Annie's Stories (14 page)

The girl nodded.

Mrs. Hawkins motioned to Annie to join her in the hall. “The doctor says her bruises will heal fine. Now we’ll wait to see if she’s gotten with child.”

Annie sensed the worry in Mrs. Hawkins’s voice. “I’m sorry I did not suspect this sooner.”

“Don’t blame yourself, love. We will take good care of that girl and see that she has whatever she needs. If we have to later find a home for unwed mothers, well . . . we will deal with that if need be.”

“Nay, Mrs. Hawkins. She should not be sent away. There are doctors . . . and metal doors . . . rats and spiders . . .” She
put her hands across her face, desperately trying to maintain her sensibilities.

“Calm down, love. Nothing like that will happen to our Kirsten. You need to trust me.”

“But I wanted to . . .
I
have to help her, Mrs. Hawkins.”

“Of course you do. We both do.” The woman gave her a little squeeze. “I do only what I wish others had done when I was younger. Not that I was in Kirsten’s predicament precisely, but I have been a victim of others’ apathy, and I will not stand by and see another girl . . . uh . . . I do what I can.” She tapped her hand on her forehead.

“If you only knew, Mrs. Hawkins, what those places are like.”

“I do know, love. I have been there myself.”

“What do you mean?”

They heard Kirsten coughing again.

“We will talk about this later.” Mrs. Hawkins went back into the room. Annie followed.

Annie collected another pillow to lift Kirsten’s head a bit, thinking about how Mrs. Hawkins had probably visited reformatories in America. Different, so. Even if the American institutions were as horrendous as the place Father Weldon had rescued Annie from, visiting such a place did not reveal the tribulation of those locked inside. Those within the walls did not know from one moment to the next if they would be abused by so-called doctors or gnawed on by rodents. Annie wished Mrs. Hawkins would listen to her rather than expect Annie to blindly follow her guidance. Annie knew things, and that knowledge led to empathy, which in turn could be called upon as a voice for those who could not speak out. All she needed was Dorothy-like resolve, but obviously the Hawk didn’t think Annie possessed it.

After lunch and before Annie needed to visit the fishmonger to pick up mackerel for the evening meal, she returned to her book. She read about the great ditch Dorothy and her friends encountered on their way to the Emerald City. The Lion thought they could jump it, and he agreed to carry them across on his back.

Aye. Safe on the other side. That was the place to be, but someone had to do the carrying on his back.

Everyone was afraid of something. The Scarecrow was afraid of fire.

She squeezed her eyes tight. She was afraid that if she couldn’t find something to hang on to, she would be completely lost. In America she had found shelter and a job, and even a couple of women she could call friends. But those things were not enough to bring her the sense of belonging she so desperately needed, what she’d had when her father was alive. Dorothy needed that in the story. Annie did too, and the only places she felt truly secure were in church, when she could hear Reverend Clarke preach, and when she lost herself in a fictional world
 
—the stories her father had written for her,
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
, the mythological sayings in her father’s Bible. God did not speak, but words of others carried the wisdom she longed to hear. Treasure is often buried.

The fearful mouse Nolan and the brave leader Omah
 
—they were hers. Their words lived in her. She remembered a line from one story.

“Wisdom cannot be borrowed from a neighboring field. When wisdom’s rain and sun fall upon the dirt at your own feet, you will find truth. If you look.”

Your own feet. Not Mrs. Hawkins’s. Annie’s.

Annie cocked her head to one side as an idea kindled in her mind. Like
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
, stories could make money, even lots of it. She had no physical object she could sell, but she had words. Perhaps hearing these things over and over again in her head did not mean she was daft after all.

Thank you, Nolan and Omah.

16

S
TEPHEN HAD LEARNED
to whistle a reel called “Finnegan’s Wake,” or at least part of it, from the dances he’d gone to, and he whistled as he approached Hawkins House. The day felt cool as he trekked his route, at least compared to how hot the summer had been. He welcomed the crisp October air as he was sure the tenement dwellers a few streets over did. Maybe Annie would hear him, but even if she didn’t, he had a package to deliver that would not quite fit into the mail slot. It was just slightly larger than a letter. She’d have to open the door.

