When they reached Broadway, the sidewalks were dense with men, women, and children. Dressed fancy, dressed plain, dressed in rags, and there were Negroes of all ages and Chinese people, and a dog here and there. The air smelled like cigars, dung, and smoking fires. The street roared with the clatter of wheels on wet paving stones. Every kind of vehicle and horse imaginable was pulled up to a curb or clipping along or stuck waiting behind three others. There were delivery wagons, flat wagons, carts, closed and open carriages, single riders on horses, and omnibuses with their drivers outside on top steering two horse teams. Clara counted six omnibuses in one block. She started to count small carts, but she got dizzy searching them out and stopped.
Hannah was chattering and pointing out places she admired, but Clara barely heard her. The stream of shops was never ending, selling everything Clara could think of—carpets, clothing, wine, wallpaper, hardware, cutlery, jewelry, printing, straw goods, cabinets, toys, marble statues, tea, upholstery. And there were daguerreotype studios, bookstores, and fine art galleries with prints and paintings in their windows, and underground barrooms, and restaurants and cafes, and billiard rooms. People hustled in and out of nearly every door. Crates were being unloaded and loaded onto wagons or waiting in stacks on the sidewalk.
Clara was giddy. “How can there be so much of everything?”
“
It’s New York. You should see it on a warm day in spring. South of Bleecker and Houston Streets, it’s the halls and theaters and hotels. I’ll show you inside of a hotel. If anyone asks us what we’re there for, we’re to meet your uncle, Joseph Benton of Albany.” Hannah cocked one brow.
Clara laughed. “Yes, my Uncle Joseph.”
Just beyond Bleecker Street, Laura Keene’s Theatre caught Clara’s eye. The sign outside the doors announced an Irish Drama,
The Colleen Bawn
by Dion Boucicault. Tickets fifty cents.
“
Who is Laura Keene?” asked Clara. “Have you seen this play?”
“
A famous actress. This is her own theatre. I haven’t seen it.”
“
Fifty cents. I want to see it as soon as I get the money. Can we go to the A.T. Stewart’s store today? Mrs. Beattie, the milliner I worked for, used to go twice a year.”
“
That’s way down, almost to City Hall Park. It’s a good, long walk.”
“
I don’t mind.”
“
If you’ve got a couple of nickels we could take the omnibus back up when we’re tired. You really got to take an omnibus.”
“
Yes. I do have nickels.” Clara was boiling over with excitement.
They passed several enormous hotels with carriages lined up outside and huge American flags flying from their rooftops. The Smithsonian, the Metropolitan, the Collamore. At Spring Street they came to the St. Nicholas Hotel.
“
This is the one,” Hannah said and steered Clara up the marble stairs.
Clara looked up at five stories of windows. “I wish my sister Euphora were here to see this.”
As they climbed, two men took notice of them, smiled, tipped their top hats, and together said, “Good morning, ladies.”
“
Good morning, gentlemen,” Hannah said, then turned and winked at Clara.
Once inside the hotel’s entrance, Clara’s jaw dropped. The ceilings were as high as the sky, the room as big as a steamboat. There were huge lit gas chandeliers of sparkling glass everywhere and more shiny upholstered sofas and chairs than Clara had seen all told in her life. Handsome young men in uniforms scurried about with luggage, small silver trays, or things tucked under their arms. Elegantly dressed women in bright colors and silks and men in fashions she’d only seen in Mrs. Beattie’s magazines were standing about chatting in pairs or in small groups or sitting with newspapers and tea services.
The room smelled of pipes and perfume and roasting beef and coffee. Hundreds of voices hummed and a thousand pieces of silverware clinked on a thousand plates behind a pair of grand double doors to one side.
“
Let’s pretend we are looking for your Uncle Joseph in the restaurant, so we can peek in.” Hannah spun and strode off toward the restaurant. Trying to catch up, Clara trailed after Hannah’s lustrous silver dress.
