Murphy's Law (17 page)

Finbar opened the door to Nuala's apartment. He looked, as always, as if he had just awakened.

"Oh, hello there, my dear. Come in, come in." Gratefully I stepped into the warmth of the

room. God forbid, but it was already beginning to feel like home. Well, it was the only place in the city where I could be warm and dry and expect something to eat, even if tongue-lashings came with it.

"You'd like a cup of tea, I expect," Finbar said. "There's a pot newly made."

I drank the tea gratefully and felt the warmth return to my frozen limbs. Then I looked around. The place was awfully quiet. "Where is everybody?"

"The little ones went to meet their mother from work," he said. "They took your two with them. And Seamus isn't due back from the construction site for an hour or so. Eighteen hour days they're offering at the moment for men who want the work. And good pay, too. I'd do it if my health wasn't so poor. But right now a few hours at the saloon and helping here and there is all I can manage."

I nodded sympathetically. Poor health in anyone married to Nuala was understandable. There was bread on the table and I helped myself to a slice, spreading thick dripping on it. I could sense him watching me as I ate. He'd probably report to Nuala that I had been digging in to their food again, but I was so famished that I didn't care.

"I'm very glad that you came here," he said. "Very glad indeed. 'Twas a nice thing you did for Kathleen and the little ones. I'm sure we're all very grateful."

"I'm glad I could have been of help," I said. "And I really will make an effort to find a job tomorrow so that I don't overcrowd you any longer."

"There's no rush. No rush at all. In fact not everyone would be glad to see you go."

"No, I know Bridie still wants me around." "And more than Bridie," he said. "A fresh, pretty young face like yours--'tis like a breath of Irish springtime."

"Don't tell me you kissed the Blarney stone in your youth," I said, laughing. Then the laugh faded. I saw the look in his eyes as he came toward me. Hungry, desperate almost.

"She won't be back for a while yet." He was breathing hard. "She won't let me touch her anymore, says three boys are enough to feed and she's not risking any more. But I'm a man, Miss Molly. I've got needs."

He grabbed at me. I dodged around the packing-case bench. "Oh no, Finbar. Your needs have nothing to do with me."

"But you've a lovely young body. I've been watching you, the way you move. Lovely it is. I can't help it. I've just got to touch you."

He lunged at me again. "Steady on, Finbar." I was almost laughing. It was almost a comical scene. He was such a thin little person that I wasn't too afraid. "Just think what Nuala would do if she found you'd been bothering me."

"She wouldn't care. She'd be glad that I'd found someone so that I stopped pestering her."

"You're not going to be pestering me, either," I said. "What's wrong with men that they have to keep grabbing at us all the time? Get a hold on yourself, man. When I give myself to a fellow it will be my choice."

"You mean you're still untouched? Nuala said--" "I don't care what Nuala said."

All the time we were talking we were still in a fencing match, dodging around the furniture, lunging and parrying. Suddenly he spun and, with a speed I would never have expected of him, thrust me against the wall. I could feel his beer-sodden breath in my face, his bony body pressing into mine.

"Let go of me this minute," I said, trying to struggle free. He was amazingly strong for one so skinny. Well, I suppose he had worked for years in construction until his accident. I should have remembered that. "Finbar, take your hands off me this instant or I'll scream the place down."

"Go ahead. Scream away. No one will care."

"Get away from me or you'll be very sorry." I was trying to maneuver my knee for an upward kick and cursed my stupid petticoats. Our clothing must surely have been designed by men to make sure we were hindered in matters of self-defense.

He was trying to kiss me, trying to grope at my bosoms. I was trying to make sure he did neither. Suddenly the door burst open and Nuala stood there, her vast shape blocking the doorway like an avenging angel.

"I knew it," she boomed. "I knew that girl was no better than she should be. I'm away five minutes and already she's leading my husband into temptation."

Finbar had dropped me like a hot iron at the sound of her voice. "I'm so sorry, my dear. I never meant any harm. I didn't know what I was doing."

"Of course, you didn't. She egged you on with her loose ways. I could tell it the moment I saw her."

