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 Sat.u.r.day 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 of leading them to a centrally located bench where they'd be sure to have a good view of pa.s.sersby hurrying to and from the trains, Paddy kept walking.

"Where are you goin'?" Katie asked, her eyes on a particularly well-situated bench. If they didn't position themselves on it quickly, someone else might take it.

He turned to face her. "I've a surprise for you. We're goin' to take a train ride. You haven't yet, and today seemed like a good day. Bridget will love it." Paddy took the little girl's hand in his. "So will you, Katie. It'll be an adventure." Smiling, he looked deep into her eyes. "We haven't been seein' enough of each other, didn't you say so yourself? A nice, quiet train ride is just the ticket." He laughed. "Ticket? Maybe I'm gettin' better at playin' around with words."

Katie frowned, uncomprehending.

"You need a ticket to get on the train," Paddy explained. "Come on now, we're wastin' time."

But when Paddy had purchased three tickets to a destination he refused to reveal, he motioned Katie toward a set of wide steps leading downward.

She stopped walking. Down? He was taking them down? Belowground? Her stomach twisted, and her palms grew clammy. No ... no ... she couldn't!

Realizing she wasn't following, Paddy stopped and turned around, as did Bridget. "Come on, then, our train leaves in six minutes."

Katie didn't move. "We have to go down?"

He frowned. "The trains are down there. They come in through tunnels forty feet underground. Amazin', ain't it? Come on, then."

Katie gasped. Forty feet underground? Tunnels? She broke out in a cold sweat. She took a step backward, nearly b.u.mping into a couple hurrying toward the stairs. "You didn't say it was underground."

Paddy sighed impatiently. "It ain't underground the whole way. Not like the subway. I know you'd hate that. The trains only come in and out underground, that's all. Just a few minutes, and then you're up top, honest."

Katie tried. Paddy had taken this time for her, and she wanted to have a good time. And Bridget seemed excited about the prospect of a train ride.

So she went down one step ... two ... three ... people hurried past her, far more anxious than she to descend ... four ... now the darkness below was visible, staring up at her as if to say, Go ahead, then, come on down so I can swallow you up. Hurry, so I can close in on you like the walls of a coffin.

Katie stopped on the fifth step down. Her legs felt like jelly, and her hands were shaking. "I'm not going down there, Paddy. I can't." What was the matter with him? Had he forgotten the torturous time she'd spent in the subterranean pa.s.sageways of t.i.tanic, trying to find a way up top? He knew all about it. Wasn't he the one, then, who had found her? He'd seen the state she was in. He knew better than anyone how impossible it was for her to be closed in now. And since he wasn't an ignorant lout, he had to know how much worse it would be for her to be enclosed in something that was belowground. The thought of a tunnel, dark and narrow, made her physically ill. "I can't go down there. Take me home, Paddy. Take Bridget and me home."

He was at her side then, looking genuinely puzzled. "Katie, it's just a train ride. People take them all the time." He waved his hands to encompa.s.s the stream of would-be pa.s.sengers hurrying past them on the stairs. "The trains are perfectly safe."

She backed up another step. She was trembling. "No, they're not. That's not true. I'm reading in the Herald almost every day about train accidents." That was true enough. "And people say they're b.u.mpy and noisy and..." But none of that had anything to do with it. If the train hadn't been underground, if it hadn't entered through a tunnel, she would have tried it, just for the adventure of it. She hated being afraid of things, and never had been before. Never. But she wasn't going down into that black tunnel. Not now. Not ever.

"We're not going to have an accident." Paddy's tone was patient enough, but he was tapping the three tickets against one hand impatiently. "Do you think I'd be takin' you and little Bridget here on a train if I wasn't thinkin' it was safe, then? Wouldn't that make me some kind of callous brute? I was just thinkin', this is the best way for you to get over your fear of bein' belowground. Can't be like that forever, you know."

So he hadn't forgotten her terror. Somehow that made it worse. Why should Paddy Kelleher be deciding how she was supposed to get over something? What did he know about such things?

He softened his voice in that way he had when he wanted something and he thought the other person was being unreasonable in not granting it. "Katie-girl, we're in the big city now. This ain't Ballyford, where the only way to get around is by jaunting cart or lorry. Isn't it grand, then, that they got trains right here in the city?"

