Annie's Stories (23 page)

29

T
HE FOLLOWING
S
ATURDAY
Stephen answered a knock on the door. “Davis. I’d invite you in, but I don’t have any furniture.”

The man rose to his toes to look over Stephen’s head. “I see that. Well, I brought you something that might help.” He held a check up in front of his face.

“Twenty dollars? What is that for?”

“Compliments of
Harper’s
. They are over the moon to have some of Redmond’s stories.”

He took the check. “That’s incredibly generous.”

“It’s adequate.”

“Is that right? I had no idea there was so much money in publishing.”

“There can be, if you find the right author.” He held up a copy of the magazine. “Here it is.”

“You don’t say. Already?” Stephen saw “The Lost Stories of Luther Redmond” on the cover.

Davis handed it to him.

“Annie will be pleased.”

“They have sent her funds to her bank as she requested.”

Stephen grumbled to himself, “Why do people trust banks?”

Davis pointed into his vacant room. “When will you get your things back?”

“I . . . uh, I hope soon. I have to pay the undertaker in addition to the rental charge.”

“I don’t mean to pry, but would you care to tell me what the trouble is, Stephen?”

“I still owe for my parents’ funerals.”

“Oh, you poor boy. Why didn’t you say so? I can lend you the money to pay him off.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“I’m going to make a bundle on the book rights, son. I can do this. How much do you need?”

Stephen told him.

“I’ll have a check waiting for you on Monday.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely. It’s not every day a publisher lands a miracle like the one you brought me.”

Stephen rose early, ran a comb through his cowlick-cursed hair, and dressed for church.

He got to First Church a bit later than he intended and did not have time to speak to anyone before the organ began playing “Christ Is Made the Sure Foundation” and the processional began.

Churchgoing folks were creatures of habit, always taking the same seats, Sunday after Sunday. In the old days families rented pews, so perhaps that was where the practice started. Knowing this, he wandered toward the left side of the church. Sure enough, he spotted Annie’s curly copper hair peeking from beneath a hat.

As the sermon was delivered, Stephen contemplated the message but heard only what God had been speaking to him over and over.

Obedience is pleasing. Listen.

He was trying, wasn’t he?

When the basket was passed for the offering, Annie spotted him. Her cheeks flushed and she nodded.

After the recessional he rose to allow those sitting next to him to exit the pew. But he did not leave. He waited for Annie. The women filed out, Grace last and Owen close behind. A rush of cold air assaulted them as they neared the exit, and Annie held on to her hat, although with the reserved height and adornment of her headpiece, she’d have less trouble than her cousin, whose hat was piled high with satin ribbons.

“May I walk you home?” Stephen asked Annie.

“Thank you, but with the wedding just a few days away, I’m afraid I have no leisure.”

“I’d be happy to walk with you, nonetheless.” He wanted to surprise her with the
Harper’s
edition.

Mrs. Hawkins said she’d be along soon, after a chat with her friends on the church steps. The Hawkins House girls chatted the entire way about bouquets and ferns and lace
 
—he didn’t know what all. Stephen eventually fell back to the rear of the procession, where Owen was. Owen leaned down to speak to him. “The detectives are meeting with the doctor at the infirmary today. Once they have the ledger, we can all put this behind us.”

“Think Miss Wagner will give it to them?”

“I don’t know why not.”

“Where is her brother? Hasn’t the Pinkerton found him?”

“Not as far as I can tell. Some of those German immigrants come from a place where they learned to trust no one, and they can be pretty evasive, even for a so-called detective like Clayton Cooper.”

“Lovies, wait for me.”

They all stopped. Mrs. Hawkins waddled up to them as fast as her short legs could carry her. She held her hand to her hat
to keep it from falling in her hurry. When she caught up, she struggled to catch her breath. “Terrible news. Ella Thorp just told me. Our Kirsten has gone missing.”

Annie wasn’t certain just how many people hurried along with them to catch the elevated train near city hall. Once they were headed north toward Second Avenue and Thirteenth Street, she glanced around. Even Stephen Adams had come. “What will we do when we get there?” she asked Mrs. Hawkins.

“Find out what happened. Poor Kirsten.”

When they exited the train and stood in front of the Eye and Ear Infirmary, Annie thought about how someone could get utterly lost in this vast city.

