by Rhys Bowen
“Is he dead?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. I saw them putting him into an ambulance. He wasn’t moving and there was a lot of blood, and I came running to get you. I knew you’d want to be with him.”
“Where have they taken him?”
“St. Vincent’s, ma’am.”
“Then I must go to him.”
I looked at Sid. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll keep the children with us. You go.”
“I don’t think we’ll find a hansom cab,” I said. “It’s probably quicker on foot. At least it’s not too far from here.”
“I’d like to come with you, Mrs. Sullivan, but I’m on duty. I shouldn’t have left in the first place, but the captain has been good to me and I knew you’d want to know straight away.”
“That’s all right, Constable. I can find my own way to St. Vincent’s,” I said. “You were good to tell me. I just hope … I just pray … he’s still alive when I get there.”
“The captain—he’s tough, ma’am. He’ll pull through if anyone can.”
He went to say something more, then took off, half running, half slithering, back along the snowy sidewalk. Sid was already shepherding the two children down Patchin Place. I picked up my skirts and headed up Greenwich Avenue. My numb and frozen feet burned within my boots. The icy wind stung my cheeks. I found it hard to breathe but I didn’t stop. “Must get there in time,” I chanted over and over, mixed with the prayer, “Holy Mother of God, please let him live. Please let him live.”
The hulking building of St. Vincent’s Hospital loomed ahead of me as I turned onto Seventh Avenue. I staggered in through the main door and was met by a sister in a crisply starched veil and uniform.
“Where are you going, my dear?” she asked in broader Irish than my own, grabbing my sleeve as I went to push past her.
“My husband. Where is he?” I asked. “Where have they taken him?”
“Your husband? What’s his name, my dear? Brought into casualty, was he?”
“Captain Sullivan. A policeman. He was just shot. They were taking him here.”
“We’ve nobody just arrived who has been shot,” she said. “Maybe he’s still on his way. It’s not easy for an ambulance to get through in this snow, you know.” She took my arm and started to lead me. “You look as if you’re about to pass out. Come on in and I’ll get you a cup of tea.” She led me through to a plain scrubbed kitchen and sat me at a bench while she poured me tea. I took a grateful sip, realizing that my hands were shaking. What would I do without him, I thought. How would I survive? I’d be like that poor woman who brought her two children to America because she had nobody to turn to in London. Then I made myself calm down and see sense. I did have people who cared for me. I had Sid and Gus and Daniel’s mother … it wouldn’t be the same for me at all. It was just that I couldn’t bear to think of life without him.
The Italian gang. The stupid Italian gang. Daniel had warned his fellow officers that they were not to be trifled with, neither could they be stamped out. But nobody had listened to him and it had cost him … The sister stood up, her head cocked like a bird’s. “Ah, that sounds like horses’ hooves,” she said. “That will be them now. And our doctors here are first-rate. So don’t you worry. They’ll save him if anyone can.”
I followed her out to a side entrance and watched the ambulance come to a halt under the portico, the two horses’ breath still coming like smoke and their flanks steaming. Two orderlies had come out to open the back door of the wagon. The driver climbed down from his perch. “Policemen,” he said. “Been shot.”
I hung back. The orderlies climbed inside the wagon and then one of them jumped down and between them out came a stretcher, and it was covered in a white cloth.
“Didn’t make it,” the orderly said as the driver came around to assist. “Looks like he was shot through the heart. Nothing we could do. I think he was killed outright on the spot.”
I put my hand to my mouth to stifle the sob. I was shaking all over now, vaguely aware that the sister had put an arm around me. “You’d better come inside out of the cold,” she said.
“Put that stretcher down and give me a hand with the other one,” someone shouted from within the wagon. “We need to get him into the operating theater before he loses any more blood.”
They scrambled back into the wagon and lowered a second stretcher. I saw Daniel’s dark curls, his face deathly white, one hand hanging lifelessly over the side of the stretcher. I shook myself free of the sister and ran up to him.
“Daniel, my darling. It’s me, your Molly is here. You’re going to be just fine,” I babbled as I walked beside them.
“Stand out of the way, please, ma’am,” one of the stretcher-bearers said. “We’re taking him into surgery. You can’t come with us.”
One of them had opened double doors. I caught a glimpse of a long white corridor stretching away.
“Daniel, I love you,” I called. The doors swung shut behind them. The sister led me to a waiting room and brought me another cup of tea. Other people were sitting around the walls, but in truth I hardly noticed them. I could not say how many or how old they were. They were just a vague blur of color against the pale green of the walls and the gray linoleum on the floor. It was horribly cold and the disinfectant smell wafted in from the corridor. I couldn’t stop shaking and the teacup rattled against the saucer in my hand. Did people survive gunshot wounds? I had been there when President McKinley had been shot. He had lived for a few days and then died anyway.
Daniel’s tough. I repeated the constable’s words. He’ll make it if anyone can. The clock on the wall ticked annoyingly loudly. Feet tapped up and down hallways, just out of sight. Other people were called out of the room until there were just one or two of us, sitting wrapped in our own cocoons of misery. Time dragged on, minute after painful minute. Then finally I heard heavier footsteps approaching. A man in a white coat appeared—a young man with red hair and a freckled face, looking ridiculously young to be a doctor.