Katie lost her temper. " 'Tis cruel of you to be remindin' me this ain't Ballyford, when you know full well that's where I'd rather be! And I'm not goin' down into any black underground tunnel, Patrick Kelleher. You take us home right now, or I'll get us there meself!" Though she had no idea how. She'd brought no money with her. Hadn't thought she'd need any, since Edmund always saw to it that Paddy had plenty in his pockets. If she had to, she'd find a telephone somewheres and call Flo. Flo would get her and Bridget home, even if she had to drive them there herself.

Paddy knew Katie well enough to sense when it would be easier to move the Brooklyn Bridge than to change her mind. He gave up, and they turned and went back up the steps and outside.

No one suggested that they sit on a bench and people watch.

The fresh air felt wonderful to Katie.

But the cab ride home was a silent one. A confused Bridget stared solemnly out the window, Paddy sat as far away from Katie as possible, and Katie herself fought angry tears. She wanted to tell Paddy how she felt, how hurt she was that he had tried to push her into "gettin' over" her terror. Wasn't that easy, was it? She couldn't help the way her stomach started to hurt and her chest ached and she couldn't breathe and she broke out in a cold sweat when she found herself in a small, enclosed s.p.a.ce, especially one underground. Didn't do it on purpose, did she, then? If she could stop it, she would.

She wanted to tell Paddy how she felt, how hurt she was that he hadn't come to the social. She wanted him to know how upset she was that he'd expected her to descend those stone steps into the darkness of a narrow tunnel. But she didn't want to talk about those things in front of Bridget or the taxicab driver.

Paddy would probably drop them off in Brooklyn and speed away without so much as a good-bye, and she'd never get the chance to say what she felt. He was probably thinking that here he'd taken time away from his busy life in the city to spend an afternoon with her, and she'd gone and ruined it. Probably blaming her. He wouldn't take an afternoon off again any time soon, not for her.

When they pulled up in front of the roominghouse, Paddy got out to silently hold the door open for Katie and Bridget. Spotting Mary sitting on their steps, looking healthy and refreshed, Bridget cried out and ran to her.

"I'm sorry I ruined the fine afternoon you'd planned," Katie said quietly, looking up into Paddy's face with pained eyes. "But I'm not ready to be ridin' along underground in a dark tunnel. I'd think you'd know that."

His eyes avoiding hers, he shrugged. "Could be I was wrong," he said reluctantly, surprising her. Being wrong was not something Paddy Kelleher admitted readily. "Askin' too much of you, could be." He looked down at her then, concern on his handsome face. "You was shakin' somethin' fierce, Katie. Just like down there in the t.i.tanic when I came across you and the wee ones. I didn't know it was still that bad." Then, even though it was broad daylight, even though Mrs. Toomey and Mrs. Costello were sitting on their front porches, and Mary and Bridget and Mrs. Murphy on theirs, and even though there were children playing stickball in the street, Paddy took Katie into his arms and kissed her for all the world to see. "I'm the one who's sorry," he murmured into her ear. "I wasn't thinkin' clear, and that's the truth. And I'm sorry I missed your singin' Sunday night, too. Doesn't seem like I'm much good to you these days. Don't know why you put up with me. Was I as bright as me brother was, you'd be a sight better off."

Surprised, Katie pulled away from him. He had never talked like that before. Hadn't even mentioned Brian in months. It was one thing for her to think that Paddy Kelleher wasn't much use to her these days, what with him so busy in the city and all. But it sounded odd to hear him giving voice to the very same thought. It wasn't like him, not like him at all. Confused, she said softly, "I love you just the way you are, Paddy. Why would I be wishin' you was somebody else?"

Mary and Bridget had clapped loudly when Paddy kissed Katie. Aware of eyes still upon them, Katie added, "Come on inside then. We can talk about Bri if you want, or about us if that's what you're wantin'. I do want to tell you all about Flo and the places she's goin' to have me sing. We need to talk, Paddy."

At first she thought he might say yes. He seemed to hesitate, even take a step forward. But when she said "Bri," his eyes clouded, and he shook his head. "Can't just now," he said. "Got to get back. There's some *do' tonight I'm supposed to go to. But I'll telephone you later, if I get home in time." He kissed her on the cheek, then stepped around her to enter the cab.

