Annie's Stories (17 page)

Mrs. Hawkins offered Stephen a gingersnap. “Did I hear you talking about Annie’s father’s stories, love?”

For the love of St. Michael, there was no privacy within this house. “’Tis nothing, Mrs. Hawkins. I believe Mr. Adams needs to be on his way.”

Mrs. Hawkins ignored her. “I read one of those stories. It was delightful. About a mouse in suspenders who rallies all the other mice in the field to send a message to the farmer.”

Annie twisted the hem of her apron in her right hand. “Oh, I don’t know. They are just my stories, Mrs. Hawkins.” They were staring at her as though they had a right to demand she hand them over to Davis Publishing. She didn’t like being told what she should do with something that was hers alone. “If you will excuse me, I’m going to check on Kirsten.” She took her writing box with her.

When she had gone halfway up the stairs, she gazed down toward the parlor. Mr. Adams was preparing to leave.

She opened the door to Kirsten’s room. “Are you all alone in here? It’s freezing. The windows are open a bit too wide.”

Kirsten sat up and held a handkerchief to her mouth as she coughed. “You should not get too close. Doctor says I may have whooping cough. There are masks outside the door.”

Annie backed into the hallway. She hadn’t noticed the chair in the hall, where two cotton masks lay. She set the box down on the floor, took a mask, and tied it over her mouth and nose, then scooped up her precious possession and went back into the room. The mask sucked in toward her mouth as she began to talk. “You’re going to be better soon, Kirsten. Did I wake you?”

“
Nein.
I cannot sleep with all this coughing. You? You look as though something bothers you.”

“Me? Oh, just some old turf on my barn.”

“Old what?”

Annie jiggled her head. “An Irish expression. Never mind me. I am fine, so. But you? I’m so sorry you are ill, Kirsten. You have been through so many trials.”

Kirsten’s stare dropped to the object in Annie’s arms. “I need to get a message to my brother. You will give it to him when he arrives. I am ill. I should not see him.”

“Of course. You probably want to tell him you received that package.” Shivering from a draft, Annie pulled the window almost closed and sat on the extra bed. It had been stripped of bedclothes.

When she was settled in to write, she nodded to Kirsten.

“My dearest brother, I am doing well at my job.”

Annie lifted her head. “What?”

“Please write what I say. It will become clear.”

“All right.” Annie put the pen to the paper.

“I am doing so well that I am being transferred to a new plant in Massachusetts.”

“Kirsten, you don’t have to leave now. You’ll get better. And your brother will be here very soon. You don’t have to move out of state or to that home or anywhere.” She wished she hadn’t mentioned the home for unwed mothers that Kirsten no longer needed. “Uh, you are most welcome here.”

The girl gathered her covers and pushed them underneath her legs. “You are right. I should not write a letter. You will just tell him,
ja
? I do not want to see him.”

“But why, Kirsten? What are you afraid of?”

“Not afraid.” She looked up with watery eyes. “I will do what is right,
ja
? For Jonas.”

“Kirsten, if it’s about the miscarriage . . . I won’t tell him.”

“
Nein.
Tell him nothing. He is stubborn. Would not listen to me before and will not now. The only thing I can do . . . Just do not tell him where I am. Promise me.”

“He already knows where you are.”

Kirsten shifted as though the sheets were sandpaper. She coughed forcefully. When she caught her breath, Annie handed her the glass of water on the bedside stand. Kirsten sighed. Talking stole her breath as though she’d been running a race.

Annie pitied her. “We don’t have to discuss this right now, so.”

“I told the doctor I will go to the infirmary. He is sending an ambulance coach in a few hours.”

“Oh, nay. No matter what Mrs. Hawkins said, I will not allow it.”

Kirsten slid down into the depths of her pillows. “She wanted me to stay, but the doctor agreed with me. I should be isolated. Do not tell Jonas, Annie.” Kirsten lifted her head and sipped again from the glass. When she finished, she returned to her pillow, grimacing. “Send him away. That would be best.”

“You can’t mean that. He is your own brother.”

She glared at Annie. “Do not tell me blood matters to you. I know you did not want your cousin here.”

“’Tis different, Kirsten. There are things about my past you don’t know.”

“
Ja.
You do understand.”

Annie gazed at the ceiling. “I’ll try.”

