Annie's Stories (20 page)

24

A
NNIE AND HER COUSIN
sat in the parlor while they waited for Mrs. Hawkins to return. “I wonder if the postman will be coming back today,” Aileen said.

“I don’t know. You and I can handle things, so. Sergeant McNulty has said the Pinkerton is cleared off our block, so we know he won’t be back.”

Aileen brushed the lace curtain aside and gazed out. “This may be the postman right now.”

Annie charged toward the front door and opened it quickly so she could speak to Stephen first.

“
Ja
, what a welcome that is. Are you Annie Gallagher, the housekeeper?”

A knot formed in Annie’s stomach. Instead of the postman, a tall man wearing a gray felt hat with a black band and a long charcoal overcoat stood in front of her. Aileen came to her side.

After glancing around him as though someone might be watching, he removed his hat. “Jonas Wagner. I believe my sister is expecting me.”

Annie’s throat went dry.

Aileen spoke up. “Oh, Kirsten is not
 
—”

Annie pushed her back with her shoulder. “She means she
is not in at the moment, Mr. Wagner. Won’t you come in out of the cold?”

“Not until you tell me which one of you Irish ladies wrote to me. The housekeeper wrote on my sister’s behalf,
ja
? When I was . . . uh . . . upstate, as they say.”

“Her,” Aileen cried out, rubbing her collarbone where Annie had shoved her.

“Miss Gallagher?” He took her hand like a gentleman.

“I am happy to finally meet you, Mr. Wagner.”

“And you.”

“Please be seated in the parlor.” She and Aileen followed him in.

“Where is my sister?” His copper eyes held hers. “Tell me there is no bad news.” He turned and parted the lace curtain with one finger, then shrugged and let it fall back.

“Not bad news precisely. But she is not here, Mr. Wagner. She’s found . . . housing elsewhere.”

“Where?” He spun around to face Annie. “Tell me no harm has come to her. Did someone come looking for her?”

Annie glared at him. “Someone like a Pinkerton?”

His wide-eyed look told her she’d guessed correctly. “Where did they take her?”

“No Pinkerton has taken her anywhere, just inquired is all.”

“Did you tell him I was coming?” He balled his fist.

Aileen gasped and Annie gave her a stern glance. Looking back at the man, she knew she had to think of something. She let out the breath she’d been holding. “We did not. Please, won’t you sit?”

Aileen patted the back of one of the chairs.

His face flushed, as though he’d realized his rudeness. “Thank you.” He sat.

Annie moved gingerly as though the roses on the carpet
might sprout real thorns. “Please, have some tea. ’Tis Mrs. Hawkins’s special recipe.”

He fidgeted with a button on his vest. “She is safe, my sister?”

“She is.” Annie smiled as she lifted the cup from the tray. “May I say that your English is superb?”

Jonas accepted the cup and returned to his chair by the window.
“Danke schön,”
he said, as though to remind her of his nationality. He took a sip of the warm drink and then smiled. “I have been unkind. Please forgive me.” He seemed to stare at those roses on the floor.

“No apologies necessary,” Annie said, exchanging glances with Aileen.

Her cousin got the hint. “I will go next door and have Mrs. Jenkins telephone the . . . Uh, we will let Mrs. Hawkins know you’ve arrived, Mr. Wagner.”

“Very well. But my sister?”

Annie handed him a plate of biscuits. “I prefer to let Mrs. Hawkins answer your query, Mr. Wagner.”

He stood until Aileen exited. Then he turned back to Annie. “Ah,
gut
. You were right, Miss Gallagher. It is a pleasant drink.” Still, he did not look directly at her. “Tell me where my sister is . . . please.”

Annie followed his gaze and began studying the pattern on the rug herself. This man seemed nothing like his letters. Even fatigue should not cause someone to be so brash. If she could just get him to tell her what kind of business he was up to . . .

He finally glanced up. The smoothness of his face, the lack of mature stubble, showed him to be much younger than she had imagined.

“Who is the elder, you or your sister?” Small talk might give Mrs. Hawkins more time to hurry back.

“We are separated by just one year. I was born a week after Kirsten’s first birthday. We are like twins. We are very close.”

“I imagine you are, the way Kirsten speaks of you.”

He tapped his foot with unspent nervousness. “The package I sent. It arrived,
ja
?”

“Indeed.” She willed Mrs. Hawkins to arrive with haste.

“I am happy to hear this.” He pursed his lips and nodded.

Minutes of silence passed. They glanced at each other a few times, awkwardly.

Jonas set his teacup down. “She should be at work, no? The shirtwaist factory. She is not there. I checked first.” He stood.

“Uh . . . you are correct.” She rose to stop him. Somehow. “She is not there. Please, won’t you wait for Mrs. Hawkins? She has secured you a room at a very nice boardinghouse.”

Aileen returned. “Mrs. Hawkins left the . . . I am told she is on her way home this very minute.”

Annie relaxed a bit. “Have some more tea, Mr. Wagner.”

