Shipbuilder (17 page)

He shook his head. "I don't understand."

She moved to the rail and stood looking at the river. Tom realized she was not like the girls he knew–she stood differently, moved differently. The differences were subtle though, and could be put down to upbringing. She was naturally graceful, but had not been trained to gentility. After a moment, she turned to lean her back against the rail and regard him seriously. "Tom, I was born in 1985. The world changes a lot between now and then. I think it changes more in the next hundred years than at any time in human history. One of the biggest changes is the blurring of differences between men and women."

Her words shocked him. He knew it showed because she smiled at his expression, clarifying, "Okay, I mean the
social
differences between men and women. Kids in my generation grew up as complete equals. We went to the same schools, had the same opportunities, the same responsibilities, competed for the same jobs. Women vote, they hold public office, they run companies, they do anything they are capable of doing. They don't have to ask permission, they don't have to be 'protected' or supported by a man."

He shook his head, dumbfounded. She touched his arm. "What I'm trying to say is that working in a shipyard was completely normal for me. Oh, not the work itself, I had to learn that, but to have a job, to be around a lot of working men, I was comfortable with that. In fact, the part that was weird was not having more women around. That, and not having women's lavatories, of course."

He heard the joke in her tone, but just shook his head, unable to speak. He put his hands in his pockets and turned to look at the river. The suffragettes talked about a society like that. He was not one of those who thought women were incapable of voting or making decisions–far from it. But he couldn't imagine the life Casey talked about.

She stood beside him and tried again. "Tom, think of the camaraderie, the
casualness
, you feel when working in a roomful of men. For my generation, that's the way it is for boys and girls working together. It's been that way for all our lives. We hardly even think about it. So when I say that Casey the boy is normal for me, that's what I mean. Except for being careful that no one found out I was a girl, I just acted like myself."

He stared at the railing, knowing he still didn't understand. "So now?" he asked. "Dressing and acting like a woman? How is this an act, for you?" He looked at her accusingly. "That day in my office, you said you missed being a girl. It nearly broke my heart to hear you say that, to think we'd taken something special away from you. Where is the truth, Casey?"

She blinked away tears. "The truth is all of it, Tom. I missed being able to just go to work and have everybody know I was a girl and have it be okay. I'd have done all the same things and acted the same way and probably dressed the same. But I'd have been a girl." She spread her hands, as if begging. "I would have just been me."

He stared at her for a minute, trying to understand it, then rubbed his temples. "It's all so foreign to me, but I guess I can understand how it would be for you, growing up that way. But what about now?" He held up his hands to indicate her clothing, not able to hide his misery. "Now, you can be a girl. But you say this is an act, and I don't understand why. I want to know you, Casey. I want that more than anything else in the world. But where is the real Casey Wilson?"

She did start crying then. "Somewhere in 2006, I think." Remorseful, he reached for her, but she turned away. He waited as she tried to stop crying and after a minute, she spoke again, her voice not quite clear. "I just find it a struggle to always be proper and...
ladylike
... for lack of a better word." She turned to face him, brushing away a tear with gloved fingers. "I'm used to being more casual with people, even with men, and I'm... I don't know... wilder, I guess, than what's proper for a woman in this time. When I was running around Belfast as a boy, I didn't have to worry about any of that. But now I feel like I'm constantly stifled." She retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose. "It's not so bad that I'm unhappy or anything, and it can't be helped, after all. I just have to get used to it."

He chewed his lower lip, trying to think of a way to cheer her up. "If you could act as you wanted, what would you do?"

She looked surprised, and then turned in a slow circle, taking in the entire city. "Oh I don't know. Maybe," she gestured down the path at some kids playing football, "join in an impromptu game of football. Or meet my friends for a few beers at a pub." She smiled a little at his alarmed expression. "Go dancing. Play a game of catch on the campus lawn." She laughed suddenly. "Take off my shoes and sit on the floor!"

He laughed at that, though he was shocked about the beer. She looked at him curiously. "You have a sister, don't you?"

He nodded. "Yes, Nina. She's twenty-five."

"What does she do for fun?"