“
Hannah! Hannah!”
A girl’s voice stopped Hannah. She turned to look.
“
Abbie!”
Hannah and Abbie embraced as Clara caught up. They were happy to see each other, smiling and kissing and grasping each other’s hands.
“
This is my new friend, Clara, from the boardinghouse.” Hannah turned to Clara. “Abbie lived there too until a few months ago.”
Abbie had a pleasant face, freckles but not as many as Euphora, gray eyes and brown hair, nearly black. She looked to be about sixteen like Hannah. She was wearing a cape over a fashionable blue-and-black dress. Did she have a mother who left her that dress when she died like Hannah did? Perhaps she already found her husband as Hannah was hoping.
“
What are you doing here?” Hannah asked.
Abbie glanced around, then leaned close to Hannah’s ear. “I’ve just been with a gentleman upstairs.” Her voice was hushed but Clara could hear.
Hannah’s throat reddened and her mouth pinched. Abbie opened her reticule and held it out for Hannah to look in. Hannah drew a hand to her mouth.
“
Five dollars?”
Clara suddenly was sinking down, stomach, heart, breath, shoulders, blood, hips, sinking down through the floor.
“
Shhh.” Abbie nodded. “Have you found employment yet?”
Hannah shook her head.
“
What about you?” Abbie looked at Clara.
“
I just got here two days ago.”
“
Well, you won’t have much luck. Two, three dollars a week is all you’re going to get and that ain’t enough for anything except a bed and some mush in the morning. I’ve been trying to get Hannah to come with me to the house where I live now, but she won’t budge.” Abbie turned back to Hannah. “You’ll better find a husband going on the town than going back to some shirt factory.”
“
I don’t think I could do it your way, Abbie.”
“
Lots of girls do, Hannah. You make good friends with the other girls. You take care of yourself. You won’t end up at the Five Points.”
“
Don’t listen to her, Clara. You’ll do fine. We both will.”
Hannah sounded cheerful enough, but her voice was uncertain. She probably had been giving some thought to Abbie’s invitation. Clara, pondering what the Five Points might be, waited patiently while they spoke about several girls from the boardinghouse. She wanted to leave, to get away from Abbie and her reticule full of five dollars. Of all the thousands of people on Broadway, why did Hannah have to know this girl? Why did Hannah have to be friends with a prostitute? Why couldn’t she be friends with a milliner or a cook?
“
Henry Brown! Henry Brown!”
Clara jumped nervously. She glanced around for whoever was shouting. It was one of the young men in uniform striding through the lobby.
As Abbie started to explain in awe how deluxe everything was at the hotel and that the sinks had running hot water, Clara wandered away from the two girls to the front door and looked out. The two men who had greeted them on the stairs were still there. She watched them for a few moments. Smiling and tipping their hats at every woman who was unaccompanied by a man, they would periodically nudge each other and make comments she couldn’t hear.
After a while, Hannah and Abbie found her and they descended the stairs to the street.
“
Do you three ladies have time for lunch with two lonely out-of-towners?”
“
Not today, gentlemen,” Abbie said, her skirt swirling as she twisted around. “Maybe another time.”
“
We’ll watch for you, then.”
Down on the street, Abbie wished them well and set off along Spring Street. Clara fell into stride with Hannah as they continued their walk down Broadway. As they strode along, Clara couldn’t believe her eyes. There were even more grand hotels and halls and shops. Broadway seemed endless.
While they walked, Clara kept thinking how Abbie seemed happy and Hannah seemed miserable, how Abbie had made five dollars by noon, and had the rest of the day to do as she pleased and spend her money on anything she wanted, and how Hannah couldn’t afford to eat anything else except the oatmeal at the boardinghouse. She wondered again what the Five Points was, but figured no matter what it was, it had to be an awful place.