“Mrs. Sullivan?” he said.
I jumped to my feet. “Is he…?” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Your husband is a lucky man,” he said. “The bullet passed through his shoulder, just missing his heart and his lungs. It went clear through him and out the other side. So we didn’t even have to dig around to find it.” He even smiled. “He’s lost a lot of blood, but we’ve patched him up and dressed the wound and with any luck he’ll be fine.”
A great sob escaped from my throat. I put my hand to my mouth. “Can I see him?” I managed to say.
“We’re transferring him to a ward right now. When he wakes up and he’s settled you’ll be able to see him.”
“I’m glad it was good news, my dear,” said a gentle voice from across the room, and I noticed, really for the first time, that an old woman sat there. She was dressed in an aged, moth-eaten fur coat and held rosary beads in her hands.
“Thank you,” I said.
“My own dear Timothy was brought in with pneumonia,” she said. “It came on so quickly. Fighting for his life, they said. I don’t know what I’ll do without him. We’ve been married fifty-one years.”
I went over to her and took her hand. “It’s a good hospital,” I said. “He’s in the best hands.”
“He’s in God’s hands,” she said. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said this rosary as I’ve been sitting here. Would you like to say it together with me, one more time? They say when two or three are gathered in His name God will answer our prayers, don’t they?”
And so I prayed the rosary with her. It had been years, since the nuns had taught me at St. Brendan’s, that I’d prayed a rosary. But the old familiar words slipped off my tongue as if it was yesterday. And I did find it comforting. Maybe I had stayed away from the church because of my unhappy experiences with priests and nuns, and my hostility had nothing to do with God. Maybe He had been there, unchanging, all the time.
Outside I hea
rd a clock chiming four. Incongruous thoughts flashed through my head: My son wouldn’t have had his nap. And my mother-in-law would be arriving to an empty house. Surely she’d have the sense to knock at Sid and Gus’s front door and find out what had happened. Why was it taking so long for Daniel to regain consciousness and to get settled in a ward? Finally I could stand it no longer. I got up and wandered out into a hallway. A young sister came out of a side room. I hurried after her. “Please, can you find out where they have taken my husband,” I said. “I want to see him.”
“Your husband?”
“The policeman brought in with a gunshot wound?”
“I expect he was taken to the morgue, ma’am,” she said.
“No, he was alive. The doctor said he was going to be all right,” I insisted.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize there were two of them. If they are through with him in surgery they’ll have taken him to Saint Luke—the men’s surgical ward. It’s up one flight of stairs and to the right.”
I set off, my feet echoing from the high stairwell. I had just found the men’s surgical ward when a nurse came out.
“Have they brought Captain Sullivan up to this ward yet?” I asked as she started to walk past me. “The policeman with the gunshot wound.”
“Yes. They brought him in a little while ago.”
“Thank you,” I said. As I made for the door she added sharply, “But visiting hours ended at four. You’ll have to come back tomorrow. Noon to four.”
I had had enough of being patient. I spun to face her. “My husband has been shot and nearly died. If you think I’m going to wait until tomorrow to visit him, you’ve got another think coming.” Then I stalked past her and into the room.
I heard her saying, “But he shouldn’t be disturbed…” but I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I didn’t wait to see if she was following me. It was a long ward, with at least twelve beds on either side. Some patients were bandaged so that it was impossible to recognize them. I walked slowly, examining each bed, but didn’t see Daniel in any of them. One of the beds at the far end had a screen around it. I peeked around the screen and saw Daniel lying there, his face almost as white as the pillow behind him. His eyes were closed and he looked so peaceful that for a second I thought he must be dead. Then I saw the sheet gently rise and fall with his breathing. I tiptoed up to him and took his hand. It was awfully cold and I held it tightly in mine. I perched on the side of his narrow bed, looking at him.
Winter darkness started to fall outside the high windows and the long ward melted into gloom. Daniel had not stirred. I decided that I would have to go. He was safe here and my son and mother-in-law needed me. But I wanted him to know that I’d been here. Outside the screen I heard the clatter of a trolley. A young orderly pulled back the screen and I watched her react with surprise.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered. “Visiting hours were over long ago.”
“I’m Mrs. Sullivan. My husband was brought in with a gunshot wound.”
“Ah, yes. The policeman.” Her expression softened. “But he’s been given morphine. The best you can do for him is let him rest.”
“I know. But when he wakes can you tell him I was here? And I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Of course,” she said. “Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of him.”
As I gently released his hand his eyes fluttered open.
“Molly?” he murmured.
“I’m here, my darling. You’re going to be just fine.”
“That damned fool,” he muttered. “What was he thinking? They don’t understand…”
“Don’t try to talk now,” I said, bending to kiss his forehead. “I have to go back to Liam and your mother. But I’ll be back in the morning.”
His eyes were closed again but he smiled.
“And you have to hurry up and get well for Christmas,” I said. “We have to buy Liam’s present.”
