by Ami McKay
“Mae got a fair bit of pocket change the last time she went to the concert hall,” Alice said, climbing into her bed. “She didn’t steal from the men there, or ask for anything outright, she just made mention of forgetting her reticule and needing to pay for the streetcar. The gents she was with were more than happy to oblige.”
“She wasn’t afraid of getting put upon by them?” I asked. I’d seen the sporting men who lined up outside the concert hall each evening on my way to the rooftop on Chrystie Street. I was sure things there weren’t as jolly as Mae made them out to be.
“She says she’s an anything-but-girl and that she knows how to turn a gent away before things go too far,” Alice said with a shrug. “I’d tell on her in a heartbeat if I thought it was as simple as her just wanting to have a bit of fun, but she needs the money. Mae has her heart set on buying a coffin plate to send to her mother, sooner rather than later. Not a tin or copper one, but silver, with lots of fancy scrollwork around the edges.”
Mae’s mother had once carried a baby boy in her belly for nine long months, only to have the child die at birth. In her grieving, she’d had the coffin plate that bore his name, Timothy O’Rourke, removed from the tiny casket before it was laid in the ground. “She keeps the plate in a place of honour, next to a silver pitcher her grandmother brought all the way from Ireland. Those two objects are her pride and joy. She kisses them every morning after her prayers and then again after she kneels to pray at night.”
Not wanting to remain in her mother’s memory as forever missing, Mae hoped that sending a memento of her own death, a lie engraved on a shining, silver plate, would, in time, heal her mother’s heart.
“Room and board are enough for me for now, so long as the man who gets me first falls in love with me,” Alice said, wistfully leaning on her pillow. “Perhaps he’ll even ask me to be his wife.”
“I hope he does,” I said, thinking Alice’s desire to be even more ambitious than Mae’s. I brushed the oil Rose had given me into my hair, counting out the strokes, one, two, three, four, five, six, impatient to reach one hundred. Not knowing if it was Rose or Miss Everett who’d purchased the oil in the first place, I stopped what I was doing and added it to my list, just in case. One bottle of Circassian hair oil—large. Then, one pen, one bottle of ink, two packets of paper and a five-cent stamp.
The stamp was to go towards sending a few things I’d been collecting in my dressing table drawer to Mrs. Riordan—an almost-full box of chocolates that Missouri Mills hadn’t thought good enough to finish, a woollen scarf Rose found too scratchy for her neck, a pair of gloves Mae refused to wear anymore because she’d lost a button from one of the wrists. I planned to mail the parcel to Mr. Bartz’s shop on Stanton Street and ask that his delivery boy take it on to Mrs. Riordan’s. Not wanting Mr. Cowan to discover my whereabouts, I would pen a letter to Mr. Bartz as well, asking him to not reveal my address to anyone, even Mrs. Riordan.
“Ada?”
“Hmm?”
“Have you ever kissed a man?”
“No, have you?”
“Yes,” Alice answered, smiling. “Well, a boy, anyway.”
“What was it like?”
“Moist,” she said, biting her lip, “and soft.” Her face turned red as she offered, “I can get Cadet to kiss you so you can see for yourself. Mae teased him into kissing me.”
Mama had told me I should never let myself get kissed, especially by a boy. She said kissing a man was also a risky thing, but at least you could usually get something out of him. “Of course, if you’re not careful, you can stumble from whatever game you’re playing right into something else and before you know it—nothing makes sense. You know what that something else is, don’t you, Moth?”
“No.”
“It’s love, and it’s exactly what you don’t want to fall into with a man. If you end up loving them, then no matter how rich or fine they are, you’ll just want more, and nothing they give you will ever be enough. You won’t be able to keep yourself from telling them you love them, you need them, you want them—and in the end, they’ll hate you for it. Stay away from kisses, Moth.”
