Murphy's Law (18 page)

"So how did they get to the island?" I asked. "Did they come on a ferry?"

"Ach no. They traveled over in the government launch."

The government launch! If I'd only known I could have questioned the bad-tempered old captain. Now I'd have to seek him out again. "So you must have crossed with them."

"That's right. There were several of us pressmen." "I suppose you couldn't tell if the whole party came back on the government launch. Nobody stayed behind, did they?"

"I didnae count them. It was so damnty cold, I was just waiting to get back to the city. They were all crowded into the cabin, swilling whisky, and they didnae offer any to us poor lads, either. We were left to freeze on the deck."

"Someone was taking photographs," I said. 'They took a picture of my little girl with the

mayor."

"Ach, so that's what's behind all this." He looked up with a knowing smile. "You want a copy of the photo of your wee bairn with the mayor!"

I smiled coyly and didn't deny it. It made an excellent excuse. I wish I'd thought of it first.

"Do you know who the photographers were? were they with your newspaper, too?"

"Ach nae. They're all freelancers. They show up at events like this, hoping to sell their pictures to the weekly pictorials, or maybe to the mayor himself--he's vain enough to want to stick pictures of himself all over the walls."

"Would you happen to know the names of these photographers, and where I might find them?"

He shrugged and glanced down at his typewriting machine, wanting to get back to work. "I'm trying to remember who was there that day. I didnae pay particular attention. I know Simon Levy was one of them. Has a studio on the Lower East Side, in the Jewish quarter."

"That was the one who took the picture of Bridie," I said. "An old man with a beard. Thank you. I'll go and look for him then. You've been very helpful."

"Good luck ta yae." He gave me a half wave and the typewriting machine was clattering again the moment I turned my back.

Seventeen

The long trek back to the Lower East Side seemed to take forever. I had lost that initial burst of energy that drove me up Broadway with wings on my feet. As I walked back I noticed the big stores with elegantly decorated windows full of mannequins and flowers. One day, I told myself, I'd be that lady who climbed out of her carriage and went to shop there. Although on a fish gutter's pay, it was going to take quite a while.

The thought of fish gutting brought me up with a jolt. Poor little Bridie--what had they told her when I hadn't come home last night? I hated the thought of leaving the children in that place, with that terrible aunt, but, being homeless and penniless, there wasn't much I could do about it at the moment. Besides, I reminded myself, they weren't my children. I had delivered them to their father, which was what I had

promised to do. All the same, the picture of those little faces haunted me all the way down Broadway. One day, I told myself again. Whatever happened I wasn't going to forget them.

My feet were dragging and the sole of my left boot was starting to flap as I came into the now familiar Lower East Side neighborhoods. The market on Hester Street was in full swing again. I looked longingly at the braided breads, the big pots of soup, the stall where a man was frying what looked like little pancakes. How was I going to get money to buy food for myself? How was I going to find a job if I spent my days chasing after photographers? I should go to Daniel Sullivan and let him follow up on my lead. That's what I should do. Then I could get on with my life.

But what if he didn't bother to follow up? My greatest fear was that I'd show up at his office one day only to find that Michael had been shipped off to Ireland. Of course, it was also possible that I could find myself dragged back and shipped home with him, if overzealous feds took over the case.

I stopped to ask a couple of street merchants if they knew Simon Levy. They did, and told me where I'd find his studio. I found it without difficulty, but it was shut with the blinds down. Out on Assignment. Back Later, the sign on the door said, in English and a couple of other languages I couldn't read. At least I knew where it was.

Hunger was becoming a problem again. It was lunchtime and the effects of this morning's porridge were wearing off. This is stupid, I thought. I'll be no use to Michael or myself if I die of hunger. I must find a job today. Which meant I should hand over my information to Daniel Sullivan and let him to his work. It made more sense, didn't it? He could go to the mayor's office and ask for an official list of everyone present that day. He could ask to see photos and nobody could deny him.

