a future confrontation. Yet, beneath it all, a troubling thought still gnawed at him: the brief, telling look of fear that had crossed Kate's face as Hugh had approached them. He was certain that he hadn't imagined it.
But then Kate ran to Hugh, a different sort of fear on her face and looking stricken as her husband brushed her aside and stormed away. Kate looked over at Cal and, for a moment, it seemed as though she were about to say something. Instead, she turned and followed her husband inside, the happiness from earlier now replaced by a look of the deepest discontent.
"What do ye think yer doin'?" Pat asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.
Cal looked at him in surprise as the realization struck him that her brother must've been the one to pull him away. "You shouldn't have stopped me."
"I'm glad I did," Pat replied. "We can't be murderin' him."
"Murder? I wasn't going to murder him." Cal didn't know what would have happened if no one had intervened but he thought he might have been able to stop himself before it went too far. Perhaps.
"No? Well, that was hardly a fair fight."
"I think I caught him off guard."
As they began to walk back, Cal cast one last look at Kate's house but everything remained silent and still and he let out a sigh.
"I missed the start of it," Pat said, suddenly. "Why'd ye hit him?"
"I don't know. He just has one of those faces, I guess." Cal didn't want to bring up the fleeting look on Kate's face—a look he may have imagined entirely. If there were anything going on between Kate and her husband, Pat should've already known about it. He was the one who should've been taking care of the man.
"Sarah will be sad she missed it."
There was an undercurrent of something hidden beneath his words that made Cal abruptly stop in his tracks. "Why are you here?" He asked.
"I could be askin' the same of yerself," Pat retorted. "Sarah told me ye were comin' to see Katie and I thought that was a terrible idea." He looked at him. "And so did she. That's why she sent me to fetch ye."
"Is she alright?"
"Katie's just fine."
"I meant Sarah."
Pat took a moment to reply. "Sarah's doin' the best she can," he said at last. "She's fine."
"If the two of you are—"
"Ye really need to be keepin' yer distance from Katie," Pat cut him off. "Yer only goin' to be causin' trouble for her."
Cal took a deep breath, pushing down the irritation he felt. "I told you that you shouldn't have let her marry him."
"And I told ye, I can't be tellin' Katie what to do. She'd never stand for it."
"I suppose you'll find it a relief to have rid yourself of all responsibility should anything happen to her."
For a moment, Cal thought that Pat was going to hit him and he braced himself for another fight. But, instead, he sighed and started walking once again. "I really don't like ye," Pat said quietly.
"Fine by me," Cal replied, quickly catching up to him. He knew how Sarah would react should she have heard his remark and he felt a small amount of remorse for making it but with his thoughts still lingering on Kate and her husband, he believed what he had said. As her brother, Pat bore the responsibility for her current situation.
~~~
Fabrizio stopped in his tracks at the sight of Louise sitting outside of Rose's office. He had hardly spoken a word to her since he began dating Lelia, never giving an explanation or reason. He had simply stopped seeing her and now he couldn't escape the guilt that came over him.
But before he could turn and walk away, Louise caught sight of him approaching and immediately jumped to her feet. She fixed him with an icy stare, looking more irritated than happy at seeing him, and Fabrizio prepared himself for some strong words.
"I should have—" He began at once but she cut him off.
"You need to speak to Cal."
"No. What?" Whatever he had been expecting, that certainly wasn't it and it took him a moment to regather his thoughts. "He send you?" The letters hadn't worked, why wouldn't the man resort to more invasive means?
"No, I sent myself," she replied. "Because he is driving me crazy."
Fabrizio shook his head. "Sorry but no." He tried to push past her. "It's not your business."
Louise smoothly stepped in front of him again. "It is my business because right now he won't stop talking about how terrible everything in his life is and what horrible mistakes he's made." She let out an exaggerated sigh. "Apparently, he doesn't consider talking about it nonstop and always ruining the mood as one of those horrible mistakes which, in my opinion, is a mistake in and of itself but...you need to fix things with him."
Fabrizio found it odd that a man with so much money, someone who, in theory, could purchase anything they wanted in the world, would think his life terrible. "Where is he now?"
"Spokane, I think." Louise shrugged. "I somehow convinced him to take care of things with Kate first."
"Kate?" Fabrizio was surprised but everything was slowly beginning to make more sense. "What's wrong with Kate?"
She casually trailed her fingers along his arm. "Couldn't tell you. Something about letters...I don't know. Truth be told, I rarely listen when he talks and he talks so much."
