Band of Sisters (24 page)

“Please believe me when I say I want to make amends, to help her and her sister, in any way I can.” Olivia’s clasp of Mrs. Melkford’s hand seemed earnest to the older woman.

“It’s hard to know what to believe.” Mrs. Melkford drew her hand across her brow.
Though this explains why neither of them look as if they’ve eaten a smidgen from week to week. To think I’d thought them feasting and living comfortably and securely with this very woman!

Joshua stirred two cubes of brown sugar into a cup of tea and slid it across the table to her.

“And how do you fit into this?” she asked the Irishman.

Joshua blushed. “I’m a friend of the family from home, from County Meath.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “I’ve had a letter from Maureen’s aunt, worried because she’s not heard from her and because her letter to the Wakefield address was returned.” He glanced toward Olivia, and Mrs. Melkford saw accusation there.

“Please believe me; I didn’t know anything about the letter,” Olivia pleaded.

“But why would Maureen keep up such a story?” Mrs. Melkford felt the weight in her heart.

“She’s proud, mum.” Joshua spoke quietly. “She’s doing her best to care for her sister, to make sure they can stay in America.”

“But I would have helped her. She could have stayed here with me for as long as she needed—if she’d only told me.”

“Did she know that?”

Mrs. Melkford straightened at the impertinence, nearly said yes, but remembered, “I told her that someone must vouch for her. I took responsibility for her at Ellis Island.”

“Have you been through the rigors of Ellis Island, mum?”

“I was born here.” She hated that she sounded offended.

Joshua sat back. “They’re not an easy lot, those immigration folk. Especially for women. Perhaps she was afraid you’d send her back if she didn’t have a place.”

Mrs. Melkford allowed, “They don’t permit women to enter alone.”

“And she won’t return to Ireland,” Joshua said.

“Surely that would be better than being on the streets here?” Curtis asked.

“No!” Every eye was on Joshua now, and Florence Melkford thought his mouth turned grim. “We don’t leave everything—we don’t emigrate—because things are good at home.” He crossed his arms, daring anyone, she thought, to challenge Maureen’s decision or behavior. She couldn’t help but like him.

“Well, what now?” she asked, believing but praying for affirmation.

“Help me find her,” Olivia begged. “I want to invite her—both sisters—to live with me. If that’s what she told you, it must be what she’d hoped.”

“She’d hoped to become independent,” Joshua asserted. “Her aunt only thought you’d help her get started.”

“I will,” Olivia promised. “I will! But I must find her before I can do anything!”

“Does she work? Has she given you any clue where she lives?” Curtis probed.

It was Curtis Morrow who gave Mrs. Melkford pause. Why would such a finely dressed gentleman be interested in Maureen? He seemed attached to Olivia Wakefield, but not in a terribly personal way.
Give me wisdom, Lord.

But Joshua won her over when he sat down, took her hand, and looked directly into her face. “I saw Maureen in church Christmas Eve. She sang like an angel—she is an angel, though she does not know it. I understand you’re wanting to protect her, and I thank you for that, for all you’ve done for her and Katie Rose.” He placed the letter on the table between them. “If you can just give her this letter from her aunt and tell her that Joshua Keeton wants to help. If she wants to reach me, she can send word to Miss Wakefield or to Mr. Morrow. I’m working for him now, and even if I’m not available, he’ll know where to find me.”

Mrs. Melkford doubted, after the way Maureen had taken off that morning, that she’d be seeing either girl for some time—certainly not until next Saturday afternoon. She prayed she was doing the right thing, and that if she wasn’t, the Lord would overrule her naiveté and fight for Maureen. “Darcy’s Department Store,” she whispered. “She works at Darcy’s Department Store, here in Manhattan.”

Maureen remained stoic, though Katie Rose badgered and berated her stupidity all of Christmas Day and each day after.

