by Cathy Gohlke
By the time Maureen reached her own block, she was breathless, drenched from the snow, and she’d quite forgotten her promise to Katie Rose to go window-shopping and to gather Christmas branches from the tree market. The innocent thrill of electric lights strung along the main streets of Manhattan seemed a world away. All she could think as she bumped her leaden boots against the doorway was that it was high time Katie Rose applied for the job she’d championed over attending school. She had to know that Katie Rose was with other women during the day, that she was not alone. And we must pool our money and repay this debt before Jaime Flynn or his friends come callin’.
The circle meeting ran late, but Olivia knew it was simply that the women were loathe to part.
“A new sort of fire is burning!” Carolynn, her smile radiant, pressed Olivia’s arm on her way out the door; Olivia returned her friend’s affection.
“Livvie!” Dorothy called. “Wait for me; we can walk together.”
But Olivia didn’t want to wait. She knew what Dorothy would ask, but she didn’t know what she would—what she in good conscience could—tell her.
“Please wait!” Dorothy repeated, breathless, as the sisters hurried down the sidewalk. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to avoid me.”
Olivia stopped on the spot, feeling as if she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“What is it, Livvie? Whatever is the matter?” Dorothy’s hand on her back did nothing to make Olivia feel less guilty.
“I should have told you. I should have told you from the beginning.”
“Told me what?”
Olivia looked away.
“Come home with me,” Dorothy ordered. “We’ll talk.”
“No.” Olivia took her sister’s hand, pulling her forward. “You come home with me. We can talk freely there.”
“I should let Drake know I’ll be late.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.” Olivia feared she clasped Dorothy’s hand too tightly. “This won’t take but a few minutes, and it’s . . . it’s private.”
“Ah, something to do with our handsome Mr. Curtis Morrow?” Dorothy teased.
“No.” Olivia felt her face flush. “Well, not entirely, but yes, in a way. He’s helping me, and I think he’s on to something.”
“Helping you?” Concern sprang to Dorothy’s face.
“Let’s not talk in the street,” Olivia urged, aware that passersby were staring.
The sisters walked quickly, arm in arm, to Morningside.
Grayson took their coats and stirred the drawing room fire. “Tea, ma’am?”
“No,” Olivia replied. “Just close the door, please, Grayson.”
“You’ve held me in suspense long enough,” Dorothy pressed. “Now what is it?”
“You remember the Sunday we talked about Mr. Sheldon’s book and what happened at Thanksgiving?”
“Our stellar family holiday?” Dorothy’s eyebrows lifted.
Her sarcasm grated, but Olivia pushed past it. “I told you I wanted to search for the O’Reilly woman.”
Dorothy looked wary. “And Drake told you to leave it alone.”
“You of all people should know I couldn’t.” Olivia gauged her sister’s reaction. “Curtis offered to help me.”
“To help you? You can’t be serious! Besides, it would be like looking for a fallen leaf in autumn—or an Irish maid in Manhattan. There must be a million!”
“But not a million O’Reilly women who’ve probably arrived in New York within the last two months. You saw her—her boots, her shawl. She can’t have been here long.”
“Even so, where would you begin?”
“Curtis has hired a private investigator.”
“A private investigator!” Dorothy drew back as if dirty water had been thrown at her feet.
“Stop repeating everything I say,” Olivia countered. “He stopped by yesterday and said that the investigator has not found anyone matching her description yet—”
“Well, there you are!”
“But he believes that it will be a simple matter of tracing her through records kept at Ellis Island.”
“Surely those records are not open to the public.”
“I don’t think the rules are evenly applied, especially when a few dollars change hands.” Olivia sighed. “But that’s not the point. The point is that Curtis and I will find her soon, and when we do, I will do all in my power to help her. . . . I will embrace her as the sister Father intended for us.”
Dorothy sat back and frowned, though Olivia believed she was trying to absorb the idea.
“I want to know if you want to be part of this, if you want to meet her, embrace her, too.”
