They had missed supper, but Mr. McGinty had saved them two chunks of cornbread and a bowl of clabber to spread on it. He’d kept Heather in his own room all day, feeding her bits of fish left over from breakfast. Katy hadn’t been able to eat more than a bite or two of breakfast, she’d been that nervous about her first day at work.
“I miss Willy. I miss Ila and Oscar and the captain,” Tara said while Katy brushed and laid out their second-best outfits for the next day.
Katy wasn’t even going to think about who it was she missed. “Don’t fret, love, you’ll be starting school in a few weeks. Then you’ll have lots of new friends.”
Tara, her skinny legs doubled up before her on the bed, trailed a bit of string for the kitten to chase. “It won’t be the same. They’ll laugh at me because of the way I talk.”
“Sure, and they’ll do no such thing. They’re used to strangers from all over, with all the boats from every port in the world.”
“That’s only on the waterfront. Ava says the people in town are snooty. She says the people who live in those big houses on the other side of the train station are the snootiest of all, and that—”
“Whisht now, child, haven’t I warned you not to listen to gossip? You’ll never hear a bit of good in it. Now, stop teasing the cat and try to get a bit of sleep. Tomorrow will be here before you know it.”
Tara crawled under the thin spread, her bony shoulders heaving in a vast sigh. “I’m hungry.”
“That you’re not, for didn’t you just put away a nice bit of bread and a bowl of clotted cream?”
“It’s not clotted cream, it’s soured milk. It’s not the same thing at all.”
“Don’t whine. A lady never whines.”
“I’m not a lady yet, I’m only a child.”
Katy refrained from reminding her that she was, in her own words, practically thirteen.
“Besides, a lady never gets to have any fun.”
Katy yawned, too tired to argue. Perhaps they didn’t. Her mother had had little enough fun. Sometimes when she tried hard enough, Katy could almost remember hearing her mother laugh, but mostly she remembered her looking tired and worn and old before her time.
The rain came on gradually. At first it was only a whisper against the one small window. By the time it grew to a noisy drumming on the slate roof, drops were splatting on the floor with monotonous regularity.
Katy shoved the chamber pot under the drip. She glanced up at the stained ceiling, counted the blotches, and tried to think of what else she could use to catch the leaks. Heather thought it was all a game. She twitched her ears and pounced as the next drop fell on the mattress.
“Tara, you’ll have to get up and help me move the bed out of the way.”
Tara whined, but slid out from under the spread and flopped her weight against the painted iron frame. They managed to shift the bed to a place where the ceiling seemed less stained. Katy was used to leaking roofs, for she’d spent the better part of her life dodging drips and listening to Da explain that he’d see to replacing the thatch once the fishing season was over.
The trouble was, the season never ended, it only changed from May mackerel, which were caught in March, to scad, to pollock, to lobsters, and never enough of any.
A wet floor was nothing new, but she drew the line at sleeping in a wet bed.
“I forgot to change Heather’s dirt box,” Tara said once she’d crawled back under the sheet.
“Then you’ll just have to do it before we go to work tomorrow.”
“Could we go visit the captain tomorrow? He misses us.”
Her glasses sliding down her nose, Katy gave her a sharp look. “We’ll not be after bothering the captain again.”
“But, Katy, he really, really misses us.”
“Tara O’Sullivan,” Katy said warningly.
“But he does, Katy. He was thinking just tonight that he wished we were back on the Queen. He’d be that glad to see us, I know he would. You could wear your lace collar and we could—”
“Go to sleep, Tara.”
Gusting a sigh, the child rolled over, the kitten tucked up under her chin. Rain plunked steadily into the chamber pot. It splatted in the washbasin and plopped on the painted floorboards. Lying awake, Katy thought about how each drop of rain struck a different note. The night noises in town were different from those aboard the Queen, and those had been far different from home.
It came over her then, that deep sense of loneliness. By all rights she should be dancing with joy. Today she’d taken the first step toward realizing her dream. Every day would be a day closer to the time when she would be independent.
