Clara looked up at five stories of windows. “I wish my sister Euphora were here to see this.”
As they climbed, two men took notice of them, smiled, tipped their top hats, and together said, “Good morning, ladies.”
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Hannah said, then turned and winked at Clara.
Once inside the hotel’s entrance, Clara’s jaw dropped. The ceilings were as high as the sky, the room as big as a steamboat. There were huge lit gas chandeliers of sparkling glass everywhere and more shiny upholstered sofas and chairs than Clara had seen all told in her life. Handsome young men in uniforms scurried about with luggage, small silver trays, or things tucked under their arms. Elegantly dressed women in bright colors and silks and men in fashions she’d only seen in Mrs. Beattie’s magazines were standing about chatting in pairs or in small groups or sitting with newspapers and tea services.
The room smelled of pipes and perfume and roasting beef and coffee. Hundreds of voices hummed and a thousand pieces of silverware clinked on a thousand plates behind a pair of grand double doors to one side.
“Let’s pretend we are looking for your Uncle Joseph in the restaurant, so we can peek in.” Hannah spun and strode off toward the restaurant. Trying to catch up, Clara trailed after Hannah’s lustrous silver dress.
“Hannah! Hannah!”
A girl’s voice stopped Hannah. She turned to look.
“Abbie!”
Hannah and Abbie embraced as Clara caught up. They were happy to see each other, smiling and kissing and grasping each other’s hands.
“This is my new friend, Clara, from the boardinghouse.” Hannah turned to Clara. “Abbie lived there too until a few months ago.”
Abbie had a pleasant face, freckles but not as many as Euphora, gray eyes and brown hair, nearly black. She looked to be about sixteen like Hannah. She was wearing a cape over a fashionable blue-and-black dress. Did she have a mother who left her that dress when she died like Hannah did? Perhaps she already found her husband as Hannah was hoping.
“What are you doing here?” Hannah asked.
Abbie glanced around, then leaned close to Hannah’s ear. “I’ve just been with a gentleman upstairs.” Her voice was hushed but Clara could hear.
Hannah’s throat reddened and her mouth pinched. Abbie opened her reticule and held it out for Hannah to look in. Hannah drew a hand to her mouth.
“Five dollars?”
Clara suddenly was sinking down, stomach, heart, breath, shoulders, blood, hips, sinking down through the floor.
“Shhh.” Abbie nodded. “Have you found employment yet?”
Hannah shook her head.
“What about you?” Abbie looked at Clara.
“I just got here two days ago.”
“Well, you won’t have much luck. Two, three dollars a week is all you’re going to get and that ain’t enough for anything except a bed and some mush in the morning. I’ve been trying to get Hannah to come with me to the house where I live now, but she won’t budge.” Abbie turned back to Hannah. “You’ll better find a husband going on the town than going back to some shirt factory.”
“I don’t think I could do it your way, Abbie.”
“Lots of girls do, Hannah. You make good friends with the other girls. You take care of yourself. You won’t end up at the Five Points.”
“Don’t listen to her, Clara. You’ll do fine. We both will.”
Hannah sounded cheerful enough, but her voice was uncertain. She probably had been giving some thought to Abbie’s invitation. Clara, pondering what the Five Points might be, waited patiently while they spoke about several girls from the boardinghouse. She wanted to leave, to get away from Abbie and her reticule full of five dollars. Of all the thousands of people on Broadway, why did Hannah have to know this girl? Why did Hannah have to be friends with a prostitute? Why couldn’t she be friends with a milliner or a cook?
“Henry Brown! Henry Brown!”
Clara jumped nervously. She glanced around for whoever was shouting. It was one of the young men in uniform striding through the lobby.
As Abbie started to explain in awe how deluxe everything was at the hotel and that the sinks had running hot water, Clara wandered away from the two girls to the front door and looked out. The two men who had greeted them on the stairs were still there. She watched them for a few moments. Smiling and tipping their hats at every woman who was unaccompanied by a man, they would periodically nudge each other and make comments she couldn’t hear.
