Never Walk Alone

 -I-

CHAPTER ONE

The orphanage was only a few short miles away now. From the crest of a steep hilltop, Patricia was able to catch a fleeting glimpse of the high stone walls that completely surrounded the property.

As Patricia drove down the narrow winding road, her mind was firmly focused on what she thought might happen when she finally arrived. She earnestly hoped that Steven, her best friend’s twelve-year-old boy, would still remember her. It had been six years since she had last seen him—during the late summer of 1916. Six long and painful years that were filled with a deep hurt and regret for not being allowed to visit her beloved friend’s only child.

Steven had been born prematurely, and his unmarried mother, Maria, had sadly passed away in childbirth in the early fall of 1910. She was only twenty-one.

Patricia grieved her untimely death and was deeply saddened by the loss of a friendship that lasted nearly eight years.

Steven’s father, Christopher Douglas, had refused to take any responsibility for the child, preferring to place his promising career within the New York Police Department above anything else. This blatant act of rejection had left a deep and lasting impression on Steven’s young life.

It had been three hours of constant driving from her apartment in New York City to the Abbeville, home for orphaned boys on the northern outskirts of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

A strange feeling was beginning to consume her as she continued to drive; her foot pressed firmly on the accelerator. She was increasingly anxious to see young Steve again.

The formalities for the adoption had been organised by phone and mail several weeks before. It was now only a matter of meeting Steven, having an interview, and signing the final documents.

Steve had been waiting in the sitting room for some time when Patricia finally walked in. He was staring through an open window and was startled by her sudden appearance.

‘Hello, Steven, my name is Patricia O’Ryan,’ she politely whispered as she quickly glanced around the sparsely decorated room. Its uninviting ambience could only reaffirm the initial negative impression she’d experienced when first visiting the orphanage.

‘Oh, good morning, Ms O’Ryan,’ he shyly answered as he nervously stood up from his chair.

‘I don’t know if you can still remember me, Steven,’ she said, looking down at his diminutive figure and wondering what thoughts were going through his mind. ‘I came out to the orphanage to visit you when you were just a very small boy.’

He carefully looked up at her as she spoke, trying to recall her face. ‘No, Miss. I’m sorry. I don’t remember you,’ he quietly answered.

Steve was a small, thin boy for his age, with dark wavy hair and deep brown eyes. He bore a strong resemblance to his Italian mother—inheriting her olive complexion and striking features.

‘I know it must have been very difficult for you,’ Patricia finally answered, the distressing memories of her own troubled and repressive past filling her mind with unexpected clarity. ‘I sincerely hope you’ll understand and forgive me for not coming out to see you when you were a little older. I’ll try to explain the reasons why when we get back to my apartment in New York City.’

Steven didn’t attempt to reply. He had no memory of her at all and no idea why she found it necessary to explain anything to him.

Patricia smiled at Steve for a brief moment, then walked towards the window and looked outside. The gardens, unkempt and littered with fallen leaves and scattered debris, were yet another grim reminder of her previous visit some six years earlier.

The four-storey brick and stone building had been built in the year 1845. Now in urgent need of repair, it stood like an ancient medieval castle against the austere landscape. With its ominous facade, towering concrete contiguous walls, and securely barred dormitory windows, the orphanage must have seemed like a prison to a small boy.

‘Did you know my mother?’ Steven asked as he nervously placed his hands in his pockets.

Patricia paused for a second, turned, and looked at him once again. In his eyes she could see a myriad of questions, questions that had so far remained unanswered. ‘I was your mother’s best friend,’ she replied. ‘Maria and I had known each other for a long time before she unfortunately passed away.’ She then moved closer to Steven and softly placed her arms around his shoulders. If only I had not been so foolish, she thought as she squeezed him tightly for the first time. If only the circumstances of my life had turned out differently.

