“Who the hell are you?” the man shouted, wiping blood from his cheek. “It’s my goddamned horse and I’ll damn well beat him to death if I so wish. The useless creature isn’t worth the feed I give him.”
The carter’s callous attitude infuriated Michael even more. “And maybe you’re not worth living either,” Michael hissed, bringing the whip down on the man’s head again and again. Suddenly, he was in a bear hug and the whip was yanked out of his hand. Flynn and some of the other men pulled him away.
“Come away, Michael,” his friend said, eyes wide with fright. “Surely, you don’t want to kill the man, do you?”
Michael stopped struggling. “No… no…. It’s just that I can’t stand people being cruel to dumb animal—or … young girls.”
Flynn was puzzled by his reference to “young girls.” He took Michael’s arm and led him back to their wagon. “Come on, old Cully will be wanting to know why we’re late.”
They continued down Fifth Avenue in silence. Even the men in the back, who usually carried on a constant line of chatter, were quiet. As they were passing Washington Square Park, Michael gazed at it wistfully. The lush green grass, the trees and shrubs, even the steady downpour, reminded him of Ireland and it made him homesick. He missed the fields and the peacefully grazing animals. He missed his friends and the little cottages that dotted the hillsides. Then he shook his head in dismissal and castigated himself. What are you thinking, you damn fool? That was not the Ireland he’d left. Most of the cottages had been tumbled and most of his friends were dead. There was nothing left for him in Ireland. Still, he wondered if he’d made a mistake taking Emily to this godforsaken city.
With tears in his eyes, he said, “It’s a damn cruel city, isn’t it, Flynn?
Flynn took a long puff on his cigar and squinted. “Aye, it is that.”
Chapter Fifteen
For the next two weeks, every time Lucy came for a lesson, Emily examined her closely, looking for any physical signs of abuse. But, thankfully, she saw nothing. After each lesson was over, she tried to engage Letta in conversation about Lucy’s life at home, but the servant girl was maddeningly vague in her responses. Emily understood her young friend’s predicament, but she didn’t like it. If there was abuse, she was certain that Letta, living under the same roof with the Ingersolls, would have to know about it. But by mid-June, Emily began to believe her suspicions were unfounded.
Then, Lucy came to class with a bruised eye.
“Lucy, what happened to you?”
Looking embarrassed, she gingerly touched her cheek. “Mother says I’m so clumsy. I walked into a door.”
Later, while the girls were having cookies with Henrietta, Emily pulled Letta into the parlor and closed the door.
“Letta, you must tell me how Lucy got that bruise.”
“I was told she walked into a door.”
“Who told you that?”
“Mrs. Ingersoll.”
“Did you see it happen?”
“No.”
Emily took Letta by the shoulders. “Letta, for God’s sake, tell me the truth. Do you believe that’s what happened?”
Letta began to weep. “No … I… don’t ...”
“What’s going on in that house?”
Through convulsive sobs, she said, “It’s Mr. Ingersoll. He’s a brute to Lucy and to Mrs. Ingersoll. He’s never done anything in my presence, but I’ve heard things …”
“Like what?”
She fell into Emily’s arms. “I’ve heard the sounds of someone being slapped … punched … Oh, God it’s terrible. I put the pillow over my head, but I can still hear the sounds.”
“Letta, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to answer me truthfully. To your knowledge, has Mr. Ingersoll ever sexually abused Lucy?”
Letta bit her lip. “I hear things …”
“What sort of things do you hear?”
“Sometimes, in the middle of the night … I hear doors opening and closing.”
An ashen-faced Emily sat down hard. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God …”
Letta dropped to her knees and took Emily’s two hands in hers. “Emily, you must never tell anyone I said such things.”
Emily squeezed the distraught girl’s hands. “Don’t worry. I would never get you in trouble with the Ingersolls.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
A despondent Letta stood up and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’d better take Lucy home.”
Tears welled up in Emily’s eyes. “I can’t bear the thought of that poor girl spending another night in that horror house.”
“Neither can I, but what choice do I have?”
“None,” Emily said dully.
After the last of the students had left, Emily sat at the kitchen staring into the fireplace.
Henrietta sat down next to her. “Emily, what is it? You look so worried. Is it the baby?”
Emily automatically patted her stomach. With an expected due date less than a month away, she was growing bigger and bigger by the day. “No, it’s not the baby.” She started to cry. “Henrietta, Ingersoll is molesting his daughter.”
The older woman dropped a plate of cookies. “Oh, no … no ...”
“What am I going to do, Henrietta?”
“You heard what Gaylord said. Who could you go to?”
“I think I’ve found a place.” She opened the newspaper on the table and flipped through it until she found the classified section.
“Here’s a place I might go—The Society for the Relief of Orphan and Destitute Children. It’s located on Greenwich Avenue.”
She stood up and pulled her shawl around her.
“Where are you going?” Henrietta asked in alarm.
“I’m going to tell them what’s going on.”
“Emily,” Henrietta pleaded, “at least wait until Michael gets home.”