Kirsten stared past her as though contemplating something. “
Danke.
That is
gut
of you. And Annie, be careful.”

“Careful? Why?”

“I cannot say.”

“There is something you aren’t telling us about why that Pinkerton is following you.”

“I do not know this . . . Pinkerton.”

“Some kind of detective that they have here in America. He believes you may have gotten involved in something without knowing it . . .” She searched her mind. “An ill financial deal of some kind. Gambling, is it?”

“
Nein.
Not gambling.”

“Is it the package you received? You must tell me, Kirsten.”

“You would not understand, Annie Gallagher. Jonas has always wanted more for us, but he is not involved. I am not involved. He just . . . he just needs a new start here.”

“More, is it? Greed. If ’tis not greed, then power. Or maybe they are the same thing.”

“Nein.”
She struggled for her next breath. When she recovered, she grunted, seemingly needing to say more. “I tell you, like I said before. He is a
gut
man. Not greedy. He will not get a new start for his life if he continues on . . . Ah, never mind, Annie. I just have to do this for him.”

“You are trying to protect him.”

“
Ja.
I will.”

“Are you sure you know what you are doing, Kirsten?”

“I do what I can. If only I had not lost my job. Then we might . . .” She inhaled, gasped, and began another coughing fit. When she recovered, she said nothing new, just repeated that her brother needed a fresh start.

“I do understand that. Isn’t that what we all want?”

“
Ja.
But some of us have more to repent of than others.”

Annie felt that. The ache of wanting to atone but knowing that it could never be done. The terrifying feeling that when God turned his back on you, you were left in the desert wandering like a child of Israel. There were some stories Annie wished she could forget, like that one about God leaving his people because they were sinners. How did she think she could convince Kirsten there was hope when she was not convinced herself?

“You can’t tell me what the trouble is exactly?”

“I cannot.”

“Or why you must hide from him in order to protect him?”

“Nein.”

Annie dipped her head and turned toward the door. Before she slipped out to the hall, she turned to the whisper of a girl lying in the bed. “Be well, Kirsten Wagner.” She’d avoided the usual Irish farewells, so the wish sounded deflated. She wanted to do much more.

Late in the afternoon, Mrs. Hawkins, noting that her neighbor had returned from her trip, borrowed Mrs. Jenkins’s telephone, and shortly after, the doctor arrived as promised. Mrs. Hawkins paced the hall as they waited for the staff to carry Kirsten from her room. “It just does not seem right, love,” she said to Annie. “I won’t be able to check on her every morning. No, no.” She wrung her chubby hands and worried her lip.

Annie patted her arm. “Dr. Thorp is your friend. He’ll take
good care of her. And Kirsten wants to be there.” All the while Annie reminded herself how different this was, how much safer this situation was than the place in Ireland where she had encountered a doctor.

“I just didn’t realize how much I was going to dislike this.” The woman halted and tipped her pointed chin upward. “If she had not wished it, I would never have made her go.”

“I know.”

“Of course.” A tear came to her eye, and she dabbed at it with a handkerchief.

A clattering of feet upstairs told them they were on their way down. One man had Kirsten, still wrapped in Mrs. Hawkins’s floral quilt, in his arms. Another carried a bag of her belongings. They said nothing as they whisked her outside. Mrs. Hawkins donned a white mask and prepared to join them in the ambulance.

Annie stepped out to the stoop, where the doctor was supervising. “The infirmary seems like an odd place to take her, Doctor. Why not a bigger hospital like Bellevue?”

“Her secondary ear infection qualifies her for care there, Miss Gallagher. I assure you I have her best interests at heart.”

“Of course. I don’t know about such things. Forgive me.”

“Not at all. You’re concerned. That’s understandable.”

Annie followed the doctor as the transporters lifted Kirsten into the ambulance.

Dr. Thorp used his walking stick to push up his top hat as he stood to the side of the open door of the carriage.

“Dr. Thorp?”

“Yes, Miss Gallagher?”

Annie whispered, “How will the bill be paid?”

He matched her tone of voice. “Lifetime subscribers, my dear. Folks pay a great sum of money to reserve private beds in the
hospital, to be used either for themselves or for someone they designate. Upon their deaths, the beds are to be used for the poor. It was an ingenious strategy to encourage folks to contribute thousands of dollars to open the facility, but . . .” He cocked his head to one side. “It did benefit the poor in the end, and that’s a very good thing.”