Fabrizio removed her hand from his arm. He thought of Lelia and her insistence that he reach out to the man. And now Louise was saying the same thing. It certainly wasn't fair that he was the one who now needed to reach out and fix things. He wasn't the one who had broken them in the first place.
"Well," Louise said, smiling. "I'm going to go." She leaned in close and kissed his cheek before he could stop her. "If you don't fix whatever is going on, I'm going to drop him off on your doorstep. Then I'm going to change my name and address so he can't find me again. And then he'll be entirely your problem. I really can only handle so much whining and I'm afraid he has me at my limit. Give Lelia my love," she added the last bit as she turned to walk away.
~~~
Kate had never been more embarrassed or hurt in her life. One moment, happier than she had been in a long while, the next Hugh had shifted his anger onto her. Three blows, one for each time Cal had struck him. She had been in such a state of shock that she hadn't even thought to cry out. It wasn't until later when she was examining the bruises in the bathroom mirror that the weight of what he had done fully sank in. To be shoved was one thing—she had shoved him first—but for him to strike her...she had never imagined Hugh would go so far, would cross the line that she had believed to be untouchable.
She splashed some cold water onto her face and thought back to the morning after, when Cal had shown up unannounced, shortly after Hugh had left for the mill. She had tried to deny him entry, claiming a terrible headache, afraid to let him see the bruises on her face.
But he had refused to leave until she opened the door and let him inside. "Hugh cannot find ye anywhere near me," Kate said at once.
"Then I'll be quick. I only wanted to apologize for—" He had stopped abruptly as he caught sight of her face. "Did he hit you?"
She felt a wave of irritation wash over her. "What did ye expect to happen?" She asked. "Ye humiliated him and for what reason? He hadn't done anythin' to ye."
"Has he hit you before?" Cal reached out to touch her but she stepped away.
"Cal, I know yer concerned but this isn't yer business," Kate said. "I mean, ye live on the other side of the country, for heaven's sake. Ye know nothin' about what's happenin' over here."
"You want me to move closer?"
"No, that's not..." She sighed. Why didn't he understand? "I just can't fathom why yer really here. Is it simply because yer bored with yer life or maybe yer so unhappy in yer own marriage that ye feel the need to involve yerself in me own or, for all I know, ye just be—"
Then he had kissed her.
It had seemed an eternity before Kate had found herself again. "I need ye to go," she managed to breathe.
"Kate—"
"Please, before me husband comes home." She glanced out the window, half expecting to see him coming up the walk even though she knew it'd be hours before he left the mill.
"Kate," Cal's voice grew more insistent.
"I am glad to see ye here, I really am. But I need ye to get out of me home," she replied, gently pushing him toward the door. "Ye can't come back here." It had hurt to say those words aloud but the fear of Hugh's reaction should he catch them together a second time overruled every other emotion.
"Alright." Cal's voice had been quiet and defeated as he turned to leave.
Unable to stop herself, Kate had called out to him as he was still on the threshold. "Cal?" She looked at him for a moment, wanting desperately to say so much but all she could manage were three simple words. "Ye married first."
"I know," he replied, his words filled with regret. And then he had left.
Kate struggled to push the memory from her mind as she left the bathroom and began gathering Henry's toys. He had somehow managed to scatter them about the house in a way that seemed impossible to believe.
There was a knock on the front door and she let out a resigned sigh. It could only have been Cal, ignoring her wishes.
But then she peeked through the front window and frowned as she saw Hugh standing there, a small bouquet of flowers in his hand. Her eyes darted to the door—it was unlocked. He could have simply walked in. The knock was an unusual formality.
Tentatively, Kate opened the door.
At once, Hugh held out the flowers. "I'm sorry," he apologized.
Kate stared at him, her usual sharp retorts lost in her throat.
"These aren't from your garden, if that's what you're worried about," he continued.
"Are ye tryin' to be funny?" Kate asked, finding her voice at last.
"No," he replied, pushing past her into the room. "I'm genuinely sorry."
"Ye hit me."
Hugh's expression shifted, the lines of his face etched with genuine contrition. "I shouldn't have. I don't...I don't know what came over me." He gently touched her cheek. "I promise you it will never happen again."
"Why are ye takin' me letters?" Kate asked, ignoring his promise.
"Another man has been writing to my wife," he replied, his voice suddenly much harder. "What was I supposed to think?"
"We're friends, that is all." Yet, her own uncertainty lingered beneath her words alongside the unexpected kiss.
