Voice of the Heart (20 page)

Of her two children, it was Ryan whom she worried about the most. He was far too timid to effectively defend himself against Patrick, who doted on him in the most alarming way, seeing in Ryan the heir apparent who would glorify the name O’Rourke, and who was the malleable tool for Patrick’s own terrifying ambition. How Pat had longed for this son; how disappointed he had been when he had first set eyes on Katharine, a mere girl. Ryan’s birth had been perhaps the single most important occasion in Patrick’s life, and he had had his plans worked out for the boy that very day. Possibly they had been formulated years before, those high-flown grandiose plans that sickened Rosalie. Her efforts to dissuade her husband had been futile, her entreaties had fallen on stony ground, and to the sound of laughter and angry, condemning words. She was helpless. She could not prevent Patrick from putting those plans into eventual motion. She would not be alive when that day finally arrived. She could only pray that Ryan would have the strength and the willpower to stand up to his father, the inner resources to walk away from Patrick, with his integrity intact, when the time came. If he did do this, Patrick would immediately disinherit and disown him, of that she had no doubt. Ryan would be penniless. A poor young man. But he would be safe, and ultimately rich in that he would be free of his father’s domination and control. He would be his own man, not a puppet manipulated by Patrick O’Rourke.

Rosalie sighed, thinking of Patrick, and she wondered why she still had such overpowering emotions for him, when she knew him to be quite monstrous. How strange and perverse women are, she thought.

‘Is anything wrong, Mother?’ Katharine asked in a small worried voice, cutting into Rosalie’s thoughts.

Rosalie managed to force a smile onto her face, and she replied quickly, lightly, ‘No, darling, of course not. I was just dunking how neglectful I’ve been of you lately, but you know I haven’t had much strength or energy. I wish we could spend more time together, especially now that you have school vacation.’

‘Oh, so do I, Mother,’ Katharine exclaimed. ‘But you mustn’t worry about me. All I want is for you to get better.’ Katharine jumped down off the chair and joined Rosalie on the sofa. She took hold of her mother’s fine hand and gazed up into her face, and unexpectedly she saw something in the green eyes that frightened her. She was not sure what it was. A look of immense sadness perhaps. Or was it resignation? The girl was unable to pinpoint it accurately, but her heart clenched and her own eyes filled with sudden bright tears. ‘You
will
get better, won’t you, Momma?’ Katharine hesitated and her lip quivered as she whispered, ‘You’re not going to die, are you?’

Rosalie laughed and shook her burnished copper curls. ‘Of course not, you silly child! I’m going to be fine, and very soon I’ll be my old self.’ The smile widened and she continued bravely, ‘After all, I have to be around when you star in your first play. I have to see your name in lights on the marquee, and be there on opening night. You do still want to be an actress, don’t you, honey?’

Rosalie spoke with such assurance, Katharine’s fears were allayed. She blinked back her tears and instantly brightened. ‘Oh, yes, I do, Momma. I really do.’ Although her smile was watery, there was extraordinary determination in her child’s voice. Then she asked, ‘You don’t think
he’ll
object, do you?’

A frown touched Rosalie’s pale face and was gone. ‘Your father? I’m sure he won’t. And why should he?’ Rosalie shifted slightly on the sofa and eased herself back against
the cushions, experiencing a twinge of pain. ‘You know what fathers are like. They don’t pay much attention to such things. They think their daughters should get married the moment they leave college, and then have lots of babies. I suppose he’ll simply think it’s a nice way for you to pass your time until you do get married.’

‘But I’ve no intention of getting married,’ said Katharine with unprecedented fierceness, and her eyes flared with the sharpest of blue flame. ‘I want to be a famous actress like Sarah Bernhardt and Eleanora Duse and Katharine Cornell. I intend to devote my
life
to the theatre. I won’t have any time for a foolishness like marriage,’ she scoffed.

Rosalie bit back a smile of amusement. ‘Well, darling, you might change your mind one day, especially when you fall in love.’

‘Oh, I know I won’t!’

Rosalie made no comment to this last remark, but continued to smile lovingly at her daughter. Eventually she said, ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t go for our usual summer visit to Aunt Lucy’s in Barrington. It would have been such a pleasant change from Chicago. It’s so hot here right now. But your father thought the trip would overtire me. You don’t mind being in the city too much, do you, Katharine?’