“Embrace her? How can I after what Drake said?” Dorothy looked miserably into the fire. “And how can you ask me? How can you go against his wishes and put this divide between us? No matter what Morgan O’Reilly was to Father, this woman is not our sister. I’m your sister.”
Olivia reached for her hand. “The very closest of sisters. Dottie, you know I love you with all of my heart.” She squeezed the fingers she’d known and loved all her life. “But ever since I saw Father’s handwriting again, since I read his journals, and especially since reading In His Steps, I’ve known that this is something I must do. I must find her and help her. I must be a sister to her . . . regardless of keeping Father’s wishes. It’s what I believe Jesus would do, what He would have me do. I’m sure of it.” She let go of Dorothy’s hand. “And no matter how much I love you—and you know I do—I love Him more. I’m learning, little by little, to love Him most of all.”
Time spread between them before she asked, “Do you understand? Please tell me you understand.”
Dorothy picked up her gloves and began pulling them on her fingers one by one. “I’m trying to.” She stopped and laid her hands in her lap. Watery pools gathered in the corners of her brown eyes. “You know I want to do what our Lord would have me do. But I can’t go against Drake’s wishes. He will forbid me outright, and that will drive a rift between us all.”
“I know. I understand that. Truly, I’m not asking you to do anything.”
“But you see this as the thing the Lord would have you do. How can you not judge me harshly for not doing the same?”
“I’ve no right to judge. I’m only giving you the opportunity, if you want it. I don’t want to do this behind your back.”
Dorothy shook her head slowly. “You think me a coward.”
“Never! We’re each to follow the Lord as closely as we can understand Him to be leading us—there’s no way for one to judge another or to say He’s leading this way or that.” Olivia stood and paced before the fire. “But there is something I must ask of you.”
Dorothy looked up.
“Please don’t tell Drake.”
“He’s my husband, Livvie; how can you ask that of me?”
“Because I’ve told you this in confidence.” Olivia knelt before Dorothy. “Perhaps Drake is justifiably worried about protecting our inheritances. But there’s no reason for him to fear that yours will be touched in any way. What I do with my share is up to me. I won’t have him trying to keep me from doing what I believe—what I know with all my heart—to be right.”
Dorothy sighed again and laid her hand on her sister’s head. “I wish I could be so brave, so true to my convictions. But my time, my money, even my . . . my person . . . are not mine alone.”
“Those are shared gifts of married life; I know that. I honor that, Dottie. But I’m not married. I may never be . . . but for this moment I’m called, and I’m called to help Miss O’Reilly.”
It was nearly dark by the time Dorothy rose to go. Olivia accompanied her sister home in the family carriage, snuggled close beneath heavy steamer rugs, just as they had traveled together when young girls.
Though Olivia harbored no fondness for Drake, she momentarily envied the scene she witnessed through Meitland House’s bright drawing room window, keenly
aware that there would be no one to greet her at her own threshold. The return ride to Morningside was short but colder for the loneliness of it.
Olivia had just been served her evening meal when Grayson stepped uncertainly into the dining room. Olivia was glad for the interruption. “Yes?”
“Pardon me, ma’am. There is a man at the back door, a Mr. Joshua Keeton of County Meath, looking for a Miss O’Reilly.”
Olivia dropped her fork.
Grayson lifted his shoulders. “He insists that she came here, that she lives here. He maintains that he won’t leave until he’s spoken with the master of the house.”
Katie Rose received her first paycheck from the Triangle Waist Factory on Christmas Eve. When she opened it and saw the seven dollar bills lying flat and neat, one behind the other, her heart and stomach tumbled with one another for the upper hand. My first pay!
“Wait till you work full-time on the machines next week,” her new friend, Emma, whispered. “They might increase it to nine or even ten!”
Katie Rose could not imagine such wealth.
“Must you turn it all in to your mother, or can you keep a bit?” Emma pressed, then blushed. “It’s none of my business, but I was just thinking, if you’re allowed to keep a bit back, we could go to the nickelodeon. There’s a special show beginning this afternoon.” She leaned closer. “My brother said he’d come with us and bring a friend—a friend I’ve been dying to meet!”
