Secrets on 26th Street (2 page)

The bell above the door tinkled as the girls pushed their way into the crowded bakery. While Helen wandered around looking at pastries and breads in the display cases, Susan waited in line behind their neighbor Mrs. Flynn. Mum always said Mrs. Flynn, who lived on the fifth floor right above the O'Neals, was better than the
Times
for giving news of the neighborhood; she seemed to know everything that happened on the block.

At the moment, Mrs. Flynn was trying to hold on to her twin boys while balancing the baby on her hip. “How's your mum holding up, lass? Last time I saw her she was pale as the moon. I'm hoping she's not ailing.” Mrs. Flynn's eyes showed concern.

Susan didn't know how to put into words her fears about Mum. Mum was looking so thin lately, and dark circles had appeared under her eyes, no doubt from exhaustion and worry. Even though Mum worked at the shipping office down on the docks twelve hours a day, six days a week, she was four months behind on the rent, and the landlord had been pressing Mum for payment. “Well, she's not exactly ailing,” Susan said. “But she hasn't been herself.”

“Coming down with something, is she? I wager she's been working herself too hard, coming in after dark every evening. God love her, she never sees the sun, does she? Well, you tell her I'll be by real soon. Tell her I'll be by.”

Susan promised.

Then Mrs. Flynn's voice took on a serious tone. “You lassies lock your door tonight, y'hear me? There've been break-ins on 27th, right behind us. They're saying it's the Jimmy Curley Gang, fresh out of Sing Sing prison, the lot of 'em. Lock your doors tight.”

Susan breathed a little faster. She'd heard stories about Jimmy Curley and his hoodlums shaking down businesses and pushcart peddlers for money, threatening to poison their horses, or worse, if they didn't pay up. Helen was lingering in front of the pastry display, but she was staring straight at Mrs. Flynn, and Susan was sure she'd heard. Grand. Now Helen would have nightmares for a week.

Before Mrs. Flynn could say more, the customer at the counter turned around, and Susan groaned. It was Lester Barrow. He was the powerful district leader of Tammany Hall, the circle of Democratic politicians that ran the city. He also happened to be the O'Neals' landlord. With his beady eyes and pointed chin, Lester reminded Susan of the fat gray rats that swam in the Hudson River. Susan turned away from him, hoping he hadn't seen her, but it was too late.

“Why, Missy O'Neal, 'tis a pleasure to see you.”

Susan cringed inside. She always had the feeling that Lester's Irish accent was fake. Dad had sworn Lester made it up to get the Irish people to vote for him. Nothing about the man seemed genuine.

“I trust your mother is well.”

How could she be
, Susan thought,
when she's worried sick about scraping up the monstrous rent you charge?
Lester was twice as impatient for his rent as the other landlords in Chelsea. Other landlords tried to be accommodating—they knew their tenants were poor, not dishonest, and they would wait six months, even eight months, before demanding their rent. But all Susan said was, “Mum's as well as you'd expect, Mr. Barrow.”

“Good, good. Now I need to talk to you for a minute.” He pulled Susan aside. “Thursday after next. 'Tis the end of the month. You know your mother's rent is due.” His grip on Susan's arm tightened. “She's four months behind, lassie. I've been more than patient with her, knowing her circumstances. But I must have my money by the end of the month. 'Tis a business I'm operating, not a charity.”

Susan tried to push down her rising panic. There was no way Mum could have all the money by then. Lester would put them out on the street; she knew he would. She'd seen him do it to the Laskys, the Polish family who'd lived in the basement flat. Susan stammered, trying to think of something to say to buy Mum more time, even a couple of weeks. Who knows what could happen in a couple of weeks?

“Oh, Mum can get the money, Mr. Barrow. I'm sure she can.”

“I'm glad of that. I truly am. I have the highest regard for your mother, understand. The widow of a fine Democrat like your dad. That's why I felt obliged to help your mother get a job.” Lester's voice was oily-smooth. “And why I've tried to look after your family since your dad's been gone.”