Had Galen truly been thinking of them?
Perhaps Tara had been mistaken. He’d probably been thinking of how good it was to have them settled and off his hands. Between the things the child saw in her mind—and as often as not misread—and the things Katy desperately wanted to believe, there was no way of sifting out the truth.
Katy believed what her eyes and her common sense told her.
Tara believed what she thought she saw and wanted to be true.
They were a fine pair, they were, but at least they were here. They’d come this far. There was no reason why, with a bit of hard work, they couldn’t go farther still.
*
Mr. McGinty rapped on the door just as the sky was beginning to grow light. The old man, a retired ship’s carpenter whose joints were so knotted with age he could scarcely get about, had offered to wake them, claiming he never slept but in brief snatches.
“Thank you, and a fine good morning to you, sir,” Katy called softly through the door. Aside from the storage rooms, there were only two other rooms on the third floor, both cheap because of the stifling heat in the summer, the cold drafts in the winter, and the leaks whenever it rained.
Breakfast was a rushed affair. Tara hated to wake up mornings almost as much as she hated going to sleep at night. She wasted so much time in getting dressed that there was scarcely time to change the dirt in Heather’s box before leaving for work.
Katy tucked two biscuits in her pocket for a noonday break. Mrs. Baggot allowed them twenty minutes off in the middle of the day, and kept a kettle on for tea, which they were welcome to share. Even so, by the time the day’s work was done, Katy felt as if she could fall into bed, shoes, bonnet, and all, and sleep for a week.
“Could we just walk down to the waterfront on the way home today?” Tara had hit her stride. Full of energy in spite of having cleaned floors, waxed display cases, and polished glass all day, she was ready to play.
“It’s not on the way, and well you know it.”
“Yes, but it’s not all that far. I promised Oscar I’d visit.”
“What about your supper?”
“Willy would give us something. He promised he’ll go on saving me whatever he can for my friends.”
“What do you suppose your friends did before you came along with your baskets?”
“Stole. Drowned kittens. Picked pockets. Whored.”
“Tara Eleanor O’Sullivan!”
“Well, they did. What else could they do, for they’ve no homes to go to. Nobody to look after them. Sam and Mickey—those were the boys who were chasing Heather—their ma’s a whore. She got sick and died last winter, and Sam said—”
“Tara, I’ve told you before, I’ll not listen to gossip. Now, come along, it’s getting dark, and if we’ve missed supper again, you’ll just have to go to bed hungry.”
“What about you?”
“I’m too tired to eat.”
“We could see if Willy—”
Tara sighed. Katy wondered how long dreams could survive aching feet, an aching back, and a hollow belly.
Last night’s rain had left puddles on the road, and where there weren’t standing puddles, there was mud. Even from here, she thought she could smell the river, the rich scent mingling with the smell of raw cotton, garbage, and the heady fragrance of a flowering vine that grew on a nea
rby ditch bank.
“Good evening, ladies.”
They were halfway up the front steps of Mrs. Riggins’s boardinghouse when the dark figure rose from the front porch swing.
Tara flung herself at him, her skinny arms wrapping around his lean waist. “Captain Galen! I knew you were wanting to see us, didn’t I say so, Katy?”
Katy remembered to close her mouth . . . just barely. Torn between embarrassment at Tara’s uninhibited greeting and a surge of unfamiliar vanity, she wished she’d taken the time to tidy her hair and brush the lint off her dress before she’d left the shop.
She started to put on her glasses, the better to see him, but thought better of it and shoved them back into her shabby purse.
“I wasn’t—that is, it’s nice to see you again. I trust you’ve been keeping well.”
“I trust I have,” Galen replied, sounding angry and amused all at once, which was impossible, as anyone with a grain of sense would know.
“What are you doing here?” She was no better than Tara when it came to schooling her wretched tongue.
