Away in a Manger (7 page)

“No, it was their aunt—or the woman they call aunt. Their mother left them in this woman's care.”

“So there's nothing you can do, is there?” Sid said. “They have a guardian, even if she's a bad one. And they have a place to sleep that's not on the streets, and presumably they are fed. That's a lot better than most, Molly.”

“I know.” I glanced across at Bridie and sighed. It was better than most but it wasn't good enough.

Sid and Gus took their leave then, saying they had to make the next batch of fudge while they had all the ingredients out and ready. I cleaned up Liam and put him in his playpen in front of the fire, but I couldn't get those children from my mind. Sid was right, of course. If this woman had been assigned as a guardian, then there was nothing I could do. Women beat and abused their children all the time while society looked on. But I couldn't let it go. I had to see that woman myself, to find out what the situation was and where their mother had gone.

*   *   *

Daniel arrived home in time for supper. This was still amazing to me as most of the time we hardly saw him. I was beginning to hope that we'd actually be able to enjoy a real Christmas together for once, without a constable showing up on our doorstep saying that Captain Sullivan was needed urgently.

I served our hot pot and poured Daniel a glass of beer. He was in a good mood, feeding Liam by saying, “Here comes the
choo-choo
train into the tunnel,” then bringing the spoon into Liam's opened mouth. Then he turned to Bridie. “And what did you do today, young lady?” he asked. “Did your girl like the scarf you knitted her?”

Bridie had been quiet since we returned home, but she had clearly been brooding on this. Without warning she burst into tears. “The old woman took it away from her,” she said between gulping sobs. “And she's so horrible. She yells at them and she shook Tig and their mother has gone away and they don't know when she'll be back…”

The words came pouring out in a torrent. I got up and put my arm around her. “It's all right, my darling. Don't cry. We'll try and do what we can.”

Daniel was sitting there, his fork poised in midair, looking shocked and mystified. I explained about the children and recounted what had happened. He gave a long sigh. “I'm sorry about the scarf,” he said to Bridie. “But there's really nothing we can do. The children have an aunt. They have a place to stay. A roof over their heads.”

“That's what Miss Goldfarb said,” Bridie said, still sniffing. “I just feel so bad, knowing that they are in a place where nobody loves them and takes care of them.”

“You have a kind heart,” Daniel said. “But I expect their mother will come back soon and all will be well.”

Bridie shook her head. “She's been gone for ages. They don't know where she is.”

I still had my arm around her shoulder. “Perhaps we can take them some food—something special. A Christmas treat. And they can eat it while you watch. The aunt can't stop that, can she?”

Bridie nodded, her eyes still brimming with tears. But she got up from the table and lifted Liam from his seat. “I'll get him ready for bed then,” she said, and trudged up the stairs with him on her hip.

“Poor little thing,” I said when she was gone. “She sees herself in that girl, you know. If it weren't for us she could easily have been on the streets. She could have been living with her cousin Nuala, who would have treated her in the same fashion.”

Daniel nodded as he cut himself a hunk of cheese. “It's a hard city, Molly.”

“But you know, Daniel,” I said thoughtfully as I carried plates over to the sink, “I've been thinking. Those children are so well-spoken, so well-mannered. Is it possible that they have been kidnapped from an upper-class family and brought to this country and this woman is being paid to hold them until the ransom is paid?”

Daniel frowned. “But didn't Bridie say they had come over with their mother?”

I wrestled with this complication. “She might not have been their real mother. What if she was one of the kidnappers, and she told them she was their mother now?”

“Then they wouldn't be sad when she left, would they?”

He was being too darned logical. “There has to be an explanation,” I said testily, realizing as I said the words that some of the explanations I'd come up with might sound a little far-fetched. “Something is so clearly wrong. Could you at least look into any recent kidnapping cases? Here and in London?”

“If it was a kidnapping of a society child then it would be in every newspaper in creation,” Daniel said.

“What if the family were keeping quiet because the kidnappers threatened to kill the children if they went to the police?”