By his second knock he finally heard footsteps. Glad that he wouldn’t have to leave the package on the stoop, Stephen bent his head to follow the slow, creaking opening of the wooden door.

“What is it?”

Not Annie’s voice.

“Postman. I have a delivery. Is Miss Gallagher available?”

“Gone to the fishmonger.”

“Mrs. Hawkins, then?”

“Out visiting. Leave it on the stoop, sir?”

“I would rather it was safe inside, if you don’t mind.”

The door pushed open then, and a thin girl with nearly translucent skin reached for the package.

“Uh . . . it’s for Miss Kirsten Wagner.”

“That is me.”

“Oh. Very well. Here you go, miss.”

He tried to be as chipper as he could, but she did not respond in kind. She licked her chapped lips and lowered her head as she ducked back into the house.

“Have a fine day,” he hollered at the solid door.

No response. No Annie Gallagher.

The next day Stephen was so delighted when Annie met him at her door that he was sure his answer sounded garbled.

“A package? Oh yes, I did deliver one yesterday, a small one. Seemed as though it might have been a book.”

“Did you leave it outside?”

“No. A girl, rather frail looking, answered my knock, Miss Gallagher. I did not recognize her, but she said she was the addressee.”

“Kirsten?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Annie Gallagher folded her arms across her crisp maid’s apron. “I’m delighted to hear she received it promptly. ’Twas a package from her brother.”

“Oh yes.” He wanted to say more, but his brain seemed as stuck as the three o’clock Fifth Avenue el.

Annie raised a brow. “Well?”

Her question jolted him and he jumped. “Right. The mail. Not much this morning, I’m afraid. Just the electric bill.”

She slowly shook her head. “We don’t get electricity at Hawkins House. That must be for another residence.”

He lowered his head and searched through his bag. “You are correct. I . . .” He came up empty. “I was mistaken. There is no mail for Hawkins House.”

“Well, so, Mr. Adams, thank you for checking. Tell me, were you able to get a copy of
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
?”

He could not hide his smile. “I did indeed. A fine story, isn’t it?”

“Oh, aye, ’tis. Do you think Dorothy will ever get back home?”

“Well, Miss Gallagher, it has been my experience that in a story every character is after something, going somewhere, and if they don’t make it, it’s a tragedy. But this is a children’s book, purported to be not at all as gruesome as some of the old fairy tales, so I suppose . . .” She was grinning at him. He’d been rambling. “Uh, what do you think?”

Annie sighed. “She has so many obstacles to overcome.”

“Yes. Yes, she does.”

“But she’s a brave lass.” She put a hand to her pink lips. “I might be further into the book than you are. I will say no more, Mr. Adams.”

“Not a problem. I . . . uh . . . I should allow you to return to your work, Miss Gallagher.”

“And I to yours. A fine day to you.”

“And to you, Miss Gallagher.” As Stephen stepped off the stoop, he began whistling just to console himself. He wished that encounter had been longer because only time would tell when he’d get another chance to speak to her again. He would not be the cause of her abandoning her duties, however. Still, she had wanted to talk, and that was something.

An idea hit him like a refreshing shower bath. He hopped back up the stoop and caught her attention before she fully shut the hefty door. “See you at the dance tonight, Miss Gallagher?”

“You do seem to like those, now, don’t you?”

He smiled and so did she. “What sensible fellow would not delight in that merrymaking?”

“I agree. I’m afraid I’ve been occupied with my cousin arriving, and the boarder, Kirsten, has not been well, and
 
—”

He held up a hand. “No need to explain. If I am blessed
with the pleasure of seeing you there, I will greet you earnestly.”

Annie’s cheeks reddened. “Mr. Adams, you are quite charming.”

Stephen thanked the good Lord he had recovered from his miserable start. He continued on his way, sorry he lacked two dollars for a new shirt to wear when he saw her next.

By five o’clock Stephen was well into his meal when the bell jingled on the door of Dexter’s diner as another customer entered. Even without creamed cabbage on the menu, the place was packed.