Alice thought Cadet to be a handsome young man, and she said that he was gentlemanly too, in a shy sort of way. He’d been hired not only to do chores around the house, but to act as guard as well. By day he travelled most places with the girls, and at night, he stood in the hallway outside Rose, Emily and Missouri’s rooms, arms folded across his broad chest. Since he escorted Miss Everett’s girls most of the time when they were out in public on their own, Alice had gotten to know a bit about him while walking at his side. “His mother died the minute he was born,” she told me, shaking her head. “Isn’t that just the saddest thing?”
I nodded, thinking I’d heard sadder tales, but wanting her to go on telling me what she knew of the boy.
“His poor father was left to raise him with the help of the barmaids at Sportsmen’s Hall.” Best known for its eight-foot-square rat pit and its bare-knuckle boxing matches, the Water Street establishment was run by a man named Kit Burns. “Cadet’s father was the official bloodsucker there,” Alice said, her eyes wide.
“A bloodsucker?”
“His job was to suck blood from the fighters’ wounds so bouts could go on as long as possible.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling queasy at the thought.
Alice turned her talk back to Cadet. “You really should let him kiss you sometime. He’s gentle and sweet, and, I suppose, its good practice for what lies ahead.”
Alice’s words lulling me, I thought of Cadet as I drifted off, and the way he stuck the tip of his tongue between his teeth whenever he worked to tie the laces on his boots.
The next time I opened my eyes, Mae was on top of me, her boozy breath in my face. “You should’ve seen the gents,” she chirped. “Every last one of them was handsome, and so attentive.”
“Go to sleep, Mae,” I mumbled, wanting to go back to my dreams of kissing a bloodsucker’s son.
Although the Bowery Concert Hall prides itself on being a respectable business, it is common knowledge that members of the criminal underworld frequent this establishment. Planning their crimes and foul deeds between dances, they laugh in the faces of the doctors, judges and lawmakers who sit at the next table. Many a girl of promise and education has been started on the road to ruin at that place. Missing maidens take in astonishing amounts of drink, until their judgement gets cast aside in favour of a single night’s worth of carnal pleasure. Their fate should be noted as a terrible warning.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. I marked my days in the margins of the magazine alongside a growing list of items that now included a new garment Miss Everett had insisted I accept. One silk walking suit, with matching hat, gloves and boots. The dresses she’d given me my first few days in the house had been lovely in their own right, but the suit, made from fabric the same shade as the lilacs that bloomed along Miss Keteltas’ fence in the spring, was finer still.
This pretty suit consists of a walking skirt, tunic, and basque waist, with revers collar. The walking skirt is of lilac silk, trimmed on the bottom with two ruches of the same material. The tunic is of violet silk, pointed on the sides and open in the back, with an apron in the front, and is edged with a ruche of lilac silk. The Pompadour basque waist of violet silk is worn over a plain waist of lilac silk. The flowing sleeves of the under-waist and the basque waist are lined with silk ruche. Lace under-sleeves. Violet silk hat, with lilac feathers. Lilac gloves. Lilac boots.
—Harper’s Bazar, 1870
It was presented to me along with an afternoon of lessons on how to move about in it. Missouri Mills acted as my tutor, leading me to the parlour in a suit even more elaborate than mine, lace parasol resting on her shoulder. “Lift your chin, mind the hem,” she instructed, her words and figure moving along in a graceful Southern lilt.
With shining red curls and bright green eyes, she was in perfect company with Rose Duval an
d Emily Sutherland. Rose was dark, Emily, fair, and Missouri was the ample-breasted belle who sat between them. Miss Everett had liked everything about her except her given name of “Martha,” so she chose to rename the girl after the place where she was born. “Missouri suits me fine,” she said after I’d asked her if she minded what Miss Everett had done. “Martha’s a name for housekeepers and dusty old presidents’ wives.”
When we got to the parlour, we found Cadet moving furniture to the centre of the room, making an open path around the outside of it for us to travel. He was leaving as I was coming through the door and my shoulder brushed his arm as he passed.
