The Tea Rose Part 38

"Did you leave a bag of cinnamon on top of the tea chest in the shop? The b.l.o.o.d.y thing stinks! Smell it! That's a good fifty pounds of tea ruined!"

"Don't come in, Fee, I'm naked!" Seamie yelled. "You'll see my willie!"

"Oh, Seamie, n.o.body's interested in your willie. And I don't want to hear singing that daft drinking song!"

"Is it always this noisy here?" Maddie asked, giggling.

"This is nothing," Nick said. "You should've been here two nights ago when Seamie bounced on the settee and went right through it. There were some fireworks then."

Mary came into the room with a cup of beef broth. Maddie took the baby from Nick so he could drink it. "You're to get it all down you, Nick." Mary said. "Every drop. And I want you to try a little solid food later. A bit of mash and gravy."

She left. A few seconds later a wet, naked Seamie went whizzing by the door, with Michael in hot pursuit. A few more minutes pa.s.sed, then Fiona came in with a tea tray.

"Hi, Maddie, how's the tea box coming? Hi, Nick, how are you feeling?" She asked them.

Before either could answer, she said, "Taste this for me, would you. Tell me if you like it. Michael left a big bag of cinnamon sticks on top of the tea. I thought he'd wrecked it, but now I think he might just have invented a whole new product-scented teas! Just imagine-we could do the same using with vanilla beans. And cloves. And maybe some dried orange peel."

"I think it's awfully good," Nick said.

"It's wonderful!" Maddie chimed in, taking another sip.

The doorbell rang. "Coming!" they heard Mary call. Fiona sat down on the end of Nick's bed.

She took her boots off and tucked her feet up under her. As they sat discussing other ideas for other flavors, Nate poked his head in.

"How's the patient?" he asked cheerfully.

"Very well," Nick said.

"I pa.s.sed a newsstand on my way back from a client's office. Thought you might like a paper.

Hi, Fee. Hi, Mad." He crossed the room, bent over, and kissed his wife. "What smells so good?"

Fiona, all charged up by her latest idea, launched into a breathless explanation. Nate loved the idea and he and Maddie immediately started tossing out ideas for names. Seamie, wearing clean clothes, his wet hair combed back, ran in with a picture book and crawled into his sister's lap. The doorbell went again. Michael walked by, grumbling that his flat was turning into Grand Central Station.

They were all chattering away, sipping cinnamon tea, when suddenly Dr. Eckhardt appeared in the doorway, his black bag in hand. He took a look around the room, then said, "If I recall correctly, I instructed rest and quiet."

There were sheepish expressions all around.

"Come on, Seamie, we have to go now," Fiona said, pus.h.i.+ng him off her lap.

"Why? I want a story!"

"Later. The doctor has to examine Nick so he can make him better."

"Is he going to kiss his boo-boo?"

Fiona snorted laughter. So did Nate, Maddie, and Nick. A withering look from Eckhardt sent them scurrying. The doctor shut the door after them, then proceeded to examine his patient, spending a long time listening to his heart, feeling his abdomen, inspecting his fingers and toes. When he was finished, he told Nick he was doing better than he expected.

"That's good news," Nick said happily. "What's done it? The medicine?" Eckhardt shrugged.

"I doubt it. Laughter, comfort, good care ... these are far more potent medicines than I can offer. But you must continue to take bed rest. You may walk around the apartment a few times a day, in fact I advise it, but no more than that. If you feel like eating some real food, do so. As for everything else"

-he inclined his head toward the doorway-"the specialists in the other room seem to have it well in hand. Your family, I presume?"

"No, they're my ... " Nick paused. He thought of his father, who'd thrown him against a wall.

He thought of his mother and sisters, who had not written to him in all the weeks he'd been here. He thought of Mary, touching him so tenderly. Of Seamie and Michael and Ian and Alec. And he thought of the person he loved most in all the world, Fiona. Then he smiled broadly and said, "Yes, Dr. Eck My family."

Chapter 37.

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, Mary! Where did they all come from?" Fiona asked, trying to take in the scores of red roses-in vases on end tables; in canning jars on the windowsill, the mantel, the secretary; in buckets on the floor.