“As to that, you left in such a hurry, I hardly had time to say good-bye.”
He had said good-bye. They both had, if not in so many words. Katy remembered now as if it were happening all over again. What’s more, she thought he was remembering, too.
“As a matter of fact, I just checked by to be sure you were well situated. Why the devil didn’t you tell me the woman had moved you into the attic, Katy?”
“We weren’t moved anywhere. That is, we’re still in the room we were shown.”
“The devil you are. I was told you’d be in one of the rooms on the second floor, and I come back to find you stuck up there in the attic with a lecherous old sot—”
He was angry with her. Katy didn’t know what he was going on about, but somehow, it was all her fault. She lifted her head and went to pass by him. “Come along, Tara, our supper is waiting.”
For someone who’d claimed to be starving only minutes before, Tara showed no interest at all in food. “In a minute, but first I want to tell Captain Galen about the sewing machines. You wouldn’t believe how much noise they make. And the women have to raise their voices to talk over them, and they look down their noses—” she broke off and stuck her own nose in the air. “Like this. And they make fun of the way I talk, but I don’t care, because I don’t like them anyway.”
“Tara, I’m going in now. If you’re wanting supper, you’d better hurry.”
“In a minute, but first I need to tell Captain Galen about how it rained last night, and we had to move the bed and put the chamber pot in the middle of the floor, and I nearly fell over it this morning when I got out of bed.”
Katy rolled her eyes, wishing the child had never learned how to talk. Or at least, learned when not to. “The captain isn’t interested, Tara. Now, will you please come inside? Heather needs taking out for a walk.”
Galen looked from one to the other. “I’ve paid off the week’s rent. The maid packed your things—those damned books are a nuisance, you know that? Anyway, your cat’s in the basket and I’ve cleared a storage room where you can stay until I make other arrangements.”
It was the last straw in the haystack. Grimly, Katy said, “You shouldn’t have bothered. We’re perfectly well satisfied here.”
“Are you, now? Even though your neighbor next door is a nasty old man with a habit of peeping through keyholes. I hope you didn’t afford him any entertainment while you were here.”
“Mr. McGinty? Why would you say such a wicked thing?”
“Because it’s true.”
By then Tara had found Heather’s basket, stacked along with the rest of their things on the front porch behind the railing. “Did you know about the woman who lives next door? She knows he watches her with his spyglass when she takes her bath, but she doesn’t care.”
It was too much. It was all simply too much. Katy could only stand there with her mouth gaping open until Galen stepped forward and tipped it shut.
His voice was gruffer than usual when he said, “Come along now, I’ve sent for the buggy to haul your trunk back to the Queen. Tara, you take the cat and I’ll take the valise. That’ll do for tonight.”
And such was her state of mind that Katy followed him down the front walk and allowed him to take her arm and lead her back home to the waterfront.
Chapter Eleven
Tara was still snoring softly beside her, the kitten curled on her chest, when Katy opened her eyes. It took only a moment to establish her surroundings, to remember how she happened to be there. They were back in the storage locker.
Why on earth had she allowed herself to be swept up like a ball of house moss? She’d had herself a job and a place to stay, and if the roof leaked a bit, it wouldn’t be the first time they’d shared a leaky roof. Now she would have to start all over again and find another room.
As for her job—
“Merciful saints preserve us, I’m doomed.” With a stricken look at the sunlight dancing on the far wall she rolled out of bed and started dragging on her clothes.
By the time she dashed into the galley, Willy and the two kitchen boys were having their own breakfast. Tara had gone back to sleep, and in despair, Katy had left her there. Galen wanted them?
He could have them. At least he could have Tara until she could make other arrangements.
“If there are any biscuits left, could I please take two with me? I’m terribly late.”
“Set ye down, missy, I’ll pour ye a cup o’ coffee for dippin’.”
Breathless, Katy explained that she didn’t have time for coffee, that it was a good twenty-minute walk to the shop, and that it was terribly, terribly important that she not be late, and merciful saints, she already was.