“If a gentleman won’t wait for you, then you must show him his mistake,” Missouri said, throwing Cadet a haughty look behind his back. “Next time, stand outside the door and watch until he’s through. If no apology is offered, then he’s not worthy of your time.”
I hadn’t minded what had happened, even if it was a mistake. My cheeks were flushed with something more than embarrassment, and as far as I was concerned Cadet had done more right than wrong.
Although Mae and Alice had already mastered the art of walking in such attire, they’d been asked to come to the parlour to act as models and walking companions for me. Ushering them into the room to join us, Missouri announced, “We’ll practise strolling first. Mae and Alice side by side, Ada following behind.”
I tried my best, but found it difficult to match their steady strides. Not allowing enough distance between us, I came far too close to Mae, catching the back of her skirt with the toe of my boot.
“Twice wasn’t enough?” Mae groused the third time I tripped her up.
“Sorry, Mae,” I apologized.
Turning from me, she resumed her promenade with Alice, her chin thrust high.
When I began to step after them again, I was overcome with nervous laughter, the picture of Mae’s prideful strut jerking to a halt playing over in my mind.
Alice, too, fell into a fit of giggles. Holding our sides, we both stopped short while Mae continued strutting around the room. Afraid of being sentenced to promenade the house for days on end, I’d wanted to do well, but Mae’s arrogance over the simple task of walking had made a comedy of the whole affair.
“Perhaps you’d like to demonstrate walking with a pail, Mae?” Missouri requested, trying to bring things back to the lesson at hand.
“I’d be happy to,” Mae replied.
Three pails, the size of the growlers Mr. Bartz used for serving beer at his shop, were sitting on a table along the wall, each one half-filled with water.
Throwing a mean look at Alice and me, Mae went to the table, lifted one of the small pails and placed it on her head. As she took her hands away from the pail and began to move, Miss Everett came into the room.
“Alice, please join Mae,” she said, taking the place next to Missouri on a nearby settee.
Mae whispered to me as she went past, the pail trembling. “This is how it’s done.”
Alice came next, moving more slowly than Mae, her cautious gait keeping her pail steady and straight.
“That’s how it’s done,” Miss Everett said, leaning over to me.
I’d known a woman on Chrystie Street who could dance while balancing her laundry basket or a bucket of suds on her head. She called herself Aunt Chickory. She’d been a slave in Georgia and her skin was as dark as a roasted nut. Every morning, she’d dance through the slippery muck-strewn alley, all the way to the back court. “I’m gonna take the cake,” she’d sing as she went, “Master’s missy’s gonna say I’m the best.”
One morning when I’d stared at her too long, she grabbed me by the arm and made me dance with Mama’s egg basket perched on my head. My admiration for her along with my fear of what Mama might do if I broke her eggs made me a fast study. “Take the cake, child. You gotta take that cake.”
Without being told, I went to the table now and put the last pail of water on my head. I walked a slow circle around Mae, shrugging and grinning like Aunt Chickory had taught me to do.
Arms folded and staring at me with disapproval Miss Everett brought my fun to an end. “That’s all for today,” she said. “Change out of your suit, Ada. You’ll want it fresh for your outing tomorrow.”
The next morning began with a visit from Dr. Sadie. It had been over a week since I’d seen her and I took a great deal of satisfaction in the look that came over her face when she saw me again. She actually let out a small gasp, staring at me as she made her way from the door to where I was sitting on my bed.
Placing her physician’s bag next to me she said, “I hardly know you, Miss Fenwick.”
She wore the fine but plain dress she’d worn when we first met, and she went about doing things much as she’d done then. She washed her hands, donned her apron, and asked me to “open wide” so she could inspect my mouth. The only thing she didn’t do this time was request I spread my legs.
There was a softness about her if you were careful to look for it. She had a pair of modest pearl earrings in her ears and her hair was arranged in a neat, perfect twist. It was evident that she cared about the way she looked, her gaze flitting to her reflection in my dressing table mirror every so often, as any other lady might have done.