"Only friends but yet you still felt the need to hide them from me," he said. "Don't think I hadn't noticed you taking them into the bathroom with you."
"Maybe I hid them because I was afraid ye'd react just like ye did," Kate replied hesitantly. "Ye have a terrible temper and it...it frightens me."
There was a long pause while Hugh set the flowers on the table. "You're right," he said, at last. "I've been treating you terribly and you deserve better." He reached out and took her hand. "I promise I will do better from now on."
"And how are ye goin' to do better?"
He looked taken aback at her question. "I won't lay a hand on you."
"Well, that's a given," Kate retorted. "Ye won't be raisin' yer voice anymore?"
"I promise."
"And no more stayin' out late at night."
"I'll do my best." There was a trace of hesitation in his voice.
"Yer goin' to start helpin' with Henry."
Hugh looked uncertain.
"And I need ye to do somethin' kind for Tommy," she added, wondering if she was pushing her luck. "The poor child is afraid of ye."
He let go of her hand. "You're asking a lot."
Sighing, Kate returned to picking up toys.
"Alright." Hugh reached out and caught her arm. "Just...don't leave me."
Kate was surprised at the vulnerability in his voice. "Ye think I'm goin' to leave ye?"
"I think you have voices in your ear telling you to do so."
She looked at the toy in her hands—a stuffed bear—and thought of Sarah and Pat and Cal. All of them had tried to talk her out of marrying Hugh. All of them still did very little to hide the disapproval in their voices when they spoke of him.
"But those voices don't understand us...what we have," Hugh continued. "They don't give a damn about you. Not really."
She looked up and met his gaze. "And ye do?"
"Of course I do," he replied. "I love you." He softly kissed her. "And I know you love me." He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her response.
But Kate simply nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
~~~
Summer
~~~
Try as he might, Pat still hadn't been able to get Walter Lord's letter out of his head. Why was he considering it when he knew it was sure to bring back the nightmares that were nearly gone? He knew he should've done as Sarah had suggested and left the letter in the trash, pushing it from his mind entirely. But yet it remained.
Without realizing it and being so preoccupied with his thoughts, he found himself approaching the river. An undercurrent of unease ran through him. He hadn't been near it since that day, so long ago, that Katie had fallen into it. Memories flashed through his mind: the cold rain, the icy water, the raised voices...Sarah kissing him.
As he came close, the large fallen tree that still overhung the water after all of those years, came into view and he froze. John was perched on top of it with his feet dangling over the side.
John caught sight of him at the same moment and a look of fear came over his face. Immediately, he scrambled to his feet, slipping once, and climbed down from the tree.
Pat stood there in a state of shock. The image of Katie slipping from that same tree, that same spot, and plummeting into the water played over in his mind. He could nearly feel the icy water as he dove in after her. The feel of her desperate hands pulling him beneath the surface until he was certain they would both drown. He hardly noticed John scurry down from the tree.
But then the spell seemed to break as the realization of what he was seeing settled in. John was not allowed near the river. "What do ye think yer doin'?" Pat asked, struggling to keep his voice steady.
"I was just sitting."
"Ye know yer not supposed to go near—"
"It's just a stupid river," John interrupted him, his voice raised and a defiant look in his eyes.
"Just a stupid river..." Pat repeated quietly. "Well, if ye set foot near this stupid river again, I'm goin' to throw ye in and leave ye to drown." He grabbed his arm and began to pull him home.
"No!" John pulled free from his grasp. "You don't get to tell me what to do. You're barely even my dad."
"John—"
"You're not. You're just some crazy person my mom met on a ship."
"That's enough."
But John kept going. "And just because you're too scared to leave the house, it doesn't mean that I have to be too. Not that what I want even matters. I never get to do anything fun at all because of you."
Pat flinched at his words. He wanted to respond but felt oddly numb and no words came to him. Instead, he grabbed John's arm once more and resumed dragging him home.
After a moment, John spoke up again in a quieter voice. "Are you going to tell mom?"
"I should."
"I'm sorry I called you crazy."
Pat could hear the remorse in John's vice but he couldn't bring himself to reply.
"I didn't mean any of it. I swear."
Pat simply clenched his jaw and kept walking.
"Please don't tell mom." John's voice had reached a desperate plea.
Pat looked at him and his expression softened at the anguished look on his face. "We'll see," he managed at last, knowing full well that it would be just one more thing he kept from Sarah.