Mary and Bridget were smiling as the cab pulled away. Katie wasn't. Because Paddy had taken the afternoon off for a train trip, but they hadn't taken that train trip. So why was it he couldn't have used all that time left over for a talk with her, when she was needing it so sorely?

Because he didn't want to, came the disheartening answer.

And on the heels of that came an even more disturbing thought. He still thought she'd have been better off with Brian? After all this time, after everything they'd been through together? How could he be thinking that?

What was wrong with Paddy?

Chapter 7.

"I HAVE NEVER BEEN so mortified in my life! My own daughter, falling asleep in the middle of a performance, for all the world to see. Elizabeth, how could you! Mrs. Schermin was staring at you. I'm sure she must think I've raised you with no appreciation for the arts whatever."

"I don't care what she thinks. The opera was boring. If we'd gone to see the Castles the way I wanted, I wouldn't have fallen asleep. It would have been more fun. I wasn't tired, I was bored."

Nola sniffed in disdain. "Vernon and Irene Castle are vulgar. Their dancing is vulgar, I don't care how popular they are. Perhaps I did raise you with no appreciation for the arts."

Elizabeth leaned back against the car seat. "I don't want to argue, Mother. I'm sorry I embarra.s.sed you. Maybe next time you should go with your friends and I'll stay home with a good book." Or go visit Max and his friends in Greenwich Village. She hadn't seen any of them in a while. She missed the lively discussions. And she missed Max fiercely. She so seldom saw him these days. He was busy, and her mother certainly kept her busy.

A breeze caressed Elizabeth's cheeks as Joseph drove homeward. She envied the young couples she saw strolling along Madison Avenue holding hands. Others rode by in horse-drawn hansom cabs. Elizabeth sighed. When had she last enjoyed a nice, romantic evening?

It shocked her to realize that the last truly romantic evening she'd shared with Max had been ... on the t.i.tanic. Although they had been together many times during the year since they'd returned to New York, they were seldom alone. Nola was always there, always present. Even when they were alone, however briefly, it just wasn't the same. The terrible events of that night lay between them, a chasm neither one of them seemed able to leap across. Would it ever go away? Or, like the icebergs no doubt still floating treacherously in the North Atlantic, would it always be there?

It's my fault, Elizabeth thought clearly. I'm the one who's changed the most since we got back. On the ship, I had such plans, such dreams, and I was so determined to fulfill them. Max liked that, he applauded it. He wanted me to strike out on my own, though I had no idea how I would do that. He had done it, and he seemed so certain that I could, too, though he never understood just how difficult it would be. Still, he had faith in me, maybe more than I had in myself. Now, where are my plans? What have I done with them? Why don't I have them anymore?

Perhaps they had sunk with the t.i.tanic.

That thought disturbed Elizabeth. Because nothing that sank with the ship had been resurrected.

"We must begin making plans for Atlantic City," Nola said, pulling Elizabeth away from her thoughts. She spoke as if she had completely dismissed the humiliation of a daughter who fell asleep at the opera. "You know how busy the Marlborough is in July. And we wouldn't want to stay anywhere else."

"I'm not going." The words fell out of Elizabeth's mouth. She hadn't meant to say them, wasn't even aware of having thought them, yet there they were.

"What did you say?"

Elizabeth took a deep breath, let it out. "I said, I'm not going to Atlantic City. Or to the Jersey Sh.o.r.e or to Long Island. I'm not. I have ... I have other things to do this summer."

Nola laughed, a harsh sound in the darkened interior of the car. "Such as, pray tell? You have no plans that I'm aware of." The implication being that if Elizabeth did have plans, her mother would certainly know of them.

"Well, that's the problem, Mother, right there. The idea that I shouldn't have any plans that you don't know about. Like I have no life of my own. You just admitted as much." They were within two minutes of the Murray Hill house. It wasn't likely that the discussion would continue when they got home. Nola would go to her room, and tomorrow morning she'd be talking about Atlantic City again as if Elizabeth had never opened her mouth. "Don't you think that's rather sad, that an eighteen-year-old young woman has no life of her own?" Stupid question. Of course Nola didn't think it was sad. She thought it was the way things should be. She liked it this way.

"You have a very good life, Elizabeth. You might be more grateful."

