Away in a Manger (4 page)

“Can you see me trying to wrestle a great lad the way you did?” I demanded. “Of course I wouldn't be that silly, especially if I had Liam and Bridie with me. But you yourself said you'd like to find out if these were newly recruited boys or known gang members. If I can provide you with some good descriptions you may be able to put a name to a face.”

I could see him weighing this. One part of him didn't want his wife involved in anything vaguely criminal and dangerous, but he had to admit that I could indeed be useful.

“And I've had another thought,” I said. “I could even set myself up as bait—put a nice empty purse in the top of my shopping bag—maybe attached to the bag with a string, so that when they try to take it…”

“Oh, no,” Daniel said. “That's going too far.”

“I don't see why,” I said. “If I feel the purse being jerked I can scream, ‘Help. Pickpockets, thieves. He tried to take my purse!' And he'll run away and at least other people on the street will be alerted and saved from being robbed.”

“And if he knocks you down in anger and frustration? If he snatches Liam out of the pram?”

“He wouldn't. Liam is firmly strapped in, as you know.”

“If he notices who you are and tells his boss and they come by later to retaliate? We are dealing with the underworld, you know. They have no scruples.”

That, of course, struck home. A gang had already tried to kill us once this year. They had blown up our house and killed our little servant girl as she tried to protect Liam. There was no way I'd want to risk Liam's life again.

I nodded. “I do see your point and you're right. I'll stick to being the unobserved observer then. Although I'd dearly love to catch one of them red-handed. How can these people have no conscience, stealing hard-earned cash like that? I suppose I could understand if anyone wanted to rob the rich. But everyone around here is a recent immigrant, working hard to earn an honest penny.”

“Criminals have no conscience,” Daniel said. “Surely you've learned that by now. If you or I help ourselves to the cookie jar when we're told no cookies before dinner, we'd feel guilty and not enjoy the cookie. A criminal doesn't think that way. His only concern is whether he'll be caught or not. If he's not caught, he feels clever because he's cheated society.”

“How horrible.” I shuddered. “Do you think they are born that way or that society makes them like that?”

“I've no idea,” Daniel said. “Ask your friends across the street. They've been studying psychology with Professor Freud, haven't they? I'm sure they'd tell you that criminals take it out on society because they felt rejected by their mothers or other such twaddle.”

I smiled. “My mother was never particularly nice to me. In fact I could never do anything that was good enough for her. But that made me more determined to be a good mother to my own children.”

Daniel reached across and squeezed my hand. “And you are. I feel so lucky to have you and Liam, and hopefully many more to come. It's going to be a grand Christmas this year, isn't it?”

I was about to turn out the lamps when I spotted Bridie, still sitting in a corner, knitting furiously. The scarf was at least a foot long.

“Time for bed,” I said. “You'll strain your eyes if you sit up any longer.”

“But I really want to finish this and give it to the girl,” she said.

I shook my head and steered her up the stairs. “One more day won't make much difference to her, and she already has your warm underclothes,” I said.

But when I came down in the morning Bridie was already sitting at the kitchen table, knitting away. The scarf was a good deal longer.

“When did you get up?” I asked.

“A while ago. I wanted to get this finished today whatever happens.”

“It's looking lovely,” I said. “You can be really proud of your work. After you've finished we'll buy some more yarn and you can knit Mrs. Sullivan a similar scarf for a Christmas present. She'll be arriving in a couple of days.”

As I said these words my heart lurched. My mother-in-law would indeed be arriving early next week, which meant the whole house would have to be cleaned, sheets ironed, and everything looking just perfect. Maybe I'd do what Daniel had been urging, go out and hire a servant right away. But in truth I was in no hurry for that to happen. Between Bridie and myself, we could keep the place running quite smoothly, and I wasn't sure I would enjoy having a stranger under my roof. Maybe when another child came along, I'd think about it again.