“There you are. Been looking for you, Adams.”

Stephen’s landlord stood next to his table, the evening paper in one hand and a cigar in the other. He helped himself to a chair. “Asked around and found out you eat here sometimes.”

“What can I do for you, Davis?”

The plump man rested his elbows on the table, making it wobble. Stephen steadied his water glass.

“I’m glad you asked, Adams. I would like to discuss business.”

“What business? Raising my rent again?”

The man thumped a fist on the table. “Look, I was hasty. You’re a good tenant. I don’t want to lose you. It’s still true, however, that my printing costs have escalated. Got to bring in more income, know what I mean?”

Indeed Stephen did understand.

“Tell you what. You work for me, and we’ll go back to the old rate.”

“I already have a job, Davis.”

“I mean on the side. You know, do this in addition to delivering the mail.”

“As though I have time for anything else. Look, I probably
won’t be able to find an author for you, if that’s what this is about. Sorry.”

“Oh, that. That would be dandy if you could pull it off. But I’m talking about something else.”

“What? I’m busy as it is, like I said.”

Davis tilted his head upward and let out a chortle. “Yeah, you got no woman as I can see.” He turned his head from side to side for emphasis. “You should have plenty of liberty. Take it from a man who was married once. If you’ve got no wife, you’ve got time on your hands.”

“What’s your point?”

“You might like to have a girl on your arm, I bet. I’m guessing you could use some extra cash to start courting a little lady. Am I right? Young, handsome fellow like yourself.”

“What are you getting at, Davis? I work long days already.”

The man looked down at the table, where Stephen had left his copy of
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
open. Not on the level of Dickens or even Verne, it was entertaining nonetheless. Even so, not wanting Davis to think less of him for reading a children’s book, he pulled it into his lap before the publisher could read the title.

“Reading brings you pleasure, and you devour books, articles, short stories
 
—all sorts. Right?”

“I suppose so. Been that way all my life, but that doesn’t mean I have an aptitude for working in the book industry.”

Davis slid a hand under his vest. “Hear me out.” He leaned forward, finally seeming to get to the business he came to discuss. “I need a reader, someone to look at manuscripts that come in and tell me what’s garbage and what ain’t. Know what I mean? You can read through some before you turn the light off at night. That’s all I’m asking. You could do that, now couldn’t you, Adams?” He lifted both hands from the table in an exaggerated shrug.

“And for this all you do is not raise my rent?”

“I could throw in a free book or two a month.”

Appealing. Books were expensive, and he’d nearly polished off the one in his lap. He was a quick reader and knew he’d soon finish
The Master Key
as well and pass them both off to Dexter. He had no more unread books and no money to purchase any. Just think of all the tomes he could share with his book-loving buddy if he did what Davis asked. Davis might not publish the more fashionable stories, but he’d stayed in business, so he must have something worthy.

Apparently the man took Stephen’s silence as hesitation. He raised his voice to a cheerful pitch. “And a meal on me, in here, every month.” He made a wide gesture with his cigar-toting hand.

Stephen cut his Salisbury steak and stuffed a forkful into his mouth as he considered Davis’s offer. Stephen did love Harriet’s cabbage, and if Davis paid for Stephen’s meal once a month, Stephen could savor that dish often enough.

The man drummed his forefinger and thumb on the wooden tabletop. When Stephen figured he’d made Davis wait long enough, he answered, “Deal.”

They shook hands. “I’ll leave a stack outside your door.” He stood and glanced down at Stephen’s brown gravy–covered meal. “A bachelor’s supper, son. Think about that.” Then he left Stephen to eat alone.

Certainly Stephen was motivated to find that author Davis wanted and start stockpiling some savings. He did not wish to be a bachelor all his life, nor could he depend on Minnie’s husband’s scheme for long. But things were looking up with this opportunity. Books and his favorite meal. Better things were in store. All it would take was some determination and the will to never follow in his father’s footsteps.

17

W
HEN
A
NNIE RETURNED
from the fishmonger late in the afternoon, Aileen darted down the front hall toward her. “A man is waiting, Annie. Someone let the cat out of the bag, and it weren’t me.”

