She had abandoned her job at Bial’s since William had flirted with Lenora right in front of her directly after telling her to come home with him. What kind of woman did he think Clarissa was that she would share him like that?
It disgusted her to the point of nausea to think he considered her that much of a whore that she wouldn’t mind.
Her stomach growled.
She was down to the amount of two dollars. She had already given Elizabeth her portion of the rent—two dollars and fifty cents.
Where could she turn now for work? She really needed to get something to eat, but she might need this little bit of money for next month’s rent.
She dragged her feet down the street, considering maybe asking for work at the Vanderbilts’ estate.
It would show William how foolish they both had been—that this was her place in society.
How would he snub her at their parties if she was the one serving him champagne?
Better for them to realize their folly now than later when they had been deceiving themselves for a much longer period of time.
If he cared for her like he said, why did he not mention her on stage as a part of their future plans?
Did he think her talentless like Lenora?
Had he been the one playacting, pretending to enjoy her singing as a way to lure her to his trap?
That man was so sensual and seductive and so good at playacting, she should take lessons from him to get on stage.
Wasn’t that what it required? Loose morals and a good false representation of a woman in the throes?
Only she hadn’t falsified that part with him.
It was too easy to melt at his touch and fall apart in his hands. He had such command over her faculties that her body blindly followed along.
But of course it is easy for him, you simpering girl. He’s had many women in those hands to practice with.
The jealous pangs she felt frequently struck once again at her heart, and she walked faster to get home.
She walked past Rinaldo’s father—the man she still hadn’t been able to befriend and discover his name—and went inside, bracing herself for the barrage of questions from Elizabeth about the status of her employment.
Only the house was silent.
And the door was shut to their bedroom.
It was always open.
She stepped up to the door and could hear someone breathing hard on the other side.
Was it a burglar?
She tossed the door open, only to find what must have been Rinaldo—because he looked like a younger version of the fruit peddler outside their front stoop—and he was having sexual relations with Suzie on Elizabeth’s bed.
“Ahhhhh!” Suzie screamed when she saw her.
“Oh Christ!” Clarissa shrieked right back.
The front door to their tenement flung open, and in bounded Rinaldo’s father.
He pushed Clarissa roughly out of the way, tore his son out of Suzie’s clutches and began pummeling him over and over with his fists, until Suzie launched herself at them.
The older man spat on her, then dragged his son out the front of the tenement, completely naked and hollering at his father about how he loved that woman and intended to marry her.
Suzie lay in a heap on the floor, and all Clarissa could do was run to the front door and bolt it shut, though now it barely hung on its hinges with the way that man had battered it down.
She went back to find Suzie tucked up in the covers in her own bed, weeping hysterically.
“’Twill be all right,” Clarissa said.
“No it won’t—you wretched whore! Just because you ain’t got your man, you ruin mine!”
“That’s not—”
“Leave!” Suzie roared.
Clarissa froze for a second, all feeling having gone out of her hands and feet. Could she walk if she couldn’t feel her toes? Was her heart even beating?
She took a shuddering breath, grabbed her coat around her, skulked out the front door and went to Central Park. She sat, numb, on a bench near the Bethesda Terrace.
It was beautiful. The angel was otherworldly, and the waters were supposed to heal somehow.
She walked over, dipped her hands in the water and smoothed it over her face.
The temperature was dropping.
Soon it would be dark, and she had little money on her.
Her shoulders lowered along with her spirits.
Maybe in an hour or two Elizabeth would be home, and Clarissa could ask her to be a mediator between her and Suzie so they could mend this rift.
But as it got dark and cold, she laid down on the bench, crying and feeling exhausted right down to her bones.
She drifted off to sleep.
Only she did not dream of healing waters. She dreamed of a man, whispering salacious promises of never-ending pleasure, and then following through with those very threats, making her peak and topple over with the most powerful waves of bliss she had ever known.
When she woke to a startling, loud cracking noise, it was so dark she was terrified at once.
She staggered down the road, back home, a little disoriented and breathless.
Elizabeth would help her.
This was one time Clarissa was willing to fix this, as William had put it.
As she neared the block on Twenty-Fourth Street, her nose scrunched up.
Smoke.
Why was she smelling thick, pungent smoke?
Had Hell officially come after her?
Chapter 8
Her legs bounded forward, and she ran toward what was most likely danger.
When she rounded the corner, her double deck tenement was on fire, engulfed in red and orange massive flames.
She gasped and ran into a police officer.
Her hands gripped his shoulder. “Please, sir! I live here! What happened?”
“Apparently there was a dynamite bomb thrown into the back window. There were reports of threatening letters being given to your neighbor upstairs—a one Mr. Charles Scramger.”
Her eyes darted around. The house opposite her home was now windowless, all of the panes blown out, and the little Italian grocery store Rinaldo’s father stood outside of with his produce stand was transformed into a mass of rubble.
“Do you know the name of the man that owns this store?” he asked her, pointing at it.