“Kirsten got a bed like that?” Annie pulled her cloak to her chin as the brisk wind picked up.

“She did indeed.”

“Whose bed is it? Or was it?”

Dr. Thorp shifted his walking stick to his left hand to free his right to rub his mustache. “That is confidential, my dear, but you know the names of New York’s elite: Agnew, Astor, Dubois, Macy
 
—folks like that.”

Annie said good-bye and watched as the ambulance’s horse pulled forward and set off down the street.

A benefactor? Mrs. Hawkins’s name was never in the society pages along with those the doctor had mentioned, but no one else knew Kirsten well enough to do this for her. How had Mrs. Hawkins managed it? Another secret.

20

S
TEPHEN HAD ANOTHER
lengthy, blustery day ahead tomorrow. He dropped in at Dexter’s, his last fifteen cents for a meal in his pocket. Payday tomorrow. Then Sunday, a day off. The counter was full, so he took a table near the door.

As someone from the corner table rose and came in his direction, he suddenly recognized Minnie Draper and stood.

“Mr. Adams, I was hoping to find you. You mentioned you ate here.”

“You were looking for me? Why?”

“Leonard is with me. Mind if he comes to talk to you?”

“Not at all.” Stephen waved at the gentleman sitting at her table. He waited for the Drapers to be seated before he returned to his own chair. “Pleased to meet you.”

Leonard gazed at him with eyes the color of hot cocoa. “My wife, she asked you to deposit, that right?”

“She invited me to, yes. Look, I’m not really savvy about investing, so
 
—”

Leonard lowered his voice. “We have struck gold, Mr. Adams. We’re about to. I’m asking my investors, over fifty strong now, to each deposit ten dollars by tonight. I know which stock is about to rise from pennies to a fortune. With the money we make, I’ll be able to buy big and keep rolling. It’s
how the prominent men in town keep getting richer, but with all of us joining together, we can play in their league. It’s the American way.” He held up his large hands in apology. “But if you’d rather withdraw, that’s all right, now. You do what you’re comfortable with. I just wanted to offer you the opportunity, seeing as you work with Minnie and you’ve been so kind to her. Wouldn’t seem right to keep this deal from a good fella like you, Mr. Adams.”

“I don’t know. Are you sure your tip is a good one?”

“Know Lemings, the fella who used to sell oysters?”

“Yeah, the man who now owns a brownstone near Washington Park. He made some money in the stock market last year, I heard.” Folks on the street had not stopped talking about it.

“My boss, the investor? Well, Lemings deposited with him. Lots of folks would have been a lot richer now if they had heeded the advice Lemings got.”

“I see. Well, I’m afraid I haven’t got ten dollars.”

Leonard gripped Stephen’s arm. “That’s all right now.” He stood.

Minnie smiled. “We can wait for you to get your paycheck tomorrow, if you’d like. Think about it.”

Stephen really needed the money he’d invested now, and he thought about asking to withdraw it, but the possibility that Leonard’s hunch was right was tempting to say the least. Who knew when he’d ever get a chance like this again?

“See you tomorrow,” Minnie called, taking her husband’s arm and hurrying out the door.

Stephen ordered fried ham and a hot roll from Dexter’s eldest daughter, who, like her father, poured him a free cup of coffee. He grimaced as he realized his thoughts had caused him to forget the sugar. As he stirred a lump into the steaming cup, he continued to think about the Drapers. Say he kept just fifty
cents from his paycheck tomorrow and deposited the remainder with Leonard. He’d meet the minimum deposit he’d asked for and by the following week, when Stephen got paid again, he’d have more than enough to get his things out of storage and pay Mr. Murray. And if the earnings from the stock were incredibly large, he would have more to boot. A one-time risk but probably smart considering Stephen’s situation. With those problems behind him, he could work on being the kind of man a girl wants to marry.

The next day Stephen asked for his paycheck before lunch.

“For you,” the postal accountant said. “Since it’s a rare request. You do know I can’t do this all the time?”

“I appreciate this.” He asked Minnie to wait for him at the corner of Broadway and Rayburn while he cashed his check. “Will Leonard wait for me?”

Minnie smiled so smugly her cheeks grew round. “He will if I tell him to, but you’ll have to hurry. Stock market closes soon. Shorter hours on Saturdays, he says. I’ll be waiting at the corner.”