‘No, Momma. I like going to Barrington, but not without you. I just want to stay here and keep you company.’

That’s sweet of you.’ Rosalie pondered for a moment and then asked softly, ‘You do like your aunt, don’t you, dear?’

Katharine was surprised by this question. ‘’Course I do, Momma. I love Aunt Lucy.’

Rosalie squeezed Katharine’s small hand. ‘She has been a great source of strength for me as long as I can remember, and my dearest friend, as well as my sister.’ Rosalie stopped. There was something else which she needed to say, but she did not want to alarm Katharine, and so she sought her words with great care. ‘Aunt Lucy loves you dearly, Katharine. You’re like the daughter she never had. And she
will always be there for you, my darling. Don’t ever forget that, will you?’

Straightening up on the sofa, Katharine drew away from her mother and stared at her, her wide eyes searching that gentle face intently. But it was peaceful and her mother appeared to be untroubled. Nevertheless, Katharine murmured tensely, ‘What a funny thing to say, Momma. Why should I ever need Aunt Lucy, when I have you?’

‘We all need friends, my darling. That’s all I meant. Now, would you like to read to me for a while. A little poetry. I think something by Elizabeth Barrett Browning would be nice.’

Katharine took out the leather-bound book of poetry and seated herself in the chair; she turned the pages to the sonnets, and scanned them carefully until she came across the one she liked the most, and which she knew her mother preferred to all of them.

Her voice, as light and as clear as a crystal bell, rang out in the quiet room:

Katharine lifted her head and looked at her mother for
approval, a smile on her face. But it slipped, and she put the book down instantly, and flew to the sofa. Tears shimmered on Rosalie’s translucent cheeks and the hand that was lifted to wipe them away shook.

‘Momma, Momma, what is it?’ Katharine cried, embracing her mother. ‘Why are you crying? I didn’t mean to pick a sonnet that was sad or would upset you. I thought you loved that particular one.’

‘I do, darling,’ Rosalie said, dunking sorrowfully of Patrick, but smiling through her tears. ‘I’m not sad, really I’m not. The sonnet is beautiful, and I was very moved by your voice, and the way you read it with so much meaning and emotion, Katharine. I know you’re going to be a marvellous actress.’

Katherine kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘Shall I read you another one? Something more cheerful?’

Rosalie shook her head. ‘I think I’m going to lie down for a while, Katharine. I’m feeling a hide tired after all.’ She leaned closer and touched Katharine’s cheek lightly with the tip of her finger. ‘You’re very special, my beautiful Katharine. And I do love you so very much.’

‘I love you too, Momma.’

Rosalie stood up, holding onto the arm of the sofa to steady herself, making a tremendous effort to hide the sudden trembling which had seized her from her daughter. ‘Will you come and see me later, dear?’

‘Yes, Momma,’ Katharine said.

Rosalie nodded, too exhausted to respond, and moved towards the bedroom.

***

Katharine went in search of Ryan, scouring the house for him. As she mounted the stairs to the third floor she noticed it had grown stifling hot. The air was heavy with humidity, and the house was airless and more suffocating than usual. She had grown hot on her long climb up to her old nursery, and by the time she reached the door her cotton frock was damp and clinging to her body.

She found Ryan sitting at the table, just as she had expected, and as usual he was painting. His head, with its mop of reddish-golden curls, was bent in concentration. He looked up when she came in. He was smiling.

‘Can I see?’ Katharine asked, crossing the floor to join him.

Ryan nodded. ‘Sure. I’ve just finished it. Don’t pick it up though. It’s still a bit damp.’

Katharine had been astonished by the watercolour. It was not merely good but outstanding, a landscape awash with tender spring greens and ashy pinks, faded chrome yellow and melting blues, and the misty colours and exquisite configurations gave it a dreamlike quality that was perfectly magical. It was the best painting he had ever done, and Katharine was awed, recognizing what an extraordinary talent he had. It did not seem possible that a boy of only ten years had painted this piece of art.

‘Did you copy it from a book?’ she asked, peering over his shoulder.

‘No, I didn’t!’ Ryan cried indignantly. His deep green eyes, so like their mother’s, flickered with hurt, and then he grinned. ‘Don’t you recognize it, Dopey?’