“I’m unaware of his name—but his son’s first name is Rinaldo.”
“Oh, them . . .” The police man rolled his eyes.
“Have they done this sort of thing before?”
“Yes—many times, unfortunately.”
She stood and shook as she watched her new home continue to turn to ash. “Was anyone harmed?”
“Yes, there was a woman with red hair trapped in the back, along with a man that fit Rinaldo’s description. We are uncertain if it was him, and we have no idea who that woman could’ve been.”
“Suzie. Her name was Suzie,” she said, her heart heavy and barely thudding.
“Well, the man upstairs that got the letters was told to vacate the lower deck of the trashy women, and he’d replied that was not his responsibility. It was not a brothel, and he was not the landlord.” The officer clucked his tongue and shook his head.
He went back to tending to his duties.
She searched for Elizabeth and the other roommate she never really spoke to.
Neither of them were in the crowd.
She swore at one point she had seen William, but why would he be here? He didn’t know where she resided now.
She had nowhere to go.
Maybe a church would take her in?
But her feet were so sore from so much walking today.
She trod on anyway and found the closest church.
Her fists rapped at the door, but no one answered.
She found another, and the same happened.
After the fourth, her legs about gave out on her and her stomach snarled louder than ever.
She ha
d no choice but to break Billing’s rules and ask Leo to let her lodge for the night.
Twenty minutes later, she was standing in front of her old home.
If he said yes, she could give him a dollar for his trouble since she’d be intruding on him and his new roommate.
Scratch, scratch, scratch . . .
She was losing all energy.
The door opened to the tenement and Widow Smyth glowered. “It’s late. Whatcha want?”
“My cousin Leo. He’s in that apartment over there.” Clarissa’s arm almost failed her as she pointed. “Could you please fetch him for me?”
“You looks a sight worn out, little miss,” the old woman said, then hobbled over to Leo’s door and pounded on it.
When he poked his head out, the widow jerked her thumb over her shoulder in Clarissa’s direction.
“Clary! What in the devil are you doing here?”
She stumbled into his arms and collapsed.
“Please—I have nowhere to go. My home—it was bombed, and ‘tis gone. Can I just stay here tonight?”
“Of course.” He hauled her inside, set her in a chair that had once been hers at the table, but now only had three legs on it. He was using half a broomstick to prop it up.
She wobbled for a moment but held steady by bracing herself on the table, settling her hand on it.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes, very,” she whispered.
He pushed a bowl of soup in front of her a moment later.
With shaking hands, she pulled out a dollar and slid it on the table over in his direction.
“No, you don’t.” He shoved it right back.
“I’ll take it,” a man’s voice said from behind.
But rather than look, since that took energy she did not possess, she dug into the soup, slurping it down with absolutely no manners at all.
“This is my cousin Clarissa—the woman I’ve been telling you about. She used to be my roommate,” Leo told him.
“Yes, I . . . Well, hi.” The man walked over to her and stopped at her right side. “I’m Miller Westerly.”
He had a slight British accent. “Oh, I . . . Hello there. You must forgive me. I haven’t eaten in days,” she said, excusing herself.
“I know that feeling.” He nodded his head, then bent down and took her free hand, shaking it.
She blinked and tried not to pull a disturbed facial expression at his index finger that was missing and instead was nothing more than a bandage over the hand.
“How are you handling this?” she asked, motioning toward his hand as he took it back.
“Oh, fine, fine. It’s fine.” He waved it off.
“You must be a very brave man.” Very tall, too. Taller than William even. This man was like a thick wooden column, holding up the ceiling—his skin was almost stained the color of the wooden paneling in William’s dark room as well.
Her neck and chest heated as thoughts of that shiny chestnut table came into her mind.
She turned back to her food she’d almost demolished completely.
“Have some more, please,” Leo said, pulling the pot over to her.
She ladled it herself, taking a generous portion, even though her conscience told her these men might not have eaten yet, and they were laborers that needed to have full bellies to do their jobs effectively.
“We have eaten our fill,” Leo said as if reading her mind.
Was it because she had hesitated at the end with her final scoop into her bowl?
She nodded and took two more large spoonfuls.
A moment later, she was gulping it down, barely tasting it.
The cabbage tasted like it had gone bad anyway.
She did not care. There were bits of bacon in it.
Miller sat down across from her, studying her as she ate.
She rounded her chest over her bowl, ducked her head down and ate with more gusto.
If she finished quickly, perhaps he’d leave her alone.
“You can have my bed,” Miller said, sounding a little too interested in her.
“Oh, no . . . I’ll make a bed on the floor. I know Leo keeps the rats out, so ‘twill be fine.” She twirled her fingers in her kinked-up locks that had fallen out of her loose bun as she’d walked here.
“That’s not all right. You will sleep in my bed. I insist.” Miller’s voice deepened.
She swallowed and was no longer hungry. Her head tipped up, and she straightened her spine. She hated to ask it, but she simply had to. “And where will you sleep?”