Reluctantly I made my way back to the police station. Captain Sullivan was out on a case, I was told, but I could leave him a note. I took the paper and pen offered and scribbled my hunch about the mayor's party and the name of the photographer who might have taken a group

shot. I left it on Daniel's desk, lingered as long as I dared, then went down the stairs feeling dejected. I was unprepared for the disappointment I felt at not seeing him again.

As I passed city hall, I paused at the great hole in the ground they were digging to put in an underground train system. Steam and dust were belching out and it looked like the very gateway to hell itself. I stood there, warming my hands at a steam vent, until I found that the steam was also making me wet. As I went to move on, a whistle sounded. Men started to emerge from the depths, wiping the dust and grime from sweat-covered faces. I started to walk away, then heard a voice yelling, "Molly! Molly, wait!"

Seamus O'Connor clambered out of the diggings and ran to catch up with me. "Molly, I've been worried out of my mind about you," he said. "I got home to find you gone and Nuala wouldn't say where you were."

"That's because she drove me out with the broomstick," I said.

"She was ranting on about catching you with Finbar." "She caught me fighting off Finbar, if you want the truth. I did nothing to encourage him. Believe me, when I want to encourage a man, he won't be a poor, sorry specimen like Finbar." And a picture of Daniel

Sullivan flashed, unbidden, into my head. Seamus touched my arm. "I'm so sorry, Molly. After all that you did for us, too. Please come back. I'll make it all right with Nuala, I promise."

"Oh no thank you, Seamus. Not in a million years would I set foot inside that place again."

"But the children--they need you."

"I know. I feel bad about walking out on Bridie, but they've got to get used to living without me," I said. "I'm not a relative, Seamus."

"I'll find a place of our own, if you'll say you'll come and stay with us."

I remembered how easily Finbar had succumbed to temptation. And it appeared that all men had the same weakness. I wasn't going to give Seamus any ideas, that was for sure, however much I cared about those children. "That wouldn't be right. Me an unmarried woman and you a married man. I've a reputation to consider."

He nodded. "You're right. It was wrong of me to ask you."

"But get your own place as quickly as possible," I said. "It's not healthy for the children in that flea pit." He was looking dejected. I reached out and touched his arm. "Look, I'll stop by and help you with them as much as I can--once I've found myself a job and a place to stay. Tell Bridie I haven't forgotten her, will you?"

"You've not found a place to stay yet? Where did you spend last night?"

"In the police shelter," I said. "I've no money until I find work." It just spilled out. I bit my tongue but it was too late. Seamus fished into his overall pocket. "No money? Here--let me see what I have."

"I can't take money from you. Don't worry. I'll be fine."

"But I want to help. You helped us. You took care of my children. Here." He held out a handful of coins. "There must be a couple of dollars here. Take it."

"I'm not taking charity."

"It's not charity. You earned it. Go on. Take it."

He grabbed my hand and thrust the coins into it, closing my cold fingers around them. "And let me know when you find a place to stay, so that we can keep in touch. The children will miss you. Bridie cried herself to sleep last night when you didn't come home."

"I'll keep in touch," I said. "I promise."

He looked around. "I better go. If I don't get a meat pie down me in the next ten minutes, I'll have to work all afternoon with no food. Take care of yourself."

"You too, Seamus."

He hurried off and I stood clutching that handful of coins. I went and sat on the steps of city hall, under the watchful eye of two policemen, and counted them; almost two dollars. The first thing I did was to go to the nearest eating house and squander five cents on a bowl of soup and a roll. The proprietress was a large, jolly-looking woman so I asked her advice about finding a room. She looked horrified.

"A young woman on your own? You're surely not thinking of renting a room? Mercy me."

"Why not?"

"On your own with no man to take care of you? If you'll take my advice, my dear, you'll get yourself settled somewhere respectable. I hear there's a very nice hostel for young women down close to Battery Park. It's run by the ladies of the Bible Society and they don't stand any nonsense."

