Lazlo’s Books was crowded. He barely had time to tell Mary that she had a client waiting for her in her office before returning to a customer. It was Mrs. Norcross.
“So nice to see you again, Mrs. Norcross.” Mrs. Norcross stood and they shook hands. “Please sit. How can I help you?” Mrs. Norcross sat facing Mary, who sat down behind her desk.
“This is difficult to do.”
“Whatever it is, take your time.”
“You have to understand. He was always a good boy, my Henry. Always considerate, respectful. I never heard a harsh word out of his mouth.”
“Sounds like he was a wonderful son.”
“He was. I saw in the newspapers how you helped thwart an anarchist bombing.”
“The man was a confused human being but basically good. It’s no excuse, but in a way, he was pushed into it by a failed system.”
“I think that’s what happened to my Henry.” She took a letter out of her pocketbook and placed it on Mary’s desk. “There was a second letter that James and I never told anyone about. I’d like you to read it.”
Mary picked it up.
Dear Mother and Father, I am on my way to New York. I probably won’t return, but please don’t despair. I am sickened by what has happened to the country I love so dearly, and I am trying to accomplish something for the good of all. Millions of us live in abject poverty where we catch diseases and die too young because of the holy profit motive that benefits only a few. My brethren in Europe and Asia have been eliminating heads of state. Though they are certainly culpable, the real problems lie with the greedy capitalists. Maybe acts like mine will scare them into reason or inspire us to revolution.
Your loving son,
Henry
Mary put down the letter. She didn’t know what to say.
“You see, Miss Handley? What he did, it wasn’t for himself like they say. It was never for himself.”
“He never expected to get the money.”
Mrs. Norcross shook her head no. “He was there to sacrifice himself.” Fighting back tears, she was barely audible. “Henry always had a way with words. James and I thought he’d make a wonderful writer. Maybe if he had, he could have used his talent to vent that anger and he wouldn’t have—” She couldn’t go on.
“Mrs. Norcross, you and your husband have experienced an unspeakable tragedy. How can I help? What would you like me to do?”
“I wish I knew. I’m returning to Massachusetts tomorrow. Ever since our meeting a few days ago, I’ve had this urge to tell you. I don’t know why. I just thought you’d understand.”
“Rest assured I do. I assume you don’t want me to make this public.”
“Certainly not.”
“I would like to discreetly show it to one person and one person only. Then I will mail it back to you. It certainly won’t cure all the ills at once but it might give us a start.”
“Who is that person?”
Teddy Roosevelt and his family were checking out of the Waldorf Hotel and heading back to Washington, D.C. They had mounds of luggage and the bellmen were busy strapping it onto two carriages that would take them to Grand Central Depot. Edith and her nanny were corralling the children, and he was instructing the bellmen on how to properly secure their bags.
“That’s it,” said Roosevelt. “Now tie it in a knot. Tight.”
Mary approached. “Mr. Roosevelt.”
“Wait one second. That’s it. Good job.” He turned to Mary.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir, but I know you’re leaving today—”
“We’ve met. The other night with Henry and Jacob—”
“Yes, I’m—”
“I remember, Miss Handley. What can I do for you?”
“It’s about our conversation the other night. I remember you mentioning that there was no evidence of Henry L. Norcross being an anarchist. His mother just visited me and gave me a letter he had written to her and his father. She doesn’t want to make it public, but she’s given me permission to show it to you.” She gave the letter to him. “Now, keep in mind, this is from a man who was born here, as were his parents. He had a normal American upbringing; he was not a recent immigrant or foreign agitator, according to the popular notion of people who commit these acts.”
After he read it, he handed it back. “This is astounding, but what do you want me to do?”
“Change has to start somewhere. If you come to New York and show them you can’t be bought and you’re willing to throw out all the rotten apples, it might give some people hope. Who knows? Maybe honesty and fairness will catch on and push aside the greed and violence that have gripped our country.”
“Why, Miss Handley, you’re an idealist.”
“As much as I try to deny it, I guess I am.”