Stephen hurried out to the crowded street and wove his way past newsboys, shoppers, and oyster vendors whose presence made him consider Lemings again. If he could do it, why not Stephen?

After he cashed out his paycheck, he stared down at the ten-dollar note. He’d never asked for so large a denomination before, preferring to deal with small notes and coins, but a single bill would be easier to hand off to Minnie. The image of the buffalo on the front seemed to scowl at him, speaking danger. Drawing in a deep breath, he told himself times like these tested a man’s mettle. He would do what he had to.

When he approached the meeting place, he saw Minnie glance up at him from underneath a fur hood. He almost didn’t
recognize her. She seemed to notice him staring at her coat. “Chillier up north than I’m used to. Leonard said, ‘A gal like you deserves a fur.’ Now isn’t that something? Like it?”

“Fine.” He didn’t think the weather quite merited such a cloak. He had not figured Minnie to be a show-off. The lure of money could make people behave strangely. “Here. Take this before I change my mind.”

She accepted the money and they parted ways.

As he made his way up Broadway, he noticed a man standing astride the curb a few feet in front of him. As he got closer, he realized it was the postmaster, Mr. Sturgis. “Adams, we need to talk.”

“I’ve never seen you in this neighborhood before, Mr. Sturgis.”

“Yeah, yeah. I want to have a word with you.”

“About?”

He put his hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “About what just happened. Let’s step over here.”

They backed into an alley. Stephen’s throat parched and his hands grew clammy. His mind bounced like a tennis ball in play as he pondered what excuse he could make to explain giving Minnie Draper money out on the street. An attempt to put the situation in perspective might deflect the inevitable question. “Uh, I am not at work, Mr. Sturgis. I’m on lunch break.”

“I understand, but this is critical, Stephen. As you know, we are ever vigilant against mail fraud.”

“What are you implying?”

“Not that. But hear me out.”

They paused as a couple of newsboys pushed past them.

“You see, we are continually on the lookout. That is how we’ve uncovered the unscrupulous scheme Minnie Draper’s husband has been luring some of our employees into.”

“Unscrupulous?”

“Indeed. Mr. Draper does not buy stocks. He pays profits only when his depositors require it, and he does so with money obtained from other depositors. So long as everyone does not call their money in all at the same time, the Drapers are left with a lot of cash. We think Leonard Draper might be about to take a huge risk by investing a large portion of what he has right now, attempting to make himself a lot of money.”

“That’s insane. Minnie Draper is a nice woman.”

“I agree. She’s been duped like the rest.”

Stephen hated feeling so foolish. He should have listened to his conscience.

“The postmaster general feels that married women should not be employed at the post office, and this bears witness. She should be caring for her family at home.”

“I do not think this is her fault. Mr. Sturgis, you’re not going to dismiss her, are you?”

“The first order of business is to put a stop to her husband’s ploy. With your help, we can do that.”

“My help? How?”

“Just go with me to the police station and file a report. That’s all.” He glanced toward the street. “Your money is long gone, but if you do that, you can still keep your job.”

“I see.” Stephen saw no alternative.

When he got to the police station, he was thankful Owen McNulty was not on duty. He felt ashamed and downright stupid enough without having someone he knew observe him making a statement. Before he went home, he made a stop at the undertaker’s, knowing the office stayed open late on Saturdays.

He stomped into Mr. Murray’s office, hurried past his secretary, and slung his mailbag down in front of the surprised man, who had been talking on the telephone. He hung up.

“Look, Adams, this is not personal. It’s business.”

“Sell it.”

“What?”

“Sell it all. Then how much will I owe you?”

“Now don’t be hasty, son. We hadn’t received a payment from you in two weeks, and before that sporadically at best.”

“Sell it.”

“But it’s all you own entirely, I’m told. Clothes, dishes, forks and spoons. Better that you just pay your debt and get those things back.”

“You think I’ve been holding out on you, don’t you? Well, I haven’t. I was all set to make a large payment today.”

“I see, and did you bring it?”

“I . . . No. I was not able.”

The man shoved the mailbag off his desk. “You have a job, Adams. Get an advance, pay your debt, and get your stuff. You don’t even have a pot to . . . Well, you know what I mean.”