He frowned, thinking about it. "Well, she just got married last year. I think she had a lot of fun planning that. She lives in England, now. But she likes to read, which," he bowed briefly to her, "I know you like to do also." She nodded and he continued, "She's quite accomplished at needlepoint and spinning, and I think she gets a bit of enjoyment from those. And she writes that she meets with friends for tea and gossip fairly often." His lips quirked as he looked at Casey and the politely interested expression she wore. "She is also an accomplished horsewoman, and plays golf and tennis."

"Ah! Golf and tennis. And riding? Well, that all sounds enjoyable," Casey said. "I just had no idea what women did for fun in this time."

He looked cross, a corner of his mouth curling up to show he was teasing. "You truly must socialize more."

"Well there's no doubt about that," she replied. "And perhaps work on shedding some of my preconceived notions. Can women play cricket?"

"Oh, goodness!" He groaned. "Of course they don't play cricket, that's much too rough!"

She stopped walking and looked at him, pouting. "My best friend was on the women's varsity cricket team at Queen's."

He stared at her, speechless.
He
played cricket, and it was not a game for women.

Casey waved a hand at him. "Tom? You can breathe, now."

He blinked. "
Women's
varsity cricket?
Real
cricket?" She nodded. "Do you play?" he asked her.

"Not on a team. I like to jump around and have fun, but it turns out I'm not real competitive. I always want everyone to just get along."

That made him laugh. "I can just imagine."

"What about football?" Casey asked suddenly.

"You mean, women playing football?" Tom shook his head. "Young girls play when they are still in school. Not after, I'm afraid."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It's not like there's a law or anything against it. I guess it's just not considered ladylike."

"Ladylike? Oh my god, the dreaded word!"

He laughed, but felt contrite. "I'm sorry, Casey. School girls can and do play these games among themselves, but any sport a lady plays is done in a sedate manner. Ladylike, if you will."

"But why? And what about tennis? You said your sister played tennis. That's not sedate."

"It is when ladies play it. I've seen them."

"Oh brother." She put her head in her hands. "I guess I can't lose all my preconceived notions, after all."

"You know, girls are quite active as children," he told her. "They play along with the boys all the time. My sister had four brothers and we were merciless with her. And she never had any trouble keeping up. But about thirteen or fourteen years of age, she stopped. Mother may have encouraged her, but I think that's when she first noticed boys other than her brothers."

"Ah," Casey said, "the biggest game of all."

He tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Exactly."

"But Tom, you're, what, thirty-four?" He nodded. "And you still play cricket and go hunting or fishing for fun. I've heard you talk about that."

"Certainly. Not as much as I'd like of course, because of work, but certainly."

"So in this society, men can continue to play like boys well into their thirties, and the girls, at quite young ages, take up needlepoint." Her raised eyebrows indicated he could take it as a question.

He rubbed his mouth to hide a smile, aware of the trap he'd walked into. "Now," he pointed out, "I may not be the right person to ask, but I always assumed girls did that because they wanted to. Some kind of domesticity desire kicking in or something." He gestured helplessly. "I don't really know. Boys are sent off to school and the girls stay at home, or attend a local school with other girls. We really don't see them much, at least not socially, until they come out, but I have several female cousins and, of course, I knew sisters of my friends. And at that age, the girls mostly sat in groups and giggled. They wouldn't have played football with us if we'd begged them."

Casey just shook her head in consternation.

"So girls in your generation don't do that?" he asked.

"Oh for heaven's sake, of course they do!" she said. "But we don't have to give up the games and running around. We can keep playing as long as we're able, same as the guys. And why not? It's healthy to keep active."

"So does no one learn needlepoint, anymore? It does make things attractive and many clans in Ireland are fiercely proud of their patterns."

She hesitated. "They do if they're interested in it as a hobby, but for the most part, no one does that kind of thing anymore. Needlepoint is done by machine and outsourced to wherever labor is cheapest. Anything homemade, especially by a clan in Ireland, is going to take top dollar."

"So we lose art to progress, is that what you're saying? But it frees everyone up to play football."

She nodded. "Sort of. Although it's more like people are freed up to do whatever interests them."

She paused as they rounded a corner, and her eyes wandered off the path and to the small oak tree on the side. Tom watched as she moved, as if dazed, to stand next to it, one hand tentatively touching the young branches, the top of the tree just reaching her waist. He followed behind her. Her voice was so soft, he had to lean in, not daring to breathe. "I used to come here all the time at first." He watched her hand caress the bark, her mind a million miles away. Or a hundred years. "I would look around and try to remember what the park and city looked like before. Then I started working for you and I didn't have time to come anymore." She brought the hand to her face, wiping away a tear and shaking her head slowly. "I can't picture it, now. I'm forgetting."

