“You’re dressed too well for someone who’s been digging in mud for a decade,” said Gina.
“Digging is a weak word for what we’ve been doing. I won’t miss that part.”
“So tell me everything—where to start—what in the world are you doing here?”
“Here in Boston or here at Rose’s?”
“Yes!”
“I could ask the same of you.”
“I help out on the weekends. They’re always short-staffed.”
“I thought you had to be a nun to work here?” he said, teasing her.
She chuckled at the memory of her silly fifteen-year-old self being mortified once by that question, but she was not discomfited anymore, not blushing. “Well and truly, the time for the nunnery has passed,” Gina said. “But don’t change the subject. What are you doing here?”
“I came to pay Rose a visit. She told me you were here, in the back. It would’ve been rude not to stop by and say hello.”
“Pay Rose a visit?” Gina was flustered. “How could you possibly know her?”
Ben smiled. “Have you forgotten? My family knows her because of you.” He reminded her that it was through her intervention that Rose had come to Boston and ministered to his aunt Josephine Shaw Lowell who had been terminally ill with cancer. “Months after you brought them together, Aunt Effie died with Rose at her side.”
So much had happened, Gina had forgotten indeed. She nearly cried at the sharp, stinging memory of that awful night, when she first discovered what a torment it was for Harry to face up to the truth of immutable things.
“Aunt Effie left a good portion of her estate to Rose’s Home, here and in New York,” Ben told her. “Twice a year, still, the Shaws and the Lowells do a blowout charity bash for Rose and Alice.” When Gina winced at the sound of the name Alice, he frowned. “I meant Alice Huber.”
“I know,” Gina said. “Who else could you possibly be fundraising for?”
“Quite right.” Ben tilted his head sympathetically. “Listen, you must feel bad about the way things turned out. Don’t. This is what was meant to be.”
“Who says I feel bad?”
Ben smiled. “Unlike your husband, I’m not the black sheep. I still keep in touch with everyone. I hear certain things.”
“Oh. Like what? What did Esther tell you?”
“Nothing. What I’m trying to say is, don’t worry about Alice. She is fine.”
Gina sniffed skeptically. “If you say so.”
“I say so because it’s true. She married a rancher from Texas a few years back.”
“No!”
“Yes. When her father died, she sold his lumber company and took his money and her mother with her. She now runs a four hundred-acre cattle spread somewhere near Austin. Has two little ones. Is completely happy from what Esther tells me.”
“Texas!” Marveling, Gina stared out the window at the sugar maples and the elms framing the green clearing.
“That’s the only part you heard? Texas?”
“Texas is just shorthand for what I’m feeling.” She sat for a moment, hand on her heaving chest, trying to squeeze relief from her repentant heart. She took a deep breath. “And Harry’s family is well, I hope? Herman, Esther?”
“Yes, everyone’s all right now.”
Gina perked up. “Now?”
“Harry’s father had a heart attack a few years ago. In 1912.” Ben paused for meaning or maybe for a reaction from Gina.
Gina lost her baby in 1912. She shuddered. “But he’s better?”
“Yes. Of course now Esther is out of sorts.”
“Why? She must be happy you’re back home.”
“I don’t know about that. Elmore, her husband, just left for England.”
“What on earth for?”
“Some archduke got shot in Bosnia.”
“Ah, yes. The pesky archduke.” She sounded exhausted even to herself.
“Dr. Lassiter went with the Red Cross as a medic. Esther is not pleased with him, to say the least.”
“I know how she feels.”
“Why?” Ben asked. “Has Harry become an army medic and gone to England?”
“Sure.” Gina stared out the window. “Something like that. And your mother?” Ellen Shaw had quite a reputation around Boston, demonstrating day and night against each affront to the independence of women and every encroachment against the isolationism of the United States.
He nodded agreeably. “Fine. Militant as ever.”
“Tell her to be careful,” Gina said. “Or she’ll be sharing a cell with Harry.”
“So I keep telling her. What did he do?”
“Which time? I don’t know. Kept arguing?”
Ben whistled in fond amazement. “Don’t they know he is the original objection-maker? They can’t punish him for his essential nature. But seriously, what did he do?”
“Broke the terms of his probation by inciting a riot in Paterson during the silk strike. Have you heard about that?”
“Yes,” Ben said. “I heard something about that. Where is he?”
“Nearby. Up in the Massachusetts Correctional Institution near Warner’s Pond. That’s why I’m here every weekend. I work Saturdays and take the bus to visit him on Sundays.”
“Prison!” Ben looked disbelieving. “That doesn’t seem like the Harry I knew.”
“It’s really been an unending smorgasbord of humiliation.” Gina almost cried. “No, no,” she quickly said, catching herself, keeping away the hand that reached across to her. “My own life is the last thing I want to talk about. I am, however, completely enthralled by your wonderful reappearance. Tell me really why you’re back.” She made an effort to smile. “Who’s getting married this time?” Ten years ago Ben had sailed home from Panama to be best man at Harry and Alice’s wedding.
“Just like last time,” he said. “Nobody.”
They sat cupping their tea, warming their hands on it. The New England flaming fall was on full display; inside and outside glowed with light like fire.
“The papers have been writing about nothing but your canal.” Gina smiled with pride. “You always said the impossible was possible. And you were right.”
“You mean I was a lunatic. I looked at nothing but mountains and mud and said we would build a fifty-mile waterway above sea level with concrete dams to push giant ships through.”
If she could whistle and she weren’t a lady, she would have. “It’s extraordinary.”
“It’s madness.”
“It’s a phenomenon! They’re calling it the engineering wonder of the modern