And with that, the monks promised twelve of the rare date seeds on the next ship. A sack of three-hundred-year-old seeds arrived the last week in November. To Patrick’s eye, they looked so dark and shriveled that it was hard to imagine they could be resurrected, but if anyone could do it, Gwen could.
Patrick appealed to Aunt Martha for advice on creating the perfect evening for Gwen, even though Martha was horrified by Patrick’s idea to propose on a fire escape. He remained firm on the location but took her advice about what sort of flowers Gwen liked best. Not only were peonies a classic symbol of love and marriage, but they had a heady fragrance, and the fire escape overlooking the Five Points could benefit from a flowery scent.
His mother helped prepare the apartment. She covered the dining table with a white linen cloth and arranged the peonies in a pitcher for a centerpiece, but the main attraction was an elaborate three-tier cake featuring dates and walnuts. Joshua’s watercolor of the monastery was on an easel beside the cake. The painting would help Gwen imagine what the monastery looked like hundreds of years ago when the date seeds Patrick had in his pocket had been created. Perhaps someday soon those seeds would be coaxed back to life in the carefully controlled environment of the Blackstone College greenhouse.
Gwen was due to arrive at seven o’clock. Ten minutes ahead of time, his mother helped him light a dozen votive candles that he placed around the fire escape. Inside, he’d dimmed the kerosene lantern so she wouldn’t get distracted by the display on the dining table before he could get her outside.
Everything was ready, and it was time for Birdie to leave. “Hurry, Ma,” he urged. “Mrs. O’Shea will be waiting for you next door.”
Having his mother in the main room while he was trying to propose right outside on the fire escape would be awful. He was going to do his proposal right this time.
Birdie took her own sweet time as she gathered a shawl and headed next door. Patrick locked the door behind her, then went outside to wait on the fire escape. The amber tones of the sunset made the humble neighborhood look almost romantic. The matchbox containing the seeds was in his pocket.
Soon he spotted Gwen heading his way. She no longer traveled with bodyguards or feared the inner city, and she made the half-mile walk between their apartments regularly.
“Hello there, Mrs. K!” he called down to her.
Gwen looked up, a bright smile on her face as she waved up at him, but a scolding voice came from next door.
“Call her by her given name, Patrick,” Mrs. O’Shea said.
“Hush,” his mother whispered. “He’s not supposed to hear us.”
Patrick sighed. “Close the window, Ma.”
There was some grumbling from the ladies next door, but he heard the rasp of the sash being pushed down.
“All the way,” he ordered.
Birdie quibbled a little, saying they needed the fresh air, but he pressed until he heard the definitive thud of the casement hitting the windowsill. He really didn’t want any help from his mother as he proposed to the love of his life.
He hurried back through the window and reached the front door just as Gwen arrived.
“How lovely,” she said, taking in the candlelit apartment and drifting toward the gorgeous bouquet of flowers on the table. He steered her shoulders toward the fire escape instead.
“First I thought we could head outside for a little toast,” he said.
“Your mother isn’t here?”
“It’s just you and me tonight. It will be like old times out on the fire escape.”
Gwen smiled agreeably. “I have fond memories of evenings on the fire escape. What’s the occasion?”
He was suddenly tongue-tied and ducked out the window first, then turned to help her navigate through. She had done this so many times that she didn’t need his help, but she still took his hand and demonstrated surprising grace as she emerged on the other side.
“My goodness,” she said, gazing at the votive candles and the cluster of flowers decorating the plain metal platform. Her face flushed a gorgeous shade as the implications of the romantically transformed fire escape started to penetrate. The champagne had already been uncorked, and he poured her a glass.
“To us,” he said as he raised a glass to her.
She smiled and took a sip but set it down quickly. “Patrick, what’s this all about?”
He swallowed hard and stood up straight. This was it.
“I may be a big Irish lunk, but I learn from my mistakes,” he said. “I love you very much. I’m sorry it took me so long to get off my high horse and see that you and I could be perfect together despite all the differences between us.”
He was about to launch into the rest of his prepared speech, but Gwen’s attention had wandered across the lane.
“Good heavens, that looks like my cousin Joshua,” she said in amazement.
He followed her gaze, where Joshua sat on one of the benches outside the pub across the street. Father Doyle sat beside him, with Aunt Martha and Uncle Milton on the other side.
“I really didn’t want an audience for this,” Patrick muttered.
Gwen leaned over the railing, squinting through the gathering twilight. “Liam is watching us through the pub window,” she said.
Patrick scowled. Sure enough, Liam, Natalia, and Bertie were all crowded inside the pub, looking up at them. The entire pub was probably crawling with Blackstones.
“My mother never could keep a secret,” he said in frustration.
Birdie’s voice rang out from next door. “I heard that! It was Martha who rounded everyone up.”
Down below, Joshua stood up and hollered, “Did she say yes?”
“I haven’t asked her yet,” Patrick bellowed down. “Too many people keep butting in.”
“Oh!” Joshua looked suitably embarrassed as he sat back down beside Father Doyle. “Don’t mind us. Carry on.”
Heat engulfed Patrick as he sighed and turned to Gwen. Her eyes glowed with laughter and affection. By now, all element of surprise had been blown to smithereens.
“It looks like you’ve figured out why I asked you up here tonight,” he said. “I’m sorry. I wanted this to be a lot more romantic.”
“Oh, Patrick, there are worse things than having a loving family and community coming out to support you.”
No doubt, but he refused to propose in front of them. He slipped through the window and helped her back inside, shutting the window behind them. They were finally alone. He stole a quick kiss, then guided her to the table. His mother’s artistry made it look perfect. The candlelight, the flowers. Birdie had even bought little jars of fancy imported dates to set beside the cake.
“Josh painted a picture of that monastery in Spain,” he said. “The ones who were so stubborn about the date seeds you wanted, even though they’ve grown rich as Croesus from their percentage of shares in the Blackstone Bank.”
She picked up the watercolor that was mounted in a simple brass frame. “This is what it looks like? I’ve never seen it before.”
“That was what it probably looked like a few hundred years ago, back before they plowed the date palms under in favor of grazing land. I wanted you to see what it looked like when they tended an orchard.”
He reached into his pocket for the matchbox and set it in her hands. “Most men probably propose to a woman with a nice ring, but I thought you might like this better. I wanted to give you something to prove that I understand what you need to be happy. I want us to love and support each other forever. I want to be your husband and the father to any children God blesses us with. If you’ll have me, I’d like to build a family with you. Gwen, will you marry me?”