He looked forward to her visits all day. Each time she arrived at his apartment, she got a quick update on his mother’s health, and then they hurried out onto the fire escape to be alone. In between kisses, they talked about everything. They debated whether Charles Dickens was better than Mark Twain. He explained why Catholics say the rosary, and she talked about her hope of one day becoming a professor of botany if she could ever tear herself away from home long enough to earn a doctorate.
“I even know what I’d like to study,” she said one evening while watching the sunset from the fire escape. “I have a theory that old seeds can still sprout under the right conditions, and I’d like to see if I can accomplish it. There is a monastery in Spain that found seeds from an extinct date palm that are at least three hundred years old. I’ve asked them to send me some, but so far they have refused.” She glanced at him, curiosity in her face. “I don’t suppose you have any special pull, do you?”
He swallowed back a laugh. After abandoning his priestly vocation, he was the last person likely to have sway with those Spanish monks. “I’ve got no connections. Have you tried buying them?”
“I’ve offered them a king’s ransom, and they said no. That was last year. This year I asked a biology professor to appeal to them on humanitarian reasons. Healers have used date palms since antiquity for their medicinal properties. The seeds the monks have are from an extinct palm, so we might glean new medicines from them. I expect to hear back from them soon.”
The mention of the college’s medical research prompted him to ask what was in the lifesaving serum given to his mother.
“Do you know what white blood cells are?” Gwen asked.
“There are only two kinds of blood in the world,” he replied. “Red like mine and blue like yours.”
There was a time when pointing out their disparity in wealth was a touchy subject, but not anymore. They’d grown so close over the past few weeks that he teased her without restraint.
“Blood has different types of cells,” she explained. “Most are red, but about one percent of our blood cells are white. They are part of our immune system and fight infection. The serum is developed from the white blood cells of horses that have been exposed to a mild form of tetanus.”
He was aghast. “You gave my mother horse blood?”
She nodded and told him how the college owned a research lab and a stable of horses in Queens. The horses were given a tiny injection of tetanus bacteria, and in time their blood developed antibodies to the disease. The blood was then harvested, spun to separate the white blood cells, and then developed into a serum. It sounded like a mad scientific experiment, but Patrick thanked God for it and would add those horses to the list of things he prayed for each night.
The only niggling detail of this dazzling relationship with Gwen that bothered him was where they met each evening. Huddling on the fire escape wasn’t the proper place to court a woman, making him wonder if she was ashamed of him. She had yet to step out in public with him where others could see them together. There were going to be snooty people who slammed their doors in Gwen’s face if they learned she was consorting with an Irishman, and he needed to know if she was up for that. He was searching for a wife and couldn’t lay his heart on the line if this was no more than a fling for her.
They’d been out on the fire escape for almost an hour, and Patrick had been trying to work up the courage to ask her to go with him to a baseball game, but it was hard. If she said no, they’d have to stop these daily meetings, and he didn’t want to give them up.
A breeze whipped down the narrow lane, loosening tendrils of her hair. He loved the way she tucked them behind her ear. The simple gesture seemed so timeless and feminine.
“There’s a baseball game coming up,” he finally said. “Boston will be in town, and last month they trounced our guys pretty bad, so New York will want revenge.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “Baseball,” she muttered.
“What’s wrong with baseball?”
“President Matthews wants Blackstone College to form a team, and it sends chills down my spine.”
“And why is that, Mrs. K?” He loved the way she became so animated speaking about the college.
It was a breezy evening, and a gust of wind sent a handkerchief from Mrs. O’Shea’s laundry line flying toward them. Gwen snatched it out of the air before it could sail down the street.
“Lookie there,” he teased. “You’ve got the makings of a fine outfielder.”
He impulsively clasped her around the waist and lifted her into the air. She was so tiny compared to him that it was easy to hoist her up. She laughingly clung to his shoulders, and he demanded a kiss before setting her down.
A metallic pop sounded from the fire escape next to them, and Mrs. O’Shea’s laundry line tore loose, dropping away from the building and dangling in the air as sheets, trousers, and blouses slipped off and flapped in the wind. A few kids cheered as they scrambled after the clothes tumbling through the lane.
“Those scamps are going to steal Mrs. O’Shea’s laundry,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Gwen asked. “Maybe they’re collecting it for her.”
There wasn’t time to respond to her naivete. Mrs. O’Shea couldn’t afford to lose those clothes, and more than half her laundry was now blowing down the street.
“Come on, let’s go round that stuff up.” He vaulted down the fire escape steps, loud metallic clangs sounding with each footstep. She was right behind him. They reached the street only moments later.
“Give me back those bloomers, kid,” he roared at a youngster who couldn’t be older than eight or ten.
The brat stuck his tongue out at him. “Make me!”
Patrick scooped him up and tossed him over his shoulder in one swift move. The kid howled in outrage, but other street urchins chased after the rest of Mrs. O’Shea’s laundry, and an example needed to be set.