“Miss Katy, can Tara stay here?” The request came from one of the kitchen boys, who was attacking a plateful of buttered grist, or grits, or whatever the tasteless stuff was called. “Please, ma’am, can she? She promised to teach me how to read tea leaves.”
Katy prayed for patience. “Don’t you believe a word of it, it’s pure frummery. Willy, please tell her she mustn’t fritter away the day with such nonsense. She knows very well we must work for our keep.”
“Don’t you fret none, missy, I’ll keep an eye on the young’ un. Go along now, else you’ll be late.” The grizzled cook handed her a walking bundle done up in a napkin. More than biscuits, from the feel of it.
She sniffed it and smiled. “Bacon? Bless you, sir, I’m that grateful.” Holding her bundle in one hand, purse in the other, she dashed out to the stairs, wondering what time it was, not daring to take the time to find out.
Not until she reached the top step did she look up, and then she nearly fell back in surprise. Galen grabbed her by the shoulders. “Slow down, where’s the fire?”
“G’morning to you, I’ve no time to talk now.” She gasped, trying to dodge past him. She stepped to the right just as he moved left. She slammed into him again, boot to boot, nose to chest.
Impatiently, she shifted again. So did he. “If it’s a game you’re playing,” she exclaimed, “then I’d as soon you found yourself another playmate, for I’ve no time to spare.” She went to grab his arm to hold him in place until she could pass, but he only laughed and patted her hand.
She nearly swung her bundle at him. “Do you mind? I’ve better things to do than dance a jig all day.”
Already there were sounds outside of a new day getting under way. Cheerful curses from a freighter being unloaded down at the railroad wharf. Sound carried on the water. The crisp clip-clop of the delivery wagon from Crystal Ice Company, momentarily drowned out by the melancholy wail of a departing train. The creak and groan of hoists and rigging. The whine of a lumber mill saw starting up.
One by one, the regular residents of the waterfront began emerging to take their place in the sun. To warm aching old bones, to cadge a penny for a cup of coffee and a biscuit.
“Did you sle
ep well?” Galen said softly, his eyes twinkling like sunlight on stormy waters.
“Yes, and I’ll have a word with you about that if you please, but not now. If I’m late, Mrs. Baggot will turn me off. She’s not at all pleased with me, as it is.”
She managed to get past him and dashed outside, skidding on the dew-wet deck before she reached the carpeted gangplank. He was right behind her. Without even looking around, she could feel his presence. She waved a quick greeting to the old man who had come to her rescue the other day. He called out something she didn’t quite catch, but she smiled and pretended she had.
“You’re never thinking to walk with me all the way uptown.”
“I’m not?”
She snorted, lengthened her stride. They crossed the wharf, and then stepped across the tracks. Galen took her arm and forgot to release it when they turned off onto Pennsylvania Avenue. They didn’t talk. She was too anxious, too irritated. Even more irritated because she wanted him there, and knew she shouldn’t.
Walking quickly, they passed Broad Street and then Walnut. Picking up her pace, she counted off Cypress and Pleasant and then Pearl. The houses, set back from the street, gleamed like jewels in the fresh morning light, but she didn’t dare take the time to admire them.
I’m going to be late, I’m going to be late.
Her small feet in the too-large shoes flashed in rhythm to the mantra. She kept waiting for Galen to turn back. She wished he would, for he was far too distracting, all freshly shaved and smelling of coffee and bay rum, dressed up like a racetrack dandy at this hour of the morning.
Bay rum, indeed. The man had never done a lick of hard work in his life.
“Katy, about last night. I might have been a bit highhanded, but—”
“That you were,” she snapped back. “If I’d had my wits about me, I’d never have let you talk me into leaving, that I wouldn’t.”
“That you wouldn’t,” he agreed solemnly. It was the hint of laughter that was her undoing. How could a body stay angry with such a man? For all he was a complete rascal, he was a lovely man.
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