After a while, Hannah and Abbie found her and they descended the stairs to the street.
“Do you three ladies have time for lunch with two lonely out-of-towners?”
“Not today, gentlemen,” Abbie said, her skirt swirling as she twisted around. “Maybe another time.”
“We’ll watch for you, then.”
Down on the street, Abbie wished them well and set off along Spring Street. Clara fell into stride with Hannah as they continued their walk down Broadway. As they strode along, Clara couldn’t believe her eyes. There were even more grand hotels and halls and shops. Broadway seemed endless.
While they walked, Clara kept thinking how Abbie seemed happy and Hannah seemed miserable, how Abbie had made five dollars by noon, and had the rest of the day to do as she pleased and spend her money on anything she wanted, and how Hannah couldn’t afford to eat anything else except the oatmeal at the boardinghouse. She wondered again what the Five Points was, but figured no matter what it was, it had to be an awful place.
When they got to A.T. Stewart’s at Chamber Street, Clara looked up at the building. It was immense, the most splendiferous building she had ever seen, spanning a full block. But just now, she was too drained to be cast under its spell. Abbie, the prostitute, had left with her with a black temperament.
“They call it the Marble Palace,” Hannah said.
“Would you mind if we go in another day? I’m tired and my feet are wet and cold. Can we take the omnibus back?”
Hannah smiled, her blues eyes soft and pale. Then she laughed. “The Marble Palace will be here waiting for you. And the mermaid too. She’s at Ann Street, at Barnum’s American Museum. I can’t wait to show you the Feejee Mermaid at Barnum’s. A real mermaid,” Hannah said. “Twenty-five cents to go in. I’ve been more than once, but I don’t have the twenty-five cents just now. When we get our factory jobs, we’ll go to Barnum’s.”
Thirty-Seven
WITH MRS. BEATTIE’S PERMISSION, Izzie had slept the night in the Spirit Room on the red sofa. In the early morning, the milliner brought her a small loaf of bread and some cold bacon and told Izzie the trains were running again. Without wasting a second, Izzie bid Mrs. Beattie farewell and caught the train to New York City.
Not even taking the time to send a cable to Mrs. Fielding or Anna Santini before she left, Izzie was gambling that the Spiritualists would be at home in New York City, not traveling on tour as they had been when she first met them for the lessons. She was also gambling that they’d take her in, at least for a while. And lastly, she was hoping that if Anna Santini’s gift as a Spiritualist was in some way genuine, in any way at all, she might help Izzie find Clara and Euphora. It was all she had.
On the long train ride, Izzie had plenty of time to ask herself how she would find her sisters. She had no answers. Perhaps it was foolhardy running to New York City to search for Clara and Euphora. Where would she stay if Mrs. Fielding and Anna were not at home or couldn’t take her in for some reason? Then what would she do? Mac had given her ten dollars just before she left when he realized he couldn’t stop her, but he only thought she was going to Geneva, not New York. Ten dollars was more than ample for anything she might need in Geneva, even bringing her brother and sisters back to Rochester. But what could ten dollars provide in New York City?
Beyond some vague notion that she could find a hotel that she could afford that night when she arrived, she didn’t want to think about what she would do if Mrs. Fielding couldn’t take her in. As much as possibl
e, she let her mind drift over the snowy fields, rivers, and towns that passed by her train window. She kept her fingers crossed inside her dress pocket.
The trip took all day and it had become a bitterly cold night as Izzie found her way on foot to Mrs. Fielding’s on Twenty-Fifth Street. She knew it was dangerous to walk alone with her valise in the dark looking for an address that she had no sense of, but she had asked for directions at the depot and decided to forge on anyway.
Even though it was past suppertime, the streets were dense with people, horses, omnibuses, carriages and carts. The brash street noise grated on her, but the streets were well marked and lighted with gas. She had no problem finding her way, but by the time she reached 231 West 25th Street, she was chilled to the bone, exhausted, and ravenously hungry.