They stepped up two stairs and entered the door under a green canopy. A nurse sitting behind a wide oak desk greeted them. After explaining their mission, they followed her to a stairway. “Go to the third floor and speak to the nurse on duty.” She stepped out of the stairway, leaving them to find their way.

They clambered up, the whole lot of them, their stomping echoing against the concrete walls.

The windows were smaller on the third floor, casting slats of sunbeams across the wooden floor. There were no curtains or carpets to soften the sound, and the nurse sitting at the lone desk looked up at the clattering sound of their footsteps.

“May I help you?” She appeared stoic in her long pinafore and lace-trimmed hat. She laid aside her pencil as Mrs. Hawkins approached her.

“We have been informed that Kirsten Wagner, a patient here, has gone missing.”

The nurse pressed her lips together and then reached for her telephone. “Just a moment.”

Soon Dr. Thorp entered from the left side of the hall. “Agnes, there was no need to come down here.”

“Ella told me our Kirsten is missing.” She wrung her hands. “I must know what this is all about.”

Grace and Aileen scooted close to Annie. The men stood behind them. Someone else entered from the stairs.

“You!” Mrs. Hawkins yelled.

Clayton Cooper, the Pinkerton, clenched his jaw. “Doctor, I demand to know where that girl is.”

The doctor held up his arms. “I will tell you all the same thing. I do not know. She sneaked out in the middle of the night. We must all accept the explanation that the girl does not want to be found and leave it like that.”

Stephen Adams made his way to the front of the group. “Someone frightened her off.” He stood close to Clayton Cooper, though his nose only reached the man’s top coat buttons. “I tell you, mister, the US Post Office handles these cases in a much more professional manner.”

Owen came and stood next to Stephen, his size and rank lending importance to Stephen’s words.

The detective shrugged and rushed out and down the stairs.

“What do you mean?” Annie whispered to Stephen.

“Mail fraud. To criminals, the postal inspectors are some of the most feared men in government. Even the bank robbers believe so. They avoid the mail cars when they rob trains.” He appeared to be incredibly proud of his profession as he spoke with a clear, confident voice. “And the reason they are so revered is the postal inspectors are successful at catching the perpetrators.” He turned to look at them all. “I assure you, since this ledger was delivered through the mail, the inspectors are on the case. They will find Kirsten.” He reached for Annie’s hands. “I will do all that is in my power to be sure your friend is found safe and sound.”

Annie didn’t think such a thing was in his power, not in that crowded city, but she admired his determination.

“Come along, ladies,” Owen said, reaching out his long arms to usher them to the stairs. “The doctor has his duties to attend to, and Mr. Adams is correct. If the mail inspectors are on the case, they will do the best job possible.”

Mrs. Hawkins sniffed. “I so wanted to help that girl, but some people are beyond my reach. May God protect her.”

Annie hurried to her side. “She did tell me, Mrs. Hawkins, that she wished to protect her brother in some way. I should have known she’d sneak off with whatever it was he sent her. I should have warned someone.”

“You cannot be expected to have anticipated all this, Annie. What’s done is done, love. If she did not wish to stay here, or at Hawkins House for that matter, no one could have forced her. Pray for her.”

Annie didn’t think her prayers had helped the dying Magdalene woman or that they could now help Kirsten. Hopefully Kirsten was smart enough to ensure her own safety.

When they were all finally assembled back at Hawkins House, Stephen stood in the middle of the parlor holding something up in the air. “Ladies and Sergeant McNulty, may I present the first serial publication of the stories Annie brought over from Ireland.”

Everyone clapped.

Annie reached out her hand. “Let me see that, please.” She flipped through it a few times before realizing the story she was looking for listed the author as Luther Redmond. She glanced up. “Why would you do that?”

“Excuse me?”

“Use that name on my father’s story?”

“Miss Gallagher, they are one and the same. Mr. Davis mentioned it in his office, and it was on the contract.”

“Perhaps it was. I should have been more careful at the time, but seeing this in print now makes me realize it’s not fitting. With him gone, there is no need to use a pseudonym.” She dropped the magazine on the sofa and Aileen picked it up.

“Now, now, love. Surely these publishing executives know about these things.”

“Mrs. Hawkins, my father writing as Luther Redmond was wrong.” She glared at each face. “Don’t you all believe in truth?” She could not keep tears from burning at her eyes. She held a fist to her mouth.