“There’s no time to waste. I’ve got to get that child out of that house as soon as I can.”
Before Henrietta could say anything more, Emily was out the door.
The building in which The Society for the Relief of Orphan and Destitute Children was housed was impressive. In a previous incarnation, it might have been a proud merchant bank.
An elderly woman was seated at a desk in the foyer. “May I help you?” she asked with a kindly smile.
“Yes, I want to report a case of child abuse.”
The woman nodded knowingly. “I understand. We get these referrals every day. What’s going on in those terrible neighborhoods like the Five Points is a disgrace to this city. But, that’s what we’re here for—to do our part in saving the children from abuse and neglect.”
She opened a notebook. “What is the address where the child abuse has taken place?”
“Gramercy Park.”
The woman dropped her pencil. “Did you say … Gramercy Park?”
“I did.”
The woman looked puzzled. “Does this involve a servant or a tradesman?”
“No. It involves the master of the house.”
The woman pursed her lips. “Wait right here.” She jumped up and hurried down the hallway.
A minute later she came back accompanied by an anxious middle-aged clergyman who directed her into a small office.
“Please be seated, Mrs. …?”
“Ranahan. Emily Ranahan.”
“I am the Reverend James Fowler, the director here. What is the nature of your complaint?”
“As I told the woman at the desk, I want to report and incident of child abuse.”
“And you claim this so-called ‘child abuse’ occurred in a residence in Gramercy Park?”
“That’s correct.” She didn’t like his use of the word “claim” or his characterizing her complaint as “so-called.” She realized Gaylord was right about these people. They would not—or could not—accept that one of their own could be a monster.
The reverend, bald except for tufts of
white hair sprouting above his ears, studied her with an undisguised look of incredulity. “Do you know the name of the alleged miscreant?”
She realized his whole tone and demeanor was designed to discourage and intimidate her, but she’d come this far and there would be no turning back. “His name is Thaddeus Ingersoll.”
The clergyman started. “That’s… that’s… preposterous,” he sputtered. “Mr. Ingersoll is an upstanding member of my church. Why, he’s the chair of our Congregational Council. You must be mistaken.”
“I don’t believe I am.”
His eyes narrowed. “What sort of proof do you have?” he snapped.
“What kind of proof would you expect me to have? If I’d come here to complain about some poor drunken father in the Five Points, would you ask me for proof? No. You would investigate the claim as I expect you to do now.”
The reverent stood up. “There will be no investigation,” he said coldly. “I know Mr. Ingersoll personally. It is not possible that he could ever do what you claim. And I will not be party to a scheme to destroy the reputation of an upstanding member of this city and of my congregation. Good day, madam.”
Emily stood up. “And what about his daughter? Don’t you care about what happens to her?”
“I am not worried about his daughter because I will stake my reputation that nothing is amiss in the Ingersoll household.”
Emily pulled her shawl around her shoulders. “Reverend, I hope to God you’re right.”
An angry Michael was waiting for her when she got home. “Emily, what could you be thinking? You’re eight months pregnant. You’ve no business gallivanting all over the city on a fool’s errand.”
“It was not a fool’s errand.”
“Of course it was. You heard what Gaylord said.”
“I had to do it, Michael. Someone must stand up for Lucy.”
“And what was the outcome of your meeting?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “It was a fool’s errand. They won’t do anything. My God, what’s going to become of her?”
Michael put his arms around her. “Emily, you tried. That’s all you can do.”
The repercussions of Emily’s visit to The Society for the Relief of Orphan and Destitute Children was swift. Within days, a nervous Letta appeared at the door.
“Come in” Henrietta said.
“I can’t. I’m here to deliver a message to Emily.”
Emily came to the door. “Letta, what is it? Come in.”
The servant girl shook her head. “I can’t ...”
Emily took her arm. “Nonsense. Henrietta has a pot of coffee on the stove.”
Letta came in and handed the note to Emily. It was short and to the point: Effective forthwith, Lucy will no longer be coming for French lessons. Mrs. Ingersoll.
“What happened, Letta?”
“Yesterday, a Reverend Fowler came to see Mr. Ingersoll. They went into the parlor. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Mr. Ingersoll was very loud and angry.”
Emily shook her head in astonishment. “The reverend took the time to tell Ingersoll that I made a complaint against him, but he wouldn’t take the time to investigate my charge.”
Henrietta poured a cup of coffee for Letta. “It’s just as Gaylord said.”
The next day, as they were eating dinner, she got similar notes from the parents of three more students. “The word must be spreading,” Emily said. “I’m a pariah.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Michael. My foolishness has cost me four students. And with the baby coming we could really use the money.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Michael said. “We’ll be fine.”
“What about your other student, Abigail?” Henrietta asked. “Do you think she’ll stop coming as well?”
That question was answered the next day when Delia Hainsworth personally brought Abigail. While Henrietta was feeding Abigail cookies in the kitchen, Emily took Delia into the parlor.
“Delia, I want to thank you for having the courage to stick with me.”