~~~
Dinner had been Hugh's idea and Sarah was surprised that Pat had agreed to it. His reasoning that it had been awhile since they had last spent any amount of time with Kate had made complete sense but she couldn't help but still feel wary. Hugh was not the one to propose any sort of gathering between the two families.
But then the dinner went smoothly. With extra chairs pushed around the table to accommodate the four adults and four children, plates and dishes overladen with Kate's cooking, everyone seemed to be getting along. More than that, Sarah was surprised to see Hugh being so attentive and loving toward his wife. Pulling her chair out, complimenting her every chance he got, kissing her cheek as he walked past her on his way to the bathroom.
But Sarah still felt uneasy. With everything she knew about the man, everything he had done, she found it too difficult to believe his current behavior. Pat seemed uneasy as well but she quickly noticed that his gaze was focused more on her than on Hugh.
The strange pleasantness continued through dessert as Kate cut into the cake she made and set slices before everyone—the smallest of pieces for Eileen who had just recently turned one and Henry who was already two.
"What's it called again?" Hugh brought a forkful of cake up to his nose and sniffed it.
"It's a burnt sugar cake," Kate replied, a definite hint of pride in her voice.
"You burned it?" Tommy asked from across the table, his voice sounding distraught at the very idea.
"Only part of it," she replied.
Tommy wrinkled his nose.
"You're supposed to burn it," Kate said, kindly. "That's why it's called a burnt sugar cake."
"Well, I love it," Hugh smiled. "I'm so fortunate to have married such a wonderful cook." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I suppose you wouldn't know the feeling," he added, directing his words to Pat.
"I don't know what yer talkin' about," Pat replied. "Sarah's a wonderful cook."
Sarah gave him a look. Whatever she might be, a wonderful cook was not it.
"I don't know what that look is for," Pat said. "Yer chicken sandwiches are excellent."
"And your cookies," John piped up, his mouth full of cake.
After each plate had been picked clean of crumbs, Sarah volunteered to clear the table. She carefully set the dishes in the sink beside the knife that was used to cut the cake. She carefully picked it up and turned it over in her hand. The sudden vision of driving the blade into Hugh's neck filled her mind. It'd be so sudden, so final. She half turned her head and saw from the corner of her eye, Hugh sitting with his back to her. Not paying a bit of attention. He would never see it coming. Then, their problems would be over. Pat would be safe and no one would need to worry about Kate any longer. It'd be so easy. So simple.
Sarah took a deep breath and closed her fingers around the handle. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears, drowning out the sound of conversation behind her. Or maybe it had ceased entirely. She started to turn around but almost at once the knife was wrenched from her hand. Pat grabbed her roughly and pushed her through the door that led to the backyard where it was just beginning to rain.
They stood there in silence and she knew Pat was waiting for her to speak first. She looked down at her hands, unable to meet his gaze. "I wasn't..." Her voice faltered and died completely.
"Ye thought ye'd kill him," Pat said sharply. "Right there in front of his children."
Sarah shook her head and blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall.
"Ye'd be hanged."
But then she couldn't hold them back a moment longer and began to cry. "I just wanted you to be safe."
Pat's expression softened and he took her in his arms. "God, I wish I never said a word to ye about the mill." He kissed her head. "What can I do to prove to ye that I'm perfectly fine? Nothin's goin' to happen to me, I promise."
The door behind them opened and Kate stepped through, a concerned look on her face. "Is everythin' alright?"
"We're fine," Pat answered quickly. "In fact, I think we're goin' to go."
"Ye don't have to—"
"Sarah's not feelin' well."
Sarah wanted to protest. She tried to push herself away from Pat but he only held her tighter.
"Ye sure ye don't want to wait for the rain to stop?" Kate asked.
"No, I think it's best we be goin' now."
"Alright," she conceded. "Just let me pack up some cake to take back with ye. Tommy refuses to touch it now that he knows it's 'burnt.'"
Sarah heard the door close and she buried her face on Pat's shoulder. His words had been reassuring but the fear still lingered. She wondered if it'd ever go away. Would she ever be free of it?
~~~
Coney Island was something else and Fabrizio was glad that Lelia had talked him into going. Wherever he looked were bright colorful lights, despite it being the middle of the day, and the sort of peppy music that came from everywhere all at once. The low drone of happily chatting visitors, the overwhelming scent of hot dogs and popcorn and wonderful sweet treats like ice cream and taffy and fresh baked waffles filled the air. Fabrizio kept looking at Lelia as she walked beside him, a stuffed monkey in her arms that he had spent way too much money trying to win.