"I don't know! They came an hour ago. I tried to get your attention, but you and Michael were busy, so I had the deliveryman bring them up and I put them in water. There must be two hundred of them. Oh, I almost forgot! There's a card ... "

Fiona looked at the name on the front. "It's for ... Michael?" she said in disbelief. "Who'd be sending him all these roses?" She was miffed and more than a little jealous. No one had ever sent her two hundred roses.

"Hothouse flowers:" Alec sniffed dismissively, inspecting the blooms. Seamie was holding one long stem like a wand, tickling Nell's nose with the petals, making her giggle.

"Fiona?" Michael yelled from the doorway. "In here," she shouted back "Do you have the shop key? I can't find ... Jaysus! What's with all the flowers? Your horse win the derby?"

"No. Is there something you want to tell us?"

"Tell you?"

"Here." She handed him the card. "They're for you."

"What?" He s.n.a.t.c.hed the card, saw his name on the envelope, and ripped it open. "That figures," he said derisively. "A typical eejit with far too much money. Has to send four thousand roses when a bunch of tulips would do."

"Who sent them?" Fiona asked. "Who's an eejit?" Seamie asked.

"Never mind, Seamie. Uncle Michael, who sent them?"

"William McClane."

Fiona arched an eyebrow. "Really? I had no idea it was like that between you two."

"That's very funny, Fiona, but he didn't send them to me. They're for you ... " Fiona's eyes widened. " ... the card's for me. He wants to take you to Delmonico's on Sat.u.r.day, but he wants my permission first. He says the flowers are a small token of his esteem. He says -"

"Give me that!" she demanded, grabbing the card.

"What's it say, la.s.s? What's it say?" Mary asked excitedly, slipping her arm through Fiona's.

Fiona read it aloud.

"Dear Mt: Finnegan, With your consent, I would like to invite your niece to supper at Delmonico's on Sat.u.r.day evening. I would call for her at seven O'clock. Reservations would be for eigbt O'clock.

I would have her home by midnight. Please ask your niece to accept the roses as a token of my esteem. I await your reply.

"Repectfully, "William Robertson McClane. "

She hugged the card to her chest.

"Oh, Fiona, how exciting!" Mary squealed. "William McClane, no less!" He wanted to see her again.

And she wanted to see him. And the notion that he'd been thinking about her, that he'd gone to a florist and picked out red roses-far too many of them-and sent them to her just because he knew she liked them made her indescribably happy. It felt so nice that somebody-that a man -wanted to please her.

"Delmonico's is a fancy place, isn't it, Mary?" she said, her eyes s.h.i.+ning. "What will I wear?"

"We'll go shopping, Fiona. One afternoon when the shop is quiet and you can steal away, I'll leave Nell with Alec and we'll go to Sixth Avenue and find you a dress."

Michael glowered at Mary, visibly unhappy with her enthusiasm.

"What's so exciting about Will McClane, anyway?" he groused. "I've seen him. He's not so much. He's the wrong church, you know. Wrong party, too. He's a Republican," he said darkly, as if informing them all that Will was a ma.s.s murderer. "And besides, I haven't made up me mind yet."

"Don't you even think of saying no," Fiona warned him.

"How can I say yes? I can't play chaperon to someone ten years older than me."

"Chaperon? I don't need a chaperon, Uncle Michael. I'm eighteen years old!"

"And he's forty-odd and too d.a.m.ned rich! No niece of mine is gadding about the city at night on the arm of a-"

"what's going on?" Nick asked groggily. He'd stumbled out from the bedroom and was knotting the belt on his silk dressing gown. "I heard I thought I was dreaming." He blinked at the sea of roses before him. Lord, look at all the flowers! Did somebody die?" he asked, alarmed. He put his hand over his heart and checked for a beat. "Good G.o.d! I hope it me!"