“Joshua Keeton won’t hurt us, Maureen. He’s been nothin’ but kindness!” And she’d begun to tick off the ways he’d helped: the trip to Dublin, how he’d meant to watch over them on the ship, if only she’d not been so rude. “We’d never be in this mess if you’d trusted Joshua and let him list his name as comin’ with us on the ship’s manifest. But no, you with your high-and-mighty ideas and letter from a dead man, you had to—”

“Shut up!” Maureen had shouted when she could take no more. “You’ve no idea what you’re talkin’ about. We cannot have any connection to Ireland; do you not know that?”

“You mean
you
cannot! You’re afraid of what he knows about you, aren’t you? Afraid he’ll tell what you did with Julius Orthbridge.” Katie Rose had sneered at her, and that, of all things, had taken Maureen aback, made her sick to her stomach. “Well, I’m not afraid. In fact, I fancy havin’ a friend from home.” She lifted her chin. “I’d be proud to walk out with Joshua Keeton.”

“He’s a grown man!”

“And I’m a grown woman,” Katie Rose asserted, though her color rose. “It seems a fine arrangement.”

“You’re a child!” Maureen had spouted, regretting the words before they’d escaped her lips.

Katie Rose’s blush had turned to fury. “A child? A
child
? You think you’re so grand and desirable, men would fall all over themselves for you, Maureen O’Reilly! Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?”

And she’d left for work, slamming the door behind her, not waiting for Maureen to walk with her.

All that Thursday morning, behind the counter at Darcy’s, Maureen castigated herself for the way she’d handled the situation with Katie Rose.
I remember what it is to be thirteen—nearly fourteen. How I was dyin’ to be thought grown-up and beautiful. I suppose her scars make her more sensitive; why did I not take all of that into account?
But Maureen also knew she’d never displayed the temper Katie Rose had; she’d not been in a position to.
Perhaps that’s my satisfaction—or should be—that Katie Rose has the freedom to shout and rage. She believes she’s safe, that I’ll take her temper and still love and care for her.
Maureen sighed and polished the counter.

At lunch she looked for Eliza Farnham, Alice’s friend, but didn’t see her, hadn’t seen her all week. She sat beside Eliza’s counter mate, asking if she’d seen or heard from her. But the girl’s eyes widened; she glanced at the lunchroom monitor, scooped up her half-eaten sandwich, and without so much as stuffing it back in its bag, walked quickly from the room.

If Maureen didn’t know better, she’d think she had the plague or that chicken pox had broken across her face. Not one of the girls seemed to want to sit beside or talk with her, not even the normal chatter about sore feet and backs.

Maureen finished her bread and cheese and washed it down with tea, though that did little to dislodge the lump in her throat. She stepped back to her counter a few minutes early.

She glanced around the floor as the girls returned from the first lunch shift. There were fewer girls on the floor than usual, though that might be because fewer were needed after the season’s push. Still, Maureen realized that some faces were new to her and that, besides Eliza, two more girls she’d known as regulars were not there.
Could they all have taken holiday or come down with something?

Maureen did not want to draw attention to herself in any way, did not think she had, and yet she realized that Mrs. Gordon and Mr. Kreegle conferred twice through the afternoon by the elevator and kept a close eye on her. She checked her hem, the buttons of her waist, and smoothed her hair to make certain no tendrils had escaped. Everything seemed in order; she could not imagine the reason for their keen interest, but the knowing made her uncomfortable.

It was nearly half past four when Mrs. Gordon—“Old Blood and Thunder,” as Alice had called her—stopped by Maureen’s counter. “Everything is in order, Miss O’Reilly?”

“Yes, Mrs. Gordon,” Maureen answered respectfully. “Excuse me, ma’am . . . but I’ve a question, if you please.”

“Yes?” Mrs. Gordon’s nose seemed to rise.

“I was wonderin’ if Eliza Farnham is ill? I’ve missed her this week.”

Mrs. Gordon tilted her head. “You take an unhealthy interest in your coworkers, Miss O’Reilly. I’m sure you realize that for some of our young ladies, this position is a stepping-stone in their working careers.”

Maureen blinked. “I know Eliza is content here.” And she could not resist adding, “As was Alice. Have they found employment elsewhere?”

“What is your keen interest in these ladies?”