Patricia O’Ryan was a slim woman of medium height with blonde hair that fell loosely down to her shoulders. She had emigrated from Ireland with her parents and younger sister when she was barely six years old. The O’Ryan’s were a warm, close-knit family, and most of her childhood years were happy. When Patricia was in her late twenties, she left her small hometown in Pennsylvania and moved to New York City, where she met Steven’s mother Maria. It was not long before they developed a lasting friendship. Patricia, being ten years her senior, became very protective of the young girl, whose stunning beauty and vivacious personality made her a very popular member of their large ethnic community.

Once the interview was over, Patricia signed the final documents, then gathered Steven’s meagre belongings and loaded them into her car.

As they drove down the tree-lined driveway, Steven caught sight of a flock of pigeons feeding on the side of the road. When their vehicle drew closer, the birds instantly took flight, hovering in slow motion as they glided in a small circle, their heads tilted, surveying the disappearing ground below. For a brief moment, they drifted, almost floating; then their perfectly proportioned wings swept them higher still, until their faded images began to melt against the full glare of the mid-morning sun.

Steve had watched the pigeons many times before. In his own heart and mind, he wished he too had wings and could fly over the towering brick walls of the orphanage and vanish into another place—another time.

In the distance, at the bottom of a small hill, he caught a dying glimpse of the disappearing morning mist—its floating particles slowly lifted, then aimlessly drifted like a ghostly whisper up the undulating slopes of the property.

As they drove through the exit, Steven began to feel apprehensive, filled with mixed emotions about this unexpected woman who had suddenly entered his life. He knew that more than 50 per cent of the remaining orphans would never be adopted, would never have a parent of their own. Although relieved that he was now leaving the harsh, autocratic constraints of the orphanage, he still felt concerned for those left behind.

Steven wasn’t quite certain where the journey he was now about to take would ultimately lead to. He only knew there was another world outside—a world far removed from what he had known all his life.

With the orphanage finally behind them now, they commenced the three-hour drive back to Patricia’s apartment.

‘Are you hungry, Steven?’ Patricia asked as they drove through a small country town.

‘Yes,’ he immediately responded with a smile of appreciation on his face. ‘I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast.’

‘Well, my dear boy, we’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?’

Within minutes, Patricia had parked her car in front of the nearest diner she could find. The aromatic smell of the freshly cooked food filled the air as they entered the cafe. Steven’s eyes lit up like a beacon, circling the portions that were displayed in front of him with delight. Never had he seen such an exquisite array of delicacies before. Meals at Abbeville included small portions of stew, rice, and watered down soup—tasteless and unnourishing for any young boy.

After enjoying a mouth-watering meal of eggs, toast, bacon, and juicy sausages, they walked back to their car and continued the drive to Patricia’s apartment.

While driving through the picturesque countryside, a gathering of dark cumulous clouds began to emerge across the top of the nearby hills. Within moments, heavy rain began to fall—lashing violently against the windscreen of her car. Patricia immediately switched the windscreen wiper on and slowed the vehicle down in an attempt to have a clearer view through the teeming rain.

Steven’s face was now turned to one side. He had been quiet for some time, seemingly oblivious to the oncoming storm outside. His thoughts, scattered and troubled, drifted through a maze of questions and self-doubt as he gazed silently through the passenger window of the car.

‘What are you thinking about, Steven?’ Patricia eventually asked, by now a little concerned by his quiet enigmatic manner.

Steven turned; his eyes were filled with tears. He paused for a moment then he finally replied.’What did my mother look like, Ms O’Ryan?’ he asked. ‘Was she really pretty?’

His question momentarily caught her by surprise. ‘Your mother was a very pretty lady indeed,’ she responded with sincerity, ‘and a beautiful, sensitive person. I loved her like a younger sister.’

‘I wish I could have known her,’ he said.

