Banjo Man (18 page)

William O’Neill interrupted. “You’re not the same, Laurie. You look different. What happened to the clothes your mother sent you?”

Laurie tipped her chin upward and faced her father with a brave smile. “I’ve bought my own, Daddy. But we have all day to talk about
me.
Now I want you to meet someone.”

And, glancing over her shoulder, she met Rick’s strong, relaxed smile. It amazed her how calm he was. He’d spent the whole long drive from Washington, D.C., laughing and telling jokes or strumming his banjo when she took a turn at the wheel. Occasionally he’d lean over and kiss her gently on the cheek, then point out a wonderful hill or twisting river he found especially intriguing. He had a way of making the smallest thing—a piece of old wood, a gnarled tree, or a bird’s call—seem so very special. Laurie never tired of hearing his rich, deep voice wrap around her, winging her spirit off in some new direction. But all too soon the trip had ended, at the doorstep of the white frame house in which she’d grown up, surrounded by Irish love and protectiveness.

“Mom and Dad,” Laurie announced, her voice louder than necessary, “this is Rick Westin, the man Katy has coerced into playing at the college.”

For a brief moment that seemed an eternity, silence filled the hallway while William O’Neill’s sharp gray eyes scrutinized Rick Westin with the precision of a drill sergeant. His gaze traveled over the wild, dark hair that fell onto Rick’s forehead, the piercing brown eyes that never wavered, the tall, lean frame dressed in blue jeans, a sweat shirt, and rough, worn boots.

“Well, well, well,” William O’Neill offered at last,
pumping Rick’s hand, the expression on his face unreadable. “So you’re the banjo player Katy picked up in D.C. And you seem to know our Laurie, here, too?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Very well.” Rick smiled warmly and returned her father’s handshake, ignoring the raised eyebrows and questioning look on the older man’s face.

As formidable as William O’Neill was, there was one person in the family who never feared him, never hesitated to speak up when she thought the time was right: diminutive Frances O’Neill, whose rearing of the large O’Neill brood had given her a strength no man could match.

“Now, Bill, let the young folks come in and sit down. They’ve had themselves a long drive. You go along and run those errands I asked you to do.” And she ushered Laurie and Rick away from the critical stare of the O’Neill patriarch and into the safety of her kitchen.

Katy soon rescued Rick and whisked him off to the college to test the sound system for the concert that night, and Laurie plunged into helping her mother lift the huge roast of lamb into the oven and crimp the edges on the berry pies. There was plenty to do and blessedly little time for talk. Seventeen relatives were expected for dinner later that day, seventeen O’Neills—and Rick Westin, her banjo man.

“No, Aunt Florence, you sit over there, near the window, so you can watch the birds.” Frances smiled softly and helped the old lady to a seat near the head of the enormous oak table that filled the high-ceilinged dining room.

Laurie moved the salad bowl and squeezed a basket of rolls between the mashed potatoes and the
string beans. She nodded at her elderly aunt and fled back to the heat of the kitchen. In there the table was set neatly and decoratively for the younger O’Neills: those cousins, nephews, and nieces who hadn’t made it yet to the “main table,” an honor that came with age and available space. The pies were cooling on the small back porch off the kitchen, and long-eared Rusty, the old setter, was curled beneath the bench beside the door, one eye opening and closing as each new person wandered through. Everything was exactly as it had been each Easter of Laurie O’Neill’s growing-up years. Nothing had changed.

“There, now.” Frances O’Neill walked back into her kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Everything’s nearly ready, Laurie. My goodness, dear, look at you.” She reached over and tucked a strand of hair back behind Laurie’s ear.

The gesture took Laurie by surprise. Her mother had brushed back her hair hundreds of times, maybe thousands. She remembered disliking it as a child, wanting to control her own hair, her own looks. She felt the same way now. Only now it wasn’t her looks she was worried about; it was her life.

“Mom”—she looked hesitatingly at her mother—“having Father Flaherty come to dinner today—”

“—was your father’s idea,” Frances finished quickly. “He thought … well, perhaps it would be a nice chance for the two of you to talk. After dinner. Perhaps Father could give you some direction now, some help in planning your future.”

“No, Mother!” Laurie’s voice was clear and precise. “I’m doing my own planning now, sorting things out for myself.”