Stephen slung the heavy bag over his shoulder in one swoop, his anger giving him more strength than usual. He marched to the door and stopped. “Thank you for hearing me out, Murray.”

Murray sputtered. “Indeed. Now go be a responsible citizen and make good on your obligations.”

Stephen slept fitfully that night thinking about Minnie losing her income and all the money he’d lost. The fact that he had no mattress did not help matters. For the first time he understood the agony his father must have been under when he took his own life. He would never comprehend how it led to such destruction, however.

On Sunday, determined to bear up and continue on, Stephen straightened his bow tie, preparing to make the trip to Rayburn Street for services like he’d done most Sundays since he’d met
Annie Gallagher. When his parents were alive, they had attended St. Matthew’s across the street from Bourne Booksellers. Surely God would forgive him for his ulterior motive in attending First Church instead. He was still in worship, as a righteous man should be on a Sabbath morning.

He stopped at Mrs. Jacobs’s for a sweet bun to take to Annie.

“You come any Sunday morning,” his Jewish neighbor said. “I do my baking on this day, and I give you your fill.”

“You are quite generous.” He placed the bread, dripping with honey and safely wrapped in brown paper, in the inside pocket of his overcoat. It was all he could offer Annie at the moment. Davis had not answered his door the last two days, so Stephen didn’t know about getting the story back yet.

The morning drizzle ceased just as he approached the church building. Removing his hat as he entered, he studied the crowd. Clusters of ladies in feathered bonnets filled the first half-dozen pews on the right, with only a few men sprinkled in between them. Annie was too practical to wear a feathered hat. He expected to find her on the other side of the sanctuary, where she usually sat. At last he spotted her about a dozen rows from the front on the far end of a pew. Mrs. Hawkins sat next to her, her prominent nose turned toward the altar, and the other Hawkins girls sat to her right. A seat was open behind them.

He scurried over, politely acknowledging the ushers, and sat down just as the pipe organ resounded with the processional.

When the service ended, Stephen was ready. He jumped to his feet and stood at the end of Annie’s pew. He bowed slightly. “Mrs. Hawkins, Miss Gallagher.” He nodded at the others. “Ladies. Lovely to see you.”

The older woman, cheeks pasty with face powder, stuck out her hand. “Oh, Mr. Adams. What a delightful surprise.” She turned to Annie. “Isn’t it, love?”

The shortest girl, whom he knew to be Annie’s cousin, reached out a long, white-gloved hand. “Lovely to see you.”

Stephen grazed his lips over the girl’s hand, as he had done for the older woman. Owen McNulty had been seated next to Grace, and he greeted them as well. Then he turned to Annie. “I was wondering if I might walk you home, Miss Gallagher.”

Her employer replied. “Indeed you may. We are dropping by the Thorps’ for our noontide meal, and Grace and Owen are lunching with the reverend
 
—prenuptial planning, you understand. But I’ve need of the pie I baked yesterday, and it would be delightful if you and Annie fetched it for us.”

“Certainly.” He turned to the couple. “How wonderful for you both. The big day is almost upon us, isn’t it?”

Grace blushed. Stephen shook Owen’s hand.

Mrs. Hawkins tapped the fingers of her gloved hands together. “Indeed it is, Mr. Adams.” She turned to her housekeeper. “Annie, you will pick up the pie we are to bring the Thorps, won’t you?”

Annie knitted her brows and stared at the woman. “We have plenty of time to
 
—”

“If you’re so inclined, Mr. Adams, to walk Annie on this errand, I would be most appreciative.”

“I would be honored.”

Annie did not appear to appreciate her lack of choice in the matter. He would need to charm her as best he could. He must explain that he had not yet been able to get her story back.

“Now go along, lovies. I’m eager to see my friends. Ella Thorp is helping me plan my menu for Grace and Owen’s wedding reception.”

Stephen smiled. “May I extend my congratulations again.” He bowed slightly in the couple’s direction.

“Thank you,” Grace answered. “If you would excuse us, we must make our way to Reverend Clarke’s house.”

When they all had gone separate ways, Annie sighed. “Oh, you have no idea what a major event she is planning, Mr. Adams.”

“Indeed. You will have to tell me about it on the way.” He offered Annie his arm and they left together. Thus far she didn’t seem too miffed at him. Perhaps she had forgiven him for handing that story to Davis.