“Dog,” he said. “Dog on wheels.”
“That’s right. A dog on wheels. We’ll go to buy it when you’re well again.”
But he had already drifted back into sleep. I let the orderly lead me out and I found my way down the stairs and out into the street.
Twelve
I wasn’t sure what I’d find when I arrived back at Sid and Gus’s house. Liam in hysterics with a soaked diaper? My mother-in-law looking indignant and uncomfortable? But complete quiet reigned as Sid opened the door to me.
“What news?” she asked.
“The doctors think he will live, thank God,” I said. “The bullet just missed his heart and lungs. It went right through his shoulder and out the other side. But he’s awfully weak and they’ve given him morphine. So he’s sleeping peacefully.”
“Well, that’s good news,” Sid said.
“Where are the children?” I asked.
She glanced across the street. “Your mother-in-law arrived, quite put out that you weren’t home until we told her the reason. She’s taken Bridie and Liam back to your house to put him down for a nap and to cook your dinner. And Tig and Emmy have gone back to the witch. I told them they could stay longer, have an evening meal with us and then I’d walk them home, but they were afraid they would get into trouble if they didn’t show up at the proper time. They were so pathetically grateful, Molly. They perched on the edge of the sofa as if they were afraid to damage it. Not like children at all. Even when I got out games for them, they didn’t want to play.”
“They’ve had their childhood taken away from them,” I agreed. “They’ve lost all security and hope, haven’t they?”
“And that awful woman. Honestly, Molly, I didn’t want to let them go back to her, but they are terrified their mother will come looking for them and they won’t be there.”
“Did they tell you anything more that might give us a clue as to where she went or why they are here?” I asked.
Sid shook her head. “Not really. But I did gather that the ship they came on was the SS New York. That’s the American Line, isn’t it? So we may be able to glean some information from the ship’s manifest.”
“Good idea,” I said. “I can’t thank you enough for helping out like this, and it was so kind of you to bring Tig and Emmy home with you.”
Sid glanced back down the hall. “Gus and I have been talking and we think we’d like to take them in.”
“You mean bring them to you every day?”
“No, I mean have them to live with us.”
“Oh, no, Sid,” I said. “I don’t think that’s wise at all.”
“Why? You don’t think they are trustworthy? You think they are not what they seem and will murder us in our beds when we’re not looking? Or steal the silver?” She sounded indignant now.
“We know nothing about them, Sid. They seem like adorable children and my instinct tells me that they are exactly who they claim to be. But taking them in is another matter. And Tig is right. What if their mother comes to collect them at the boardinghouse and they are not there? That old witch would not tell her where they had gone, just out of spite, I know it.” I could feel the blood rising in my cheeks as the frustrations and worries of the day all boiled over. “And what if their mother is never found? What then? Turn them out onto the streets again?”
“Of course not…” she started to say, but I went on, “So you’d take them on for the long term? Adopt them? But what would that do to your way of life? You couldn’t just jump on a boat to Paris anymore, or go to Newport because it was too hot in the city. And you know nothing about raising children…”
Sid put a hand on my shoulder. “Molly, calm down. We’re not thinking too far into the future. Just far enough so that they don’t have to be out on these freezing streets. If the weather gets better and their mother still hasn’t turned up, maybe you’ll have found a family connection by then. If not … then we’ll face that when it comes.”
I took a deep breath. “I think you’re both kindhearted,” I said. “And I see nothing wrong wit
h taking them in during the worst of the weather, as long as you let them go back to the boardinghouse at night.”
“But they sleep up in the attic there,” Sid said. “Emmy told me they are so cold and they lie on a straw pallet and it’s scratchy. And there are mice and she’s scared. We could make sure they are warm and well fed, Molly. And you can use your brilliant detective skills to find their mother.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve a seriously injured husband to look after as well as two children and a visiting mother-in-law,” I said. “I don’t know how much time I’ll have.”
“You’ll find time. You always do,” Sid said. When I nodded she put a hand on my shoulder. “You do want to help those children, don’t you? We can’t just turn our backs on them, Molly. We have to do something for them.”
“I know,” I said. “I want to help them. Of course I do.”
“We’ll help you find their mother,” Sid said. “You tell us what you want us to do and we’ll do it.”
“You could start off by taking a look at the ship’s manifest,” I said. “At least we’d know the mother’s full name then, and maybe even an address we could contact.”
“I’ll do that tomorrow,” Sid said. “Gus can collect the children and amuse them and I’ll go hunting.”
“That’s a good start,” I said. “And if only Daniel weren’t lying at death’s door he could tell me how to find a list of women who died in the city back in the spring. Maybe women who were found on the streets, or died in an accident. Of course if their mother had been very ill and was taken to hospital and died, then we’d have to go around all the hospitals, wouldn’t we? But it can be done.”
“You think she’s dead, do you?” Sid asked.
“I can’t think of any other reason that a mother would not return to her children; would not at least write to them, to let them know she’s all right and thinking about them.”
Sid nodded gravely. “Yes, I suppose you are right.”
“I have to go,” I said. “Daniel’s mother will be wanting news of him.”