and gives a despondent sigh. "New here, are you?" he says at last, eyeing my beer wistfully.
Am I wearing a sign on my forehead?
"Um ... sort of, yes."
He nods excitedly. "I can always tell. Always tell." His nose twitches as if sniffing out information, and suddenly he reminds me of a ferret. "And what brings you to the big city?"
I take another sip of my beer while considering the wisdom of talking to strange men in bars. In another century. "I'm looking for a family."
His eyes sharpen and then linger on my chest. Suddenly, the beer leaves an unpleasant film on my tongue.
I'm about to find another seat when he says, "I know lots of people in this city. What's the name?"
Turning back, I watch as two more men and a woman in a low-cut blouse and a skirt settle in noisily on his other side. One of the men knocks an elbow carelessly into the small man's arm, and he flinches but otherwise doesn't protest. "The Greenes," I say at last, noting that this man's eyes are never still. They rove constantly across the bar top, my glass of beer, my folded hands, and beyond to the door. He frowns, cocks his head a little, then shakes it. "No," he says finally. "Never heard of them. The Greenes. That's a common enough name. Your family?"
Almost automatically, I shake my head. "No. Friends of my mother's from long ago. I thought they might be able to find me work." Shrugging, I swallow my disappointment with more beer.
I study my glass, considering my options, when he says casually, "So you are looking for work, then? I could find you a nice position, since you're new to the city." He blinks his eyes rapidly.
Before I can help myself, I reply, "Oh, sure—and next you'll tell me that you can sell me a piece of the Brooklyn Bridge."
Has the Brooklyn Bridge even been built yet?
But the man only grins at me, revealing stained teeth. "You've got spunk. I like that." He leans in closer. "A lot of girls who just come to the city meet a bad end. But I can help you. If you need work, I know of a family that's hiring."
"Hiring for what?" I ask, suspicion still bright in my mind. I edge away a little. The man smells like vinegar.
"Domestic help." Then he taps the brim of his hat, regards me with wounded innocence. "Whaddya take me for?"
I'm spared from answering because the bartender lumbers back over, still ignoring the little man, who straightens up on his stool like a child suddenly at attention.
He pulls three foaming glasses of beer for the people who just came in, then casts me a measured sidelong glance. I nod at him and he nods back, and suddenly, I decide that he might be my new favorite person in this century.
"I'd like a pint, Joe," the little man quavers. The bartender swings his head down and stares at him, unblinking.
"Show me your money first."
The man lets out a sigh but rummages through his pockets and finally extracts two dull nickels from somewhere inside his waistcoat. He puts them on the bar slowly, his fingers edging them across the scarred wood. The bartender slaps his meaty paw down on them and they vanish. "That was for last week," he says, winks at me, and lurches off.
The man crumples on his seat. "Anyway, this job won't last long."
"That's nice," I say absently, trying to formulate a plan. Finish my beer, start going from door to door and asking about the Greenes? Where would they have moved from in 1895? Then a horrible thought occurs to me. What if they live out of the city? Somewhere in the country? In three days I'm not going to be able to cover much ground.
Gradually, I become aware that the man's voice is still buzzing in my ears. "Solid family. Very wealthy. Lots of girls looking for work these days would kill for this position."
"I'm sure they would," I murmur. If Gabriel were here now he could just find my family for me. Pressing my fingers into the bar counter, I try to blot out that thought just as the man leans in and taps his nose. "My niece," he says confidingly. "She works there now. She
Am I wearing a sign on my forehead?
"Um ... sort of, yes."
He nods excitedly. "I can always tell. Always tell." His nose twitches as if sniffing out information, and suddenly he reminds me of a ferret. "And what brings you to the big city?"
I take another sip of my beer while considering the wisdom of talking to strange men in bars. In another century. "I'm looking for a family."
His eyes sharpen and then linger on my chest. Suddenly, the beer leaves an unpleasant film on my tongue.
I'm about to find another seat when he says, "I know lots of people in this city. What's the name?"
Turning back, I watch as two more men and a woman in a low-cut blouse and a skirt settle in noisily on his other side. One of the men knocks an elbow carelessly into the small man's arm, and he flinches but otherwise doesn't protest. "The Greenes," I say at last, noting that this man's eyes are never still. They rove constantly across the bar top, my glass of beer, my folded hands, and beyond to the door. He frowns, cocks his head a little, then shakes it. "No," he says finally. "Never heard of them. The Greenes. That's a common enough name. Your family?"
Almost automatically, I shake my head. "No. Friends of my mother's from long ago. I thought they might be able to find me work." Shrugging, I swallow my disappointment with more beer.
I study my glass, considering my options, when he says casually, "So you are looking for work, then? I could find you a nice position, since you're new to the city." He blinks his eyes rapidly.
Before I can help myself, I reply, "Oh, sure—and next you'll tell me that you can sell me a piece of the Brooklyn Bridge."
Has the Brooklyn Bridge even been built yet?
But the man only grins at me, revealing stained teeth. "You've got spunk. I like that." He leans in closer. "A lot of girls who just come to the city meet a bad end. But I can help you. If you need work, I know of a family that's hiring."
"Hiring for what?" I ask, suspicion still bright in my mind. I edge away a little. The man smells like vinegar.
"Domestic help." Then he taps the brim of his hat, regards me with wounded innocence. "Whaddya take me for?"
I'm spared from answering because the bartender lumbers back over, still ignoring the little man, who straightens up on his stool like a child suddenly at attention.
He pulls three foaming glasses of beer for the people who just came in, then casts me a measured sidelong glance. I nod at him and he nods back, and suddenly, I decide that he might be my new favorite person in this century.
"I'd like a pint, Joe," the little man quavers. The bartender swings his head down and stares at him, unblinking.
"Show me your money first."
The man lets out a sigh but rummages through his pockets and finally extracts two dull nickels from somewhere inside his waistcoat. He puts them on the bar slowly, his fingers edging them across the scarred wood. The bartender slaps his meaty paw down on them and they vanish. "That was for last week," he says, winks at me, and lurches off.
The man crumples on his seat. "Anyway, this job won't last long."
"That's nice," I say absently, trying to formulate a plan. Finish my beer, start going from door to door and asking about the Greenes? Where would they have moved from in 1895? Then a horrible thought occurs to me. What if they live out of the city? Somewhere in the country? In three days I'm not going to be able to cover much ground.
Gradually, I become aware that the man's voice is still buzzing in my ears. "Solid family. Very wealthy. Lots of girls looking for work these days would kill for this position."
"I'm sure they would," I murmur. If Gabriel were here now he could just find my family for me. Pressing my fingers into the bar counter, I try to blot out that thought just as the man leans in and taps his nose. "My niece," he says confidingly. "She works there now. She
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