I wasn't sure whether the ladies of the Bible Society would welcome a Catholic like myself and was even less sure that I wanted to be in a place where they didn't stand any nonsense, but it would do for now. I retrieved my bundle and started to walk down Broadway. It was all hustle and bustle and any other time I would have enjoyed watching the fine carriages and the trams going up and down. But now my feet hurt and I just wanted to get settled somewhere where I could relax for a while.

There was something happening across the street. A crowd was gathering on the sidewalk and there were several fancy carriages and automobiles lined up outside a building I now saw was a pretty little church, tucked in between the massive squares of brick and stone. Being curious by nature, I went over to look. A wedding party had just come out and was standing on the steps. The bride was wearing the most stunning white hat, trimmed with egret plumes and a cunning little veil. The groom was handsome in military uniform. The rest of the party was composed of two adorable little bridesmaids in white fur capes, elegant ladies, draped in furs and distinguished-looking gentlemen in top hats, with impressive gold chains dangling from their waistcoats.

I stood daydreaming for a moment, putting myself in the place of that bride. Strangely enough, the groom bore a remarkable resemblance to Daniel Sullivan.

I heard someone say, "It's an honor,

Mrs. Vanderbilt," and someone else call out, "Hold still, please, if you would, ladies and gentlemen." There was a flash and the smell of sulphur. Then I noticed the photographer.

I ran up to him. "Mr. Levy?"

He didn't look up. "Just a minute, my dear. Stand back, please." There was a click and a flash. The air filled with acrid smoke. As it cleared, he looked up, smiling with satisfaction. "That will be a very good shot. Got the whole group of them together. I've no doubt the

Weekly Illustrated will pay good money for that one. Now, what was it you wanted?"

"You were taking photographs on Ellis Island the other day."

His eyes twinkled. "I know you. You had the adorable little girl who wouldn't smile for the mayor." He had a slightly foreign accent, but his English sounded cultured. He looked cultured, too--dark suit, high white collar, polished shoes. I guessed that this was a man who had been somebody back in his own country.

"Right. That was me. You have a good memory." "Listen, my dear. In my line of work you have to have a memory like a filing cabinet. So what can I do for you? Wait, don't tell me. I know. You'd like one of the photos I took as a souvenir. Am I right?"

"I'd love to see it," I said. "I can't afford to buy photographs at the moment. But I wondered if you also took a group shot of the mayor's party?"

"Yes, I did. And he hasn't paid me for it yet, either."

"Do you think I could see that one, too? It's possible that a distant cousin of mine is now working for the mayor. I'm sure I recognized him." I winced as the lie came out. Lying was becoming so easy for me. If I was hit by one of those electric trams before I got to confession, it would be straight to hell, for sure.

"Come to my studio, by all means. I should be back there by the time it gets dark. Do you know where to find me?"

"I went there earlier today. I'll come back around five, then, shall I?"

He reached out, took my hand, made as if to bring it to his lips, then thought better and patted it. "I shall look forward to it, my dear."

I found the women's hostel soon after. It was in an austere brownstone building positioned on a corner to catch the wind from the harbor in two directions. The lady in reception looked me up and down for a good minute before deciding that they might have a bed for me. "You don't have employment yet?" she demanded.

"I only arrived this week. It's impossible to look for a job before I have a place to stay," I said. "I stayed a couple of nights with friends but it was too crowded and I had nowhere to wash

properly."

She nodded as if this was the right answer. "Very well. We charge a dollar a week, which includes your breakfast and evening meal. You are expected to be present for our communal evening meal at six o'clock sharp. You are expected to attend morning prayers before breakfast--six thirty sharp, with breakfast at seven. You are not permitted to loaf around the hostel during the day. You are expected to be out looking for work. The hostel is locked for the night at nine o'clock. No gentlemen callers are allowed. Is this all clear?"

"Yes, ma'am." I nodded in what I considered a suitably humble way.

"Very well. I'll have you shown to your room. I hope you'll be happy with us, Miss Murphy."