She choked on a laugh. “Does it look that way? I’m not. I’ve had butterflies in my stomach ever since I decided to go back to school. I bought a new place to live on Boulanger Avenue and will move in as soon as the plumbers are finished.”
His eyes narrowed in disapproval. “Mrs. K, that’s not exactly a safe neighborhood.”
Her new apartment was midway between Wall Street and the Five Points, and it was walking distance to New York University. It was a middling neighborhood, but hundreds of people lived there, and she could too.
“Nothing in this world is safe,” she said. “Marrying Jasper wasn’t safe. Trusting Liam wasn’t safe. Sometimes our gambles work, but not always. I’m strong enough to survive, even if the worst happens. I’m going back to college. I’m scared but happy and excited too. I’m determined to make a wonderful life in my cozy little Boulanger Avenue apartment, even if I live alone for the rest of my life.”
He swallowed hard. “You being alone would be a crime.”
Patrick always said that when he was nervous, his Irish accent came on strong, and it was strong enough to cripple a horse right now.
“Mrs. K, I let you down,” he said. “I got too caught up in worrying what people thought of me when I should have been counting my blessings for the miracle that brought you into my life. By rights, you and I should never have met, but we did, and maybe the hand of God had something to do with that.”
His voice stumbled to a halt, and to her stunned surprise, he went down on one knee. He looked as surprised as she felt.
“Gwen, I love you very much, and it’s not going away.” He swallowed hard and looked terrified. “I would be honored if you would be willing to be my wife.”
This was going too fast. It was coming out of the blue for both of them, and that wasn’t the way to start a marriage.
“Oh, Patrick, please stand up, and let’s not do anything impulsive. You didn’t come here because of a desperate urge to marry me. You came over to evict Vivian.”
He got back up on his feet. “Can’t I do both?”
A burst of laughter escaped her, and she stepped into his arms. Being wrapped in his embrace again was like coming home. Through their clothes, Gwen could feel his heart pounding so fast she feared for his health.
“I appreciate the gesture, but this is too important to rush.”
He pulled back to look down at her in surprise. “Are you saying no?”
Was she going to regret this? Possibly, but no woman who had suffered through a bad marriage wanted to repeat the experience. She had worked hard to create a life of purpose. In her heart, she hoped Patrick could someday be a part of it, but she didn’t need him to have that life.
“I’m saying not yet. Go home, Patrick.”
The shock on his face was almost comical, but it would be awful to become engaged in a rush of sentimentality and regret it later. Someday he might come to her with an offer of marriage without misgivings or that panicked look in his eyes, but until that day, she would build a strong and meaningful life on her own.
42
Patrick was stunned when Gwen turned down his proposal.
Stunned and humbled. It was embarrassing, but he’d expected Gwen to fall on his offer, not go about her new life without him. In September she began classes at New York University, creating a new circle of friends among her fellow students and the teaching faculty. She had the nicest apartment of any of the graduate students, and her home on Boulanger Avenue became the natural gathering spot for study sessions after class. Her famous Friday night soirees continued with resounding success.
Patrick had to ask to be invited. The gatherings were a wonderful mix of people from the university, artists who made their living in the city, and the occasional Blackstone relative. Bertie kept everyone in stitches whenever he came, and Patrick had even befriended Joshua, who attended Gwen’s parties whenever he came to the city to exhibit his paintings at a Manhattan gallery. The home Gwen created on Boulanger Avenue was one of spiritual vibrancy that naturally attracted people to her.
With each passing week, Patrick fell more in love with her, and his fears about marrying into the Blackstone family diminished. It was Gwen he would marry, not her cousins or uncles or the people who drifted in and out of her world. Gwen brought out the best in people. The best in him. He wanted to create a warm, joyous, faith-filled home with Gwen at the heart of it.
Except he wasn’t entirely certain she would have him. As the weeks passed, she never gave any hint she wanted to rush to the altar. It was to be expected that her studies would keep her busy, but there were times when he only got to see her on Sundays, when they went to church together and then had lunch at his apartment with Birdie and Mrs. O’Shea.
In hindsight, he was embarrassed by his impulsive and clumsy proposal on the pier. A marriage should start with a strong foundation and a gift to symbolize his commitment. He couldn’t afford a fancy diamond ring or anything else extravagant, but he could offer her something better. Something to prove that he had the heart, mind, and desire to support her deepest dreams and share her world.
He met with her cousin Joshua at the library of Saint Boniface College to begin planning a strategy. The librarian had pulled several research books, and they were open on the table before them.
“You want a painting?” Joshua asked curiously.
“Like the kind you painted for Frederick’s summer house,” Patrick confirmed, gesturing to the photographs in the books. “Except instead of a house, it’s a sixteenth-century monastery perched on a hilltop. You’ll have to guess at the colors, but it’s in the southern part of Spain where the climate is dry and arid.”
The book before them had a grainy photograph of the monastery, and Patrick pointed at the hillside below the old stone walls. “Leave out those houses and the goat farm because they’re all new. I’d like you to cover the hillside with groves of date palms instead. That’s where the monks once had their groves before they cut them down in favor of grazing land.”
A librarian showed them some botanical drawings of date palms, so Joshua had everything he needed to re-create the image of what the monastery probably looked like centuries ago when they supported themselves through growing dates. Joshua’s face held a spark of enthusiasm as he studied the various images.
“I can have it done within a week,” he said.
The painting was only one part of Patrick’s carefully planned proposal of marriage. The biggest part had taken Father Doyle’s help. Those Spanish monks had been unmoved by Gwen’s offer to buy the ancient date seeds she wanted so badly. They were getting rich off their three-percent stake in the Blackstone Bank and were impervious to monetary temptation. The academic appeal from professors at Blackstone College had failed too. Patrick and Father Doyle put their heads together to think about what the monks truly wanted, and after a few weeks of transatlantic cables, a bargain was struck.
The monks wanted converts. Their denomination had recently founded a new monastery in Kentucky, and they needed students who were willing to consider embarking on the unconventional life of holy orders in a rural monastery. Father Doyle couldn’t promise them new disciples, but he agreed to alert students preparing for holy orders at Saint Boniface of the chance to spend a season of contemplative prayer at the new monastery. It might ultimately lead to new converts who wished to join their community.