A half hour later Mrs. Hawkins entered. After introductions she clasped her hands together. “Well, now. Aileen has gone to find the messenger. A cab will be here soon to take you to the boardinghouse.”

“I appreciate that.” He glanced out the window again. “You will tell no one where I am staying, Mrs. Hawkins.”

Annie couldn’t keep quiet. “The Pinkerton, you mean.”

Mrs. Hawkins gave her a sharp look.

“I will explain when I can.” He smiled tightly. “I am not a criminal.”

Agnes Hawkins narrowed her eyes. “Mr. Wagner, whatever business you have, I must insist you leave your sister out of it. She has been under my supervision, and I assure you she is fine.”

“You don’t understand. Why don’t you just tell me where
 
—?”

The woman stepped closer to him, a display of dominance. “We do not know what kind of family argument you might have with your sister, Mr. Wagner, but we will not be party to it. She asked us not to tell you where she is.” She took a breath and relaxed her shoulders. “I would like this matter resolved so that we can focus on planning a wedding for one of my girls. She is marrying a police sergeant, and he’s in line to become a detective one day.”

Jonas’s eyes grew wide. “I need to speak to my sister. I promise you I’ll cause no harm. She is my only family. She must think she is doing this for the best, but she is mistaken.”

The Hawk sighed. “I am willing to arrange a meeting if she consents. If you wish to see her, you will follow our instructions. Otherwise, we have nothing more to discuss and you may leave.”

Annie longed to know what had been discussed at the police station and how this woman found her bravado.

“I do not need your cab, Frau Hawkins. I will be on my way.”

When he’d gone, Annie questioned her. “How did you know he’d back down?” When Annie had ordered the Pinkerton out of the house, it had probably been the loony tone of her shouting that had made him flee, not a strong, confident demeanor like her employer’s.

“I learned a long time ago, Annie, not to allow others to strong-arm me.” She pulled out her handkerchief. “And that poor girl in that condition. It was not her fault. He won’t make her a victim if I have anything to say about it.” She plopped down on her favorite chair and turned to her open Bible. As though the man had intentionally interrupted her study, Mrs. Hawkins closed the book forcefully and tapped her fingers on the weathered leather cover.

Concern for the boarders was understandable
 
—deeds like
making peas porridge and putting lavender under the sheets. But the way Mrs. Hawkins had stood up to that man just now? She seemed to carry a righteous sword against him. There was something more personal about this.

They heard a wee knock on the kitchen door. Mrs. Hawkins rose from her chair but motioned to Aileen. “That’s Jules, love. Tell him we no longer need the cab but to go and fetch the punch bowl I’m borrowing from his mother for the party. Would you mind? And remember his nickel.”

Aileen nodded and hurried to meet him.

Annie stared at the cover of Mrs. Hawkins’s Bible. She hadn’t noticed it before, perhaps because the woman kept it open most of the time, but there on the cover were embossed two gold letters:
K. G.
Annie blinked. This was the Hawk’s Bible. The initials should be A. H. or perhaps her late husband’s, H. H. But K. G.? Like Kate Gallagher? Surely not. But as unlikely as it seemed, there had been too many coincidences with Annie coming directly to Hawkins House and then being accepted as housekeeper so eagerly. Mrs. Hawkins seemed to know the idiosyncrasies of the Irish as though she’d been among them. And she had inadvertently mentioned Annie’s mother as if she knew her.

Tread lightly.

The words from her father’s wise rabbit character suddenly popped into her head, though she didn’t know why.

Annie turned back to the Hawk. “I would like it very much if you would do me the favor of being honest with me, Mrs. Hawkins.”

“Honest? Whatever do you mean?”

Annie tapped the back of the woman’s chair. “Come, sit.”

When she was settled in, Annie poured her some tea. “There is something more than mere charity going on here. You spoke as though you’d been personally affronted.”

“We must all stand up against aggressors, love.”

“But there is something you aren’t telling me, so. Isn’t there? Ireland. My mother.” She swept her arm around the room. “Hawkins House and where your support comes from. You’ve been very mysterious.”

The woman’s eyes were bug-like.

“And while we are at it, the reason I’m here at all is the biggest conundrum of all. Am I to believe Father Weldon just happened to feel compelled to send me to his sister? Me, and not any of the other poor lasses in that laundry?” She couldn’t stop herself now. “And then there’s your Bible . . .”

The Hawk flipped the pages back open, concealing the personalized cover. Tears came to her eyes. “You are right, love. You are a grown woman of strong character. I shall tell you everything and pray that you do not despise me for not telling you sooner.”

25

S
TEPHEN DELIVERED
most of his route as quickly as he could, deciding to finish the rest tomorrow. When he rushed toward the door of the post office, determined to speak to Mr. Sturgis before he left for the day, he met Minnie Draper. She clutched the nameplate from her sorting station. She obviously had been dismissed.

He held the door as she came out. “I am so sorry, Minnie. I hope you understand I had no choice.”