“Nonsense. I’ve always thought there was something wrong in that Ingersoll house. The fathers of your three students who left are all business associates of Ingersoll. He tried to pressure my husband and me, but I told him I will make my own decisions. But, as a friend, I must tell you, your actions were imprudent.”
“I know. I was warned.”
“Thaddeus Ingersoll is a powerful and well-connected man in this city. And there are many who are beholden to him. You’re new to this city, but you must understand, the only thing that counts in this city is money and power and Ingersoll has both.”
“Why is it he couldn’t pressure you?”
“My husband is in banking. He’s not part of that merchant class. Just be careful, Emily.”
“What else can he do to me? He’s taken away four of my students.”
“I don’t know. Just be careful.”
Chapter Sixteen
The beginning of July was unusually hot and muggy. Anyone with the money and the wherewithal had already fled the city to live in the much cooler countryside. Those who couldn’t leave because of circumstance or business obligations were forced to suffer the dreadful July heat and humidity and the ever-present stench of the city.
The heat was even more unbearable for pregnant women and Emily was getting close to her due date. It was two weeks since she’d lost her students, but she’d reconciled her decision to make the complaint despite the unpleasant aftermath. Delia had been right. She’d been imprudent. For days after Delia had warned her to be careful, she wondered what more Ingersoll could do to her. Then it hit her; they were renting their house. Did Ingersoll have any control over their landlord? They had a lease, but so far, nothing had happened and she began to relax.
It rained all day Tuesday, which only contributed to the discomfort she was feeling. Around four that afternoon, the doorbell rang. Letta was standing in the doorway, soaked to the bone, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Emily stretched out her hand. “Letta, come in out of the rain.”
Seemingly oblivious to the rain, she didn’t move. “Letta, what is it?”
“Lucy is dead…” she whispered in a hoarse voice.
Emily felt her legs buckle and if it wasn’t for Henrietta standing next to her she would have collapsed.
She awoke on a couch in the parlor. At first, she thought she’d just had a bad dream, but when she saw an anxious and tearful Henrietta standing over her, she knew it wasn’t a dream. Letta sat in a chair sobbing. “Letta, what happened?”
“She fell down the stairs and hit her head. The doctor came but there was nothing he could do.”
“Did you see her fall down the stairs?”
“No. I was told.”
Emily got up too quickly and the room began to spin. “That was no accident,” she shouted. “That horrible man killed her.”
“Now, now, Emily,” Henrietta said, trying to calm her friend. “you don’t know that.”
“Are you telling me it’s merely a coincidence? What about the bruises on her neck? The bruised eye? And now this? Am I to believe she accidentally fell down the stairs? No. I tell you he killed her.”
Just then she felt a sharp pain and doubled over. Henrietta grabbed her arm. “Emily, what’s the matter?”
“Oh, God … The baby… I think the baby’s coming …”
“Come, Letta, help me get her up to her bed.”
As soon as they got Emily into bed, Henrietta rushed down to the kitchen. She scribbled an address on a piece of paper and handed it to Letta. “This is where the midwife lives on Thirty-Ninth Street. Go and bring her here as quickly as you can.”
It was just after seven when Michael came home. He was surprised to see Letta siting in the kitchen. She usually came to dinner on Sunday, her day off. “Hello, Letta, what are you doing—?” He stopped talking when he noticed her red eyes and her sad expression. A lump formed in his throat. “Where’s Emily? Is anyth
ing wrong?”
“She’s upstairs. The midwife is with her.”
Michael bounded up the stairs and met Henrietta in the hallway. “Is she having the baby? Is she all right?”
“The baby hasn’t come yet. It’s a difficult birth. The midwife has been with her since four-thirty.”
“I want to see her.”
He tried to push past her, but she grabbed him and shook him. “Michael, listen to me. The midwife is doing everything she can. There’s nothing you can do. Go downstairs. I’ll call you when there’s news.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t understand. She wasn’t supposed to have the baby for another two weeks.”
“She’s had a great shock today.”
“What kind of shock?”
“Little Lucy is dead.”
“Oh, my God. What happened?”
“She died in a fall down the stairs. Emily doesn’t believe that. She thinks it was intentional.”
“She thinks Ingersoll is responsible?”
“She does.”
“And that shock brought on her labor?”
“It would seem. Now why don’t you go down to the kitchen. There’s a pot of coffee on the stove and there’s cold chicken in the icebox.”
In a fog, Michael went downstairs and hardly noticed that Letta was gone. He had no appetite, but he poured himself a cup of coffee. He didn’t know how long he’d been in the kitchen staring into space when Henrietta came in. He jumped up. “Is the baby here?”
Henrietta nodded. “It was a difficult birth.”
“Is Emily all right?”
“Emily and the baby are fine.”
He rushed upstairs. The midwife, an elderly lady with her gray hair tied back in bun, was standing outside their bedroom. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes. She had a hard time, but they’re both doing well.” As he put his hand on the door-knob, the midwife cautioned him. “She’s resting. Don’t disturb her.”
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