Patricia looked across at him for a brief moment. She knew what he must be going through and at the same time felt a desperate need to try to make it up to him in any way she could. ‘I think we should,’ she tactfully responded, ‘discuss these things and everything else when we are comfortably settled in my apartment. It’s not the right time now, Steven. Besides, you must be awfully tired. It’s been a very long day for both of us.’

Steven nodded his head in agreement. He silently turned and looked back through the window of their car. With a tear in his eye, he thought about his mother once again and wondered why his father could have left him in a horrible place like an orphanage.

The morning had indeed been mentally exhausting. And, despite his gritty determination to suppress his feelings, the strain was plainly evident on his face.

‘You curl up on the front seat and rest for a while, Steven. It will be at least another two and a half hours before we get to Brooklyn.’

Patricia knew there were things she needed to tell Steve about his father—experiences that would form a crucial part of his overall opinion of him.

Despite Christopher’s abandonment of his son and the divisive circumstances that surrounded his affair with Steven’s mother, his love for her could not be questioned. Patricia had never seen her friend so happy, so full of life. There was an excitement in the air when they were together—a sense of anticipation that only a man and a woman deeply in love could possibly feel.

What troubled Patricia most of all, even after such a long time, was the agonising thought that Maria’s unfortunate passing could have been avoided: a tragedy that would continue to haunt Patricia for the rest of her life.

CHAPTER TWO

With Steven now asleep on the front seat next to her, Patricia started to think about what had transpired throughout that morning. Seeing him again, after all this time, had forced her to remember a period in her life that was both happy and tragic.

With the scenic country landscape passing by, and only the sound of the car’s engine to disturb her thoughts, Patricia found herself gradually drifting back in time—back to when Maria and she had first met Steven’s father, Christopher Robert Douglas. It was over twelve years ago, during the early part of 1910. It had been a particularly dry spring that year, she recalled—the days were warm and the nights were chilly.

Through a clouded veil of bittersweet memories the nostalgic images of that fateful night came drifting back into her mind. It was at Dominoes Music Hall when they had first met Christopher. Patricia and Maria were seated at a table close to the orchestra. She remembered the soft tranquil music in the background and the baritone’s beautiful voice that seemed to resonate so clearly throughout the far reaches of the spacious hall.

A large group of people, mainly young men, were standing at the main entrance of the auditorium. A tall, well-built, immaculately dressed man was standing to one side of the group. Patricia noticed him immediately. He stood out from the other gentlemen around him. Even from their position, she could not help but notice how strikingly handsome he was. He appeared to have a relaxed presence all his own.

For a short time, he stood there, casually glancing around the crowded hall. After a while, he stepped away from the crowd and walked over in their direction. Patricia nudged her friend on the arm and softly whispered, ‘Don’t look now, but I think that tall, good-looking gentleman is coming over to our table.’

Paying no heed to her suggestion, Maria turned around and glanced up as he approached.

‘Excuse me,’ he quietly asked, ‘I was wondering if you would like to have this dance with me.’

Maria paused for a second and looked across at Patricia. ‘I’m sorry. I wouldn’t like to leave my friend by herself.’

Unperturbed by her answer, he asked if he could buy them both a drink.

Patricia briefly hesitated and then replied, ‘Well, if you’d like to…’

Maria nodded her head in approval.

‘What would you like to drink?’ he enquired.

‘A glass of white wine would be nice, thank you, the same as we are drinking now.’

He politely excused himself, disappeared for several minutes, and then returned with a whisky and two glasses of wine.

‘My name is Christopher Douglas,’ he said as he sat down next to Maria.

‘How do you do, Christopher? My name is Patricia, and this is my friend, Maria.’

‘Do you come here often?’ he asked as he took the first sip of his drink. ‘It does look like a popular place.’

‘Very popular,’ Patricia answered, ‘especially on a Saturday night.’

When the orchestra returned to the stage and commenced playing, he again asked Maria if she would like to join him for a dance.

‘Would that be all right with you, Patricia?’ Maria asked.

‘Sure, go ahead. I’ll be fine.’