She saw the hurt in her mother’s eyes and immediately softened her words. “What I mean, Mom, is that I can’t depend on anyone to make my decisions
now. I have to do it myself. Everything’s always been done for me, at home, in the convent; things were always mapped out
for
me. I never had to decide anything. Daddy was always there to do it for me, or Father Flaherty, or Mother Superior!” Tears began to press behind her lids, and Laurie fought valiantly to hold them back. “Everyone meant well, but in the process, a part of Laurie O’Neill was left lying useless on the drawing-room floor.”

“Laurie! How can you say such a thing?” Her mother stood straight and tall, her eyes flashing. “No one ever forced you to do anything you didn’t want to do.”

Slipping an arm around her mother’s shoulders, Laurie kissed her gently on the cheek. “In a way you’re absolutely right, Mom. It’s taken me a couple of months to see that too. I mean, look at Katy! Dad’s been suggesting things to her for years and look where it’s gotten him! I
wasn’t forced into
anything, but I’ve always wanted so to please others, especially you and Daddy!”

Frances nodded gently. She knew that was true. She had wondered all along whether her daughter would really be able to find happiness in the convent; Laurie had never seen enough of real life to prepare her for such a decision. And yet, at the time …

“And, Mom, I still want to please you two,” Laurie went on, finding the rush of words strangely comforting. “But I need to find out what will please me too. What will make me grow into the fine woman I know both you and Daddy want me to be.”

Frances O’Neill looked at her daughter for a long time. An almost overwhelming emotion pressed in on her. It was a feeling only a mother experiences fully, the incredibly poignant feeling of cutting the strings for the first time, letting a child go to seek
her own happiness beyond the nest. In a painful moment of honesty, she realized she had never before had this feeling with Laurie. She had never before allowed her to go.

Offering her daughter an understanding, loving smile, she picked up a plate of spiced apples and walked back into the dining room.

At her entrance, the family gathered around the table.

Aunt Peg, as sprightly at seventy-five as Laurie ever hoped to be, wedged herself in between Rick and Laurie at the lace-covered table as the family began the festive meal.

“Well, young man,” Aunt Peg demanded as soon as Father Flaherty had finished leading them in the blessing and while the room was still hushed from prayer, “tell me, did you meet our Laurie while she was still Sister Loretta Ann?”

Laurie groaned, Katy giggled, and a dozen pairs of eyes focused on Rick Westin, who was innocently chewing on a slice of lamb. He could only answer with the swift leap of one dark brow and a vigorous shake of his head.

Aunt Mary took advantage of his predicament to cluck her tongue and sweetly add, “It’s a shame. She was a beautiful nun, you know. Seemed born to the habit.” She cast a sad smile in Laurie’s direction. “She looks different now, somehow.”

Rick choked, then quickly recovered, fighting back his laughter. “Oh, yes, I have no doubt that’s true!”

He shot a glance across Aunt Peg’s ample bosom at Laurie’s flushed face and added, “She’s mighty beautiful now. And I can see where she gets it.” He smiled warmly at Frances. “Those lovely high cheekbones seem to be a family trademark.”

“Well, thank you, Rick,” Frances replied graciously, a hint of amusement shining in her eyes.
Laurie’s young man had gotten himself out of that one quite nicely, she thought with a peculiar satisfaction.

Jeremy, the youngest of Laurie’s three younger brothers, who had finally made it to the grown-up table and was not about to let his presence go unnoticed, broke in. “Say, Rick, us kids were talkin’, and we have a question …”

“Sure, buddy.” Rick gave the youngster his full attention.

“We went to the cathedral to see Laurie when she wore a bride’s dress and became a nun—”

Laurie covered her mouth with her napkin as a hush fell over the room.

“—and we were wondering if she can wear the same dress if she marries you, or if that’s holy and if she has to divorce God first.”

Basking in the warmth of everyone’s undivided attention, Jeremy smiled and settled back in the chair to await Rick’s answer.

Everyone quickly looked at his plate or the walls or the centerpiece of flowers in the middle of the table.

They need water, Laurie thought vaguely, panic blotting out all rational thought.

Rick settled back in his chair and looked around the table, then laughed so deeply and richly that even Uncle Henry, who didn’t hear well and purposely never wore his hearing aid to family gatherings, smiled automatically.