"This must be the ugliest thing I've ever seen," Lelia said, turning it over in her hands.
"You want I get rid of it?" Fabrizio offered, reaching for it.
"No!" She quickly moved it out of his grasp. "It's mine. I love it. His name is Frankie."
"Frankie the monkey?"
"It fits, doesn't it?"
"Looks like a Frankie to me," he agreed.
Walking past Nathan's concession stand, adorned with its numerous signs and arrows and surrounded by a bustling crowd of hungry people, Fabrizio paused. "You want hot dog?" He asked.
Lelia wrinkled her nose.
"I thought you liked hot dogs?"
"I do...well, I did," she replied. "I'm afraid someone else does not."
Fabrizio's eyes darted to her stomach and he grinned. "I think someone will be picky."
"Someone's already picky," she said, linking arms with him and steering him away from the concession stand. "In fact, if someone had their way, I'd be eating nothing but deviled eggs and pickled beets."
They continued on, walking past vendors selling frozen custard, hamburgers, hot buttered clams, and rides with colorful titles like Spill the Milk, the Human Roulette, and the Barrel of Fun.
Fabrizio stopped in front of a giant display labeled Circus Sideshow. "Turtle girl, leopard girl," he read from the marquis. "Bear girl. Why are there no men? Only girls."
"Men are dull and women are easy to take advantage of," Lelia replied. She stared up at the sign. "Olga the Headless Girl...that can't possibly be real."
"You want go in?"
"No," she said, shaking her head. "I work in the film industry. I don't need to pay to see unusual people. Let's go on a ride." She pointed to giant colorful wheel that they could just see standing tall in the distance. "That one." They started walking toward it and, after a moment, she spoke up again. "Cal really didn't want to come with us?"
"You think leopard girl has a tail?" Fabrizio asked, deliberately avoiding her question. "Or only spots?"
Lelia narrowed her eyes. "You didn't invite him, did you?"
"There too many people here," he replied. "He wouldn't want to be seen with us."
She sighed. "Fabri, I thought you were going to listen to him," she said. "And what you should really be asking is what makes a leopard girl a leopard girl and not a cheetah girl. They're both spotted animals."
"Maybe she not very fast." He shrugged. "I'd listen to Cal but he stopped writing.
As they neared the colorful wheel that towered over them, emblazoned with "Wonder Wheel" in bold letters, they joined the line. Before long they found themselves nestled inside a tiny car. Almost at once, the wheel began to move.
Lelia took a sharp breath and gripped the seat beneath her.
"Are you angry?" Fabrizio asked.
"No, I'm not angry," she replied, stealing a glance at him. "I think I might be a bit afraid of heights."
"You chose this ride."
"I know and it was clearly a terrible choice."
Fabrizio laughed and wrapped an arm around her.
"Promise me you'll reach out to him," she said, her eyes squeezed shut. "As soon as possible."
Fabrizio didn't respond. Instead, he looked out over the park with the deep blue of the ocean sparkling in the sun. He sighed. It was a beautiful sight that nearly made him forget just how terrifying and deadly such water could be. It was a deceptive sort of beauty.
"Fabri."
"I won't promise that." The words came out harder than he had intended.
"You should be the bigger pers—'' There was a sudden movement as the car slid forward and her startled shriek cut through the air. "Are we falling?"
"I think we're supposed to move," Fabrizio said. He looked down at the ground and saw that no one seemed to be panicking. Everything was clearly behaving as it should. "And I have plenty of friends. I don't need him," he added. "I don't think we ever friends."
"He was more your friend than Rose."
He looked at her with her eyes still tightly shut, a look of determination on her face. "Rose is—"
"Not your friend. Not really," Lelia replied. The car slid forward once again and she clutched him tightly. "I'm sorry but how often has she asked about your life? I'm guessing not very."
"Cal not much better," he said. He looked back out over the park. "You're missing the view. It very nice."
"I'm sure I'll enjoy the view much better from the ground." She sighed heavily. "Maybe I'll just reach out to Cal myself then."
"I don't want to argue with you."
"Then don't argue with me," she replied. "It's that simple."
The ride ended with a sudden jolt. "We on ground now," Fabrizio said, gently patting her head.
Lelia opened her eyes and laughed. "Oh, thank goodness. That was fun," she said as Fabrizio helped her out of the car. "Do you think they sell deviled eggs here?" She asked suddenly.
"You want devil eggs?"
"Is that crazy?"
