All She Ever Wanted (44 page)

“Won’t your wife mind?” she asked bitterly.

“She overlooks my faults. I’m a very wealthy man, Fiona. My investments weren’t in stocks or… how shall I say… legitimate businesses.

There are certain things people will always want, even in an economic depression. Liquor, for example. Prohibition has caused hardships for some people but golden opportunities for others.”

Once again the waiter interrupted, bringing their salad course. Fiona had a moment to compose herself and her thoughts. She hated the idea of what Lorenzo was proposing, and even though it might be the only way she could support her family, she made up her mind to resist as long as she possibly could.

“Thank you for your kind offer, Lorenzo. But I think I’ll try to keep my shop open for a few more months. Who knows, maybe trade will pick up during the summer. If not… I might be willing to discuss your offer again in the fall.”

His smile was cold. “If that’s what you want, Fiona.”

For the next few months she did whatever she could to economize, but sales during the summer months were still very slow. Fiona wished she could pray. She often walked past the quaint, white clapboard church a few blocks from her shop and wished she could go inside. She remembered the beauty and serenity of St. Brigid’s church, how light and clean she felt after confessing. She longed for the peace of knowing that her sins were forgiven. But even if she could bring herself to confess everything to the parish priest, she was certain that God would never forgive her for living with a married man and having two illegitimate children.

It was too late for her to turn to God—but maybe it wasn’t too late for her children. Maybe, in spite of her own mistakes, she could still raise Leonard and Eleanor to know right from wrong. As fall approached and it seemed inevitable that she would have to accept Lorenzo’s help, she took her children to see the parish priest. Father Joseph was young—probably no older than she was—and he had a kind face.

“My late husband would have wanted our children to attend Mass and be raised in the church,” she told him.

“What about you, Mrs. Bartlett?”

She couldn’t meet his gaze. “Please don’t ask questions that I can’t answer,” she said softly. “Leonard is eight years old—may I bring him to catechism classes this fall? And Eleanor, too, when she’s old enough?”

“Of course, Mrs. Bartlett. We’d be pleased to have them. … And you, too, if you change your mind,” he added softly.

Fiona shook her head.

Chapter
31

R
IVERSIDE
, N
EW
Y
ORK

B
y the time Uncle Leonard finished telling his story, he seemed exhausted. He looked every one of his eighty-two years.

B
_y
“Do you remember much about your father?” Kathleen asked him gently. “You must have been… what… seven years old when he died?”

“All of my memories of him are sketchy. My father would say hello to me or ask me about school, but I might have been a stranger—not his son—someone he needed to make polite conversation with. He would give me only a moment of his attention, a few spare words of praise; then his focus always returned to my mother. It was very obvious that he adored her, and he squandered any tenderness he possessed on her. He never offered Eleanor or me any physical affection, never took us onto his lap or carried us in his arms. I don’t ever recall kissing him. He would converse with us for a minute or two, then he’d send us to our rooms so he and Mother could be alone.” Leonard gazed into the distance for a long moment, and his face looked gray and lifeless in the dim light.

“Sometimes I would sneak into the hallway,” he continued, “and peek out at them if they stayed in the living room. I’d see them on the couch together or mixing drinks at the bar or kissing. Once my father caught me spying, and he was so furious with me that I never did it again.

“Some weekends he would take Mother dancing, and he’d hire a babysitter to stay with us. I remember waking up one night just after they’d returned home, and they sounded so happy, laughing like two children and dancing in their stockinged feet to phonograph music. I wished I could go into the living room and dance along with them. I realized when I was older that they had probably been drinking.” He drew a deep breath and let it out with a long sigh.

“What I remember most about my father is that he loved my mother and barely tolerated Eleanor and me. Fiona was the prize he sought in the box of cereal; we were just so many cornflakes that had to be dug through in order to reach that prize.”

