They watched the paraders: all the Democratic clubs, many carrying brooms for a clean sweep, and the Irish-American Association (with which Emmett Daugherty marched), and the German Democratic Business Men, the Dry Goods Cleveland Club stepping to the rhythms of the Tenth Infantry Band, and the Flynn Fife and Drum Corps, and so many more, moving up to Capitol Park, where the President-elect waved down from his executive chamber.
When all paraders had passed, Edward and Katrina went into Lyman’s house, where bustling servants were setting out punch bowls and placing vases of flowers on tables and mantels.
“We’re early,” Edward said, and he greeted the servants and steered Katrina by the arm into the conservatory. She sat on a bench with her parasol in her lap, and Edward looked long at her and studied the phenomenal change in her face, the way she combed her hair, the way she held herself with such poise, such an air of certainty about who and what she was.
“You are dazzling tonight, Katch,” he said. “How old are you now?”
“I’m about to be nineteen, thank you.”
“Is anybody paying court to your radiant self?”
“I have my admirers.”
“Permit me to join their number. Where have I been?”
“You should control yourself and tell me how you elected the President.”
He leaned on the back of her bench and put his eyes in line with hers. Looking at her face silenced him.
“Well?” she said.
“Yes, the election. I’d much rather look at you. I went to a dinner party at the Fort Orange Club to meet the Governor, and Lyman introduced me as ‘the talented son of a fine Irishman whose vote you need.’ Mr. Cleveland agreed the Irish vote was important and asked who my father might be.
“ ‘Emmett Daugherty, foreman at Lyman’s foundry,’ I told him, ‘but I doubt he’ll vote for you, Governor. He’s very angry with all politicians, and so is the whole North End. Father Loonan, the pastor of Sacred Heart church, talks of it every Sunday from the pulpit, and a North End saloonkeeper with a keen political eye says his customers are talking Blaine. North Enders are Democrats, but this year it’s up for grabs.’
“ ‘Why are they so angry with me?’ the Governor asked me.
“ ‘You, the Mayor, the aldermen, everybody who forces them to live in mud,’ I said. ‘Anybody who hasn’t delivered any pavement to North Albany’s streets or sidewalks. It’s an old, old promise nobody’s ever kept. They see Elk Street, where your wealthy friends live, being paved with granite blocks, while they’re still riding on rotting planks in a sea of mud. After a rain they have to put bog shoes on their horses to get home. And they blame you.’
“ ‘Do you know Father Loonan?’ says the Governor.
“ ‘I do,’ says I.
“ ‘Bring him and this saloonkeeper — what’s his name?’
“ ‘Jack McCall. Black Jack, they call him.’
“ ‘Bring Black Jack and the good father up to see me. We’ll have a chat.’
“ ‘I’ll do that tomorrow,’ says I.
“ ‘Do you know anybody else who doesn’t like me?’ the Governor says.
“ ‘Aren’t the North End Irish enough?’ says I.
“I had no trouble convincing Jack and Father Loonan to visit the Governor. He saw us straightaway and had Mayor Banks in the office with him. They listened to the complaints about mud and the Governor asked the Mayor could he get the contractor paving Elk Street to start on Broadway in North Albany? The Mayor said the city had let no contract to pave Broadway.
“ ‘Well, let one,’ said the Governor. ‘We’ll get you reimbursed. But get the crews out there tomorrow.’ And the Mayor said he’d get on it.
“The Governor thanked me for my enterprise; then he and Black Jack got off on fishing and it was as if they’d known each other forever. ‘We’ll have to go to the mountains one day and get some trout,’ the Governor said, and on the way out Father Loonan told me I ought to run for governor when Cleveland leaves. I said I couldn’t, that I was a writer.
“The next day, workers put granite blocks on Broadway, starting in front of Sacred Heart church. We had a rally five nights later and five hundred heard Jack’s speech. They marched and chanted against Blaine, the highway robber from the state of Maine. It was the biggest political turnout in neighborhood history. And Blaine’s support went the way of North Albany mud.
“Cleveland carried the state by one thousand one hundred and forty-nine votes,” Edward said. “Only five hundred and seventy-five votes would have reversed those results, and the Democratic plurality in North Albany was six hundred and seventy-seven.”
“Why, you’re a miracle worker,” Katrina said.
“I’m glad you understand that about me,” Edward said.
People were arriving from the parade, and Lyman’s valet was helping him down the stairs to the parlor to greet them.
“He looks so frail lately,” Katrina said.
“Only his body. His mind is very astute.”
“He’s terribly fond of you,” Katrina said.
“He’s like a second father,” Edward said. “And he’s crazy about you. But right this minute I’m crazier about you than he is.”
“You are turning this girl’s head, sir.”
“I mean to do nothing else, as soon as I’m able. I have obligations for a month or two.”
“I’m abandoned before I’m courted.”
“You will not be abandoned. I intend to pursue you with a fervid Irish passion, unlike anything you’ve ever imagined. But I must finish what I’ve begun.”
“And what is it you’ve begun?”
“A novel I’ve been writing for more than a year, the key to my new life. One key. You are the other.”
“You’ve become an impetuous man, Edward.”
“I am a man instantly in love. Do you mind if I love you?”
“I have never been so flattered, or so quickly.”
“I have just begun to flatter you. I have just begun to worship you.”
Edward Begins a Serious Dialogue with Katrina, While Dancing, September 1885
IN THE MONTHS that followed his rediscovery of Katrina, Edward took a leave from The Argus and devoted his days to the final research and writing of his Erie Canal novel. He finished by late summer 1885, and began, with great earnestness, a campaign to have himself invited to all social events he knew Katrina would attend. Katrina’s mother noted this.
“That man is a pest,” Geraldine said.
“He’s a perfect gentleman, and very intelligent,” Katrina said. “I’m always happy to see him.”
“I don’t care how intelligent he is, he’s not the right sort for you,” her mother said.
September’s major social event was the ball for the coming-out of Felicity Grenville, held in Bleecker Hall on Maiden Lane. Edward found Katrina besieged by suitors and only at the cotillion did he discover she had saved a place for him on her dance card. As soon as they were arm in arm in the dance he said to her, “I’ve decided. Yes, I’ve made the decision.”
“Oh? And what did you decide?”
“To ask you to marry me.”
“I believe I knew that.”
“Wasn’t that presumptuous of you?”
“I’m a student of love, Edward, and you seem to be a proper subject for my scrutiny.”
“You considered my proposal even before you heard it.”
“I wouldn’t have dared.”
“But in your scrutiny you had passing thoughts. Is your answer yes?”
“No.”
“Is it no?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Not a very satisfactory response.”
“You have no right to an instant answer to that question.”
“But you expected the question.”
“Yes, but I must confirm the reality.”