He touched her back, gently, so that she hardly felt it. "It does no one good to cling to what we can't have, Casey. There's nothing wrong with moving on."

She blinked and looked up him, serious as she searched his face. He was relieved when she smiled a little. "I know. I may need to be reminded occasionally."

He gripped her shoulders. "I'm sorry that it's been hard for you, here. I try to imagine what it would be like for me, to suddenly find myself in 1807 and have to figure out how to survive and fit in." He shook his head. "I think you've done splendidly. I hope I can be a help to you from now on." He touched her cheek. "You can always take off your shoes and sit on the floor when I'm around." He smiled as she laughed at that. "And I can't think of anything I'd rather do than take you dancing. I know of a ball we can go to tonight. Would you like to?"

He hoped she would always look at him the way she was now, eyes shining and lips trembling slightly. Was it love he saw on her face? He held his breath as she nodded, and he gave in to one more improper act: a light, quick kiss on her lips. Then he let her go and turned away, taking her arm in his again as they resumed their walk. He could tell she needed the break as much as he did.

Chapter 17

February–March 1907

Sam noted with some amusement that Casey had not yet answered his good morning, or his twice-repeated question of how her evening had gone. He had accompanied them to the dance, of course. Tom would never have taken her without a chaperone. But he'd pretty much left them on their own at the dance, which had been hosted by the Lord of something-or-other, at a grand estate on the edge of town. He'd been nervous about social interaction with this crowd, in this time. He supposed he did all right. Everyone was polite, anyway, but his concern left him with little time to actually "chaperone." Tom and Casey had been quiet on the way home and Tom had simply shaken Sam's hand, and kissed Casey's, before driving off. Casey had gone straight to bed, although he'd managed to notice her dreamy expression as she said good-night.

Hence, his question this morning. True, the greeting and first question had been sort of tossed at her as he passed her, sitting at the table, on his way into the kitchen for what passed for coffee in Edwardian Ireland. He'd repeated the question as he placed his breakfast on the table and retrieved the newspaper for reading. Now he sat with the paper folded, dipped a spoon into his porridge, and took a minute to observe his distracted ward.

Casey was perched cross-legged on her chair, wearing a warm sweater and her "boy pants," feet shod only in thick socks. Her hair was rumpled from sleeping, the curls hanging in loose rivulets around her face. That face was thoughtful, the eyes tired and dreamy as she stared at her untouched cereal. Sam waved a hand in front of her.

"Earth to Casey!" He brought the hand back and reached for his coffee. "Isn't there a song about dancing all night?"

Casey rolled her eyes and pulled up a spoonful of porridge, but she was blushing. "Very funny," she muttered.

"And begging for more?" Sam continued to tease. Casey just smiled dreamily into her bowl, slowly stirring. "Oh, dear," Sam said.

She gave a half shrug, continuing to stir. "It's no use, Sam. Every moment I'm with him, I love him more. I feel like I'm dreaming, because he acts as if he…" she dipped her head lower as if to hide, "…well, as if he likes me, too."

Sam cleared his throat. "Ah, good… good. I'm glad it's going well. He's a good man." He stirred his coffee for a moment, his look of concern belying the words.

Casey took a sip from her cup. "And?" she prompted.

Sam glanced at her and sat back in his chair. "Well Casey, help me out here. This may seem an odd question, but what would your parents think of this relationship?"

Her eyebrows disappeared under the loose hair. "My parents?" she asked. "What do you mean?"

He spread his arms wide. "I'm serious. They're not here, you know, and I often feel I should act as a surrogate. You're only twenty-one years old, Casey, and Tom is thirty-four. I have to question if you understand what you're dealing with here. And whether your parents would be concerned."

"I have no doubt they would love Tom, if they could meet him."

Sam waved this away. "Of course they would. Everybody loves Tom. And they couldn't ask for a more decent and respectable young man to love their daughter. But would they want you getting this involved with someone his age?"

She shook her head. "I think my parents would be more concerned about his character than about his age. If he's so decent and respectable, why do you have to worry?"