“I’m so sorry, Uncle Leonard,” Kathleen murmured. It was little wonder that he’d never wanted children of his own, or that he’d never shown affection to her and the others as they were growing up. She knew that he and Connie had moved into this house to take care of Kathleen’s siblings after her mother died, and she realized for the first time how challenging that must have been for both of them. Poke had been fourteen years old at the time, JT had been twelve, and Annie, ten. If Leonard and Connie hadn’t offered to help, the kids would have ended up in foster care.

“Here, Kathleen. You should have this,” Connie said, hefting the cardboard box filled with photo albums and other mementos.

“No, I can’t take it. …What about Annie and the boys?”

“You’re the oldest. I’ll leave it up to you to divide it all up if you want to, but it should stay in the family. You can sort through it better than I can, for goodness’sake. Besides, I already made albums for Annie and the boys over the years, with pictures and clippings about their sports events and graduations and so on.”

“She’s the sentimental one,” Leonard said with a faint smile. “You should see the way she cuts up the newspaper. Looks like Swiss cheese when she’s finished with it. Of course, most of the capitalistic swill that sells for ‘news’isn’t worth reading in the first place.”

“I still save everything,” Connie admitted. “Only now I’m usually cutting out articles about one of their children. Although I did cut out an article about your brother just the other day.”

Kathleen cringed, remembering how Mrs. Hayworth had also mentioned reading a newspaper article. “Which one of my brothers?What did he do now?” she asked, although she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the truth.

“Well, this latest one was about Donald—nobody calls him Poke anymore. But JT has been written up a couple of times, too.”

“I can well imagine,” Kathleen mumbled. She watched with dread as Connie rummaged around on the overflowing end table beside her recliner, searching for the clipping. Kathleen had warned Joelle what her uncles had been like as children, but it still embarrassed her to have her daughter see more recent proof of their crimes.

“Here it is!” Connie sang, waving the clipping like a flag. She presented it to Kathleen; Joelle leaned close to read it along with her. It said
Riverside Chamber of Commerce Elects New President
.

Kathleen stared at the headline for a long moment, unable to comprehend the words, certain that Connie had given her the wrong article. Kathleen fished her reading glasses out of her purse so she could read the small print.

Local businessman Donald L. Gallagher, 50, has been named President of the Riverside Chamber of Commerce, a spokesman announced. Gallagher, a lifelong resident of the village, is the owner of Gallagher’s TV and Appliances, Sales and Service, a well-known sales and repair emporium. …

There was more, but Kathleen burst out laughing and couldn’t continue. She handed the article to Joelle, and a moment later she was laughing out loud, too.

“What’s so funny?” Uncle Leonard asked.

“It’s so ironic!” she managed to sputter. “Don’t you remember how awful our TV set was when Poke and I were growing up? And now he
repairs
televisions?”

“Well… I suppose so. But I still don’t see—”

“And when I left home, Poke and JT were full-fledged juvenile delinquents, banished from every store in the Riverside Chamber of Commerce. I thought for sure that Poke would be in jail by now. But this is much worse! Uncle Leonard, he’s a
capitalist
!”

Kathleen started laughing all over again. Suddenly she felt Uncle Leonard begin to tremble, and for a horrible moment she feared that she had offended him, that he was about to suffer a stroke or a coronary.

Instead he let out a bark of laughter—the first Kathleen ever remembered hearing from him—as he joined her and Joelle.

“Why are you all laughing at poor Donald?” Connie asked. She pulled the newspaper article out of Joelle’s limp hands as if she was sorry she had ever produced it. “I’ll have you know he’s every bit as respected as JT is.”

“I’m sorry…” Kathleen sniffed as she tried to regain control. “Um… what is JT doing these days?”

“He’s a history teacher at Riverside High School,” Connie said with obvious pride.

Once again, Kathleen dissolved into laughter.

“He was named Teacher of the Year in 2002,” Connie added, raising her voice to be heard. “Well, for goodness’sake. I just don’t see why that’s so funny.”