I was anxious to be out on the streets in the hunt for pickpockets, but Bridie was knitting away furiously and there was the housecleaning to do. In case you think I run a messy establishment, I do not. I like to think my house is clean and neat most of the time, but Daniel's mother would be bound to find the one corner I hadn't dusted. So while Bridie knitted I went over the front parlor, laying the fire ready to be lit when we had company and taking the rug outside to be beaten. I came in with my cheeks and hands burning from the cold.

Bridie scarcely stopped to eat, and the scarf was finished when the ball of yarn ran out about three o'clock. I helped her put tassels on both ends, then we found some tissue paper and wrapped it up and set off to find the little girl. I wondered if she might have gone home, as the light was fading fast and it was cold and damp. But there she was, hugging her knees to herself in her doorway, not even trying to sing. Bridie hung back, suddenly shy.

“Go on,” I urged, pushing her forward. “It's your present. Go and give it to her. Tell her it's an early Christmas gift.”

Bridie went shyly up to the child and I watched her face light up with recognition.

“Thank you very much for the stockings and the vest,” she said. “They are lovely and warm.”

“This is an early Christmas present,” Bridie said, and handed it to her.

“A present? For me?”

“I made it for you,” Bridie said.

Slowly she opened it and looked up with wonder. “It's beautiful.” And she wrapped it around her neck. “You are very kind.”

“What's going on?” The crossing sweeper boy I'd seen before pushed through the crowd to us.

I remembered what Daniel had said about the gangs using children and a bigger child always acting as their minder to take things away from them. I took a step forward, ready to intervene, but the little girl was showing off the scarf, her face still alight with joy.

“Look, Tig. She made me a scarf.”

“Why did you do that?” he asked, his face still defiant. “You don't know her.”

“Because she was cold,” Bridie said, staring back with equal defiance. She was slightly taller than he, and a good year or two older. “I heard her singing. It was lovely.”

“It was very kind of you,” he muttered, now clearly embarrassed by Bridie's presence. “We appreciate it. Thank you on behalf on my sister.”

Then he gave a little half bow and pushed his way back through the crowd to his crossing, carrying his broom. So he was the child's brother. I stared after him, frowning.

“Good-bye.” Bridie waved to the little girl. “I have to go now. I hope you enjoy your scarf.” And she ran back to my side.

We went on our way, saying nothing. Bridie, I suspect, was still in the glow of what she had done. I was trying to make sense of what I had just seen and heard. I knew what street children sounded like. “I ain't done nothing,” the boy Daniel had arrested had said. And yet this boy spoke like an educated person, older than his years, and with what sounded almost like an English accent. And hadn't the little girl used the word “vest” instead of “undershirt”? What in God's name were two upper-class English children doing on the streets of New York?

 

Six

“So did you give your present to the beggar child?” Daniel asked when he came home that night.

Bridie nodded, glancing up at him shyly and going pink. She was always tongue-tied in his presence. “And she said that it was beautiful and I was very kind.”

“She did,” I agreed, coming from the stove with the Irish stew and placing it on a mat in the middle of the table. “She and her brother were both very well-spoken, and they sounded as if they could be English too. How can that be?”

Daniel shrugged. “All sorts of people come here as immigrants. There are Jewish professors playing the violin on the streets in the hope of pennies. It's not easy to start a new life here, as we know. And if their parents died or were taken ill, maybe they suddenly found themselves with nobody to take care of them. That's what happens when you move far from home and family, isn't it?”

“That's awful. We should do something.”

Daniel reached out and patted my hand. “Molly, New York is full of beggar children. There's nothing you can do to change things except knit a scarf like Bridie here. Thanks to her, one little girl will be a bit warmer tomorrow.”

Bridie beamed as she started to ladle Irish stew onto the plates.

After the meal, when Bridie volunteered to wash up for me, Daniel and I took a cup of tea through to the back parlor—a luxury that didn't happen often in the life of a policeman.