Katie Rose instinctively covered the last of the scars on her face with her gloved hand at the thought of sitting with boys. She could hear Maureen’s sharp orders ringing in her ears: “Every penny! Remember, we pool every penny until we’re able to move.”
But Katie Rose had seen Maureen’s new shirtwaist last week and knew she’d ridden the trolley car partway home one night. That doesn’t sound like poolin’ every penny to me! Besides, Maureen’s not Mam. And my scars have nearly faded. I’m not horrible lookin’, or Emma wouldn’t want me to meet her brother. “How much?”
Emma laughed and linked arms with Katie Rose. “We’ll go straight to the matinee—that’s cheapest—and we can be home before we’re missed!”
Maureen had promised Katie Rose that the first Saturday after they moved, they would go to the nickelodeon together. But Maureen’s not been one to keep her promises lately, at least not in good humor. She was quite the wretch last week about the Christmas tree market! She promised we’d go but came home late and wouldn’t go out at all. She oughtn’t begrudge me this—it’s Christmas Eve. Besides, I’ve worked hard for it, and I’d rather go with Emma and the boys.
Even so, a shiver passed through Katie Rose as she handed over her first dollar bill and received a veritable pile of change in return. The heft of silver coins in her hand felt a cross between thrill and betrayal, but she pushed her fancies away as silly. I’m doin’ nothin’ wrong.
As soon as everyone had paid their nickel at the door and was seated in rows of hard wooden chairs, the gaslights were turned low. Emma’s brother, Benjamin, sat on one side and Emma on the other, flanked by her brother’s friend, Chris. Curtains were drawn back from the center of the stage, revealing a large white rectangle suspended from the ceiling and resting against the forward wall.
The piano player, stationed on a platform in the back of the room, began a lively ragtime tune. Katie Rose’s heart skipped a beat when Benjamin passed her a cone of lemon gumballs and let her help herself, brushing her hand more than was warranted in taking them back. A clickety-clack, clickety-clack reverberated from the balcony above until it smoothed into a continuous hum. Light and dark flickered on the white screen before a banner with the title of the film spread across its surface. And then people appeared, as in photographs.
“Only the photographs moved—the people moved!” Katie Rose recounted that night, swinging her arms to explain and doing her best to regale Mrs. Melkford and draw Maureen into her adventure as they walked to Christmas Eve services. “They spoke and motioned and shouted—though of course, I couldn’t hear a word. But I knew what they were sayin’ because the piano would thunder in the scary parts—I thought my heart might jump out my chest. Like in the chasin’ scene and when the hero wrestled the train robber to the floor of the carriage. It would play so trickily up and down the high notes when the tension mounted—when the bad man crept up behind the beautiful lady and clapped his hand over her mouth. But near the end, when the hero and his fine white horse raced in and rescued her, and he was kissin’ her . . . oh, the music was ever so sweet and tender.” Katie Rose, who’d never seen a moving picture before, nor heard a piano or organ except in church and from the pub beneath them, stopped only to catch her breath. “I didn’t know there was such music in all the world.”
“Were there no signs to explain what was happening in the story?” Mrs. Melkford asked, trying unsuccessfully to hide her smile.
“What?” Katie Rose asked, pulled from her rapture. “Signs? Oh yes, but I don’t know why they bothered. The music said everythin’!”
Maureen, Katie Rose observed, was quiet—had been quiet and withdrawn and worried-looking all week. It seemed she disapproved of everything but gave her full attention to nothing.
Despite her conviction that the matinee was a well-deserved wonder and sure in the knowledge that she would go again next Saturday no matter what Maureen had to say about it, Katie Rose desperately wanted her sister’s approval. “You should go with us next week,” she told Maureen, hoping her cunning might kill two birds with one stone.
“I’d rather save my nickel, thank you.” Maureen’s eyes stayed straight ahead.
