Wedded to War (12 page)

Ruby snorted. “Do I look like the sort of person who isn’t accustomed to hard work? I work, Officer Jennings, every hour of daylight and then some, and still I am falling behind. I would not have to beg for money if you would pay my husband his wages in the first place!”

“Not my fault.”

“I don’t care whose fault it is, I am asking for a few dollars to tide me over, that’s all.”

“It’s out of the question. You’re not the only person waiting for word or wages from her soldier. Just call it your own patriotic sacrifice. Good day.”

Ruby let the door slam behind her as she left the building. Hot tears pricked her eyes as she looked up and down Broadway. Just coming here
had cost her precious hours she could have been sewing. A waste of time, only now she was farther behind in her work than before. Her stomach was an empty cavern, and her soul felt just as hollow. She should be praying to St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes, but her mind couldn’t concentrate long enough to find the right words.

Crossing her broken-wing arms across her chest, she turned south and began walking the seventeen blocks home. Putting one foot in front of the other was all she could do at the moment.

“Ruby!”

Ruby turned, squinting into the bright sunshine, shielding her eyes with a shaky hand. She was so hungry she thought she might collapse.

“Ruby! Over here!”

A woman in a bright purple-and-green plaid dress, cut low enough in the bodice for evening wear, waved her over.

“Ruby, you’re a mess! What are you doing this end of Broadway?”

The voice belonged to Emma Connors, but this woman looked nothing like her old friend from the Fourteenth Ward. Ruby rubbed the tears out of her eyes and looked again.

“Emma? What happened?” She waved a hand at her dress, her hair, her bonnet. There was no way she could have afforded to look like that a month ago.

“Aye, I got smart, Ruby, that’s what happened.”

Ruby shook her head. She didn’t understand.

“Let me put it to you this way. How much do you make with your needle and thread? On a good week, when your work is accepted?”

“A dollar seventy-five.”

“And how much do you pay for your dark, rotting rooms?”

Ruby swallowed. “Seven dollars a month.”

“How much do you work?”

“Emma, you know how much I work, it’s as much as you. All the time.”

“No lass, that’s how much I
did
work. Not anymore. Do you know how much I work now? As much as I bloomin’ want to, that’s what.” She
threw a wink past Ruby to a small cluster of men who had been watching her. “And do you know how much I make?” She leaned in. “Ten bucks a week for a couple hours o’ work. More if I want it.”

“What?”

“Come now, Ruby, don’t be so naïve. Surely you’ve thought about it from time to time.”

“Prostitution.” The whispered word tasted vile in her mouth.

Emma wagged a finger at her. “Don’t you be judging me for it either, lass. No money coming in from Sean, not enough from the boarder. Not enough hours in the day to work a fair wage. I was starving, Ruby, and by the looks of it, you are, too. It can’t be a sin to survive, surely.”

Ruby wasn’t convinced. Selling your body was a sin no matter what, and the worst kind of sin, too.

“Just think of it, Ruby. Imagine for a moment that you never have to thread another needle, or prick your fingers in the dark. You never have to wear those rags again, or lack for a meal. No more going to the pawnshop until all your things are gone. No more burning your furniture for firewood. You could get out of the Fourteenth Ward. If you’re lucky, you find a nice gentleman who will set you up in your own apartment, keep you fed and well-dressed, and all you have to do is pleasure him when he asks for it. Isn’t that worth the cost?”

Ruby felt betrayed. She loved Emma. She didn’t want anything to come between them, but this—this was too big to ignore. Ruby felt sick to her stomach, but whether it was from hunger or heartbreak, she couldn’t tell.

“You’re happy, then?” Ruby searched Emma’s face.