He rubbed his forehead, frustrated. "What do you want from life, Casey? What would your parents want for you? I know you had plans before, and that since coming here, you've been more concerned with survival, as have I. But we need to start figuring out where we're going. You especially need to, Casey. You're going to live out your entire life in the early twentieth century. How does that change the plans you had for yourself?"

She answered slowly, as if thinking about it. "Before, I just had general plans. No specific goals, but I just sort of expected to… well, the usual. I would get my degree, do grad school, some kind of research. Maybe biotechnology. I expected to eventually get married and have a child or two. To travel a lot. Just a normal kind of life. It may be more difficult, now, but can't I do the same kind of thing, here?"

"With Tom?" Sam asked.

Casey blushed again. "That would be my preference, yes."

"Are we assuming he lives past 1912?"

Her eyes widened. "I'm assuming that with all my heart, Sam. But you bring up a good point."

He arched an eyebrow. "Which is?"

"That I would be a fool to take my time with this. Before, I would never have considered getting involved–no, getting married–before finishing my degree and having a decent job. Even in this time, there was no real reason to do otherwise. Except that I've fallen in love with Thomas Andrews. If we only have a few years together, then I want to have as much of them as possible, together."

Sam nodded. "I understand. That's sort of my point, because I don't think Tom will want to wait several years before marrying you, anyway. But do you understand what marriage to Tom Andrews would require of you? You haven't met his family yet."

She held up her hands. "Don't start with the family again."

He leaned forward. "I mean, it might behoove you to observe what role women play in his family. Do any of them have careers, or interests or hobbies outside of their marriages? Or, are they strictly helpmates? Wives and mothers?" He rubbed the table, thinking as he talked. "Tom holds a powerful position in his company and in this town. I don't know if it's happened yet, but people will want him to hold public office, to aid in solving labor problems, home rule issues, all kinds of things. His family is very involved in politics. His older brother eventually becomes Prime Minister of Northern Ireland. It may be that the woman who marries Tom will have to be a strong presence
behind
the man. Support, dear. Social, political, familial support, not a woman with a career of her own. Not in this age."

He met her gaze with a frank smile. "Are you ready or able to be a wife and mother? To run a household with servants, maintain a social standing in the community, and support your husband? Because I suspect that’s what your life will be, dear.”

She stared at him and swallowed hard. “I could learn, couldn’t I? I think… No. I don’t think that Tom would expect me not to pursue my own interests. He doesn’t seem to be that kind of person.” It was her turn to draw on the table with her fingers. “We’d have to talk about it. I’d have to make sure he understands that I don’t know how to do that stuff. But I’ll learn. We’ll compromise. Maybe I won’t have an actual job, but I’ll do other things. I have to try, Sam.”

She stood up abruptly and picked up her dishes. “This is silly, anyway. Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. We’ve only been to one dance. You make me start worrying about what our marriage will be like, I might get too confident. I may wake up and find out he’s been distracted by a, what’s the phrase? ‘A well-turned ankle.’” She spoke lightly, but ducked into the kitchen.