Susan thought bitterly that Lester had done nothing of the sort. In fact, he had worried Mum to death about making the rent.

“But there's only so much a man in my position can do,” Lester went on. He shook his head and clucked. “If your mum can't afford my building, 'tis time she thought of moving perhaps. Flats in Five Points go for five dollars a month, I hear.”

Five Points was the worst slum in New York, as Lester well knew. This was a threat, and one Lester would make good on. Frantically Susan scoured her brain for a reply. Then she remembered the new boarder. “No, we can afford your building. We can now. Mum advertised for a boarder in the
Times
. A British woman answered—a Miss Rutherford—and she's arriving today. The rent will be caught up in no time, you'll see.”

Lester's eyes narrowed. “A boarder?”

Suddenly Susan was afraid she'd said the wrong thing. What if Lester raised the rent? What if a boarder was against the rules? Her stomach churned as she waited for Lester's response.

All he did was grunt. “Tell your mother I may stop by after my meeting this evening. If it's not too late. I want to meet this boarder.”

Lester released his hold on her, turned, and strutted out the door.

Susan put a hand to her cheek. She'd done nothing but make things worse. Now Lester was coming by tonight instead of next week!

Susan shuffled back in line. Instantly Helen was beside her. “What did Mr. Barrow say to you, Susie?” Her eyes were wide with apprehension.

“Nothing.” Still shaken, Susan tried hard to hold her voice steady. “Just asking for the rent like he usually does.” She couldn't let her little sister know how desperate their situation was.

By the time Susan reached the counter, she was in no mood to bargain with Mr. D'Attilio. She snatched the day-old bread he gave her for her nickel and whisked Helen out of the bakery.

The girls walked in silence the remaining block to their tenement building. Susan wondered how much longer they could stay in this familiar neighborhood. She'd lived in Chelsea all her life. What would it be like living in a place like Five Points?

Suddenly Susan felt tired. She wanted to go home and flop on her bed and sleep for a long time. But she couldn't. There was too much to do. She had to pick up Lucy at the Cochrans', where Lucy stayed while Mum was at work. Then she had to get ready for the boarder, which meant hauling water from the common sink in the hallway, peeling potatoes, and cutting up cabbage. There'd be no time for reading now.

“Susie!” Helen's voice cut into Susan's thoughts. They were in front of their own redbrick building.

“What is it?” Susan asked.

“Our window. I saw someone in there.”

Susan looked up at their window on the fourth floor. There was nothing. “Helen, stop imagining things. You turn everything into a scene from a movie. I wish you would—” Then she stopped and stared.

A dark form had passed in front of their window.

Someone was in their flat!

C
HAPTER
2

A F
IGURE IN THE
W
INDOW

“Did you see it?” Helen's eyes were big as saucers.

Susan nodded.

“Do you think someone's broken in? The Jimmy Curley gang?”

“I don't know.” Susan struggled to keep fear out of her voice. Why did Mum have to work late
tonight?
“Maybe our eyes are playing tricks on us. Mrs. Flynn put an idea in our heads, and now we're imagining things.”

“
That's
not our imagination.” Helen pointed to the shadowy figure in the window. There
was
someone in their flat, and Susan had the eerie feeling that person was looking directly at them. Fear knotted her stomach.

The wind, blowing cold off the Hudson River, whipped rain into Susan's face. She glanced around, hoping to see the precinct policeman leaning against the lamppost where he often stood to watch children playing stickball in the street. But he was nowhere in sight. In fact, the streets were empty of all but a few people hurrying along the sidewalks, huddled under raincoats or umbrellas. Rain was falling in sheets now, plastering Helen's hair to her head and soaking through her coat. She was shivering hard.

Just like Dad was when he came home from the docks the night he took sick. And he was dead from pneumonia within two weeks
.

Susan had to get Helen inside. She shifted her gaze back to the window. Now she saw nothing there.