Emma’s smile sagged as she looked down. “I’m happy that I’m not wondering whether I’ll make it through each day.” She looked up now. “If only there was a better way to make such good money,” she added as she laughed ruefully. “’Tisn’t so bad if you don’t think about it much. And if you work on your own, rather than for a madame at a brothel, you can choose your own customers. You learn in a hurry which men to
avoid, I can tell you that much.” She nodded to a man a few yards away wearing a green-and-gold tartan vest with a camel-colored suit. The green necktie to match was almost as flashy as the color Emma wore. “That one there can be sweet as candy, but if he’s had a bad day, he’ll take it out on his woman. Have to watch his eyes carefully to see if they are fair or stormy.”

Ruby followed Emma’s gaze to the gentleman outside Brooks Brothers. He stood a head above the man he was talking to, a gold watch in one hand, the other fist on his hip. His black mustache and goatee were trimmed close to his face, unlike the scruffy facial hair she was used to seeing around the tenements. His eyes were shielded by the brim of his hat, but as she studied his face, she thought she could make out snatches of conversation.

Uniform contract … twelve thousand sets … not enough material … shoddy discovered
, she heard the shorter man say.

We’ll make it through …
said the taller man.
Too much money at stake … Not here …

Of course, of course
, the short man bellowed, making every word suddenly clear.
I forgot! The best thing about knowing your way around the law the way you do is—well—knowing your way around the law!
He threw back his head and laughed at his own joke, but the man in the green necktie jerked his head up, glowering, and looked around. His gaze caught Ruby’s before she could turn away, and for a moment they appraised each other. His eyes darted to Emma and back to Ruby. His lips had stopped moving, but his eyes told her she should not have been eavesdropping. Goosebumps raised on her skin.

“Ruby?” Emma placed a hand on her arm. “You OK?”

Saints alive, even her nails are painted! “Sorry, Emma,” she said turning back to her. “I need to get back to work. I’ve wasted too much time coming here today.” She tilted her head back toward the recruiting office, and Emma nodded in understanding.

“I’m telling you, the only help we’ll get is the help we give ourselves.”

“Aye, I must not be very good at it, then. I’ve missed rent for the
last two weeks. If I don’t have the money by the end of today, I’ll be looking for another place, I’m sure of it.”

“Let me buy you a dress. Clean you up, fix your hair. You could start a better life.”

Ruby shook her head. “If I can just hang on until July, Matthew will come home then.”

“
If
he comes home. And what will you do in the meantime? Where will you go?”

“There’s only one place left that I can possibly afford.”

“You can’t go there, Ruby, it’ll kill you.”

Ruby smiled. “And I’ll die just as soon if I don’t.”

“Mary, Mother of God,” breathed Emma, crossing herself. “You have a choice, you know.”

Ruby nodded. “Aye. ’Tis Five Points.”

Emma shook her head, but pulled a few coins from her pocketbook and pressed it firmly into Ruby’s hand.

“Eat, Ruby. I’d break bread with you myself but I’ve got an appointment coming up. Take care.”

Ruby’s throat swelled shut as she felt the cold metal in her palm. How could she use this money that had likely been earned with a sexual favor? But her stomach screamed louder than her conscience, and she accepted the gift with a silent nod of thanks.

As she watched Emma sashay down Broadway and around the corner at Spring Street, she caught a glimpse once more of the tall man in the green tie, still watching her. Now he was striding toward her.

Catching up to her, he said, “Fine day for a stroll, isn’t it, Miss?” His voice dripped with honey as he took her by her crooked elbow. “Walk with me.”

“Is there a problem, sir?” Ruby searched his face.

“So, Ruby, is it? You’re a friend of Emma’s?” He looked at her intently. If she wasn’t already suspicious of him, she might have admired the high cheekbones, the straight nose, the strong, square, jaw. Instead,
she only noticed that his eyes were the color of Ireland’s River Shannon—cold, deep, and dark.

“Aye.”

“Noticed you were looking my way a moment ago. Are you … in her line of work, shall we say?”

Heat scrambled up from Ruby’s collar to her face. “No! I’m a clean and decent woman, I am. I sew.”

He stopped walking then and turned to face her directly. “Is that so? How very interesting.” His hold on her arm was growing tighter. “So you have an interest in Brooks Brothers, then.”