Katie Rose sighed, at once put out and relieved. If Maureen doesn’t go, then maybe Benjamin will want to sit with me again. “It’s only a nickel, and you’d do well to have a bit of fun. It’s somethin’ we could do together.”
Mrs. Melkford laughed. “The little sage might just be right there, Maureen. You’d best listen to your sister.”
Maureen frowned, but Katie Rose beamed, glad to have earned Mrs. Melkford’s approval while anticipating next week’s nickelodeon unchaperoned, and linked arms with her unwitting conspirator.
How was Maureen to smile, simply because it was Christmas Eve or because Katie Rose demanded it? She dared not say a word to anyone but screamed inside her head: I don’t care about the stupid nickel. I’m terrified that I’ll come home some night and you won’t be there, that Jaime Flynn or one of those dandies or that sickenin’ Mr. Kreegle from the fourth floor will have come and taken you away! And that’s what I’m afraid happened to Alice.
“Are you all right, Maureen?” Mrs. Melkford asked softly as they walked. “You look a bit pale and peaked. I should have insisted you eat before church.”
Maureen blinked at Mrs. Melkford and turned quickly away. “Yes, I’m all right. I am, thank you.”
And she would have to be; she must keep all her wits about her. But she couldn’t keep her mind from Alice.
Alice had come to work in the beginning of the week all smiles and with a fine pair of new kid boots and matching gloves. She’d polished her counter with stars in her eyes and a smile about her lips but acted as nervous as a cat, keeping her eye on Mrs. Gordon and the staff elevator more often than her work. When Maureen teased that Alice had found a Christmas beau, Alice had taken offense.
“Why? Do you think I’m not pretty enough to catch the eye of a gentleman, Maureen O’Reilly?”
“Why, of course you’re pretty enough—and all the prettier when you smile.” Maureen had not known what to make of her friend. “But who is he? Where did you meet him?”
“Never you mind that.” Alice had lifted her chin. “Some things are best kept secret.”
Maureen hadn’t terribly minded the rebuke but wanted to mend fences. “Shall we walk round to the secondhand shop at lunch? There’s enough to cover the counters for us both to go at once.”
“No, but I do need to do some shopping. I think I’ll try that new silk in the window.”
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“The blue silk? The gown in Darcy’s window?” Maureen had felt her mouth drop.
But Alice had laughed. “Yes, of course Darcy’s, and why not? Do you think it suits me? I’ve a bit saved. And I might be needing something special.”
“Whatever for?” Maureen could no more comprehend Alice’s ability to afford such a frock than she could imagine where her friend might possibly wear it.
But her question had miffed Alice, and she’d turned away. “You might have the hair and skin and eyes men go silly over, but you never know what a gentleman looks for in a lady. There’s no reason to think one might not look my way.”
“I never meant such a thing, Alice. But—”
“But what?”
Maureen had stood nearer. “We’ve just never considered shoppin’ here. Everythin’s so dear.”
“Well, I can afford to now.” Alice had dropped her nose to its normal position then and leaned forward confidentially. “You could afford it too. All you have to do is agree to—” But she’d stopped abruptly as if she’d reconsidered whatever she was about to say, then whispered, her eyes twinkling, “I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but I’ve been promoted,” and pointed upstairs.
Maureen knew her eyes went wide.
“It was all so innocent; nothing really.” But Alice’s cheeks had colored. “Just dinner with a gentleman. He’s a good bit older, but that doesn’t matter. Everyone gets lonely sometimes.”
When Maureen didn’t respond, Alice had defended herself. “My mother, God rest her soul, used to say I have a tender heart, that I know how to make someone feel cared for and important.” She folded her polishing rag and set it beneath the counter. “Mr. Kreegle paid me well and said the gentleman—whose name I’m not to know—might ask me dancing this week, and I should be ready with a proper gown.” Alice’s eyes danced as Maureen had never seen them. “I think the blue silk would be perfect with my eyes!”
Then both women realized Mrs. Gordon was near, making her rounds of the store floor and counters, and Maureen had the distinct feeling they’d been overheard. How much, she couldn’t guess.