Chapter 38.

b.u.g.g.e.r off, Baxter, you noisy sod," Joe muttered. He pulled his blanket over his head and burrowed down deeper into the hay. The rapping continued, forcing him out of sleep and into consciousness. He groaned He didn't want to be awake. Awake meant the return of all the demons sleep had banished. He tried not to hear the noise, tried to will himself back into sleep, but it persisted. "Baxter!" he shouted. "Pipe down!"

The rapping stopped. Joe listened, hoping that was the end of it, but then it started up again, more furiously than before. He realized it wasn't the horse, Baxter stamped when he wanted something. This was knocking loud and insistent .

"Joe! Joe Bristow!"

That ruled out Baxter for certain.

"Joe! Are you in there? Open the door! Right now!"

"Joe sat up. He knew that voice. Better than he knew his own. He got up quickly pulled on his clothing. He ran down the steps from the hayloft, b.u.t.toning his s.h.i.+rt as he went, unlocked the door and yanked it open.

"Mum."

"Oh, so you do remember me?" Rose Bristow said tightly. Her face was flushed from pounding on the door and her straw hat was askew. She carried a large, heavy-looking basket.

'Ow'd you know I was 'ere?"

"Meg Byrne's Matt told me 'e saw you," she said, her eyes bright with anger. "Said 'e 'elped you get a job. 'E also told me that you'd left 'ome. That Millie lost the baby. That you're getting divorced. Tiny things, I guess, but it would've been nice of you to let us know. b.l.o.o.d.y 'ell, lad, I've been worried sick about you! Didn't know what 'ad 'appened to you. Still wouldn't if it hadn't been for Matt. Ashamed I was, to 'ear it all from 'im. Not knowing what 'appened to me own son!"

"I'm sorry, Mum. I didn't mean to make you worry."

"Didn't mean to make me worry? What else would I be doing? Not 'earing from you, never seeing you, not even knowing where you'd gone ... "

Joe looked down at the floor. Now he could add his mother to the list of people he'd hurt and disappointed. It grew longer by the day.

Rose kept up her tirade for a few more minutes, then her angry expression softened. "Oh, never mind," she said, hugging him tightly. "At least I've found you now. And not before time, from the looks of things." She released him. "What's ailing you? Why 'aven't you come round? You should be at 'ome with your own, not living in a stable like the mule you are. Are you going to invite me in or not?"

"Aye, come in, Mum. It's not much. 'Old on, I'll get you something to sit on."

Rose bustled inside and seated herself on a wobbly milking stool that Joe produced. He sat on the third step of the wooden stairs.

"Where do you sleep?" she asked, looking around the stable.

"In the 'ayloft."

"What do you eat? You're thin as a rail. Your clothes are 'anging off you."

"There's a tuckshop nearby."

"Oh, luv, this is 'orrible. What are you doing 'ere? What 'appened?"

Joe told her everything. From his awful wedding night to his discovery of what had befallen Fiona to Millie's miscarriage.

Rose sighed as he finished, her face weary, angry, and sorrowful all at once. "That is one glorious mess you've made of things, I must say."

He nodded miserably.

"Come 'ome," she said. "You should be with your family now."

"I can't, Mum. After everything I've done, I just want to be alone. I can't be with people. I 'urt everyone I touch. I've ruined Fiona's life. Millie's, too. I killed me own child." He covered his face with his hands, trying to hold back his tears. He felt so guilty for what he'd done-so corrosively guilty and so achingly sad.

Rose stroked her son's head. "Listen to me, Joe. Look at me ... " He lowered his hands. His eyes were filled with such pain, such suffering that his mother's eyes filled with tears as she looked into them. "I don't give a d.a.m.n what 'appened to Millie," she said. "She's a selfish, scheming girl.

Always was, always will be. She chased you, got you to bed, and got what she wanted. Not that you're innocent, mind you, not by a long shot, but there will be another 'usband for Millie, and children, too. She'll do all right and maybe she'll learn not to take what isn't 'ers. As for the baby, I think 'e's far better off going back to G.o.d. I do. There's nothing worse for a child than being born to parents who don't love each other. The poor little thing got the lie o' the land. 'E 'eard the rowing, felt the coldness, and decided to turn back and wait, that's all."