"Just a minute," I interrupted, attempting to straighten my attire. "I did nothing to encourage his advances. I was fighting him off."

But Nuala was obviously not listening. She strode across the room, picked up my bundle, and thrust it at me. "Out of my house this instant, you hussy. Go on, get out with you and don't let me see you again you--you husband stealer, you home wrecker!"

"Don't worry, I'm going!" I yelled back. "I wouldn't stay in this hovel another second if you paid me. It's a wonder I haven't already caught the plague from this pigsty of a place. You should be locked up for trying to raise children in this filth. And I don't wonder your husband turns to other women for solace, either, when he's stuck with a bullying dragon like you for a wife!"

I grabbed my bundle and dodged as she swung a broomstick at me. "And that's about the only time that broom will be used in the next ten years!" I shouted up the stairs.

It was only as I opened the front door and was met by an icy blast of wind that I fully realized what had just happened. I was alone, in New York, at night, with no money and nowhere to go.

I thought of hanging around, waiting for Seamus to return from his work. At least maybe he could lend me enough money to find a room and something to eat. But my pride wouldn't let me. That was close to begging and Molly Murphy would never sink to that. I struck out into the darkness. There was a market in full swing on Hester Street--a Jewish market by the look of things. I lingered by the baked potato stand, enjoying the warmth of the brazier until the stall owner demanded, "Vell--you goin' to buy something or not?"

I moved among the crowd. The combined warmth of other people made it somehow less lonely. I had no idea where I was going next. Before long the market would end, the people would all go home, and I'd have to find somewhere to spend the night. The plush parlor

at the brothel somehow didn't seem like such a bad proposition, after all. I made my way to the Bowery and visited each of the eating and drinking establishments in turn, asking if they needed any extra help in the kitchens. Nobody did. One of them made a suggestion that was not unlike Madame Angelique's. I moved on. Was there no employment in this town except for fish gutting and prostitution? If I could survive the night, I'd have to swallow my pride and go to the fish market in the morning, although probably that job was closed to me also, if Nuala was there to spread her poison.

I walked until I couldn't walk any more. One by one the gas lamps in the stores were extinguished. The last customers hurried home, wrapping scarves around their faces against the cold wind. The well heeled among them climbed into cabs and clattered away to unknown warm living rooms and roaring fires. At last I was the only person on the street. I tried a couple of churches, in the hope that they remained open all night, but they were firmly locked. I thought back to Ellis Island and it hovered in my memory as a haven of warmth and security. I was just trying a last church, for good luck, when I heard a voice behind me.

"It's no good trying to get in there, miss. They have to lock churches at night in a godforsaken city like this. You'd better come with me." It was a policeman, a chubby, middle-aged man with a round, innocent Irish face.

"I didn't mean any harm," I said as he took my arm and started to lead me away. "I wasn't trying to steal anything. I was just trying to find a place out of the wind."

"Just arrived, have you?"

"Yes, a couple of days ago. I thought I had somewhere to stay, but I wasn't wanted there."

We turned the corner and I recognized where he was taking me. "Not the Tombs," I exclaimed. "Look, I haven't done anything. Captain Sullivan himself made sure I wasn't sent to the Tombs."

"Captain Sullivan?" he looked interested. "What's this about Captain Sullivan?"

"He questioned me about that murder on Ellis Island," I said. "But now he knows I had nothing to do with it, I'm sure. Ask him. He can

tell you about me."

"Hold your horses, young woman," the policeman said, gripping my arm more firmly. "Nobody said anything about the Tombs and I'm sure I don't think you're New York's most wanted criminal. 'Tis the shelter next door where I'm taking you. The police shelter. You can spend the night there, if you've nowhere else to go. Stay out on the streets and you'll freeze, if you don't get your throat cut first."

We crossed the street and went down a flight of steps next to the jail entrance. There was an unwholesome smell of stale breath and unwashed bodies and the murmur of voices.