Katharine shook her head. Ryan searched around the table and produced a snapshot. ‘See. It’s Aunt Lucy’s garden at Barrington,’ he announced, pushing the photograph under her nose. ‘But you’ve made it look so much more beautiful,’ Katharine exclaimed, further impressed with his astonishing ability. ‘Why, Ryan, you’re a true artist. You’ll be famous one day, I bet, and I’ll be so proud of you.’

He grinned again, the freckles dancing around like a sprinkling of brown sugar across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. ‘Do you really think I’ll be a real artist one day, Katie? Tell me the truth and say honest injun.’

‘Honest injun, Ryan, and cross my heart and hope to die,’ she smiled.

At this moment the door flew open with such swiftness
and force, both children jumped and stared at each other with startled eyes. Patrick O’Rourke was standing on the threshold. It was an unexpected and unprecedented appearance, especially at this hour of the day, and he entered the room like a hurricane. ‘So here you both are! What the hell are you doing up here, when I’ve built a perfectly good playroom downstairs? Have I wasted my money?’

Katharine felt Ryan’s thin shoulders tensing under her hand resting on them. She said slowly, ‘No, Father, you haven’t wasted your money.’ There was a slight pause. ‘We use the playroom most of the time,’ she lied quickly.

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Patrick said, and seated himself in the rocking chair. He was a tall, well-built man, and the chair was a fraction too small for him, but he did not seem to notice, or care about this. He regarded them both thoughtfully for a moment, his blue eyes acute. Finally, he fixed his narrowed gaze on Ryan. ‘Have you had a nice day, son?’

‘Yes, Da,’ Ryan said softly, as always intimidated by his father’s presence.

‘Good. Good.’ Patrick settled back and began to rock gently, musing to himself. Suddenly he fined his dark leonine head and said, ‘Were your ears burning today, Ryan?’

‘No, Da.’ Ryan appeared baffled by this question and he wrinkled his nose nervously, looking confused.

‘Well, they should have been, my boy. I was talking about you, and at great length, with some of my political friends at lunch today. Ward bosses. I was downtown to make my usual, and considerable, contribution to the Democratic Party. We have the best damn political machine in the country, you know. Magnificent.’ He beamed at Ryan. ‘And the Irish control it, I might add. Don’t you ever let that slip your mind, my boy. Anyway, I told my friends that my son is going to be the greatest politician Chicago has ever seen. Yes, I told them how you’re going to be a congressman and then a senator, and I was delighted by their reactions.’

Patrick was quite oblivious to the dismay washing across Ryan’s little face, and the look of astonishment quickening on Katharine’s, as he went on: ‘I also made them a promise, and it’s a promise I fully intend to keep. I—’ Patrick bit off the rest of his sentence abruptly, and he paused dramatically as if to give additional weight and importance to his next statement.

He took a deep breath, stared hard at his children, and said with immense conviction and pride, ‘I promised them that my son is going to be the first Irish Catholic President of the United States!’ Patrick folded his hands across his vast chest, well pleased with himself, and he leaned back in the rocking chair, scrutinizing both of them, waiting.

When neither spoke, Patrick said, ‘Well, Ryan, don’t gape at me like a ninny! Haven’t you anything to say for yourself? How do you like the idea of being a politician? And then the President of this great country of ours, the greatest country in the world?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ryan whispered at last, his voice quavering. His face was as white as death, and the freckles stood out like disfiguring stains.

Patrick chuckled. ‘I don’t blame you, my boy. It’s all a bit overwhelming to comprehend immediately, I’ll grant you that. But I have great ambitions for you, son. Great ambitions. And what’s wrong with having ambitions?’ He did not wait for a response but hurried on compulsively, ‘If I hadn’t had ambitions, I wouldn’t be the multi-millionaire I am today. With a son who is going to be the first Irish Catholic President of America. And there’s nothing for you to worry your head about, Ryan. Nothing at all. I’ll do your thinking for you at all times. I’ll mastermind your career, and my money and my clout and my friends will propel you right into the Oval Office of the White House, you wait and see. You’ll make
my
dreams come true, Ryan, I have no doubts. And I’m going to make
you
the most powerful politician this
century has known and will ever know. Just you leave it all to me, son.’