There were lights shining from Mrs. Fielding’s windows. Izzie’s heart lifted. Someone was inside. She climbed the stairs to the door and knocked. In a short moment, the door drew back and there was Anna Santini.
Black eyes agape, Anna pressed a hand to her throat. “Oh, my, what are you doing on our doorstep? Please come in!” She stepped out onto the stoop, stretched a hand towards Izzie’s valise, and took it from her.
“I need your help,” Izzie said as she came inside.
Anna swiveled round to face the stairs. “Adele! Come down. You must see who is here.” She turned back to Izzie. “Come and sit by the fire. You’re blue.”
Anna put down the valise and led Izzie into a cozy little parlor. “You’ve come from Rochester today? Where is your husband the physician?” Anna led Izzie to the fire, took her hands, and looked into her eyes. “You’re here because of some trouble.”
Izzie nodded. “My husband is in Rochester. I came from Geneva. My sisters are missing. I believe they are here in New York City.”
“On their own?”
“I think so.”
“Isabelle?” Wearing a blue wool night robe and cap, Mrs. Fielding rushed across the room. She embraced Izzie and kissed one side of her face, then the other. “What are you doing here, my dear?”
“I need your help. Clara and my other sister, Euphora, have disappeared. I have to find them.”
“Of course we will help you,” Mrs. Fielding said. “Of course, but we are leaving on a one month tour the day after tomorrow.”
The need to sit overwhelmed Izzie. She stepped back and fell onto the sofa. Anna and Mrs. Fielding followed her and sat close on either side of her. Izzie untied her bonnet and removed it, settling it on her lap. Shivers were running wild down through her legs and back up.
“What is it dear?”
Izzie turned toward the husky voice. It was a smiling, short man in a blue wool night robe, a masculine version of Mrs. Fielding’s. He was round with a full brown beard, crinkles at the sides of his brown eyes, and a large red wart on the bridge of his nose. Mrs. Fielding introduced her husband, Roland, and explained to him who Izzie was and why she’d arrived. Izzie was surprised there was a Mr. Fielding. She’d always thought of Mrs. Fielding as a widow.
“Well, then. Are you hungry? You must be hungry after your journey,” he said.
“Famished.”
“I’m off to the kitchen, then. I’ll pile you up a plate.” Grinning, Roland Fielding left them.
“You must stay here. As long as you like. Mr. Fielding and Katie, our cook, will look after you and you can stay in Anna’s room.” Her pale red and silver hair flowing down nearly to her elbows, Mrs. Fielding looked across to Anna. “That’s all right, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Yes. And tomorrow we’ll go over the kinds of places you might start looking.” Anna squeezed Izzie’s hand. “You know…it’s a huge city.” Her tone was gentle, but warning.
Grateful and relieved, Izzie took a deep breath. She’d have a place to stay.
While she ate the potatoes and cold roast beef brought in by Mr. Fielding, she filled Anna and Mrs. Fielding in on the past months and days. She explained about Mac’s Upper Falls Water-Cure Institute and how dedicated he was to it and how it was about to open and how she couldn’t expect him to leave and come to New York City. She told them of Mrs. Purcell’s death and her fears about Papa’s cruelty to Billy and the girls, but she did not tell them about Mrs. Beattie’s suspicions, nor did she mention her wakeful nights or the voices she’d heard or the water-cure treatments Mac had been giving her. She was too tired. She knew they’d latch onto the notion of the voices as proof of her potential as a Spiritualist and that would lead to something else, something she couldn’t think about. All she wanted to think about was finding Clara and Euphora and if there was the smallest chance Anna or Mrs. Fielding had genuine gifts, Izzie wanted to make use of them.
“Could I ask you to make a spirit circle for me tomorrow before you go? Can the spirits tell us where my sisters are?”
