of Patrick’s ruthlessness in her as well, but perhaps this was all to the good. Rosalie instinctively felt Katharine was capable of looking after herself, protecting herself against Patrick and the world at large, for she had the spirit of a fighter, and she would survive against all odds. And for this Rosalie was suddenly thankful.
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 thinking 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:
‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the end of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, – I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! – and if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.’
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