“What are you talking about, Aileen? Where is this man?”

“In the parlor. Another fella is there too, from some Fifteen Committee or something. They are giving Mrs. Hawkins a talking, and she wants you to come.”

Annie scurried along the hall, pausing briefly to smooth her disheveled hair back into place. She hesitated at the opening of the pocket door.

“There you are, Annie.”

The two men rose.

“This is Mr. Clayton Cooper, from the Pinkerton Agency, and Mr. Taylor.”

“How do you do?” the one named Cooper said, giving no indication they’d met before when Annie had not wanted to let him in.

“Bring tea straightaway, Annie.”

The two men lowered themselves back to the sofa and stared at her. She realized from the look on their faces she had interrupted their conversation. Mrs. Hawkins should not even have
let them in the door. The poor woman just did not understand why Kirsten could not be sent away. Annie wasn’t sure how to convince her.

“Are you sure you want tea now, Mrs. Hawkins?”

“Tea, I said.”

“Certainly.”

Aileen kept jabbering while Annie filled the teakettle. “Is it true, so? Will they fill out a report based on Kirsten’s behavior? That’s what I heard them say. And you, having been in a laundry. Do they know that? Where will we go, Annie?”

Annie halted what she was doing and turned on her heel. “Might you have been talking to someone about Kirsten’s unfortunate circumstances, lass? And think of her, upstairs as sick as a dog.” She thought of Dorothy’s admonishment to the Lion and spoke the words. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“I have told no one, I tell you. I never leave the house.”

She had not been outside, true. “Oh, all right, so.” Annie stared at her sleeves, determined not to react. “I did not deserve to be in that laundry, as well you know, and this has nothing to do with it.”

Aileen’s lower lip quivered. “I didn’t know. I never knew . . .”

Focus on the present.
“I do not understand where men like that get information on folks.”

“Well, not from me.”

“Right, so.”

She bid her cousin to hide out in the kitchen while she returned to the parlor. As she was entering, the man called Cooper, the Pinkerton, was speaking. “As I said, I am doing an investigation, and I have good reason to believe your German boarder has connections to a financial scheme. There are many such operations, you know. Not that I expect you to understand how Wall Street operates.”

“And you think a German immigrant girl who barely speaks English would comprehend these operations, Mr. Cooper? You are tremendously mistaken. On both accounts.”

The man’s face paled as though he’d received a blow to the stomach. “Uh, well, she may not even be aware that she has gotten involved, or that she has information I need, but we have ways of uncovering these things, madam, and I must insist you allow me to question her.”

As Annie handed the man a cup of tea, she glanced down at her chalky-white wrists, hoping he hadn’t noticed her nervousness. She did want to order him out
 
—and would have, she hoped, despite her trembling hands, if only Mrs. Hawkins would have allowed it. Men like this Pinkerton, ones who imposed their authority on vulnerable women, made Annie feel as wobbly as the Scarecrow.
I am not a sinner of the worst kind. I am not!

The other man scribbled on a pad of paper. She tried to look at it when she served him tea, but she could not read his handwriting.

Cooper put a hand behind his head, drawing attention to a mass of dark curls much like Stephen Adams’s. Annie had the distinct impression she’d seen him somewhere else, not just that day outside of Hawkins House when Mrs. Hawkins had asked him to leave. She wondered again if he was the one Kirsten thought was watching her. He might have been the stranger Annie had seen at the dance. The man was obviously misled, but once a man got a mistaken notion in his head, who could change it?

The Pinkerton stirred his tea as he spoke. “I urge you to consider my request because . . . well, we have learned from a credible source that your tenant has staggered home late at night on more than one occasion.”

“Yes, because of her job. But her employer kept her late. She works hard. That does not make her a woman of questionable morals.”

The Pinkerton leaned forward. “Your establishment is in danger of losing its good reputation.” He exchanged glances with Mr. Taylor, who seemingly got the hint and continued to write.

Annie still wasn’t sure if Aileen might have somehow mentioned this, even inadvertently. How else would he ever have known?