Kathleen pulled out a tissue and wiped her eyes. “Maybe you don’t know it, Connie, but JT once held the village record as the youngest student ever to be suspended from school. He was in kindergarten!”

Connie smiled uncertainly. “Well, he’s changed since then, for goodness’sake. We’re real proud of him now.”

“You have every right to be,” Kathleen said, meaning it. “Transforming my brothers into respectable citizens should qualify you and Uncle Leonard for sainthood.”

Kathleen could see how exhausted her uncle was, and a few minutes later they said good-bye. Joelle stuffed the carton Connie had given them into the backseat, and they headed back to their hotel in Bensenville. The road was hilly and very dark, the trees forming an archway that blocked out the moon. Kathleen had to use her high beams and stay alert for deer. She was thinking about all the times that Eleanor and Cynthia must have traveled this route by bus during the war when Joelle interrupted her thoughts.

“Mom, what Grandma Fiona did… how she lived… Was that really unforgivable? I mean, I know she went to a different church than we do, but wouldn’t God have forgiven her if she’d asked? Even though she did it more than once?”

“Yes, of course He would have. We’re not supposed to misuse God’s grace by sinning deliberately, but if we’re really sorry for what we’ve done, and if we ask for forgiveness…” She trailed off, wondering if Joelle was asking about Fiona or herself. Her mother’s intuition suddenly told Kathleen that the incident at the mall last month hadn’t been the first time that Joelle had shoplifted—only the first time that she’d been caught.

“I feel so sorry for Grandma Fiona,” Joelle said with a sniff, and Kathleen heard the tears in her voice.

“I do, too,” she murmured. “But you know… I just remembered something else that happened that one time I met Grandma Fiona during the Cuban missile crisis.” She gazed down the darkened road for a long moment, as the memory crystallized.

“Grandma Fiona was looking for another record to put on the phonograph, and I suddenly said, ‘I know a song. Want to hear it?’At home, I never shared any of the songs we sang in Sunday School—nobody wanted to hear them anyway. But Fiona seemed to love music so much, and… and she looked up at me and said, ‘Yes, darling. I would love to hear it.’And so I sang ‘Jesus Loves Me’to her.

“She listened intently, and when I finished she asked, ‘Did they teach you that in church?’I nodded. ‘Do you go to Mass, then?’she asked hopefully. I told her that I went to a Protestant church. ‘That’s fine, too,’she said, and she forgot all about putting another record on the phonograph as she sat down beside me again and pulled me close.

“ ‘I used to go to church when I was a little girl in Ireland. And I used to look up at the crucifix and believe just what you sang—that Jesus loved me. I could see how much He did. Go ahead, sing it again, dearie.’

“I sang the second verse: ‘Jesus loves me, He who died, Heaven’s gate to open wide. He will wash away my sin and let each child of His come in. Yes, Jesus loves me…’

“ ‘It’s easy to say those words:
I love you,
’Fiona told me when I’d finished. ‘I’ve heard them many times, and you will, too, because you’re a pretty girl, Kathleen. But do you know how you can tell if someone is telling the truth?’I shrugged and shook my head. ‘Never listen to his words, dearie. Words are cheap. Nay, look at what he’s willing to give up for you. Make him show you how much he loves you.’

“ ‘Jesus loves you this much,’I told her, stretching out my hands the way Jesus had on the cross. ‘He died for us.’

“She stared into the distance as if searching her memory. ‘When I was a girl in Ireland they had a crucifix in the front of the church. Every time I went to Mass, I always had to look up at Jesus dying in agony. He was always nailed up there, suffering. I hated to think that He had suffered for me.’She seemed so sad that I wanted to cheer her up.

“ ‘I know a Bible verse. Want to hear it? “God so loved the world—” Wait, we’re supposed to put our name in there. “
God so loved Grandma Fiona that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life
.”’