“I believe such things are customary in publishing
 
—” The Hawk snapped her lips shut when Annie looked at her incredulously.

Aileen tapped her hand on the open pages of the magazine. “’Tis a wonderful story, Cousin. I hope they paid you well for this.”

They had. She should be grateful. But to have her father’s name, his real name, honored in print would have been wonderful. “Well.” She sat straighter. “At least my library will have my father’s name above the door.”

Stephen cleared his throat. “Well . . . yes . . . uh, Mr. Davis tells me these issues are selling rapidly. Folks are eager to hear once again from their favorite author.”

Annie stood. “I will get tea.” She paused before she left the room. “I just might have to write to the editor of
Harper’s
and tell them they should not have used a false name.”

“Certainly you could,” Stephen said, holding her gaze with his. “The tales might then cease to be as extensively read if folks begin to believe they were not written by Redmond. However . . . the truth matters. Miss Gallagher, I implore you to think
about the repercussions before you make such an announcement.”

She took a deep breath and left the room. There was much to consider, and much she wanted to know about both of her parents.

30

O
N
M
ONDAY
S
TEPHEN
left work early enough to get home and collect the information he needed to get his belongings out of storage now that Davis had lent him money. He had already settled up with Murray, feeling only partially relieved because he’d paid him off with borrowed funds. He closed the door to his apartment and locked it. Once outside, he plunged his hands deep into his pockets. He missed his mittens, but on the next payday he’d stop by Mrs. Jacobs’s and ask her to knit a pair for him. He would pay her, of course, but right now he needed all the money he had to pay the storage fee, so that would have to wait.

He started for the Broadway trolley.

“Adams, one moment!”

Stephen turned and waited for Davis to catch up to him.

“Is something wrong?” It was chilly out on the front steps.

“Wrong? No, my boy.” He walked alongside Stephen. “
Harper’s
telephoned. They want the rest of the stories right away. Do you know that issue sold out in two days? The whole city, maybe the whole world, is all atwitter over these long-lost stories, son. This is big. Huge. Better get all nine of the remaining stories to me as soon as possible.”

“I don’t know, Davis. She is not happy Redmond’s name is on them.”

He chuckled. “They would not sell nearly as well under a Gallagher fella’s name.”

“I know. I’ll talk to her.”

“Right away. Get me those stories today.” He reached out and pulled on Stephen’s collar, bringing him to a stop. “Do I need to remind you I did you a favor with that undertaker’s bill?”

“No, you don’t. I am well aware of my indebtedness, believe me.” He wiggled free. “I’m grateful. But you don’t understand, Davis. The postmaster needs my help with something, an important case for the government. I haven’t even had time to pick up my belongings yet, I’m so consumed. I was just on my way to arrange that.”

Davis yanked on Stephen’s arm a bit harder. “I must have those stories, Adams. This is the biggest publishing event since . . . well, since that
Oz
book. This is bigger than your needs. We are serving the public, son. And besides, if I don’t deliver, I won’t get the book rights, and what a fool I’ll look like to the fellas at the club.” He spoke through his teeth. “Remember, if I don’t get the book rights, that money I lent you, I’ll need it back to pay my own bills. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Go get them now.”

When Stephen knocked at Hawkins House, Aileen answered. “Mrs. Hawkins and my cousin Annie . . . They are not here, Mr. Adams.”

“Oh, I see. When do you expect them back?”

Grace pushed past the little Irish girl. “Come in here, Mr. Adams. You’ll catch your death out there, the wind is blowing so.”

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “I can come back later.”

“Absolutely not. They had an errand of some sort to attend
to. I’ve got a pot of potatoes and stew on the stove. Won’t you stay for supper?”

This sounded much better than anything he might cook for himself. He lifted his nose. “Is that corn bread I smell?”

“It is. I make it whenever Mrs. Hawkins allows me and whenever I’m here and not at the Parkers’. Mrs. Hawkins says ’tis too American for her tastes, but the children love that kind of bread. And I’ve got lamb stew. Sound all right to you?”

“Sounds delicious.” Owen was indeed a lucky man.

Aileen took his hat and coat. “Annie and Mrs. Hawkins didn’t say where they were going, but I’m sure they’ll be back for supper. They are planning so much food for the party, they’re probably visiting every butcher and grocer in the city.”