“Well, Jeremy, those are mighty interesting questions you’re asking. Mighty interesting. I’m just guessing at my answers, mind you, but I’m inclined to think the dress Laurie wears when she gets married is up to her. Whether or not that other dress is holy is a question we’ll have to turn over to the reverend, here.” He nodded cheerfully at Father Flaherty. “Next, I think that what happens
between God and Laurie happens in her heart, and not in some court of law. And lastly, as to whether or not Laurie will marry me—”

Laurie’s voice leaped from her throat. “That, brother dear, is nobody’s business but mine at the moment.” She drew a deep steadying breath, cast Rick a long, clear glance, and began to cut her lamb, her hand not trembling at all.

Glances were exchanged around the table. Katy winked broadly at her older sister. But it was Grandmother Jane O’Neill, her clear eyes sparking with merriment, who seemed to be enjoying the scene the most.

Laurie O’Neill was her granddaughter, all right, her favorite granddaughter. One could tell by the Irish spunk, yes, ma’am, that and the glint that sparked in her eyes every time she looked at her young man. Just like she, Jane, used to do with her Frank, God rest his soul. Well said, she thought, and lifted her voice. “Has anyone heard what the weather’s going to be like this week?”

The dinner seemed to go on for hours. Everything looked delicious—but Laurie didn’t taste a bite.

When Aunt Peg excused herself early to watch a re-run of
The Bells of St. Mary’s
, Rick quietly slipped into the vacated chair. Beneath the draped tablecloth, the pressure of his leg against Laurie’s gradually blocked out all other sensations.

In the middle of a particularly intense inquisition from Uncle Jerry as to what made young people shy away from commitment, Rick caught hold of Laurie’s hand and twined his fingers with hers. Suddenly nothing else mattered.

Grandmother O’Neill grinned at the soft, sensual smile that awoke on Laurie’s lips. Yes, sir, that Rick was just like her Frank.

“Folks”—Laurie’s father pushed his chair away
from the table and fingered his wineglass—“Before we leave the table I’d like to propose a toast.” He smiled gently at Laurie. “To my little Laurie, welcome home!”

Glasses were raised and words of welcome scattered like confetti as Laurie smiled in surprise.

“She’s a fine young girl, our Laurie, no matter what.”

Laurie’s smile faded. “Dad, I—”

“No, wait, sweetie, I’ve got one more thing to say. It’s a surprise, and I’m so proud of my little girl, I want to share it with everyone.”

Laurie’s face went blank. What could her father possibly have to surprise her with? A queasy, sickening fear swept through her.

“Laurie’s been working for Senator Murphy for only a couple of months now, and already my girl has gotten herself a promotion!”

Laurie started to rise, trying to stem the flow of his words. “No, Dad, you’re wrong—”

Bill O’Neill laughed jovially and reached over to touch her shoulder lightly. “That’s my Laurie, always humble. No, my dear, I’m not wrong. Why, I spoke to the senator not more than three hours ago.”

“No …”

“Yup, and he told me what a fine job you were doin’, and that he wanted to take full advantage of someone so fine and honest and capable.” He paused for effect, and Laurie slumped back into the chair as her father continued.

“It just so happens that the fine senator is up for reelection next year, and wants to open a campaign office right here in Pittsburgh. What’s more, he wants our little Laurie to manage it for him—right here—
back where she belongs.
”

Laurie didn’t feel the warmth of the smiles that approved her father’s announcement, nor did she
feel herself jerk Rick’s restraining hand off her arm. She didn’t feel herself rise. All she felt was an incredible anger tearing at her, peeling off layers of old habits, inhibitions, fears.

Slowly, she faced her father, her eyes wide, and flashing with a strength she didn’t even know she had. “No, Dad.”

“No? Of course you will, Laurie. I already told him you would.”

“Well, I will take the responsibility of telling him I won’t.”

Her abrupt departure left no room for argument.

She climbed the stairs and flung herself on the bed that was still covered by the same frilly bedspread of her youth. She lay there, staring out the window at the familiar pattern of trees and houses, trying desperately to think.

And then she heard men’s voices harsh with anger coming from the hall below.

Opening her door, she saw Rick at the bottom of the steps, her father one step above, blocking his way.