Christopher smiled at Trish, took Maria by the hand, and together they walked on to the dance floor.

Maria looked especially beautiful that evening. Her dark wavy hair and salient features contrasted perfectly with the soft light colours of her shiny satin and lace evening gown. She had a slim, shapely figure and stood at a petite five foot three. At just twenty years of age, she still possessed that elusive quality of playful youthfulness combined with growing maturity. Maria had a classically framed face with high cheekbones, sculptured down to a perfectly shaped chin. Her eyes were her most stunning feature of all—big, brown, and alluring. They sparkled with warmth and sensitivity whenever she smiled.

The few relationships she’d had with the younger men in her neighbourhood were purely platonic and ephemeral. They were to her just nice guys—nothing more. This at times created problems amongst the young, hot-blooded Italian boys, who would occasionally try to take liberties with her. Unmoved by their amorous advances, she was always able to maintain a moral decency, which ultimately made her even more desirable to men. Maria was yet to experience real love.

The orchestra had just finished playing their first number when they reached the centre of the room. Christopher took Maria in his arms and smiled, then with poise and grace they glided effortlessly around the spacious floor. ‘I’m not wearing you out, am I?’ he said with a playful grin.

‘No, not at all.’ She smiled. ‘Where did you learn to dance so well? You dance divinely. You really do.’

‘I’ve always enjoyed dancing,’ he answered with confidence ‘ever since I was very young.’

Patricia glanced at Maria for a second and then looked across at Christopher. My, he certainly was a handsome man, she thought, and what a wonderful dancer! She wondered how he had managed to remain single for so long; he looked to be at least in his late twenties. His blonde wavy hair and deep blue eyes were, to her, the most attractive combination a man could possibly have. He had a charisma, an inner confidence that seemed to radiate all around him. But there was also something quite enigmatic about this man, Patricia thought—a mysterious quality that she couldn’t quite discern. He must have had a string of beautiful young women in his time, she pondered.

Christopher gently placed his hand on Maria’s as they made their way back to the table. ‘Patricia,’ he asked as he sat down, ‘have you lived in New York City for very long?’

‘I’ve been living here for nine years now,’ she replied. ‘And Maria has been here for almost eight.’

‘Where did you originally come from?’ he questioned wanting to know more about Maria’s friend.

‘I was born in Ireland and left there with my parents and younger sister when I was just a small girl,’ Patricia replied.

‘Are they also living in New York?’

‘No. They decided, much to my disappointment, to immigrate back to Ireland a few years ago.’

‘So many people from all over the world,’ Chris said as he glanced around the room, ‘have moved to America in the past few decades. Apart from the Irish and Italians, there are many Polish, German, and Jewish people living here as well.’

‘Yes,’ Trish said. ‘I guess that is one way to populate the country.’

‘Do you have any other relatives in the United States?’ he asked.

‘No. Unfortunately, I don’t have any family left here now, only Maria. We have been like sisters ever since we first met.’

The two girls looked at each other and exchanged smiles.

‘Yes,’ Maria whispered, ‘we certainly have been. I don’t know what would have happened after my parents died, if Patricia hadn’t been there for me.’

‘I am sorry to hear that,’ Christopher said. ‘Do you have any family living in America, Maria?’

‘No, I don’t have any either,’ she answered, her voice softer now. ‘All my family, who are still alive, are living in Italy.’

The remainder of the evening passed quickly. When it was time to leave, Chris asked Maria if she would like to accompany him for dinner the following Saturday night.

‘Where would we go?’ she asked, trying hard to contain her eagerness.

‘I know a wonderful place where the food is delicious, and the music is even more intoxicating than the wine,’ he enthusiastically replied.

‘Could you bring along a friend for Patricia?’ she tentatively asked.

‘Well…,’ he stammered with reluctance. ‘I… I… don’t really know if I…’

Trish quickly interjected, ‘You have forgotten, haven’t you, Maria? I’m going to spend the weekend with friends of mine in Boston, remember?’