She smiled. “No, no, Mr. Adams. I am the one who owes you an apology. If I had used the smarts God gave me, I would never have urged you to deposit so much money. Leonard deceived me. I have been a fool.” She swung her head side to side. “My mother tried to tell me I didn’t know Leonard well enough to marry him. I had to learn the hard way. Can you ever forgive me?”

Losing the money smarted, but he had not lost his job, and that was most important. “It’s not your fault I lost that money, Minnie. Sometimes we put our trust in the wrong places.” He heard the words as though he had not spoken them but received them from somewhere else, the words of an understanding, righteous man. “I let greed get the best of me, I’m afraid.”

“As did I. Leonard deserves to be in jail. I’m still a blessed woman, you know. They let me go.”

He walked with her down the steps toward the street. “Will you find another job?”

“Mrs. Waters says I can help her with her fish cart on Saturdays, and my cousin is letting me sleep in her kitchen. I will be all right.”

“Which fish cart?”

“Corner of Mulberry and Worth.”

“I’ll come by and purchase some . . . as soon as I can, Minnie.”

“Bless you.”

When Stephen got to Sturgis’s office, the door was open. “Oh, good. You are still here.”

“Adams, what can I do for you?” Mr. Sturgis put the pen he’d been using back in an inkwell.

“There is a matter I believe the postal inspectors will be interested in.”

When he was done explaining the situation, Sturgis called to his secretary. “Get the inspector on the telephone line immediately, Shirley.”

While they waited, Stephen used another phone line to let Dexter know he would have to miss dinner at his place.

When Stephen finally neared the door of his apartment building at the end of the long day, it was not Davis waiting for him but Archibald Murray, the undertaker. Stephen tried to collect his thoughts.

The man tipped his top hat and then placed his hands behind him, waiting for Stephen to come closer. Wearing an English-style double-breasted morning coat that met his perfectly pressed striped trousers just below the knees, Mr. Murray
presented the image of a refined, genteel elder gentleman of wealth, not a bill collector.

“Mr. Murray, I am aware of what my options are concerning my belongings. You have made your point clear. What brings you to my neighborhood this evening?”

“Mr. Adams, I do regret that proceeding was necessary, but I am not without compassion.” He wrinkled his aquiline nose. “Even if we auction your belongings, there will be remaining debt, son. I owe you at least that explanation.”

Stephen did not want to invite him in. He had nowhere for him to sit. And besides, Murray’s smug, condescending attitude was irritating.

“Seeing as I was in the neighborhood getting my horses shod
 
—the best stables and grooms are just a block from here, you know.” He cleared his throat. “Or maybe you don’t know. No matter. I made up my mind to pay you a visit. Your parents were fine people, Stephen. Down on their luck, true, but fine souls. I owe them the courtesy of seeing you myself.”

Stephen bit his lip. He had no more than fifty cents to his name at the moment and would like to eat next week and put coal in his stove. Did the man presume to squeeze the life out of the son of those “fine souls”? “You know I have a good job, Mr. Murray. I . . . made some unwise investments, however, and . . . if you would care to speak to Mr. Davis, he will tell you that I’m due some wages for some side work I recently did for him. I could ring him for you right now.”

Mr. Murray held up a gloved hand. “No, not necessary.”

“I just need a little more time.”

He stroked his gray mustache. “I cannot begin to suppose what you are spending your paycheck on, my boy, but I told you I would not be patient forever. It is just business, you understand.”

“I do. I will pay you.”

“Like I said, even the auction will not be enough. I thought I should alert you to the fact.” He chuckled sardonically. “Come now. We both know you have proven over time that you pay intermittently. This is a big city, Stephen. People are dying every day, and I’m afraid the space to bury them all is vanishing at an incredible rate. The demand for suitable ground has risen. If you don’t pay me for those burial plots, someone else will, and . . . I will have no other choice but to add another grave atop. I must be paid. This is my livelihood, and I have kin to care for.” He grunted. “I don’t expect you to understand that.”

A cruel remark. The man knew Stephen’s parents and his brother had been his only family. Stephen did not anger easily, despite his outburst at the undertaker’s office earlier. Most times Stephen was fairly tolerant of all kinds of folks. But now he was vexed. He’d heard enough. “I will pay you. Somehow. And soon. You have my word.” He turned to put his key in the lock. “What you are suggesting
 
—is it even legal, Mr. Murray? The . . . shared burial plots, I mean.”

“Think of it like subletting an apartment.”

Stephen had to juggle his key in the air to keep from losing it. “But my parents’ graves. How could you violate such a sacred place?”

Archibald Murray’s stance indicated that he would not be dissuaded. “Like the notice said, you have until the end of the month. It’s just business, son. But I did feel compelled to give you this warning in person. It’s the least I can do. For your parents.”

If he wanted Stephen to thank him, he was misguided.

“Better to know now so that you might avoid these steps. The bill must be paid in full. Good evening.” He marched away with his head held high as though he truly believed his words carried no insult.

Stephen could not let that happen to his parents, especially his mother, who had had no will to leave this world when she did.

He let himself into the dark hallway and paused for a moment in front of the door stenciled with Davis’s name. A finder’s fee would certainly help.