Anna put an arm around Izzie’s shoulders. “I don’t know, but I can try.”
<><><>
ON A SOFA IN MRS. FIELDING’S STUDY UPSTAIRS, Izzie restlessly slept through the night. The sofa wasn’t very comfortable, too short and lumpy, and the room was a chaotic whirlwind of papers, books, and journals stacked randomly on the desk and floor. Piles of journals called The Spiritual Clarion, Spiritual Age, Banner of Light, Spiritual Telegraph, and The Sunbeam made a semi-circle on the floor around the desk chair. It was such a mess there was scarcely room to walk from one point to another. She felt the urge to read a volume or two, but she was too drained.
She hadn’t expected to sleep at all, certain her voices would find her even in New York City, but her voices had left her alone. A blessing. Even so, in the morning she felt sluggish and foggy as she dragged herself downstairs to breakfast. No one was in the small dining room. Katie, the Fielding’s Irish domestic, came in with some eggs and biscuits and explained in her brogue that everyone had eaten. Mrs. Fielding and Anna were upstairs packing their trunks.
Later in the parlor, Izzie drank warm coffee from a silver pot. By the third cup the fog had burned off from her mind, but now she was restless and nervous. As she paced about the room, she found paper and pen in a desk. Leaning over, she jotted down a telegram to Mac.
“At home of Spiritualist Mrs. Adele Fielding. 231 West Twenty-Fifth Street, New York City. Mrs. Purcell dead. Billy ran off. Then sisters ran off too. Papa missing. Sheriff hunting Papa. Girls probably here. Must stay to find them.”
Then she sat down and fidgeted. These were precious moments. She should be out looking for Clara and Euphora, not sitting here waiting for Anna and Mrs. Fielding. Sheriff Swift’s advice, the sooner, the better, echoed in her mind. There was frost on the windows, but the sky was blue and the sun was shining brightly. Izzie sipped the dregs of her third cup of coffee and poured herself a fourth. The fire coals glowed red. She had been pampered since arriving at this house. But what about Clara and Euphora? Did they have food and hearth?
With shaking hands, Izzie lowered her cup to its saucer and set it aside. The girls could freeze to death if they were sleeping out in doorways or alleys. Why hadn’t she gone to Geneva sooner? Why? What had Papa done to them to make them do something so drastic? Land sakes. Had Sam Weston really done what Mrs. Beattie said he did?”
Mr. Fielding swept into the room. “Good news, Isabelle. Mr. Fielding has an acquaintance at the Children’s Aid Society and he can take you there today. They know more about missing children than anyone in the city.”
“Thank you.” Izzie stood and approached Mrs. Fielding. “I have written a telegram for my husband.”
“Roland can help you with that, too.”
“May we try contacting the spirits now? Is Anna finished her packing?”
“She’s coming down. Let’s go into the other parlor.” Mrs. Fielding strode to a pair of large mahagony doors and thrust them open.
As Izzie followed Mrs. Fielding into the next room, she remembered how Anna answered her verifying question during the spirit lessons over a year ago. Somehow Anna had known, or been told, about Clara being t
errified by a white horse in their Ohio yard by moonlight. She said it was Mamma’s spirit that told her or spoke through her. Whatever it was, maybe it could tell her how to find her sisters now.
Mrs. Fielding’s second parlor was like their own Spirit Room in Geneva, but far more elegant. With just one shaft of brilliant sunshine cutting through a pair of slightly open maroon damask curtains, the room was dusky. The smell of lady’s perfumes and men’s cologne tickled Izzie’s nose. A large linen-covered round table with eight simple chairs sat solidly on a huge red and navy oriental carpet in the middle of the room. Countless chairs lined two of the walls and above them hung three long rows of daguerreotypes, portraits of men and women. An armoire and matching chest of drawers painted with white and yellow flowers were the only other furniture. She wondered if there were there trick bells in the walls and knockers in the floor like Papa had put in their Spirit Room.
The Spirit Room Page 39