‘Well then, Maria, would you like to go with me? I promise I will be a perfect gentleman.’

‘I would love to,’ she replied with enthusiasm.

‘That’s splendid. I will pick you up around half past seven next Saturday evening. Oh, I almost forgot,’ he impulsively added, ‘I don’t know where you live…’

The girls laughed at his innocent blunder, told him their address, and then said goodbye. While they were waiting for their transportation to arrive, Patricia could not help noticing how thrilled Maria was. She was like a little girl on the night before her birthday party. Trish was happy for her friend, but hoped that Christopher Douglas really was a gentleman and his intentions; despite her misgivings, were honourable.

CHAPTER THREE

Christopher arrived at Maria’s apartment the following Saturday evening at the pre-arranged time. After a cordial hello, they walked downstairs, climbed into the carriage he had arrived in, and made their way to downtown Manhattan.

The restaurant was on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 49th Street and was aptly named the Diners Club. It had the enviable reputation of having the best music and the finest menu in all of New York. A tall, elegantly dressed gentleman with a large top hat, politely greeted Chris and Maria as they stepped down from their carriage and escorted them over to the main entrance of the building.

‘I must confess, Chris, I have never been here before. It certainly does look expensive.’

‘It’s one of the most exclusive clubs in all of New York, Maria. I only come here on very special occasions.’

Once they had entered the restaurant, they were taken to a table close to the orchestra. When they were comfortably seated, Chris picked up the menu and quickly glanced down through the extensive range of exotic dishes that were available.

‘They serve the most delicious Italian food here, Maria. I thought you might appreciate a Continental meal tonight.’

‘I certainly would, Chris,’ she enthusiastically responded. ‘It’s obviously my favourite type of food.’

‘I neglected to ask you what sort of work you do?’ Chris asked as he began to sip his first drink.

‘Nothing all that exciting,’ she answered with little enthusiasm. ‘I work in the woman’s clothing department at Macy’s, and Patricia works in make-up.’

‘It’s a job, Maria, and jobs aren’t easy to find these days.’

‘Yes, I guess we should be grateful.’

Chris smiled as he began to light a cigarette.

‘I didn’t ask you where you worked either,’ she said. ‘Or is it a secret?’

‘No, not at all—it’s no secret. I work for the government. I’m a lieutenant in the New York Police Department.’

‘Are you really? I never would have thought you were a policeman!’ she answered with surprise.

‘It’s something I wanted to do ever since I was a small boy.’

‘It must be very interesting work.’

‘Yes, it can be quite rewarding at times. But then again,’ he added, ‘it can also be quite tedious, especially when one has to complete the avalanche of paperwork after every arrest.’

For a few minutes, they sat in silence, quietly enjoying the music and watching the people as they moved around the dance floor.

‘You really do look very beautiful tonight, Maria,’ he whispered with sincerity as he poured them another glass of champagne.

‘Why, thank you, Chris. I just bought this dress today especially for tonight.’

Chris briefly scanned the room for a moment. He was fully aware of the admiring glances Maria was receiving from the younger men who were walking past their table. He slowly reached across and gently placed his hand on hers. She silently looked up at him and smiled, her eyes glowing with inviting warmth.

With the maze of overhead lights splashing shades of colour and shadow into the club, an aura of romance filled the air. As the soft romantic rhythms of the orchestral strings drifted melodiously across the room, he felt an overwhelming desire to take Maria and hold her tightly in his arms. Even though he had only known her for a short time, he knew, at that very moment, he would never be able to forget her—not for as long as he lived.

In his mind, a strange awareness was now emerging—a feeling that was creating conflicting questions. There was something he was not telling her and it began to plague his thoughts. However, the night was young and the world appeared more beautiful than ever. His nagging conscience seemed to subside, as they both found themselves caught in a moment of time—a moment that left them filled with a joy and emotion, they hoped, would last forever.