That's right, make me feel guilty, Elizabeth thought angrily. That always works. Aloud, she said, "But it's your life I'm living, Mother. Why would you want your eighteen-year-old daughter living like a matron? Why would any mother?" Sorry, Max, she apologized silently, I'm borrowing your words. But she knew he wouldn't mind. They were true, after all.

True or not, Nola found them shocking. "Elizabeth! What a cruel thing to say! As if I haven't always wanted the very best for you." She shook her head and although Elizabeth couldn't see them in the darkness, she was sure there were tears trembling on her mother's lashes. "What has got into you suddenly? I thought you were quite content with our life. You seemed to be. It seems to me we've done very well, recovering from our horrible tragedy. Other women we know have not done nearly so well. Maxine Lewis never leaves her house, even though it's been a year since she lost Gregory, and Trudy and Beth Winterthur have yet to return from Europe. They say they couldn't bear to return to the house on Riverside Drive since their father's death at sea. They have no intention of coming back to pick up the pieces as you and I have done."

Joseph brought the car to a halt in the circular driveway.

Elizabeth sighed again. "You have done well, Mother. You have picked up the pieces of your life. I, on the other hand, have picked up those very same pieces." She sat forward on the seat. "But they aren't mine. At least, they shouldn't be. I should have my own. It's time I started finding them, don't you think?" She could have sworn she saw Joseph's black chauffeur's cap nodding agreement in the front seat. But she couldn't have. He wouldn't dare, not with Nola sitting right behind him. Joseph knew who signed his weekly paycheck. It wasn't Elizabeth.

To her dismay, she was right about the discussion ending when they entered the house. Nola dropped her fur stole on a chair and went directly upstairs to bed without another word, not even a "good night."

Instead of following her mother up the stairs, Elizabeth went into the drawing room and straight to the desk where the telephone sat. She perched on her father's enormous mahogany desk while she dialed the number, then she crossed her legs and waited, one ear attuned to any sound of her mother returning downstairs, the other glued to the receiver, waiting for Max's voice.

When it came, the knot in her stomach melted. His voice always did that, always had, from the first night on board the ship, after that humiliating encounter in the dining room, when he'd come up behind her on the t.i.tanic to say teasingly, "Helped any more third-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers since I saw you last?"

"I had an argument with my mother tonight," she told him, keeping her voice low. "About my future. I told her I'm not going to Atlantic City in July." Max hadn't wanted her to go away this summer. He wasn't going to Atlantic City with his parents, though they'd thawed enough to invite him. He wanted Elizabeth to stay in the city with him. She had said she couldn't do that. But ... maybe she could. Maybe she should. Be proud of me, Max, Elizabeth pleaded silently. Understand how hard this is for me, because I keep hearing my father's voice telling me to take care of my mother.

But when Max spoke, it was to ask, "Did you mean it? Are you going to stick to it? Or will she get round you, like she always does?"

Elizabeth sagged in disappointment. He didn't trust her. He had no faith left in her. She needed his support now more than ever, and he wasn't going to give it. Maybe she shouldn't have expected him to, after all the times she'd disappointed him this past year. She forged on, "I meant it. I'm not going. I have to think of a way that I can go to college without breaking my promise to my father. There must be something ... at any rate, I need the summer to think about it. So I can't take any trips."

This brought the reaction she'd hoped for. "Well, good for you! Is the old Elizabeth back then? About time." Max laughed. "I've missed you."

Elizabeth smiled, warmed by his enthusiasm. "Me too."

"Tell you what. You can prove you mean it by meeting me on Sat.u.r.day afternoon. We'll picnic in Central Park. I'll get all the food at the deli on the corner. All you have to do is show up. Have Joseph bring you to my place. I'll drive on over to my parents' house tomorrow afternoon and pick up a couple of bicycles. We'll bike to the park."

Elizabeth thought fast. Sat.u.r.day afternoon ... Sat.u.r.day ... Nola's hairdresser was coming to the house at ten A.M. sharp, and after that there was a shopping trip to Lord & Taylor. But ... that was for summer resort clothes. Since she wasn't going to any resort this summer, what did she need with resort clothes? "Mother will be keeping Joseph busy. But I can take a taxi. I'll be there." If her voice quavered just a bit at the thought of openly defying her mother for the first time in a year, Max didn't comment on it. "What if it rains?"