"Another one for ya, me darlin'," the policeman called and a large woman in a nurse's uniform and apron motioned for me to follow her. Well, it wasn't much better than a jail cell. There was a row of iron bunk beds, rather like the dormitory at Ellis Island, and a rough blanket on each. Heaven knows who had slept on it before me and what lurked in that mattress, but it was better than freezing. I lay down on the bed indicated by the fierce looking matron. The blanket did little to ward off the cold; I tried wrapping my shawl around me.

I jumped as I felt a tap on my shoulder. A woman who looked as if she had been one of the witches in Shakespeare's Macbeth was grinning at me--wild, unkempt hair, several missing teeth. "Here," she growled in a hoarse voice and thrust an old newspaper at me. "Go on," she insisted as I shrank away. "Take it. I've got enough. Wrap it around you under the blanket. It'll help keep the cold away."

"Oh ..., thank you," I stammered.

"And if you've anything worth stealing in that bundle, I'd use it as a pillow if I were you," she muttered. "There's too many is light-fingered around here. They'd rob their old blind grandmother for two cents."

I nodded my thanks, made a pillow of my belongings, and wrapped my feet and legs in the newspaper. Then I fell into a grateful sleep.

We were awakened by the matron at first light. There was a big pot of porridge on the table and mugs of hot coffee. I ate and drank as much

as I could, then got ready to go out into the city. I decided to take the newspapers with me. I didn't know if they might come in useful again. As I straightened them out a headline caught my eye: MAYOR PAYS VISIT TO NEWLY

BUILT ELLIS ISLAND. PARTY OF

DIGNITARIES GET ISLAND TOUR.

NEWLY ARRIVED IMMIGRANTS GET

SURPRISE CONCERT. "His Honor, Mr.

Van Wyck, mayor of New York, accompanied by aldermen and dignitaries of the city, made his first official visit to the newly opened Ellis Island facility. ..."

I sat on my bunk, staring at the article. How could I have been so shortsighted? The immigrants and officials were not the only people on Ellis Island while I was there. The mayor's party had been there, too. Of course, they had paid an afternoon visit and then departed, so I had not thought to include them before. But what if one of them had spotted O'Malley sitting on a bench down below? What if one of them had something to hide and knew that O'Malley was a dangerous man who must not be allowed to enter New York City? I felt excitement surge through me. The paper was the New York Herald and the article had a byline. Reported by your correspondent, Jamie McPherson.

I got directions to the newspaper office and set off with a new spring in my step. I felt sure I was onto something that would finally make Daniel Sullivan sit up and take notice. Something that might free Michael. I asked the matron if I could leave my bundle with her for an hour or so and she reluctantly agreed. The many blocks of Broadway seemed to flash by without effort. I got to Herald Square without incident and had to wait around until the newspaper staff arrived for the day shift. I had to convince the young man at the front desk that I was there on police business before I was sent up the stairs to a big room full of clattering typewriting machines. Jamie McPherson was a young Scot with an accent so broad I wondered how he ever managed to ask questions that New Yorkers could understand.

"Ach yes, I was there with the mayor and his party," he said. "What did you want to know?"

"The names of that party," I said.

"I didnae bother with them all, but I've

got the most important ones written down here somewhere." He fished in a desk drawer for a notebook. "Let me see. Ah--here we are. Beside the mayor, there were two aldermen, McCormack and Dailey, and they had several Tammany men with them, too--you could get all the names from Tammany Hall if you wanted." He looked up, puzzled. "What was this about again?"

I couldn't let him know the truth. He was a newspaperman, after all, and this would be headline news. "I can't tell you at the moment," I said, "but if it works out the way I think it will, it could be big news and I promise I'll give you the scoop."

"Sounds suitably mysterious," he said with a grin. "You could get the names of the complete party from the mayor's office, I'm sure. I'd say it was a good representation of who's who in the city. Or a who's who at Tammany Hall, which amounts to the same thing."

"Thank you." I wasn't sure what to ask next. He was a young reporter who obviously thought that covering the mayor's visit was a boring assignment. I wished I could come up with a tidbit of information that would pique his interest, but lack of food and sleep had dulled my wits, and the terrible clatter of those typewriting machines made it impossible to think, anyway. How they managed to write stories in that room, I'll never know.