"No, not at all...eh..." Fabrizio looked around. He had seen many different food vendors and concession stands but couldn't recall any of them selling something even remotely similar to deviled eggs. "How about a hamburger? You can put pickles on it."
She considered for a moment then her face lit up. "I could do hamburgers."
He planted a kiss on her cheek. "They were this way, then." Gripping her hand tightly, he began to lead the way to where he had last seen them being sold. He smiled as he thought of how much he loved her stubbornness, the fact that she was always so positive. He didn't think he had ever known a better person.
~~~
Fall
~~~
The moment Cal had returned home from Spokane, he had reached out to Louise. It wasn't so much that he wanted to see her but more out of habit. He needed to talk to someone about what had happened and there was no one else. But the moment he mentioned Kate, her face went blank and her attention wandered and he gave it up. It was clear she didn't care.
Not that it mattered much. Sure, he knew that Kate hadn't been angry with him and he supposed that was a good thing. But Hugh had been keeping her letters. Hugh. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't forget the way Kate had hastily stepped away from him or the bruises on her face when he saw her the next morning.
Or that her only response to his kiss was to tell him to leave. To never come back. He didn't know what else he had been expecting...that she would run away with him? It was an absurd thought. And she was right. He had married first. It was easy to think of what he should've done, what he wished had happened but he knew that such what-ifs were useless. He would never have been allowed to marry someone like Kate.
Cal came home early one morning after a disappointing night spent with Louise that left him feeling hollowed out and guilty and found Dinah waiting for him, an unpleasant expression on her face.
At once, she rose from her seat and approached him. "You smell like liquor and perfume," she said, wrinkling her nose.
"You're hardly one to speak," he replied. He began to walk away, all too aware of where the conversation was headed.
"At least I know how to keep my business private," she retorted. "Meanwhile, you're over here flaunting your actress all over town. Making those trips to Spokane. Schmoozing with bootleggers and criminals." She shuddered.
He stopped and looked at her. "I've been once in two years. How many times have you—"
Dinah cut him off. "Have you had her in this house yet? In front of my children?"
"Why would I—" he began before the realization of her wording sunk in. "You mean our children."
There was a momentary silence then Dinah let out a bitter laugh. "Right. Our children," she said. "God, you don't deserve these children."
Cal felt a sudden deep sense of foreboding and looked around the room.
"They're already gone," she replied, slipping her coat on. "They will be staying with my parents from now on, as will I." She sighed. "However, I will pop back in just often enough to keep rumors down, as much as I can. After all, I can only do so much to counteract your own inappropriate behavior."
"Why don't you just divorce me then?"
"We've been over this. I have no interest in making you happy."
He ran a hand along the edge of one of the side tables. A priceless crystal vase perched on top. Something Dinah had purchased with his money long ago. "What did I ever do to you?"
"If you must know," she began. "When I initially agreed to this match, I did not agree to being grossly misled."
"Grossly misled?"
"Let me make it clearer for you," Dinah said. "I was promised one type of man and received another one entirely and I have very little patience for that sort of bait and switch." She moved to the door and put her hand on the knob. "You know, forget the children. You don't deserve your money."
Cal watched her leave, stunned into silence. Of course, it was always about the money. There was no possible version of his wife who was concerned about their children's wellbeing. The moment the door closed, he seized the crystal vase and threw it across the room, taking some small amount of joy in destroying something he knew Dinah prized. He only wished he could do more.
~~~
They waited in the fairgrounds, huddled beneath an umbrella to keep out the gray drizzle. But John didn't mind the rain and the umbrella was only in the way. He stepped out from beneath it and looked up at the sky, the rain hitting him in the face, as he waited for the airplane that was supposed to be flying overhead. He thought he heard his mother call to him but he ignored her. He knew that neither of his parents liked being in large crowds but he wasn't about to let either one of them ruin the day.
John heard it before he saw it. A great roaring noise and suddenly the silver airplane swooped right over him, close enough to the ground that he could read the name on its aluminum cowling. Spirit of St. Louise . The crowd cheered.
After it had vanished, he turned to his parents. "Is it coming back?"
"I think he's landing," Sarah replied. She still held her hands over Eileen's ears. His sister was bundled up and tucked into her pram, probably unable to see anything at all and surely bored out of her mind.
John sighed and looked back at the sky. He didn't wait long before the sky became alive with airplanes, more of them than he could've asked for, doing all manners of stunt flying. They flew straight up and stalled then dove low to the ground, pulling up at the last moment. There were barrel rolls and formation flying. Skywriting—he couldn't make out any of the words from where he stood—and men parachuted to the ground. The whole spectacle left him awestruck.