He whispered, “Don’t tell anyone, but so am I.”
Edith approached. “Sorry to interrupt, darling, but if we don’t leave now, we’ll miss our train.”
He looked at his pocket watch. “By golly, you’re right, dear. Okay, Alice, Ted, and Kermit with me in the second carriage and everyone else with Mother in the first.”
They all scurried for their respective carriages. As Roosevelt was about to enter his, Mary spoke up again. “Please tell me you’ll consider it, sir.”
“I will. To be honest though, the only way I know how to do a job is to go full throttle, and as you can see”—he waved his hand, indicating his large family—“I’m carrying quite a load.” He opened the door to the carriage. Before stepping in, he added, “I meant what I said the other night. I would very much like to see women get more opportunities. Hopefully, that, too, will change someday.”
They said good-bye and the Roosevelts drove off, leaving Mary with an empty feeling. He was perfect for the job. The way things were going, someone like Byrnes might be offered it.
Before dinner, Mary stopped at Walter and Sarah’s house. Their mood was significantly different than it had been the last time she was there. Russell Sage had fulfilled his promise to Mary, and Walter now had all his clients back. Mary always marveled at the power of the rich. They could accomplish feats in a single phone call that others failed to accomplish in a lifetime. She understood the power hierarchy and had nothing against it as long as everyone had an equal opportunity to attain that status. But she wasn’t there to dwell on the inequities of the world. She was there to correct one.
“Why do you want me to take this man’s case?” Walter asked.
“Ameer Ben Ali and his family have suffered greatly from the dark part of our judicial system. He was falsely convicted of murder, then stabbed while incarcerated. His brother’s family was wiped out in the Johnstown Flood. We need to show him, other immigrants, and anyone who doesn’t have a leg up in the power structure that America is fair and his brother Basem’s choice of violence was wrong.”
“What does Inspector Byrnes say?”
“In spite of my new evidence, he won’t budge and views it as a personal affront that someone might question one of his arrests. He could make things easier, but there’s little hope of that.”
“Sounds like a man who is hiding something.”
“There’s no question that he is, but I have to think of Ameer first. You’ll have to go through the courts, and I know how long and arduous that is.”
“And you want Walter to do this all for free?” said Sarah.
“Yes. Ameer has no money, and I know this is a big favor to ask—”
“Nonsense, Mary. Walter would be proud to take on Ameer’s case. Won’t you, dear?”
“Actually,” Walter replied, “that’s exactly what I was thinking. This past week has given me a taste of what it’s like to be the little guy. I didn’t enjoy being stepped on. No one should be bullied like that.”
Proud of her husband, Sarah hugged Walter. Mary thanked her good friends, and Sarah invited her and Harper over for dinner the next weekend. Mary had another dinner to attend very shortly and she had to prepare Harper for the biza
rre behavior that was typical of a Handley Friday dinner.
35
Since Harper was officially her boyfriend and this was his first dinner with Mary’s family, she expected Elizabeth to be oozing Irish female charm. That would seem better than the usual Handley free-for-all, except that Mary always cringed at her mother’s phony performances at these events. To her, it was akin to squeaking chalk on a blackboard.
“So, Mr. Lloyd, I understand you’re a fine writer. In which publications can I read your work?”
Harper ran down an earnest list, from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle to the New York Times to the World, the Sun, and many magazines. He stopped short of everything, fearing he was being too braggadocious. “There are more,” he said, “but I don’t want to bore you.”
“To the contrary, I find your work fascinating.”
Mary turned to Harper with an impish smile. “Yes, very fascinating.”
Harper had to turn away from Mary to keep from laughing. “Thank you, Mrs. Handley, I do, too, or I wouldn’t be doing it.”
That exchange was followed by silence as the four Handleys and Harper resumed eating. Elizabeth couldn’t stand silence when she was entertaining. She felt it reflected on her as a hostess. She was about to continue the conversation when Sean beat her to it. Knowing what it was like to be in Elizabeth’s hot seat, he mercifully tried to divert attention away from Harper. “Dad, when do you start working for Mr. Carnegie?”