“Then we wouldn't know about it, would we?” He gave me a slightly patronizing smile that annoyed me.

“Why do you always have to be so right?” I demanded, making him chuckle.

I turned back to my washing up, taking out my frustration by clattering the pots and pans as I washed. I knew very well that my annoyance wasn't with him. It was with myself. I wanted to do something to help but was infuriated with my powerlessness.

Then I remembered something. “There was a pickpocketing incident today,” I said. “Just across from Wanamaker's. A woman screamed that someone had taken her purse. The little boy we've been telling you about was accused of doing it by a bigger boy. Of course he was innocent and during the kerfuffle the big boy slipped away. I'm pretty sure he must have taken it himself. But I'd recognize him again, Daniel, and I'm wondering if he might be connected to one of the gangs.”

“Probably,” Daniel said.

“Don't you want a description of him?”

He smiled. “They are becoming very slick, Molly. Using smaller boys, not connected to a gang, to do the actual dirty work, and the purse is passed down a chain, so that if they are stopped and searched we can never catch them with the stolen purse on them.”

“There must be something you can do.”

“We have to catch them in the act, like I did yesterday. And we have to make them squeal. Not easy. They're all more frightened of men like Monk Eastman than they are of me.”

“Monk Eastman? So you think he's behind this?”

“Wouldn't be surprised.”

“Not those Italian ruffians?”

Daniel shook his head. “They'd use Italian boys. The ones we've spotted have been mainly Irish, or English—” He broke off when he saw what I was thinking. “Children can be quite charming and quite devious, Molly, as you'll find when our own son is older. They can look at you as if butter wouldn't melt in their mouths.”

“I know,” I said. “I raised three brothers. But I'm sure the little English boy was not a thief.” And even as I said it, I wasn't sure. If he was somehow mixed up with a gang, if they had threatened him or his sister, wouldn't he do what he was told? Wouldn't the gang be using him just because of his innocent air and well-spoken manners? And that awful woman—Aunt Hettie—might she not be the brains behind a gang of street children, like a New York version of Fagin?

I decided I had to pay a visit to her and see if I could get to the truth.

 

Nine

Saturday dawned bleak and miserable, with a hard driving sleet that peppered the windows. Not the sort of day one would want to be outside. Although it was Saturday Daniel had to work this weekend, and he left early. As I served Liam and Birdie their porridge my thoughts went to Tig and Emmy. Would they be sent out into this weather, with no proper coats or shawls to keep them warm? I put a pot roast in the oven to cook slowly for us, then I remembered that we had some hot pot left over from the day before. I'd heat it up and take it to the children myself around midday. That way at least they'd have one good meal.

Knowing that my mother-in-law would be arriving the next day, I went about last-minute scrubbing and polishing so that the house would be up to Mrs. Sullivan's standards. The weather was still too miserable at lunchtime for me to want to take the children out, so I put Liam down for his nap and left Bridie to watch him, knowing that she could run across the street to Sid and Gus in an emergency. Then I wrapped the bowl of hot pot in a towel to keep it warm, and put on the long wool cape that Gus had given me. It was nothing like as warm as the cape with a fur-lined hood I'd once owned, but I had lost everything in a fire earlier in the year and was grateful for any donations to my meager wardrobe. I pulled the hood over my hair and set off. It was treacherous going underfoot, with the sidewalks icy and passing carts and carriages sending up sprays of muddy slush. Broadway was suspiciously quiet, the carol singers and bell ringers having been defeated by the elements. But I spotted Emmy in her doorway, hugging her knees to herself, and Tig, standing with the other boys at the crossing, stomping up and down to keep his feet from freezing. I hurried over to them.

“You must be freezing,” I said. “I've brought you something to warm you up.” And I removed the towel from the bowl. The rich aroma of herbs and vegetables wafted into the air and Emmy's face lit up. I handed her a spoon. “Here, dig in.”

“But what about Tig?” she asked.

But Tig was already on his way over to us.