After a time, the flying ceased and they followed the crowd to where a stage had been set up. Time seemed to have slowed as a man fiddled over the microphone.
"What's happening now?" John asked.
"Mr. Lindbergh's supposed to be speakin'," Pat explained. "He flew that plane earlier."
"I know," John quickly replied, feeling guilty at once for his sharper than intended tone. Things had not yet returned to normal between him and his father after the incident at the river.
The crowd seemed to quiet down all at once as a man with a mustache approached the mic. It wasn't who he wanted to listen to so John let his attention drift as the man went on and on about...air travel? It had to have been air travel. But then he was done and a tall man stepped forward. At once, he stood straighter in an attempt to hear better.
"We have today advanced to a stage where the airplane is entirely practical," Lindbergh said, his voice slightly distorted. "Commercial aviation compares in safety with all other forms of transportation."
"He's handsome," Sarah said.
Pat gave her a questioning look. "Should I be worried?"
"Probably not," she replied with a shrug. She looked at him and smiled. "Besides you're handsome too."
John rolled his eyes and stepped a few feet away from them.
"I'd like to emphasize that air mail, freight, and passenger service were now proven uses for the airplane," Lindbergh continued. "Commercial aviation, which is entirely safe, must not be confused with stunt flying, experimental, and pioneering aviation..."
John stopped paying attention. Commercial aviation sounded horribly boring compared to the stunt flying he had witnessed earlier. "I wish I could fly an airplane," he said aloud.
"Seems dangerous to me," Sarah replied.
"Didn't you listen?" John turned to her. "He just said it wasn't at all."
"Maybe when yer a bit older," Pat jumped into the conversation. "I mean it couldn't be any more dangerous than bein' at sea," he added to Sarah.
John knew that there were supposed to be fireworks to end the air races but they left long before they began, supposedly to beat the traffic but John knew the real reason. He tried to remind himself to be fortunate in what he was allowed to do—he certainly had never expected to be able to watch any of the stunt flying—but the irrational part of him that he could never quite seem to ignore, always wanted more.
He said very little on the way home, nothing at all through dinner, and went to bed before anyone knew where he had gone. That night he dreamt about flying, his silver aircraft cleaving a path in the sky...the crowd cheering his name as he swooped low overhead.
~~~
Hugh almost never let Kate bring in the mail anymore, not that it would have mattered. Cal hadn't written to her, not even letters sent covertly to Sarah. She didn't receive any mail from anyone. Therefore, she was surprised to find one day, a letter addressed to her in a handwriting she didn't recognize. She looked around the room to ensure that she was alone, before opening it. She frowned as she read it, it didn't make any sense, and felt a note of irritation as she realized that Hugh must've been behind it.
She brought the letter straight to him and tossed it on his lap. "What is this?"
He picked it up and glanced at the writing. "Seems fairly straightforward to me. I don't suppose you need me to read it to you."
"Who is Walter Lord and why is he thankin' me?"
"I imagine it's because you agreed to tell him your story."
"I never agreed to that," she replied. "I've never even heard of this man."
Hugh reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. "No, I agreed for you."
Kate pulled free from his grasp. "I won't do it."
"You will do it," he replied. "It'll be good for you. Help you move on."
"I don't need help movin' on. And that's not for ye to decide in the first place."
"Well, you're not going to make me look foolish by backing out now."
Kate pushed down the well of fear she felt and folded her arms. "Ye can't make me do anythin'. Yer me husband but ye don't control me."
Hugh rose from his seat and turned to her. "You're overreacting. It happened fifteen years ago," he said. He grabbed her arm and shoved the letter into her hand. "Just write a few damn lines down and shut up about it."
She felt the letter in her hand, crumpled from being passed back and forth and felt like crying. "Why?" She asked, not expecting any sort of answer.
"Why?" Hugh echoed. "Because it'd be foolish to give up a chance at some easy money just because of your damn pride. That is it, right?" He lifted her chin to make her meet his gaze. "You didn't do anything compromising or unscrupulous that you're trying to hide, did you?"
"No, of course not." She brushed his hand away and looked at the letter again. "It doesn't say anything about money."
"We'll worry about that part later."
Kate still felt uncertain. It was one thing to make such a choice on her own, it was entirely another to be forced into it.
Hugh snatched the letter from her hands. "If you won't do it, I'll do it myself and I guarantee you won't like what I say."