“I see. I really do need to speak to Annie right away about the rest of the stories.”

Grace motioned to the sofa. “Come in and rest a bit.” She took the rocker by the window. “You are American. You must be as fond of corn bread as is my Owen.”

“I enjoy all kinds of food.” He got to his feet. “Please, do not think you have to entertain me if you are busy in the kitchen, Miss McCaffery.”

“Grace. I do hope you feel as though we are friends. I would like you to come to the wedding.”

“Thank you. That is very kind.”

“I have a few moments until the bread needs to come out of the oven. Sit down, please.”

He bowed his head and returned to the sofa.

She wrinkled her pale nose and struggled to push back a strand of hair that had plunged loose from her top bun.

Aileen popped back into the room and motioned to some papers lying on the tea table. “Speaking of stories, won’t you look at my drawings? Grace has been teaching me and I’m
making a story for the Parker children, all from pictures. I will visit them as much as I can once Grace gets married. I so enjoy them and they seem to like hearing the tales of ole Erin. See what you think. I need to get back to the kitchen.”

He had begun to thumb through them when Aileen called from down the hall. “Grace, please come check on this, won’t you?”

“Excuse me. Please, make yourself at home.”

He rose as she left the room. The drawings were charming enough, but what intrigued him more was to hear that children liked Irish stories. Annie’s father’s were going to be outrageously popular, he was certain. He stood in the middle of the parlor, not sure what to do next. He perused the book collection and chose a volume written by Arthur Conan Doyle.

Moments later he returned the book to the shelf and noticed Annie’s writing desk. Before he realized it, he had the desk in his hands. He carried it to the sofa. With the desk in his lap, he felt a bit like a burglar. He would just take a look.

He raised the lid. There were several sheets of unused paper on top. He lifted those out. Underneath lay a stack of papers softened as though they had been folded and unfolded many times. Now they lay open and flat with visible creases. The brown ink was interrupted here and there with line drawings of animals wearing overalls or dresses, much like the Omah story. He pulled out the pages to bring them closer to the light.

“We’ll be back in a few moments,” Grace called from the kitchen.

He rose and stepped into the hall. “Please take your time. I’m just reading.”

By the time he finished the last page of one of the tales, he was more than delighted. He carefully folded them and tucked
the fat bundle into his interior coat pocket and then replaced the other papers.

“What’s going on in here?”

He spun around to find Annie glaring at him. “I . . . uh . . . Hello, Annie. I didn’t hear you return.”

“We came in the kitchen door, and Grace told me you were waiting in here. Did she suggest you entertain yourself by reading those?”

“No. I was just admiring this desk. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” She took it from him and put it back on the shelf as though she minded very much.

“I heard you were staying for supper. ’Tis almost ready.”

“Uh, Annie, Mr. Davis would like to receive the other stories immediately. It’s good news.
Harper’s
wants to publish them as soon as possible.”

She sighed and dropped to the sofa. “I don’t know, Mr. Adams.”

“Stephen, please.”

“Stephen. I mean, I’m pleased, but I don’t want that Redmond name on them.”

“Please, Annie. You must consider the widespread interest in
 
—”

“Ridiculous, that is. My father should have told me. I think I’m going to get some legal advice first.”

“Oh, uh, I see. That does seem prudent.” He had the stories in his pocket. He couldn’t just hand them back now. He hesitated to follow her. Perhaps if he did what Davis asked and delivered them, Davis would not yet ask for the money Stephen borrowed. Of course, he’d tell him to hold off printing them until Annie signed a contract, and Davis was a businessman. He’d know that. And then with just a bit of wooing, he’d convince Annie and they would be all set to proceed. Annie would thank him in the end, certainly.

“Are you coming, Mr. Adams?”

“Thank you for the invitation. I’m afraid I’ve just remembered something of great importance I must attend to. Give Mrs. Hawkins my regrets. I will see myself out.”

“Well, all right. Here, I’ll get your things.”

His stomach turned as he waited. He wanted to bolt out of there. A great weight hung on his shoulders as he knew he’d chosen to secure his financial situation over Annie’s wishes. He’d had good reason, though. He could not allow himself to end up poor and broken like his father. He was doing what was best for them all in the long run. She would come to understand that. He just had to be quick about it.