When they got to A.T. Stewart’s at Chamber Street, Clara looked up at the building. It was immense, the most splendiferous building she had ever seen, spanning a full block. But just now, she was too drained to be cast under its spell. Abbie, the prostitute, had left with her with a black temperament.
“
They call it the Marble Palace,” Hannah said.
“
Would you mind if we go in another day? I’m tired and my feet are wet and cold. Can we take the omnibus back?”
Hannah smiled, her blues eyes soft and pale. Then she laughed. “The Marble Palace will be here waiting for you. And the mermaid too. She’s at Ann Street, at Barnum’s American Museum. I can’t wait to show you the Feejee Mermaid at Barnum’s. A real mermaid,” Hannah said. “Twenty-five cents to go in. I’ve been more than once, but I don’t have the twenty-five cents just now. When we get our factory jobs, we’ll go to Barnum’s.”
Thirty-Seven
WITH MRS. BEATTIE’S PERMISSION, Izzie had slept the night in the Spirit Room on the red sofa. In the early morning, the milliner brought her a small loaf of bread and some cold bacon and told Izzie the trains were running again. Without wasting a second, Izzie bid Mrs. Beattie farewell and caught the train to New York City.
Not even taking the time to send a cable to Mrs. Fielding or Anna Santini before she left, Izzie was gambling that the Spiritualists would be at home in New York City, not traveling on tour as they had been when she first met them for the lessons. She was also gambling that they’d take her in, at least for a while. And lastly, she was hoping that if Anna Santini’s gift as a Spiritualist was in some way genuine, in any way at all, she might help Izzie find Clara and Euphora. It was all she had.
On the long train ride, Izzie had plenty of time to ask herself how she would find her sisters. She had no answers. Perhaps it was foolhardy running to New York City to search for Clara and Euphora. Where would she stay if Mrs. Fielding and Anna were not at home or couldn’t take her in for some reason? Then what would she do? Mac had given her ten dollars just before she left when he realized he couldn’t stop her, but he only thought she was going to Geneva, not New York. Ten dollars was more than ample for anything she might need in Geneva, even bringing her brother and sisters back to Rochester. But what could ten dollars provide in New York City?
Beyond some vague notion that she could find a hotel that she could afford that night when she arrived, she didn’t want to think about what she would do if Mrs. Fielding couldn’t take her in. As much as possible, she let her mind drift over the snowy fields, rivers, and towns that passed by her train window. She kept her fingers crossed inside her dress pocket.
The trip took all day and it had become a bitterly cold night as Izzie found her way on foot to Mrs. Fielding’s on Twenty-Fifth Street. She knew it was dangerous to walk alone with her valise in the dark looking for an address that she had no sense of, but she had asked for directions at the depot and decided to forge on anyway.
Even though it was past suppertime, the streets were dense with people, horses, omnibuses, carriages and carts. The brash street noise grated on her, but the streets were well marked and lighted with gas. She had no problem finding her way, but by the time she reached 231 West 25th Street, she was chilled to the bone, exhausted, and ravenously hungry.
There were lights shining from Mrs. Fielding’s windows. Izzie’s heart lifted. Someone was inside. She climbed the stairs to the door and knocked. In a short moment, the door drew back and there was Anna Santini.
Black eyes agape, Anna pressed a hand to her throat. “Oh, my, what are you doing on our doorstep? Please come in!” She stepped out onto the stoop, stretched a hand towards Izzie’s valise, and took it from her.
“
I need your help,” Izzie said as she came inside.
Anna swiveled round to face the stairs. “Adele! Come down. You must see who is here.” She turned back to Izzie. “Come and sit by the fire. You’re blue.”
Anna put down the valise and led Izzie into a cozy little parlor. “You’ve come from Rochester today? Where is your husband the physician?” Anna led Izzie to the fire, took her hands, and looked into her eyes. “You’re here because of some trouble.”
Izzie nodded. “My husband is in Rochester. I came from Geneva. My sisters are missing. I believe they are here in New York City.”