She let her gaze drift to the window and thought of Cal's visit, how happy he was to see her. He had loved her shorter hair. "Fine," she said at last in a soft voice.
Hugh took her in his arms and kissed her. "Good girl," he said.
Kate managed to smile. Perhaps she wouldn't need to go into much detail.
~~~
'Sarah?' The corridors were empty aside from the occasional discarded luggage. The ship creaked and groaned. He had to find her. One corridor led to the next, an intricate web of paths, each culminating in a dead end. Pat could feel the desperation creeping up. And his feet were cold. He looked down, surprised to see water where a moment before it had only been dry floor. Where was she? He turned another corner and thought he heard a baby cry. 'Eileen?' He rushed toward the sound but now the water was deeper, colder, he could barely move in it. The lights flashed then went out, plunging him into darkness. The only sound was a great roaring noise. It was so cold. He tried to turn back the way he had come, but couldn't move. Hands, a great many hands began clutching at him, clawing at him, desperately pulling him beneath the surface. He struggled against them. Sarah needed him. He felt his lungs burn. 'It's thirty one lives against yours.' He heard a voice call out. 'You can't come aboard.' Was he the one? He opened his mouth to cry out, to explain that he was only one man but his mouth filled with water. Sarah needed him and he was drown—
Pat awoke with a gasp, his heart pounding madly. It was a dream.
Sarah who had been holding onto him stirred. "Are you—"
"Fine," he quickly replied, hearing the tremble in his own voice. "Go to sleep."
She murmured something unintelligible then gripped him tighter.
Pat waited until he was sure she had fallen back asleep, then gently disentangled himself from her. He paused next to the bed and looked at her, her hair fallen over her face, half a smile on her sleeping face. Safe. His wife. His. As always, the realization was overwhelming. God, he didn't deserve any of it.
Leaving her to sleep, he went downstairs and pulled on his coat. He slipped out the front door, closing it softly behind him, and took a seat on the porch swing. It was the sort of just-before-winter cold that only served to make the stars shine brighter. He looked up at them and sighed. He wished, desperately, that he could talk to Kate but knew that couldn't happen. Sarah may not have noticed the lingering green and yellow on his sister's cheek not so long after Cal's visit, but he hadn't missed it. He always tried to shrug off any concerns regarding Hugh for his wife's sake but he worried greatly for Kate's safety. Which is why he felt he needed to keep his distance. He was so afraid of inadvertently stirring up Hugh's wrath.
Pat shook his head and refocused on the stars and they, as they always did, drew his thoughts to that one night on the Titanic when he and Kate and Tommy stood on the deck and stared in wonder at the night sky. Before everything fell to pieces. What would it be like to see his story written down? Would it make any difference? Pat didn't want his suffering to become anyone's entertainment but, lately, it almost felt as though his past was trying to get out, to escape. Perhaps his mind was trying to make room for all of his new worries.
The door opened suddenly and he looked over to see Sarah standing there, a coat pulled over her nightgown, looking strangely timid as though afraid to interrupt his thoughts. "I woke and you weren't there," she said softly. "I was worried."
"I couldn't sleep," he replied, beckoning her over. As she sat next to him, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.
"Nightmare?" She asked simply, resting her head on his shoulder.
"No...well, aye." He kissed her head. "But I was actually thinkin' about that letter."
"Letter?"
"It was from months ago."
"Oh, that one." Sarah yawned. "What about it?"
Pat's gaze drifted to the stars once more before he answered. "I think I might tell him what happened. I think it might not be so terrible to write it down."
Sarah lifted her head and looked at him in surprise. "Are you sure?"
"No, not at all," he replied. "But I still think I should."
A silence fell over them and he thought he saw a shooting star streak across the sky. He smiled at the memory it brought back.
"Whatever you decide to do," she said quietly. "You know I'll support you."
"I know." Pat imagined himself writing the story down, telling about Katie and Tommy, the woman with the baby and two small children, the endless corridors and dead ends, the man calmly swirling a glass of liquor, the children in the water, so many children...and suddenly he felt as though he was drowning. He took a deep breath and looked at Sarah. "Could ye maybe help me with it?"
"Of course," she replied. "You don't need to ask." She smiled as she returned her head to his shoulder. "I love you." The words came softly, so quietly that he hardly heard them.
He brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen across her face and, once again, he was struck with an overwhelming feeling he couldn't fully explain. His wife. His. "I love you too," he whispered back.