Patrick appealed to Aunt Martha for advice on creating the perfect evening for Gwen, even though Martha was horrified by Patrick’s idea to propose on a fire escape. He remained firm on the location but took her advice about what sort of flowers Gwen liked best. Not only were peonies a classic symbol of love and marriage, but they had a heady fragrance, and the fire escape overlooking the Five Points could benefit from a flowery scent.

His mother helped prepare the apartment. She covered the dining table with a white linen cloth and arranged the peonies in a pitcher for a centerpiece, but the main attraction was an elaborate three-tier cake featuring dates and walnuts. Joshua’s watercolor of the monastery was on an easel beside the cake. The painting would help Gwen imagine what the monastery looked like hundreds of years ago when the date seeds Patrick had in his pocket had been created. Perhaps someday soon those seeds would be coaxed back to life in the carefully controlled environment of the Blackstone College greenhouse.

Gwen was due to arrive at seven o’clock. Ten minutes ahead of time, his mother helped him light a dozen votive candles that he placed around the fire escape. Inside, he’d dimmed the kerosene lantern so she wouldn’t get distracted by the display on the dining table before he could get her outside.

Everything was ready, and it was time for Birdie to leave. “Hurry, Ma,” he urged. “Mrs. O’Shea will be waiting for you next door.”

Having his mother in the main room while he was trying to propose right outside on the fire escape would be awful. He was going to do his proposal right this time.

Birdie took her own sweet time as she gathered a shawl and headed next door. Patrick locked the door behind her, then went outside to wait on the fire escape. The amber tones of the sunset made the humble neighborhood look almost romantic. The matchbox containing the seeds was in his pocket.

Soon he spotted Gwen heading his way. She no longer traveled with bodyguards or feared the inner city, and she made the half-mile walk between their apartments regularly.

“Hello there, Mrs. K!” he called down to her.

Gwen looked up, a bright smile on her face as she waved up at him, but a scolding voice came from next door.

“Call her by her given name, Patrick,” Mrs. O’Shea said.

“Hush,” his mother whispered. “He’s not supposed to hear us.”

Patrick sighed. “Close the window, Ma.”

There was some grumbling from the ladies next door, but he heard the rasp of the sash being pushed down.

“All the way,” he ordered.

Birdie quibbled a little, saying they needed the fresh air, but he pressed until he heard the definitive thud of the casement hitting the windowsill. He really didn’t want any help from his mother as he proposed to the love of his life.