Sam raised his cup for a sip. “Nothing wrong with your ankles, my dear,” he murmured to himself.

~~~

Ardara House was quiet when Tom arrived that morning. The ivy-covered stone manse of his childhood appeared to glower under the day's dark clouds. The rooms inside were cold and empty, except for a fire in the parlor, laid in preparation for the family's return from church. They were all at church, even the servants, although he found Martha, the scullery maid, watching over supper preparations in the kitchen. He greeted her, stole a carrot from the cutting board, and headed into the parlor.

He was reading in there when his family arrived home, and the bustle of preparing an early supper and settling in for the afternoon began to sweep through the house. His father shook his hand, with a mock-stern visage. "Thought you'd be here in time for church, son. Late night?"

"Aye," Tom replied. "Danced my feet off and had to recuperate."

"Wonderful!" his father said. Tom turned to give his mother a kiss.

Her look was thoughtful as she searched his face for clues to what he was feeling. "So we can assume you had a good time? How do you find the young lady, Tommy?"

"I find the young lady enchanting, Mother. Also beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, and a joy to be with. Full of surprises, too, although you knew that."

Her eyebrows rose higher and she exchanged a glance with her husband, before answering. "Perhaps I should call on her this week. I would like to meet her."

Tom tilted his head as he thought about it. "She works, Mother. I'm pretty sure she won't have a calling day. Can I bring her and her guardian for dinner in a couple of weeks?

"Certainly." She didn't look happy, though and Tom slipped an arm around her shoulders in a hug.

"All right, Ma. What's bothering you?"

"It should be obvious, Tommy." She looked at him in exasperation. "You asked me to hold off arranging a marriage because you wanted a chance to find love on your own. I agreed to that, because I want you to be happy. But what possessed you to look beyond all the suitable young ladies of our acquaintances?"

"But Casey is not unsuitable, Mother. You'll understand when you meet her. And be fair. I didn't purposely look for someone different. She was just there."

"Not exactly, Tommy, and this is what disturbs me most of all." Mrs. Andrews had the air of someone speaking words that had long been bottled up. "She lied to you, from the first moment she met you. She deceived you for five months, and that takes a lot of deliberate deception, yet you want us to believe she is a person of great character. I understand that she apologized, and I would never encourage you to withhold forgiveness from anyone. But it does seem that you've given your trust far too easily."

"Tom," his father interjected before he could think of an answer, "love is a powerful emotion. Your mother and I are simply concerned that you might not be seeing the situation as clearly as you should. That's not unusual in the early stages of infatuation, you know. But it is a good reason why you should give heed to the doubts of others."

The joy he'd felt since last night's dance seemed to still as he listened to them. He didn't respond right away; he just put his hands in his pockets and gazed unhappily at them a few moments, thinking. When he spoke, he was quiet, but unable to completely cover his bitterness. "I understand what you're saying. I can't disagree with you, when I know these things to be true." His eyes stung, and he blinked several times. "Please understand, I've talked to Casey at length about her deception, and to her guardian as well. I have not just swept it under the rug and tried to pretend it never happened, but I am satisfied with the sincerity of her apology. I also understand her reasons for the deception, although I don't condone it." He looked from one to the other in desperation, and held out his hands. "Please give her a chance. I have never wanted anything in my life as badly as I want this. Just give her a chance."

His mother took his hands in hers and squeezed them. "We will, Tommy. That was always our intention. But you needed to be aware of our misgivings." She changed the subject, obviously hoping to bring the conversation to a happier topic.

"What church does she attend, Tommy?"

Worse and worse,
Tom thought. He leaned against the desk and chose his words carefully, "I don't think she or her guardian attend church."

His mother was struck silent, turning to stare at him in disbelief and confusion. He waited. "I don't understand," she said at last. She seemed determined to try again. "They must attend somewhere. Surely you mean that they just have not been able to attend services often. Due to their difficult circumstances, perhaps."

He gave her a slow half-nod, not sure how to explain this. "That's possible, I suppose." He covered an involuntary wince by scratching his head. He couldn't lie to his parents about this, and he had to watch what he said.

They seemed bewildered at his reaction, exchanging a concerned glance. His father spoke up. "Tommy, they're not…" he glanced at his wife again before continuing, "they're not...
Catholic
, are they?"

Tom laughed at that, a little relieved that this was their first concern. "Of course not."

They're own relief was obvious, and they seemed content to drop the subject. "I'm sure there's a reasonable answer, Tommy." His mother smoothed her skirt and moved toward the door. "While I would have preferred you met her at church, of course, I understand the circumstances are a bit strange." She gave him a stern look. "Nevertheless, I do insist you discuss this with her. It would never do to pursue a relationship before being certain of your religious compatibility. Since she's American, there's just no telling what religion she is."

He nodded, looking so miserable that Mrs. Andrews had to hug him for a good long minute. "Bring them over for dinner, dear. We will all hope for the best."

He was quiet the rest of the day, until his brother, Willie, pestered him into an impromptu game of football out in the rain and cold. Soaked, muddy, kicking and running, Tom let exhaustion and physical effort replace his despair. Odd how that always helped.

~~~

Tom began spending several evenings a week with Casey and Sam. He didn't consciously plan it that way, but he discovered, night after night as he headed for his flat, that he just didn't want to go home. He had grown up in a happy and boisterous household, and the quiet of his bachelor life had always grated on him. With love, laughter, and companionship waiting for him somewhere else, his feet just naturally turned in that direction. So he went, and they were always happy to see him, and he was reasonably sure, as they shared a meal and chores, that he added something to their lives, too.