“You know what I suggested about keeping an eye open for pickpockets?” I said, stirring sugar into my cup.

“You're not telling me you've spotted one already?”

“No, we were only on Broadway for a minute,” I said. “Bridie became suddenly shy when the boy thanked her profusely and she couldn't wait to be away. But I was thinking about those children—they are there, on that street, all day, every day. I'm sure the little girl is sharp-eyed and she has nothing to do except watch people. Perhaps they could watch out for pickpockets and we could give them a small reward when they report seeing one.”

Daniel frowned. “How old would you say that child is? Four or five maybe? How could one rely on the word of a four-year-old? And how do you think she'd be treated if it was found out that she'd snitched on a fellow street urchin? Beaten up at the very least. Perhaps even killed if a gang is involved. I don't think you'd want to risk her life, would you?”

“Of course not,” I said. “I was just trying to think of a way to give them some extra money while helping you.”

He smiled. “You've a good heart, Molly Murphy. I'll say that for you.”

“But you wouldn't object if I slipped her the odd coin when I went past?”

“By all means. But do realize that it's all too possible it will be taken from her by the kingpin of the block and you'll be funding petty criminals. Bridie's outgrown clothing is more practical and safer.”

“All right.” I sighed. Why did the world have to be so complicated?

The next day I really wanted to be out on the streets, keeping an eye out for pickpockets. I think secretly I wanted to prove to Daniel how useful I could be to him if he'd only include me in more of his cases. But alas, it was a fine bright day, and I had to take advantage of that and get laundry done and hung out on the line to dry. Fine days could not be counted on at this time of year and the diapers piled up rain or shine. Then it was ironing sheets to put on Mrs. Sullivan's bed and giving her bedroom a good clean and polish. She'd be sure to notice if there was dust under the bed.

I don't know why I was still so intimidated by my mother-in-law, but I was. And I'm not usually the sort of person who lets herself be bullied or cowed either. Maybe it was because she'd made it so clear from the start that she was disappointed in Daniel's choice of a bride. She and her husband had had high hopes for him, sending him to Columbia University, seeing him mixing with the highest levels of society who would help him move into politics one day. They'd been delighted when he'd become engaged to a society beauty—and then instead he'd married little Molly Murphy, newly arrived from an Irish peasant's cottage.

She'd never said anything outright, but she could never resist telling Daniel when the children of her friends and neighbors made good matches and linked themselves to the Roosevelts or Vanderbilts or other families that mattered. Daniel seemed quite unimpressed by this and even made amused comments, for which I was grateful. But I always felt those watchful eyes on me as I went about my tasks, and read the unspoken thought:
She's not good enough for my son.

She'd been civil enough to me, even solicitous when I was expecting Liam, but I'd never quite warmed to her. Maybe it had something to do with my own mother always finding fault. Nothing I did was ever good enough for her. Maybe I saw my mother-in-law as a reincarnation. Maybe her remarks were meant to be innocent. But then again, maybe not.

After Liam had awoken from his afternoon nap and a big pile of clean diapers lay folded on his shelf, I decided that we really could take a walk.

“Do you want to see your little friend wearing her scarf?” I asked Bridie.

“Oh, yes, please.” She bounded to get her overcoat and hat.

The bright morning had given way to heavy clouds with the promise of more snow, and the wind, channeled between tall buildings, was bitter. I turned up my coat collar and tucked Liam's blankets more firmly around him. The snow had partially frozen and been pressed by carriage wheels into ruts, making pushing the buggy hard work and bumpy for Liam—who didn't seem to mind but sat up, peering out excitedly.

We turned onto Sixth Avenue and immediately I became vigilant, watching the students coming from the university and the housewives returning with the ingredients for their evening meals. But I didn't expect to find the pickpockets working here. These really were the poor people, hardly worth stealing from. It was on Broadway with Wanamaker's and the other big dry goods stores, and the carol singers, that people would be caught up in the excitement of the season and let down their normal guard.