sleeping somewhere else. He likes to keep us where he can see us, in case we do a bunk with more than our share of the profits. You're already doing more than enough for me. And if you can clear my name—well, I'll just tell that fellow what he can do with hisflowers, right?”
And she laughed.
I watched her walk down Patchin Place with a lump in my throat. Why had I agreed to do something that might be beyond my capabilities? And of course I knew the answer. Because that pitiful figure might have been me. I too had arrived in New York with nothing but the clothes on my back. I too had faced starvation and it was only by luck that I was not selling flowers or worse on the streets of the city. I'd had more than my share of luck. Maybe it was Annie Lomax’s turn.
Six
A s the train pulled out of Grand Central Terminal with much huffing and puffing on a sticky June afternoon, I rested my head against the velveteen upholstery and heaved a sigh of relief. I was finally on my way!
It had been an emotional scene as I left Patchin Place, with Bridie clinging to my skirt and Seamus gruff and teary-eyed as if I was setting out for the North Pole and not the Hudson.
“You will come back, won't you, Molly?” Bridie had asked. “You won't forget about us?”
“Ill be away for a week or two, you goose,” I said, laughing as I ruffled her hair. “Who knows, in that time your father might have found a fine new job and have taken you all to live on Park Avenue.” I glanced at Shamey, who held a half-eaten piece of bread and drip-ping in one hand. “But in the meantime, I've left a stocked larder for you and a little money for emergencies.” Thanks to the retainer, I thought, as I prized Bridie’s hands from my skirt. “And no swimming in the East River, remember?”
I had been itching to get going for three long weeks. I never was good at waiting. I had always been the one who stayed up on Christmas Eve to peek in my stocking the moment my mother had hung it at the foot of my bed, even though I knew it wasn't likely to contain much more than a sugar mouse and an orange wrapped in silver paper. I had found the waiting for this assignment particularly trying, forseveral reasons. First, because the city was engulfed in a most unpleasant heat wave and arisingtyphoid epidemic, making a mansion on the Hudson River sound most appealing. And second, because I wanted to put enough distance between myself and Jacob. I had received a most polite letter from him, apologizingforacting hastily and askingfora chance to make thingsrightbetween us. I sent an equally polite reply, indicating that I'd be out of the city for a while with plenty of opportunity to think over what I wanted for my future and whether it might include Jacob Singer.
Oh, and then there was the little matter of the Hudson Dusters. I had heard rumors that a certain notorious gang member, whom I had caused to be arrested for pickpocketing, had been inquiring about me.
I hadfoundthis out when I returned to Mr. Giacomini’s store to buy groceries afewdays later. When he saw me, he shook his head.
“That man was here again,” he muttered in a voice so low that I could barely catch the words, “asking about you.” He looked around the store as if a spy might have been lurking in a dark corner. “Of course I tell him I have no idea who you are. I never saw you be-fore in my life.”
Thank you, Mr. Giacomini. I'm grateful, but I'm sure you're worryingfornothing.”
He shook his head violently. “No, you don't understand, Signorina. He’s a bad man. His kind make the Black Hand look like pussycats.”
“The Black Hand?” I had never heard the term before.
Again he glanced around the store before whispering, “Italian gangsters. They collect protection money from businesses. If you don't pay up, something bad happens—business onfire, legs broken, child kidnapped, wife killed. Very bad. But this man, he’s also a gangster. So please, Signorina, for your own
And she laughed.
I watched her walk down Patchin Place with a lump in my throat. Why had I agreed to do something that might be beyond my capabilities? And of course I knew the answer. Because that pitiful figure might have been me. I too had arrived in New York with nothing but the clothes on my back. I too had faced starvation and it was only by luck that I was not selling flowers or worse on the streets of the city. I'd had more than my share of luck. Maybe it was Annie Lomax’s turn.
Six
A s the train pulled out of Grand Central Terminal with much huffing and puffing on a sticky June afternoon, I rested my head against the velveteen upholstery and heaved a sigh of relief. I was finally on my way!
It had been an emotional scene as I left Patchin Place, with Bridie clinging to my skirt and Seamus gruff and teary-eyed as if I was setting out for the North Pole and not the Hudson.
“You will come back, won't you, Molly?” Bridie had asked. “You won't forget about us?”
“Ill be away for a week or two, you goose,” I said, laughing as I ruffled her hair. “Who knows, in that time your father might have found a fine new job and have taken you all to live on Park Avenue.” I glanced at Shamey, who held a half-eaten piece of bread and drip-ping in one hand. “But in the meantime, I've left a stocked larder for you and a little money for emergencies.” Thanks to the retainer, I thought, as I prized Bridie’s hands from my skirt. “And no swimming in the East River, remember?”
I had been itching to get going for three long weeks. I never was good at waiting. I had always been the one who stayed up on Christmas Eve to peek in my stocking the moment my mother had hung it at the foot of my bed, even though I knew it wasn't likely to contain much more than a sugar mouse and an orange wrapped in silver paper. I had found the waiting for this assignment particularly trying, forseveral reasons. First, because the city was engulfed in a most unpleasant heat wave and arisingtyphoid epidemic, making a mansion on the Hudson River sound most appealing. And second, because I wanted to put enough distance between myself and Jacob. I had received a most polite letter from him, apologizingforacting hastily and askingfora chance to make thingsrightbetween us. I sent an equally polite reply, indicating that I'd be out of the city for a while with plenty of opportunity to think over what I wanted for my future and whether it might include Jacob Singer.
Oh, and then there was the little matter of the Hudson Dusters. I had heard rumors that a certain notorious gang member, whom I had caused to be arrested for pickpocketing, had been inquiring about me.
I hadfoundthis out when I returned to Mr. Giacomini’s store to buy groceries afewdays later. When he saw me, he shook his head.
“That man was here again,” he muttered in a voice so low that I could barely catch the words, “asking about you.” He looked around the store as if a spy might have been lurking in a dark corner. “Of course I tell him I have no idea who you are. I never saw you be-fore in my life.”
Thank you, Mr. Giacomini. I'm grateful, but I'm sure you're worryingfornothing.”
He shook his head violently. “No, you don't understand, Signorina. He’s a bad man. His kind make the Black Hand look like pussycats.”
“The Black Hand?” I had never heard the term before.
Again he glanced around the store before whispering, “Italian gangsters. They collect protection money from businesses. If you don't pay up, something bad happens—business onfire, legs broken, child kidnapped, wife killed. Very bad. But this man, he’s also a gangster. So please, Signorina, for your own
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