Mary had asked two favors of Andrew Carnegie. One was sending Edgar to London, and the other was procuring a job for her father. With Leo gone, no one knew what would happen to his stores.
“I’m supposed to meet with one of his executives on Monday,” said Jeffrey, feeling insecure. “I don’t know what kind of work I can do for them. I’ve only known meats.”
“You’re a bright man, Dad,” Mary interjected. “It may take time to learn the specifics, but I’m confident you can handle any job they throw at you.”
He sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Jeffrey,” Elizabeth said, “what kind of way is this to act in front of our guest, Mr. Lloyd? Surely he doesn’t want to hear about your shortcomings.” She turned to Harper. “Is the roast to your liking, Mr. Lloyd?”
“Please call me Harper, and quite frankly, I see no harm in discussing this with Mr. Handley. Writers often brainstorm with each other to come up with ideas. Maybe we can join together and do the same thing with Mr. Handley. Come up with a good approach for his meeting on Monday.”
Mary patted Harper’s arm. “Harper is a very supportive person.”
“Are you saying I’m not?”
Mary looked straight at Elizabeth. “Let’s not do this now, Mother.”
“I’m just asking for the truth.”
“I only meant to compliment Harper. I can’t help it if you decided to take it personally.”
“I know you too well, Mary.”
“You don’t believe me?”
Elizabeth turned to Harper. “I apologize for my daughter, Mr. Lloyd. She—”
“Since you insist on pursuing the truth, Mother, you are one hundred percent right. The truth is you’re not, nor have you ever been, supportive of any of us.”
Sean and Jeffrey both winced, well aware that the fireworks had been lit and were ready to explode. Desperately trying to change the subject, Sean asked, “Would anyone like more of anything?”
“That’s my job, Sean, unless you’d like to start cooking. I’ll gladly hand it over to you.”
“No thank you, Mother.”
“Exactly what I thought.” Elizabeth turned back to Mary. “Have you no pride? Don’t you know not to air the family’s dirty laundry in public?”
“First of all, you’re the one who dragged the dirty laundry out, and Harper is not the public. He’s my boyfriend and hopefully someday, my lover.” Harper flinched and she immediately whispered in his ear, “Don’t get too excited. I just said that to annoy her.”
Elizabeth put her hands to her face. “Worse and worse. I am mortified by your behavior.”
Mary was about to answer when Jeffrey banged the table and stood up. “Everyone, stop it. Whatever the job is, I’ll take it, no questions asked, and I’ll do well. I felt vulnerable, but I don’t anymore. I can’t in this family, so I’ll just be angry like everybody else.”
Everyone turned toward Jeffrey, surprised at his outburst. Sean was the first to speak, also banging the table. “I’m behind you a thousand percent. I’m angry, too.”
They all began to laugh and one by one everyone banged the table and agreed with Jeffrey and Sean. The argument was officially over. Mary turned to Harper. “Welcome to the Handleys. Are you having second thoughts?”
“This is child’s play compared to a Lloyd dinner. I’m used to gunfire.”
Elizabeth looked at Harper. “So Lloyd really is your last name?”
Harper shook his head. They laughed some more, enjoying themselves, and almost didn’t hear the knock on the door. Almost. Sean answered it. Standing before him was a man of about sixty who had sparse gray hair and was about twenty pounds heavier than his small frame should have carried. Though he wasn’t presently smoking, the smell of a cigar followed him wherever he went.
“Mr. Flanagan,” said Sean. “What a nice surprise. Please come in.”
“Thank ya, Sean,” he said in his Irish accent. “Yer lookin’ good, son.”
“I take no credit for it. It’s the Handley genes.”
The others had heard Flanagan’s name and were surprised at his visit. In the thirty-two years that Jeffrey had worked for Mr. Flanagan, he had been to their house once, maybe twice. He entered the dining room and Jeffrey rose.
“Mr. Flanagan, good to see you, sir.”
“Same here. Sit, Jeffrey. I’m in your home.”