“Out here by the stove. It gets a might bit chilly back there anyway.” Miller smiled.
She smiled back. Miller reminded her of Leo and herself. It was apparent he normally spoke like other dock workers, but for her, he was making an effort at sounding more articulate and literate.
“Miller . . . Where is your family? How did you come to be here alone?” She flattened her left palm on the table.
“Well, my sister married a few years ago, but she died shortly after giving birth. I buried her myself.” He sniffed, but he held his gaze on her. “My parents died not long after we arrived here. They caught consumption on the boat ride over, so it was just me. And I was sixteen, so I could work and earn my keep.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Six years ago.” He blinked and shifted toward her.
Was he going to share a secret?
She settled back in her chair to create as much distance as possible. “I lied.” He glanced over at Leo, watching them. “I was only fifteen when I came here, but I didn’t want to be put in an orphanage, so I’m twenty one years now.”
Leo laughed. “I already knew that, and who would I tell anyway?” He shrugged.
“Yes, well . . . The walls always have ears.” Miller winked at her.
She sat with her hands on her bloated belly. How had she gone from completely famished to now overstuffed and unable to leave her seat?
“Are you unwell?” Leo asked.
She felt sort of green.
“I do not know.” She hiccuped, then bile surfaced at the back of her throat.
She got up, and before she could fling herself at the sink, she was losing her dinner.
It was in her hands before she could get to the correct place.
Before she knew it, she was vomiting like mad in a pot.
Miller cleaned her hands with a wet cloth while she finished heaving up her stomach’s contents.
She grew woozy and swayed when she stood up straight.
Miller scooped her up in his arms, tucked her into his granite chest and placed her on his bed.
Her old bed.
Only it smelled like a sweaty man.
She stopped breathing so she would not retch again. Her stomach was settling, and she didn’t want to derail that from undue foul smells.
Leo came in and washed her mouth for her with a fresh wet cloth.
“Stay here, cousin. I will help you tonight if you fall into peril,” Leo teased with a light tone.
“I am fine. A soft bed is all I require. Thank you.” She gripped Miller’s arm.
“Shall I read you to sleep?” Miller grinned.
“If you’d like.” She tucked her hands under her cheek and rolled onto her side.
The smell was awful.
Leo removed her boots for her.
She stretched her legs and wiggled her toes for a moment.
Her body went from on fire, feeling feverish, to cold all at once.
She shook with chills.
“Blanket,” Leo said a moment later, taking his off his bed and placing it over her, then leaving the room.
Much better. Leo’s smell was familiar. It smelled more like a campfire.
Fire. Oh God!
Tears dripped down her cheeks, over the dip in her nose and onto Miller’s pillow as she recalled the building being consumed in flames. “I am sorry. I am soiling your bed.”
“It’s okay. I cry on this pillow nightly,�
� Miller admitted.
Her eyes went wide. “You do? Why?”
“Because I have no one. It is not for man to be alone, or at least that’s what it says in the Bible.”
She smiled weakly. “It does?”
“Yes. Man was created to have a companion, but I have none, and I don’t know that I ever will. I have no time to woo a woman.” The back of his good hand drifted down her top cheek.
“Do you think that women need a lot of coaxing to wed?” She blinked and wanted to shove his hand off, but it reminded her too much of William, even if this man’s hand was stained black, gray and brown from hard work. It was scratchy and rough, too.
William’s were calloused slightly, but mostly they were firm, but soft. The contrast had been intoxicating.
“Yes, she would for a bloke like me with little or no means. Do you think a woman would think me capable of giving her a home? I have to lean on Leo’s good graces right now as I grow accustomed to the lack of a finger.”
She opened her eyes. “I thought you said it was fine, that you were coping well?”
Leo entered the room, and Miller jerked his hand off her face, then wore a guilty expression.
She tucked the blanket under her chin.
“Water—drink,” Leo said, sitting on the side of the bed, crowding out Miller. He cupped the back of her head, helped her sit up a little and made her sip it.
The water was refreshing, and her stomach seemed content to have a little something in it now.
Maybe it was that cabbage? Or maybe it was rejecting food since it hadn’t had any in days?
She was unaware of such things.
“Thank you.” She sighed.
“You’re welcome. I’ll go get ready for bed, and I’ll let Miller read to you since he likes to practice before he retires.” Leo smiled, but then cast a warning look at Miller.
The front door opened a moment later, and she knew he was headed to the water closet to relieve himself.
“Do you think someday you’d like to work at something other than the rail station?” she asked.
He bit his lip for a second, then released it. “Honestly, I used to want to be a paper man. But I’m not—”
“Oh, but you can!” She tried to sit up, but he set his bad hand on her shoulder, and she immediately complied, laying back down so he wouldn’t hurt himself on her account. “You must do what you love. What else is there in this world than honing one’s talents?”
Pearl on Cherry Page 10