She shook her head. “I work for Davis & Company.”

A flash of understanding gleamed in his eyes then, but she had no idea why. What had she said that could possibly interest him? She didn’t care enough to find out.

“I’ll need to be going now.”

“Where might that be? If we’re going the same direction, I’ll be happy to accompany you there.”

“I doubt it, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Try me.” Was that a smile? It looked more like he was baring his teeth at her.

Ruby’s heart beat faster, her pulse quickened. She felt like a cornered animal.

“Five Points,” she said, her thick Irish accent twisting the words so it sounded more like “Five Pints,” another name which would have been just as apt for all the freely flowing alcohol there.

“Dangerous territory, miss; I’d watch myself if I were you.” He released her arm and tipped his hat to her, and she hurried away from his reach. She only looked back once, and when she did, he was nowhere in sight.

The closer Ruby got to Five Points in the Sixth Ward, the harder it was to find clean footing. South of Canal Street, Mulberry Street soon
became all but covered with pools of decaying vegetable matter and mounds of garbage, peppered with horse and pig droppings on every side. The summer sun beat mercilessly down, baking the filth until steaming vapors carried on the breeze, spreading the overpowering stench throughout the neighborhood.

A large brick tenement cast a crooked shadow over her, but the reek of overflowing, putrefying sinks behind it kept her from stopping. Her stomach revolted, and she quickened her pace, holding up her skirt as she went.

“Just pashing through, or are we looking for a room?” Ruby turned her gaze to the shriveled face of a woman in black, hunched over a cane outside a small wooden house. It had shifted in the unsettled, damp ground, like all the other buildings in Five Points, giving it its distinctive drunken look. But it had windows, which meant the rooms would be light, and it was only one story, which meant she wouldn’t have to climb stairs in the pitch black.

“I could use a room,” Ruby admitted.

“Come in and shee for yourshelf.” A gap in the woman’s lopsided smile made her whistle as she spoke. She reached up and pulled a strand of Ruby’s hair from her bun, and rubbed it between her gnarled fingers.

Inside, once Ruby’s eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, she could see that though the house was small, it was clean. The bedrooms each had a bed and a small table. It was enough.

“How much?” Ruby began to open her coin purse.

The woman grabbed Ruby’s sleeve and brought it to her nose, inhaling her smell before Ruby could jerk her arm away from her.

“You don’t shmell like a Five-Pointer. New here?”

Ruby nodded, but took a step back.

The woman grinned. “It’sh your lucky day,” she croaked. “I’ll let you shleep here for free—no, I’ll even pay you, if you go in on a little bushinesh deal with me.”

“What?”

“Like I shaid, your lucky day. At night, I give you a man to shleep
with. We shplit the profit. Shee? It’sh the luck o’ the Irish.”

“I’m a married woman.” Ruby’s tone was clipped.

“Don’t worry! It don’t matter! Shee? Eashy money.”

“I’m a clean and decent woman, I am, and I’ll not be having any of that.” Ruby tucked her coin purse away and marched back out into the street.

The farther she walked toward the star-shaped intersection that was the heart of Five Points, the more trapped she felt. She shared the street with roaming, snorting pigs, apple-hawking peddlers, brightly clad prostitutes, gang members displaying their knives, drunks still drinking, a few plaid-panted politicians, and the occasional frightened but fascinated cluster of “uppercrusts” on a slumming party. Barely hidden from the bold stare of the afternoon sun, dance halls and saloons kept up a lively business.

A small woman in black with a white point lace collar stood out against the crowd. She was clean and modest, and though she must have been there by choice, she did not appear any more comfortable in these environs than Ruby did. She was no Five-Pointer either.

“Excuse me!” Ruby called to her, but being heard above the daily pandemonium of Five Points was useless. She hurried to cross the street.

“Excuse me,” she tried again. “You’re not from here, are you?” The woman arched her eyebrows quizzically, but a smile danced in her eyes. “No … what can I do for you?”