The Hawk pulled her chin downward and glared at the man. “I do not understand, gentlemen, why you would be watching my house at night. If you are concerned about my girls, that is considerate indeed, but we have friends to look out for us.”

“We have not been watching you, Mrs. Hawkins,” Mr. Cooper said.

Annie noticed his stare moved toward the far wall. She wondered what he was contemplating. “Someone else informed us.”

Annie truly hoped it hadn’t been Aileen. That lass just didn’t know when it was wise to keep silent about things.

Mrs. Hawkins grunted. “We are very busy planning a wedding, gentlemen. I suggest you go about your investigation without our assistance, but as you do, you will discover Hawkins House is an upstanding establishment in the city, providing a much-needed service. You have the references I gave you.” She nodded at the quieter man. “Reverend Clarke and Dr. Thorp top that list. It’s a pity you are spending your valuable time on this, however. You would do well not to interrupt our work here and instead go about following up more serious leads.”

The Pinkerton set his teacup down and tugged at his unusual tie. “If you will not send that girl out, madam, you will be making this matter more difficult than need be.”

Send her out? Annie had to say something now. “Mr. Cooper, the lass is recovering from an illness. You should be asham
 
—”

“Annie, please return to the kitchen. I will handle this.”

Annie had no choice but to go, but this was why she needed her own establishment. She could handle it, and with experience Mrs. Hawkins did not have. Annie knew what these kinds of men were capable of. As she left, she heard the Pinkerton again. “If she’s ill, it’s no doubt due to her late hours, and Mr. Taylor here will take note of it.”

Annie headed for the back stairs to make sure Kirsten stayed hidden.

When Annie went upstairs, the bathroom was occupied. She sat down on a chair in the hall to wait, bouncing her knees. She couldn’t be sure how long the Hawk would be able to hold the men off. A gagging noise brought her to her feet.

“Are you all right in there?”

“Nein.”

“Kirsten? You are sick again? Would you like towels? Some hot water?”

The door cracked open. Kirsten’s normally golden hair hung sullen in front of her face.

“I fear . . . I think perhaps when the man hurt me, he . . .” She held her hands over her stomach.

“Oh, Kirsten, ’tis too soon to know.” She handed a towel through the cracked door. “We will tell Mrs. Hawkins, darlin’, but she has company right now and
 
—”

“
Nein.
She won’t want me here, Annie.”

Well, Annie wanted her there. That man touching her had not been Kirsten’s fault any more than it had been Annie’s that the laundry’s doctor had wanted to do the same to her. “No one here will ask you to leave. You can tell her later, if indeed there is a need to. Can you let me in, lass?”

“You should stay away, Annie Gallagher. Far away.”

“I will check downstairs to see if those men have gone.”

“Wait! What men?”

“Don’t worry, Kirsten. No one will harm you. Stay here.” The door shut, and Annie scurried back downstairs to the kitchen.

Aileen was washing the teacups. “They’ve left. You have to stop thinking ill of me, Annie.”

“Ah, you are my cross to bear, Aileen.”

“Me? How?”

Annie heard Mrs. Hawkins plodding up the hall. She whispered, “We will talk later.”

She met Mrs. Hawkins halfway. “Whatever will we do? We can’t let them shut the house
 
—”

“Annie, be calm. When they investigate, they will not find reason. As a female entrepreneur, I have experienced this kind of prejudice before. It will pass.”

But a pregnant boarder? Best not to borrow trouble where none’s yet due. Annie remembered something she’d read about friendship:
“He that covers a transgression seeks love; but he that repeats a matter separates very friends.”
She would not mention the possible pregnancy. Not yet. Oh, to have her own home where everyone was accepted no matter their sin.

Later, she pulled Aileen into her room.

“I told no one Kirsten was sick. I haven’t spoken to anyone but you and the girls, Annie.”

“All right. I am not accusing you, Aileen. But do you think you might have mentioned it, to a deliveryman or the message boy
 
—just casually, not out of malice?”

“I did not.”

“Then how could they know Kirsten came in late?”

“Saw her, I’d guess.”

Annie plopped down on her bed. “None of you understand what this means.”

