spring, I understand that,” she said.
“People are already trying to stop us.”
“We’ll overcome them.”
“Love will prevail over everything.”
“We’ll live like no other people ever lived.”
“Only death will undo us,” he said.
“Amen,” she said.
Confirmed anew that a voluptuous woman is the universe’s greatest gift to a man, Edward turned back to Katrina, bent low and kissed her mouth. Stroking himself then, because this must not
end, and seeing and feeling Katrina’s blood on his hand, he made his inward thrust, thinking: Do whatever you will, Lord. This is worth it.
M AIN STREET WAS the second-last street in the North End, one of five block-long streets that sloped down from Broadway to the railroad tracks and the
Lumber District. After these streets only a few isolated houses dotted Broadway before the Bull’s Head tavern and Island Park racetrack, and then came the open road that ran north toward Troy
Houses stood only on the north side of Main, the south side as wooded with oak and maple and elm as it had been the day Dutchmen first left their boat to set foot on this land of the Mohawks. The
five small streets were a community to Edward, a cul-de-sac of rustic, harmonious life, lived adjacent to the chug and clatter of Albany’s three lifelines: the rail, the canal, and the river.
As he turned the corner in his carriage, Edward saw his mother and the Whites standing in front of the Daugherty house, then saw his father’s head halfway out the bedroom window.
“They’re talking to neighbors,” he said to Katrina, beside him.
“Is that bad? Do you want to come back later?”
“No, neighbors are good. They’ll cut the ice. It’s Cappy and Mamie White.”
“Such a large woman.”
“She’s larger than that. Cappy drives the Lumber District horse-car and when she gets on the front of it the back end goes up.”
“Does she have to be so big?”
“They’ve had doctors, but she keeps growing. It’s been like watching the slow inflation of a balloon for as long as I’ve known her.”
A brown chicken ran into the street as Edward pulled up, and his mother, an apron over her long housedress, ran after it, snatched it up and held it under her arm. Edward reined the horse, and
as he jumped down to tether it, Katrina said to him, “That’s your mother.”
“It certainly is.”
“I remember her.”
He helped Katrina down from the carriage, then walked her over to introduce her first to his mother, then to the Whites, as his fiancée. His father was gone from the window.
“Katrina says she remembers you,” Edward told his mother.
“From the Manor House,” Katrina said. “My mother took me to visit the Van Rensselaer girls when I was eight or nine, and when we played in the kitchen, you were there. I
remember how young you were, and yet your hair was pure white.”
“I do remember your mother came often,” Hanorah Daugherty said. She smiled at Katrina. “But I wasn’t so young, I don’t think.”
“Oh, but you were,” Katrina said.
“We’ll move along, Hanny,” Cappy White said. Cappy was a burly six-footer with a thatch of bristle on his upper lip, and already graying at thirty-eight. “Congrats to
you, Eddie.”
“Thanks, Cappy. I deserve them.”
“You have a beautiful, beautiful bride,” Mamie White said. She stared at Katrina, then gave Edward the saddest of smiles.
“She’s not my bride quite yet, Mamie. But we’re getting there.”
The Whites said their goodbyes and walked off slowly, Mamie’s shoulders rocking from side to side.
“Go on in, go in,” Hanorah said, shooing them toward the front door. “I’ll put this one back in the yard,” and she walked to the rear of the house with the chicken
in her arms.
Edward opened the door for Katrina and led her into the parlor with its huge chrome stove, the beaded valances on the windows, the doilies on the arms of the horsehair chairs. A small braided
rug in front of the
“People are already trying to stop us.”
“We’ll overcome them.”
“Love will prevail over everything.”
“We’ll live like no other people ever lived.”
“Only death will undo us,” he said.
“Amen,” she said.
Confirmed anew that a voluptuous woman is the universe’s greatest gift to a man, Edward turned back to Katrina, bent low and kissed her mouth. Stroking himself then, because this must not
end, and seeing and feeling Katrina’s blood on his hand, he made his inward thrust, thinking: Do whatever you will, Lord. This is worth it.
M AIN STREET WAS the second-last street in the North End, one of five block-long streets that sloped down from Broadway to the railroad tracks and the
Lumber District. After these streets only a few isolated houses dotted Broadway before the Bull’s Head tavern and Island Park racetrack, and then came the open road that ran north toward Troy
Houses stood only on the north side of Main, the south side as wooded with oak and maple and elm as it had been the day Dutchmen first left their boat to set foot on this land of the Mohawks. The
five small streets were a community to Edward, a cul-de-sac of rustic, harmonious life, lived adjacent to the chug and clatter of Albany’s three lifelines: the rail, the canal, and the river.
As he turned the corner in his carriage, Edward saw his mother and the Whites standing in front of the Daugherty house, then saw his father’s head halfway out the bedroom window.
“They’re talking to neighbors,” he said to Katrina, beside him.
“Is that bad? Do you want to come back later?”
“No, neighbors are good. They’ll cut the ice. It’s Cappy and Mamie White.”
“Such a large woman.”
“She’s larger than that. Cappy drives the Lumber District horse-car and when she gets on the front of it the back end goes up.”
“Does she have to be so big?”
“They’ve had doctors, but she keeps growing. It’s been like watching the slow inflation of a balloon for as long as I’ve known her.”
A brown chicken ran into the street as Edward pulled up, and his mother, an apron over her long housedress, ran after it, snatched it up and held it under her arm. Edward reined the horse, and
as he jumped down to tether it, Katrina said to him, “That’s your mother.”
“It certainly is.”
“I remember her.”
He helped Katrina down from the carriage, then walked her over to introduce her first to his mother, then to the Whites, as his fiancée. His father was gone from the window.
“Katrina says she remembers you,” Edward told his mother.
“From the Manor House,” Katrina said. “My mother took me to visit the Van Rensselaer girls when I was eight or nine, and when we played in the kitchen, you were there. I
remember how young you were, and yet your hair was pure white.”
“I do remember your mother came often,” Hanorah Daugherty said. She smiled at Katrina. “But I wasn’t so young, I don’t think.”
“Oh, but you were,” Katrina said.
“We’ll move along, Hanny,” Cappy White said. Cappy was a burly six-footer with a thatch of bristle on his upper lip, and already graying at thirty-eight. “Congrats to
you, Eddie.”
“Thanks, Cappy. I deserve them.”
“You have a beautiful, beautiful bride,” Mamie White said. She stared at Katrina, then gave Edward the saddest of smiles.
“She’s not my bride quite yet, Mamie. But we’re getting there.”
The Whites said their goodbyes and walked off slowly, Mamie’s shoulders rocking from side to side.
“Go on in, go in,” Hanorah said, shooing them toward the front door. “I’ll put this one back in the yard,” and she walked to the rear of the house with the chicken
in her arms.
Edward opened the door for Katrina and led her into the parlor with its huge chrome stove, the beaded valances on the windows, the doilies on the arms of the horsehair chairs. A small braided
rug in front of the
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