sitting on Mary’s front porch on the Wednesday after the ice cream social, Katie brushing Bridget’s hair while Mary slept inside on the davenport, when a taxicab pulled up in front of her aunt’s house and Paddy unfolded himself from the back seat. Katie knew it was him even before he got out. No one in the neighborhood could afford taxi-cabs, but Paddy often arrived in one. Just as often, Edmund sent him to Brooklyn in a chauffeur-driven car. “You’re the only one who can settle him down,” the publisher had told Katie at a recent party, “so whatever it takes to get him out there to see you, that’s what I’ll do.”
Not that she’d had much luck “settling” Paddy down lately.
As always when she saw him, her breath caught in her throat. Even when, as now, she was furious with him, her first instinct whenever he appeared was to rush to him and throw herself into his arms. Thank the stars she’d been raised not to behave so unladylike, or it would be a fool she’d be making of herself, right there in the streets of Brooklyn.
He saw her sitting on Mary’s steps and loped across the street in that lazy, arrogant way he had.
He didn’t come to my social, Katie reminded herself firmly, refusing to stand up and greet him. He had more important things to do.
But half an hour later, wearing a fresh white middy and firmly holding Bridget’s hand, Katie was climbing into another cab and heading for Manhattan with Paddy. “I’m takin’ the afternoon off from writin’,” he’d said excitedly, “and you’re comin’ with me into the city. The wee one can come along, if you’ve a mind to bring her. She should see the big city, anyways.”
When Katie asked what they would be doing when they got to the city, Paddy shook his handsome head. “ ’Tis a surprise.”
Paddy hadn’t said a word about her ice cream social. He hadn’t apologized for not showing up, and he hadn’t even asked her how it had been. It was as if it hadn’t happened. And Katie was too stubborn to bring it up herself. Anyways, that would just start an argument, and she didn’t want to ruin the day for Bridget, who was staring out the taxicab window with huge brown eyes. Her parents had not yet taken her to the city, and she was trying to take in everything at once. She was impressed by the Brooklyn Bridge, which Katie thought ugly but preferred to the riverboats, feeling the way she did about boats now. Paddy pointed out the top of the Woolworth Building, the tallest in the world.
“How do people get to the top of it?” Bridget, nearly hanging out the taxicab’s window, asked breathlessly.
“The tallest buildings have elevators,” Katie answered, her heart pounding at the thought of the dreaded iron cages. “And all of them have stairs, just like you do at your house.”
Though Katie disliked the hustle and bustle of New York City, Bridget seemed to love it. “So many people,” she declared, “and so many cars and big buildings. How come the ground don’t cave in?”
Katie’s worry exactly.
Paddy directed the driver to their final destination. When it pulled up in front of Grand Central Station and stopped, Katie was delighted. Grand Central was a fair interesting place. Twice on a Saturday afternoon, she and Paddy had whiled away several happy hours doing nothing more than sitting on benches watching people hurry by. Paddy called it “gatherin’ writin’ material.” Imagining what kind of lives different people led, where they lived, what their occupation might be, where they were going to or coming from, was, he said, “food for writin’.”
Katie just thought it great fun.
“Oh, you’re goin’ to like this,” she told Bridget as they climbed from the cab and the driver sped away. “You’ll see more people inside here than you’ll see in a month of Sundays in Brooklyn, ’Tis a great place to see how New Yorkers dress and hear how they talk as they hurry past.”
But when they were inside, instead
Not that she’d had much luck “settling” Paddy down lately.
As always when she saw him, her breath caught in her throat. Even when, as now, she was furious with him, her first instinct whenever he appeared was to rush to him and throw herself into his arms. Thank the stars she’d been raised not to behave so unladylike, or it would be a fool she’d be making of herself, right there in the streets of Brooklyn.
He saw her sitting on Mary’s steps and loped across the street in that lazy, arrogant way he had.
He didn’t come to my social, Katie reminded herself firmly, refusing to stand up and greet him. He had more important things to do.
But half an hour later, wearing a fresh white middy and firmly holding Bridget’s hand, Katie was climbing into another cab and heading for Manhattan with Paddy. “I’m takin’ the afternoon off from writin’,” he’d said excitedly, “and you’re comin’ with me into the city. The wee one can come along, if you’ve a mind to bring her. She should see the big city, anyways.”
When Katie asked what they would be doing when they got to the city, Paddy shook his handsome head. “ ’Tis a surprise.”
Paddy hadn’t said a word about her ice cream social. He hadn’t apologized for not showing up, and he hadn’t even asked her how it had been. It was as if it hadn’t happened. And Katie was too stubborn to bring it up herself. Anyways, that would just start an argument, and she didn’t want to ruin the day for Bridget, who was staring out the taxicab window with huge brown eyes. Her parents had not yet taken her to the city, and she was trying to take in everything at once. She was impressed by the Brooklyn Bridge, which Katie thought ugly but preferred to the riverboats, feeling the way she did about boats now. Paddy pointed out the top of the Woolworth Building, the tallest in the world.
“How do people get to the top of it?” Bridget, nearly hanging out the taxicab’s window, asked breathlessly.
“The tallest buildings have elevators,” Katie answered, her heart pounding at the thought of the dreaded iron cages. “And all of them have stairs, just like you do at your house.”
Though Katie disliked the hustle and bustle of New York City, Bridget seemed to love it. “So many people,” she declared, “and so many cars and big buildings. How come the ground don’t cave in?”
Katie’s worry exactly.
Paddy directed the driver to their final destination. When it pulled up in front of Grand Central Station and stopped, Katie was delighted. Grand Central was a fair interesting place. Twice on a Saturday afternoon, she and Paddy had whiled away several happy hours doing nothing more than sitting on benches watching people hurry by. Paddy called it “gatherin’ writin’ material.” Imagining what kind of lives different people led, where they lived, what their occupation might be, where they were going to or coming from, was, he said, “food for writin’.”
Katie just thought it great fun.
“Oh, you’re goin’ to like this,” she told Bridget as they climbed from the cab and the driver sped away. “You’ll see more people inside here than you’ll see in a month of Sundays in Brooklyn, ’Tis a great place to see how New Yorkers dress and hear how they talk as they hurry past.”
But when they were inside, instead
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