As they sat there quietly enjoying each other’s company, Chris asked a passing waiter to bring them a second bottle of champagne.

‘I couldn’t help noticing,’ Chris said as he lit another cigarette, ‘what close friends you and Patricia seem to be.’

‘We are very close. Unfortunately though, she has been in pretty poor health the last few years.’

‘Really,’ he replied with surprise, ‘what is wrong with her?’

‘She suffers with a weak heart.’

‘You mean she’s had a heart attack.’

‘Yes, only last year.’

‘Is Patricia all right now? She seemed to be fine last weekend.’

‘She’s getting better,’ Maria answered the concern for her friend plainly evident on her face. ‘But she has to take things a bit slower these days, which she sometimes finds difficult.’

‘Is there a family history of the disease?’

‘Yes. Her father had a heart attack about four years ago. I try to do as much as I can to help,’ she whispered, her voice softer now, ‘especially when she came out of hospital and I took care of her until she was well enough to work again.’

‘Patricia is very fortunate to have someone like you, Maria,’ he answered, admiring her loyalty and altruism—qualities he had rarely seen as a policeman on the streets of New York, where friends could be bought and sold for as little as a few dollars.

‘That’s what friends and family are for,’ she said.

Chris did not respond.

‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’ she asked, now wanting to know more about him.

Chris hesitated, as if searching for an appropriate answer. ‘I have seen,’ he finally replied, ‘through my experience in the police force, far too many impoverished families struggling every day. Unfortunately, the children have to suffer because of their negligent parents.’

Maria looked at Chris as he spoke. There was vagueness in his voice. It was obvious, she thought, that he had no desire to talk about his own family.

‘It’s true, of course,’ she eventually replied. ‘There are many families all over the country in exactly that same predicament.’ Maria could vividly remember as a young girl how difficult it was for her father to feed and clothe his wife and small daughter on his small salary.

Chris didn’t answer her. She had struck a nerve—a problem area he had long since buried and had no desire to discuss with anyone, not even Maria.

As the light from the chandeliers above the dance floor dimmed, Chris stood up and offered Maria his hand, anticipating one final dance for the evening.

‘Why are they turning down the lights,’ Maria asked.

‘It’s been a tradition at the Diner’s Club for years,’ Chris replied. ‘Dim romantic lighting and soft music. I think we should be a part of it, don’t you?’

Maria smiled as she took his hand and together they walked out on to the dance floor.

From the podium, behind the orchestra a solitary light remained. It’s feeble rays fell limply across the polished timber floors, like the struggling yawn of an early morning sunrise then lost its glow amidst the shadowy edges of the room.

After Chris and Maria had moved gracefully around the dance floor, he placed his hand in hers and led her to a darkened corner of the room. He put his hands gently on her shoulders then, with his thoughts lost in the magic of the moment he leant down and kissed Maria softly on the lips. Her large expressive eyes were filled with emotion and longing as she placed her hands behind the back of his neck and slowly pulled him down to her. As their lips met once again, Chris squeezed Maria tightly in his arms. It was as if there was no one else left in the room. They stood for a moment longer wrapped in a warm embrace.

‘I’d like to take you somewhere else?’ Chris eagerly said, with enthusiasm. ‘I don’t want this night to end yet.’

Maria’s heart was pounding. ‘Yes,’ she slowly whispered, her emotions dictating her response. ‘Where shall we go?’

Chris suddenly became silent as he escorted Maria back to their table. ‘Perhaps we should just go to your apartment,’ he eventually replied, smiling with poise. ‘I live on the other side of the City: it’s quite a distance from here.’

‘Where do you live?’ she inquisitively asked.

Chris did not immediately answer her. He picked up his hat and coat and together they walked outside. He then turned and looked across towards the city skyline. ‘It’s… a long way, Maria,’ he surreptitiously answered.