Max laughed again. "It wouldn't dare." His voice softened then. "Elizabeth, I'm glad you're back. I've missed you a lot. We can have a great summer."

It was nice to hear Max so excited. He'd seemed so unhappy lately. Or maybe "intense" was a better word. Not the carefree, confident Max she'd known on the ship. But then, she hadn't been herself lately, either. She didn't even know who her "self" was anymore.

That would all change now. If she just stuck to her guns and didn't let Nola's theatrics change her mind. Because Max was right. No matter what her father had asked of her on the t.i.tanic on that last, terrible night, he would not demand that she live her mother's life. That would be too cruel. Her father had not been cruel.

"I'll see you on Sat.u.r.day," she said into the telephone. "And Max? I love you."

"I love you, too, Elizabeth." He sounded in better spirits than he had in a long time. In a year, perhaps.

Now all she had to do was show up on Sat.u.r.day, in spite of her mother's best efforts to drag her on yet another shopping foray.

Feeling more hopeful than she had in a very long time, Elizabeth went upstairs.

Chapter 8.

"YOU WILL DO NO such thing." Nola's voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "Joseph has the car ready. When Tessie has finished with my hair, we are going shopping, Elizabeth."

Tessie, a small, dark-haired woman whose nimble fingers were arranging Nola's thick, fair hair, tightened her lips in disapproval as Elizabeth began arguing with her mother. "I promised Max! And I'm keeping my promise. Haven't you always said a lady should never break her word?"

"You had no business making such a promise in the first place. You knew we had this shopping trip planned."

Elizabeth threw up her hands. "We always have a shopping trip planned. Most of our lives are spent shopping! We spend more time in Lord & Taylor than we do at home. Why don't we just set up cots there so we don't have to go home when they close?"

Tessie, who had four children of her own, clucked her tongue, shook her head, the message being, If any of my children were to talk to me that way....

Elizabeth ignored her. "I'm going on a picnic with Max. I'm going to have some fun for a change. I'm not an old lady and I'm not going to live like one."

Tessie gasped in shock, and Nola's beautiful face went bone-white. Elizabeth had scored a direct hit on her mother's vanity.

Realizing her mistake, she floundered. "I ... I didn't mean you were old, Mother, you're not, of course you're not, everyone says how young you look. I just meant ... all those ladies who go shopping every afternoon and then meet later for ice cream sodas, well, they're all married, and have children. I ... I feel out of place with them, that's all I meant."

"My friends are not old, Elizabeth," an only slightly mollified Nola said coldly. "And you know perfectly well we do more than just shop. We spend a great deal of time doing charity work. We care about the unfortunate poor. And some of us have been very active in establishing memorials to the victims of the t.i.tanic."

Elizabeth frowned. What did any of that have to do with a picnic in the park? Max was waiting for her. If she disappointed him again.... "I'm going, Mother. I don't want to be late. Max already thinks you'll change my mind for me. If I don't show up on time, he'll go on without me."

Nola's demeanor changed suddenly. She sagged in the pink upholstered chair, her head went down, and her voice lowered to almost a whisper. "What would your father say, Elizabeth, if he saw you defying me like this?"

Elizabeth had been prepared for this familiar tactic. Nola used it when all else failed. "He would suggest that you go shopping with Betsy and Caroline and let me spend some time with people my own age." She couldn't be positive her father would say that, given the instructions he'd delivered only moments before she and her mother climbed into the lifeboat. "Take care of your mother," he had said. But he couldn't possibly have meant that she should spend every waking minute at her mother's side. Surely he wouldn't mind if she took a brief holiday on a sunny Sat.u.r.day afternoon. Once in a whole year? That wasn't so terrible, was it? "Father would see that as fair, and you know it, Mother."

Her spine straight as a flagpole, Elizabeth headed for the door. Inside, she was shaking, but aloud she said, "Have a good time shopping, Mother. I'll look forward to seeing all your purchases when I get home this afternoon. Buy something in sapphire blue. It's your best color." There! Now if her mother should suddenly die in a traffic accident while her disobedient, disrespectful daughter was out picnicking in Central Park, at least their last words hadn't been hateful ones.