New York_ The Novel - Edward Rutherfurd [210]
“He’s quite respectable, you know,” Sean told her afterward. “And he has money. He owns a saloon, though he never drinks a drop himself.”
“And you’ve known him a while?”
“We’ve done business together.” He smiled. “He likes you, Mary. I could see that. And God knows, he could have his pick of women, with the establishment he has.”
She went out with Nolan ten days later. He treated her to a meal, then they looked in at his saloon, which was down on Beekman Street.
A saloon wasn’t a place where a woman would normally go. But seeing her in the company of the owner, the men in there gave her a polite nod. It was certainly a cut above the usual establishments of its kind, patronized by gentlemen who worked or wrote for the nearby newspapers and magazines, like the New York Tribune and The Knickerbocker.
“I get all kinds of literary gentlemen in here,” Nolan told her with quiet pride. “Mr. Lewis Gaylord Clark, Mr. William Cullen Bryant, Mr. Herman Melville.” Over in one corner he showed her a table stacked with recent publications. “The newspaper gentlemen leave them here for others to read,” he told her. Clearly he meant the place to have something of the tone of a club, and she had to admit she was impressed.
Afterward they took the train up Fourth Avenue, and he escorted her politely back to the door of the Masters’ house.
She normally had Sundays off, and they went out several times. After a month, she let him kiss her. Once, they met some of his friends, who were very nice to her. The only moment when she felt awkward was when, discussing an acquaintance’s marriage, he remarked: “Treat a woman right, I always say, and she’ll do whatever you want.” The men had laughed, and the women had glanced at her, but Nolan had given her a friendly smile and added: “A man should never take a woman for granted, Mary, don’t you agree?”
The remark before had been harmless enough. But she still felt a little uneasy all the same, even if she wasn’t sure exactly why.
The next time they were out, and walking by the waterfront, he said something about the cotton trade. Living in the Masters’ house, and hearing the merchant’s conversation, she’d picked up a bit of knowledge about that business. And hardly thinking, she told Nolan he was wrong. For just a moment, a cloud passed across his face. Then, without looking at her, he gave a tight-lipped smile. “Now don’t you go contradicting me,” he said quietly. And she could see he meant it.
She knew she shouldn’t mind these things too much. Most men were the same. And you had to admit, Nolan had many things to recommend him. By late spring, it seemed to her that he would ask her to marry him.
She’d discussed Nolan with Gretchen, of course. For Gretchen had a fiancé of her own now. Her parents had made the arrangements. He was a German boy, a distant cousin with the same family name, whose father had a bakery and confectionery store, an only child who’d inherit the business. His name was Henry and Mary thought he was nice enough. He had a little mustache, and he liked to talk about confectionery.
Mary didn’t quite understand her friend’s engagement. Gretchen didn’t seem to spend much time with her fiancé, but she seemed quite contented, as if she was glad that a matter which might otherwise have caused her trouble had been settled for her easily. “I don’t even have to change my name,” she remarked cheerfully. “I’ll still be Gretchen Keller.”
“Do you love him?” Mary had once asked her friend. “Oh yes, I like him,” Gretchen had answered placidly, though she never seemed to bring him along when she and Mary went out together. Gretchen and Henry were due to be married at the end of the year.
When they discussed Nolan, Gretchen never asked if she loved him. But she asked if he was attentive, and kind, and if he had