Always the perfect hostess, Elizabeth said, “Please join us. We’d love to have your company.”
“Thank ya, but I won’t be long. Mrs. Flanagan has dinner on the table waitin’ for me.” He glanced at everyone in the room. “I’m glad to see the Handley Friday night tradition is still goin’ strong.”
“It will never die,” said Mary with a tinge of sarcasm.
“Jeffrey, I’ve gotta say what I gotta say and then I’ll be goin’. I just came from an auction where I bought back Flanagan’s Butcher Shop.”
“Congratulations, Mr. Flanagan. What made you change your mind about retiring?”
“Oh, I’m still retirin’. If I didn’t, Mrs. Flanagan would have my…well, it would be trouble. What I’m tryin’ to say is, I want ya to have it.”
Jeffrey wasn’t sure he had heard Flanagan correctly. “Have it? I don’t—”
“It means it’s yers.”
Jeffrey was stunned. “What? But your retirement—”
“I’ll be fine. I bought it for a fraction of what I was paid for it.”
“Still, I don’t know if I can—”
“Sure ya can.” Flanagan took an envelope out of his pocket and gave it to Jeffrey. “I shoulda done this in the first place. Yer as much a reason why Flanagan’s was a success as I was. Thirty-two years of service should account for somethin’.”
Jeffrey jumped out of his seat and started pumping Flanagan’s hand. “This is incredible. I don’t know what to do to thank you.”
“Ya can start by lettin’ go of my hand. I’d like ta use it again.” Embarrassed, Jeffrey dropped his hand and stepped back.
Elizabeth also stood and shook his hand. “Mr. Flanagan, your generosity is greatly appreciated. We’ll never forget it.”
“I’m countin’ on that, ’cause when I stop by from time to time, I’m expectin’ Jeffrey here’ll throw me a coupla pork chops.”
“You’ve got it, Mr. Flanagan.”
After a round of thank-yous and good-byes, Mr. Flanagan left. The envelope still in his hand, Jeffrey was taking in the enormity of what had just happened.
“I own a business,” he said with a good amount of wonde
r in his voice. “I’m a business owner.” He sat down as if it were all too much for him to take standing.
Elizabeth, Mary, and Sean were ecstatic and gathered around him, hugging and congratulating him. Harper shook his hand. Elizabeth kissed him.
“I knew you would do it. I just knew it!” Elizabeth got out a bottle of Irish whiskey they had saved for special occasions. They drank to Jeffrey, to the butcher shop, and to the Handleys until the bottle was empty. It was the happiest time Mary could ever remember experiencing in that house.
After everyone had left, Jeffrey and Elizabeth couldn’t stop celebrating. They danced for only the third time since their wedding night. No music was necessary.
When Jeffrey went to bed, he was still bursting with joy. He had come to this country, worked hard, and now he owned a business. His dream was now a reality.
He had a smile on his face when he died in his sleep that night.
36
In March of 1895, Superintendent Campbell retired. He was never thrilled with his superintendent job and finally decided to take it easy. Mary was in shock.
“You can’t quit, Chief. You’re the only one I know with enough clout to help me fight the corruption that we both know—hell, everyone knows—exists in this city.”
“Mary, if I’ve learned anything in my many years on the force, it’s this: no one’s indispensible. When I leave, someone else will come along. You’ll see.”
His words turned out to be prophetic.
Two months later, on the night of May 17, 1895, Clubber Williams stepped out of one of the many restaurants/gambling houses in the Tenderloin District, stuffing his weekly bribe into his pocket. He had just begun twirling his infamous club when he heard a voice call to him from a carriage.
“Captain Williams.” Williams ignored it. He figured whoever it was would catch up to him and get out of the carriage if he wanted to speak to him badly enough. After all, Williams was king in this part of New York.
“Captain, or do you prefer Clubber?” The voice now sounded familiar to him, and he figured he had better turn around. He was right. As he stood there and the carriage caught up to him, he could see who was inside. It was Theodore Roosevelt.
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