But Mrs. Flynn's warning rang in her ears.
Jimmy Curley. Fresh out of Sing Sing
. No, she wasn't going to risk it. They would just have to go to the Cochrans' and wait till Mum came home. Mum would know what to do.

“Come on, Helen,” Susan said, and pulled her sister up the stoop and into the foyer. They hurried past the brass letterboxes and into the dark stairwell.

Up four flights they went, then to the landing, into the hallway, past the Dwyers' door, past the Thompsons', and here they were, standing outside the Cochrans' door. From the other side of the door they could hear the sounds of the Cochran kitchen: the clatter of pots, the drone of voices, a chair scraping across the bare linoleum floor.

We're safe now,
Susan thought.

But somehow, now that they were at the Cochrans' door, the idea of a gang from Sing Sing robbing their flat seemed silly. Suddenly Susan was sure their fears would sound ridiculous to the Cochrans. Especially to Russell. He was one of Susan's best friends, but he dearly loved to tease.

“Helen,” Susan whispered. “Let's not say anything about prowlers. If we're wrong, Russell will tease us to death. We'll just have a nice visit with the Cochrans until Mum gets home—”

Then came a loud thump from down the hall—behind their own door! Susan's heart leaped into her throat. Helen fell onto the Cochrans' door, knocking furiously. Susan was right behind her. They nearly tumbled inside when Mrs. Cochran opened the door.

“There's someone in our flat!” Helen cried. “A robber! From the Jimmy Curley Gang!”

“We heard something in our flat, is all,” Susan said, trying to sound mature and reasonable in spite of her racing pulse.

“And we saw someone in the window!” Helen threw in.

“Ach, you girls are soaked.” Mrs. Cochran was already stripping off their coats. Her voice was gentle and motherly.

“But the prowler!” Helen protested.

“'Tis only your boarder, dear,” Mrs. Cochran said, patting Helen's shoulder. “She got here early and I let her in with the spare key.”

Susan felt her face color. Why hadn't she thought of that? How silly they must seem! Out of the corner of her eye, Susan saw Russell perched on a chair by the stove, his face in a geography textbook, laughing. She resolved to smear him into the pavement in their next game of stick-ball. Then she pretended not to notice him. “Where's my sister, Mrs. Cochran? We ought to get home and start dinner for the boarder.”

“Lucy? She's in our room for a nap. You girls toast in front of the stove while I get her.”

Helen moved quickly to the warmth of the stove. Susan, though her fingers ached with cold, had no desire to get near enough to Russell to be teased. She seated herself at the far end of the table and let her thoughts drift to the boarder—this Miss Rutherford—who was at that very moment settling down in
their
flat.

How would it feel to have a stranger living with them in their cramped three-room flat? The boarder was to have Mum's room, and Mum would sleep in the closet off the kitchen. It was all cleaned out, the broom and mop set in a corner of the kitchen and the cleaning powder, mothballs, roach powder, and such set on top of the icebox or pushed into the crowded china cabinet. A little white cot for Mum had somehow been squeezed into the closet and her belongings stacked on the shelves behind a tacked-on curtain. Susan hated to think of Mum sleeping there while a stranger took over the room Mum and Dad had shared. But Mum always said you do what you have to and make the best of it, so Susan tried not to think about it too much.

She pictured Miss Rutherford in her mind: tall and thin, with a pinched face and sharp, demanding eyes, snapping out commands in her British accent. Susan dreaded the very idea of meeting her, yet she knew Mum was depending on her to make Miss Rutherford feel at home. Susan heaved a deep sigh.

Then Mrs. Cochran emerged from the bedroom carrying three-year-old Lucy, her blond head slumped on Mrs. Cochran's shoulder. Lucy was rubbing her eyes with her fist. “I wants my Susie,” she said in her sleepy voice, and it warmed Susan's heart. Maybe it wasn't so bad being a big sister after all.