“What are you talking about, Annie Gallagher? Gone loony, seems.”

“Leave me, please.” Thoughts . . . words . . . many things bounced around together in Annie’s head, and she could not think straight.

“Gladly.”

When Aileen shut her door, Annie pulled her knees up to her chest and covered her ears with her hands, sure that she’d heard the scraping noise of metal on concrete.

After supper Stephen Adams came calling. Aileen let him in and took his hat. Mrs. Hawkins came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her napkin. “How delightful to have your company, love. Do come in. Annie, make him comfortable. Aileen and I will finish up in the kitchen and then come join you.”

“I heard that there was some trouble here, Miss Gallagher, and I wanted to see if I may be of assistance.”

“Trouble? Whatever do you mean? I hope my cousin has not been gossiping.”

“Oh no. It’s just that your neighbor asked me to check in. She says you’ve had several strangers coming and going.”

“Oh, there were two men here earlier suggesting our newest boarder might be the corruptible type, which she is not, of course. I do not understand why folks think they have the right to make such judgments.” She sucked in her breath.

“Of course they are mistaken. Who are these men?”

“A Pinkerton detective and someone from the Committee of Fifteen, I think. He took notes.”

“I see. Has Sergeant McNulty been by?”

“He has, but he hasn’t yet found out what they want. I believe we are being unjustly scrutinized.”

“It will all work out, I’m sure.”

Mrs. Hawkins returned. “I’m going out, lovies, but Aileen will see to your tea.” She turned to Annie as she pulled on her white gloves. “Playing Nellie Bly at the Thorps’. You don’t mind visiting with Mr. Adams, do you, Annie?”

“Of course not.”

“Check on Kirsten in a bit. She’s tucked in with my special tea.”

“Certainly.”

Stephen had stood when Mrs. Hawkins entered. He moved toward her. “I am sorry to hear your new boarder is ill, Mrs. Hawkins.”

“Thank you. We are taking good care of her. She will be good as new.”

“I am sure of it.”

When the woman left, Annie knew she only had a few minutes before her annoying cousin would interrupt them. “’Tis Thursday, Mr. Adams. You did not go to the dance.”

“No, I . . .” He turned his astonishing blue eyes on her. “I decided to call on you here instead.”

“I haven’t been going because . . . well, regardless of everything else, I promised to help Grace trim her wedding dress this evening.”

“Oh.” He slapped his knees. “You are busy. I won’t keep you.”

“Not busy at present. She has not returned home yet. Stay and have tea. Please.”

He smiled and nodded.

“I know you wanted to discuss the book we’re reading.”

“Certainly.”

“But, Mr. Adams, I’m curious what makes you such an
avid reader. I mean . . . if you don’t mind me asking.” Her father loved books. A love of reading set men apart, Annie thought.

“I do not mind at all. Besides the fact that I live over the offices of Davis Publishing, I’ve loved books since I was a child.”

“Me as well.”

He tipped his head to one side, regarding her.

“Tell me, Mr. Adams, what is it about stories that enthralls you?”

“I believe it is because a tale, properly spun, transports the reader to other places and adventures he or she would not otherwise experience. A book can take you anywhere.”

She gazed toward the breakfront cabinet. “My father used to believe the same.”

“He is a great reader too?”

“He was a storyteller. He’s passed on.”

“I am so sorry, Miss Gallagher. Did he create his own tales?”

“Besides an ability to recite Shakespeare and tell all the epic tales of ole Erin, he created many original works.”

“How marvelous. Do you know any of his tales, by chance?”

She retrieved her writing desk. “I have some of the stories he told me as a child, in here.” And she had them in her head, along with many other things often difficult to sort through. Her father had been wise to write these down.

His eyes grew wide. “May I see them?”

Delighted he was interested, she sat and pulled out the yellowing papers. “I will read a tale or two, if you would like.”

Aileen brought the tea and did her best to serve them. Annie was astonished. Perhaps she was trying to atone for her meddling. When she was done, she sat in the chair opposite the sofa where Annie and Stephen sat. Annie had no choice but to read to them both.

When she finished, they both applauded.

“You liked them, so?”