American Pie by Maggie Osborne

maybe she loves him," Greta suggested.
    "We all think she does," Lucie agreed sadly. "But Mrs. Roper has her sights set on a count or a baron." Miss Augusta's tale of family interference cut too close to Lucie's own situation to discuss with comfort. Bending over the stove, she stirred the laundry stick through the boiling sheets and towels.
    Today, as on the last Sunday of each month, Lucie and Greta did laundry together, lightening the drudgery with the pleasure of each other's company. Greta updated Lucie regarding the ongoing feuds among the members of the family with whom she boarded and Lucie confided the fairy-tale existence of the Roper family.
    "Tell again about the flowers," Greta begged after they had strung the laundry to dry on the line stretching from Lucie's window to the window of the tenement across the courtyard.
    "I only saw the main rooms once," Lucie said, beginning the story as she always did. "But there was one rooma side parlor, I think it waswhere I saw a bay window and the window was filled to bursting with geraniums."
    "Oh, I do love geraniums!" Greta said, her eyes glowing. She glanced at the poor specimen on Lucie's windowsill. "Tell about the colors."
    Lucie smiled at her eagerness. "The window was filled with crimson and rose and cream-colored whites." When Greta sighed deeply, she patted her hand. "Someday you'll have a window garden filled with geraniums."
    "I know. Stefan has promised." Absently, Greta scratched the rash on the back of her hands.
    "Remind me to give you some more cream," Lucie commented, thinking it was time she mixed a new batch. A frown of concern troubled her gaze. It seemed that Greta's rash had spread. "Does it itch all the time?"
    "Lately it seems to," Greta admitted, tucking her hands under her apron. "I know it's silly to be so vain," she apologized with a blush. Then she smiled. "I'd love to have more of your cream. I think it helps and it makes my skin feel soft."
    Lucie leaned to look at her. "You look tired today. Are you sleeping well?"
    "It's been so hot," Greta answered vaguely. She touched Lucie's flushed face. "Do you still think of Mr. Kelly?" she asked gently, changing the subject. Sympathy filled her eyes.
    "All of the time," Lucie said simply. She dropped her gaze to the mending in her lap, concealing her look of pain.
    "I've spoken to Stefan a dozen times," Greta confided in a low voice. Distress tugged her lips. "I'm sorry, Lucie."
    "Dear Greta, please don't quarrel with Stefan about my troubles. There's nothing anyone can do."
    "Usually Stefan is so kind and understanding." Greta frowned and lowered her mending. "I do swear, I believe the eye of this needle has shrunk! I can't see it at all." She rubbed her eyes and blinked hard at the thread she jabbed toward the needle. When Lucie smiled and took it from her, she made a sound of exasperation and lifted both hands. Then her expression softened. "Stefan can't forget being humiliated in front of his friends."
    "I know." Lucie's shoulders drooped. "I know."
    For a time she prayed she would encounter Jamie accidentally. Finally she conceded that was unlikely. The city was enormous and crowded with masses of people. Her path and Jamie's had diverged. The likelihood of meeting again was depressingly minuscule. She couldn't bear to think about it.
    When the laundry and mending was finished and a pot of cabbage soup bubbled on the stove for supper, Lucie and Greta carried the dirty wash water down to the courtyard, emptied the tub, then washed their hands and faces at the pump.
    "I hope Maria Brovnic found what she was seeking." Lucie fanned her face with the hem of her apron, stirring the scent of heat-rotted garbage from the piles fringing the courtyard. "Greta, do you ever think about returning? About going home?"
    "Stefan is here," Greta answered simply.
    "They sell cat meat in the carts," Lucie said quietly. "Did you know that people eat cat meat?" Tilting her head, she looked up at the purple sky. "I