“She brought us food,” Emmy called to him. He broke into a trot, almost snatched the spoon I held out for him and started eating as if he hadn't had a meal in weeks. I stood over them, keeping out the worst of the sleet, while they made short work of the stew. Only then did he look up at me. “You are very kind,” he said. “I'm sure when our mother comes back she'll be very grateful.”

I took the bowl from them and put it back in my shopping basket. I wanted to say something reassuring but I couldn't think of what that might be. That their mother would come back soon? That all would be well? My gaze went to the other boys now busily sweeping at the street crossing. There was probably no happy ending for any of them. The city was full of unwanted children, some of whom would freeze to death tonight or die of starvation tomorrow. As Daniel had said, it was a harsh world. On impulse I went around the corner to a pushcart selling hot potatoes and bought two big ones.

“Here,” I said, coming back to Tig and Emmy. “These will help keep your hands warm and then you can eat them.”

They took them shyly, murmuring thanks, and I left them huddled together in that doorway. I was headed back home, but then I decided that Liam would be quite safe with Bridie and this might be a good day to have a talk with Aunt Hettie. So I turned and headed down Christopher Street toward the waterfront. The wind blowing off the Hudson was icy and the constable who stood at the corner of West Street looked utterly miserable. I walked past him until I came to the house—one in a row of grimy brick buildings. On the ground floor was a tailor's shop, but beside it was a front door with peeling and faded red paint. The sign on it said
Rooms for Rent.

On the way over I had been debating how to approach Aunt Hettie. If I expressed criticism about the way she was looking after the children she could throw them out. If I expressed concern she could always tell me to take them in myself. We had no room for that and Daniel certainly wouldn't approve. But now I saw the sign, I decided what I should say. I rapped on the door and after a while heard approaching footsteps. It was opened cautiously, only a few inches, and a suspicious face peered at me.

“Yes?” she said.

“I see you have rooms for rent,” I said, putting on my strongest Irish brogue. “Do you have any vacancies at the moment?”

“I might have. For yourself?”

“No. A friend of mine is arriving from Ireland and will need a place to stay until she fixes herself up with a job.”

She opened the door wider and I took in the hard face with its jutting chin, perpetual frown, and darting, suspicious eyes. She was a big woman—not fat but big-boned—and she was wearing a dirty apron over a faded wool dress. I could tell she was examining me—my good boots, my thick wool cloak—and wondering what I was doing in this part of the city.

“You'd better come in,” she said, and half dragged me into a narrow, dark hallway before slamming the door behind me. I followed her up a flight of stairs. The smell of boiled cabbage grew stronger as we came out onto a landing.

“When will your friend be wanting the room?” She turned to look back at me. “Because Mr. Wilcox is moving out at the end of the week. Going back to Philadelphia, so he says. Doesn't like New York.”

“My friend hasn't even sailed from Ireland yet,” I said. “She's hoping to get on the next boat out of Queenstown. So it won't be for a couple of weeks at the earliest.”

“I can't guarantee to hold a room for her,” she said.

“I quite understand that. I was just trying to get a feel of places near the docks. I'd have her to stay with me but I've got a young baby, an older girl, and my mother-in-law with us,” I said.

“And what does your man do?”

“He's with the police,” I said. Did I detect a slight change in expression? Those eyes now darting even more warily?

“That's a hard job in this weather,” she said.

“It certainly is. That poor young constable at the end of your streets looks frozen to the marrow.” I let her go on thinking that my husband might also be standing on a street corner at this moment, not sitting in an office at police headquarters.

“The kitchen and dining room are on this floor, together with my own room,” she said. “I serve breakfast and dinner, included in the price of the room. The guest rooms are up another flight.”

And she started up another flight of dark stairs. On this landing there were four bedrooms, each with the minimum of furniture—a narrow bed, a chest of drawers, a braided rag rug on the floor. They were some of the sorriest rooms I had ever seen and I thought that people would have to be quite desperate to want to stay here. Their occupiers were not present but were all clearly men, from the items of clothing that hung from the bedsteads. It was also clear that the children were not sleeping in any of the rooms here.