When she was finished, she sat on the end of the bed, her modest bustle pressing awkwardly against the small of her back. “You’re still committed to Miss Everett’s plan for you?” she asked, frowning.
“Yes,” I answered, wishing she’d leave the subject alone.
“If you’re having doubts—”
“I’m not,” I insisted.
Dr. Sadie’s kindness was well intended, but if a place in a house of refuge was all she had to offer, then she must have known I’d turn her down. Working long hours at a factory or spending my days bent over a sewing machine was not what I wanted.
Smoothing a wrinkle in my skirt I said, “I’ve no wish to leave.”
“The Children’s Aid Society runs an orphan train that matches homeless children with couples who are eager to start a family,” she continued, placing a hand on my knee. “Most people are looking for healthy boys to help out on the farm, but there are others who long for a girl to make their lives complete. I could inquire at the Society on your behalf,” she said. “I know someone there who travels with the children on the train. He’d make sure you got into a good home.” Before I could reply she added, “Perhaps you and Alice could be placed together. Miss Everett mentioned the two of you have become quite close.”
It was true—the more I’d gotten to know Alice, the more I liked her. She was kind and quick to smile, and good company at mealtimes and at the end of the day. Even if she hadn’t possessed such qualities, I also could see that Miss Everett was starting to favour her somewhat over Mae, and I’d thought it best if I did the same.
“Alice wants to leave?” I asked.
“I don’t know for certain,” Dr. Sadie answered as she got up, removed her apron and tucked it away in her physician’s bag. “But I thought if you both were having second thoughts, then perhaps the two of you might be better off somewhere else.”
The idea of leaving New York made my stomach turn. It was one thing to have escaped Mrs. Wentworth, but it would be quite another to be stuck in a lonely pasture with nowhere to go. People in the city often thought of country folk as hayseeds, ignorant bodies made from naïveté and corn, easily parted from money and sense. I saw them differently. To me, they were the shadowy figures dotting the canvas of the painting in Miss Everett’s front parlour, strong enough to push a terrible-looking blade through the earth, hard creatures who could withstand the heat of a punishing sun.
“Thank you, but I’m fine,” I told Dr. Sadie. “Put it to Alice if you like, but I know my mind.”
Looking defeated she said, “As you wish.” Then she picked up her bag and headed out the door.
Alice had been especially nervous that morning, as she was to have her first luncheon date.
“It�
�s only tea and sandwiches in the parlour,” Mae said as a pink blush crept up Alice’s neck, threatening to turn to hives. Any talk of accepting an invitation to meet with a man seemed to send her from fret to itch in a matter of minutes.
Smitten with the notion of falling in love, she could never be like Mae. I worried over Alice the way I’d worried about Mama, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her that love was the most dangerous thing on which to pin your hopes.
“You’ll do fine.” I gave her a quick hug and an affectionate peck on the cheek.
With Alice otherwise engaged, Miss Everett paired me with Mae for my first outing. The thought that Cadet was to accompany us, that I’d be so near him on our walk, had caused me to toss in my sleep. Stay away from boys, Mama’s voice had hissed the moment Cadet had entered my dreams.
The paths Miss Everett had her girls take on their outings were chosen with care. Mueller’s Bakery, where the madam had a standing order for tea cakes and madeleines was three doors down from a gentlemen’s club. Members of the club reserved the front window on Wednesdays at noon, fully aware of the schedule Miss Everett’s girls kept. “It’s a regular pastime for some,” Mae said with laugh. “You should see them lowering their papers to stare. I can’t smell the scent of baked goods without thinking of well-groomed men.”
My first public outing was to a pharmacy at Thirteenth Street and Third Avenue. We were to walk all the way to Fourteenth Street first, pass by a cafe on the corner, and then stop in at the pharmacy and collect whatever items Miss Everett had on her list of ladies’ necessities as we made our way home. It was a brisk but bright day, and I was glad for the cloudless sky, since I didn’t wish to brave rain or puddles in my new suit.