“I—I’d simply like to stay in communication with them,” she said but thought,
I’d be ever so relieved for them, just to know they’re all right.

Mrs. Gordon stepped closer and spoke softly but with a severity that Maureen had not felt directed toward her before. “I’ve told you once that what the other girls choose to do is none of your affair.”

Maureen swallowed.

Mrs. Gordon turned to go, stopped, and faced Maureen directly. “Precisely what did Alice say to you before her departure?”

Maureen felt her stomach drop.

“Or Eliza? Do you think we do not notice?” Mrs. Gordon’s voice lowered yet again and she stepped closer. “You may have the advantage of wealthy friends, Miss O’Reilly . . .” She paused. “Or you may not, but I would advise you to put your house in order.”

“Put your house in order! What a clever expression for a counter clerk’s display!” An impeccably dressed Olivia Wakefield interrupted with gritted-teeth cheerfulness, standing just at Mrs. Gordon’s elbow. “How do you do, Miss—?”

“Mrs. Gordon.” The woman looked mortified.

“Mrs. Gordon, employee of Darcy’s Department Store? I’m Olivia Wakefield and so glad to meet you.” Olivia tapped the floor supervisor on the arm and whispered loud enough for the stage, “You’re so lucky to have Maureen working at Darcy’s. I’ve told her a dozen times she needn’t work at all, but she’s quite the progressive, independent woman.”

Mrs. Gordon drew back, pasting her smile into place. “Miss O’Reilly is most fortunate to have such friends.”

And then it seemed to Maureen that Olivia dropped her pretenses. “On the contrary, it is my family and I who are most fortunate to have Maureen’s friendship and good company.”

Mrs. Gordon’s eyes registered uncertainty. Maureen saw her glance toward the elevator, then reply, “Please excuse me, Miss Wakefield. I must return to my work.”

“Of course.” Olivia touched the other woman’s arm again and whispered, “Simply know that my friends and I will shop here often, as long as Maureen can attend us.”

Mrs. Gordon nodded sharply. Maureen would not have been surprised to see her run as she made headlong for the elevator.

When she was gone, the two women left standing stared at one another.

“Thank you,” Maureen whispered.

“It looked like a tight spot,” Olivia returned. “I owe you this and so much more.” She placed her hand on Maureen’s arm, but Maureen dropped her arm to her side, not knowing how to respond.

“You’ve certainly no reason to trust me, not after the way you were treated in my house. But I beg you to forgive me and allow me to do better.”

Maureen shook her head. “Why would you? Your husband said—”

“My husband? No, oh no! Mr. Meitland is my brother-in-law and the executor of my father’s estate; he thought he was protecting me—”

“Your brother-in-law?” Maureen could barely take that in. “And protectin’ you? From me?” She found that incredulous.

“I’m ashamed, Miss O’Reilly, and I don’t really know what to say. But he behaved shamefully, and I was wrong to allow him to send you away.” Olivia laid her purse on the counter and took Maureen’s hands. “I know what your father did for mine, and I know what my father promised. I’ll keep that promise.”

Maureen could not stop the beating of her heart or the onslaught of memory.

“Come home with me—you and your sister, please. Let’s begin again.”

Maureen felt as much as saw the eyes of the other clerks upon them, until the front revolving doors began their turn, and three well-dressed gentlemen walked through the main aisle of the store and toward the back elevator, reminding her of Drake Meitland and his visit to the fourth floor. Recognition of any kind was not helpful.

Maureen pulled back her hands. “I don’t know what you’re about, Miss Wakefield, but—”

“Olivia, please, and I only want to help,” Olivia stammered. “Mrs. Melkford said—”

“Mrs. Melkford?” Maureen gasped. “What has she to do with you?”

Now Olivia colored. “We found her through the records at Ellis Island, that she had helped you and Katie Rose, had vouched for you. And Joshua Keeton told us—”

“Joshua Keeton?” Maureen felt as though someone had punched her in the stomach.
I can well imagine what it is that Joshua Keeton’s told you!

“Yes, he came to my home looking for you.” She pulled an envelope from her purse and held it out to Maureen. “He brought you this.”