Where the Light Enters

by Sara Donati

  “Once she’s been tied up and drugged?” Sophie shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

  “It wouldn’t have to go that far,” Jack said quietly. “We would have men nearby in plain clothes. But it may not be enough, if Smithson fears a trap.”

  “I thought of that,” Anna said. “There’s one thing we could try that would—trigger her, to use Oscar’s word. Given her history, it might work.”

  She was ready to explain what she meant, but Sophie’s concerns had moved her in a different direction. Her cousin had wrapped her arms around herself in a gesture Anna recognized as sincere worry.

  To Aunt Quinlan she said, “Why must it be Elise?”

  “It musn’t, if she’s uneasy with the idea,” her aunt said.

  “But she would do anything you asked of her,” Sophie said, turning to Anna. “Even to her own detriment.”

  Before Anna could think of replying, Jack stepped in. “Sophie,” he said in his quiet but confident way. “Do you trust me?”

  She pressed her mouth into a tight line, but nodded.

  “I will promise you something. If Elise has any doubts, we will find someone else. If she truly wants to be of assistance, she will be prepared for every eventuality, and I will never be far off. She will come to no harm.”

  45

  OSCAR SHOWED UP at Roses on Thursday evening with a packet of ragged papers tied with string. He was so distracted and lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even remark on the pork roast with its crisp, crackled skin that Mrs. Lee had just put on the table, though Anna knew it to be one of his favorites.

  In fact they were all a little tense. Overnight Jack’s sister Celestina had gone into labor, and the first reports had been reserved in tone. A half-dozen Mezzanotte women from Greenwood and Manhattan had gone to Brooklyn to attend, and Anna was ready to join them if they sent word. Whether to volunteer was always a difficult question. Best not to portray herself as an expert, when Jack’s mother and aunts had delivered so many children.

  “Word of Celestina?” Oscar asked, taking the empty chair across from Elise.

  “Not yet,” Aunt Quinlan said. “But let’s not assume the worst. First babies take their time. Oscar, what are all those papers? About the investigation?”

  “A map of the Jefferson Market neighborhood to go over with Elise.”

  “And us,” Mrs. Lee called from the kitchen.

  They had just spent a good hour talking through the details of the plan that would send Elise to Smithson’s to inquire about an abortion. As Sophie had predicted, Elise was very willing to help, but like Sophie, Mrs. Lee had sincere doubts. She had developed a strong affection for Elise. Anna wondered if Elise liked being mothered so intently by so many, and decided that it was something she had learned to tolerate in the convent.

  Now Elise glanced from Oscar to Jack and back again. She was clearly intrigued by the investigation and the role she was to play. A police investigation like this one had a lot in common with a difficult diagnosis, and she liked the intellectual challenge of piecing all the information into a whole.

  She asked, “A map? You think I need to know all the escape routes?”

  It was meant to be a joke, but Jack didn’t smile. “Second thoughts?”

  Elise said, “Not as long as you tell me everything, and explain the importance of each step.”

  Mrs. Lee appeared in the doorway with a bowl of potatoes swimming in gravy. “Do not let my good roast get cold,” she said. “First food, then maps.”

  * * *

  • • •

  LEGEND

  1. Northern Dispensary

  2. Amelie S.

  3. Blue Door Café

  4. Dr. Cameron’s office

  5. Police Court

  6. Third District Court

  7. Market

  8. Shepherd’s Fold

  9. Ackerman’s Tobacco

  10. Tavern

  11. Hobart’s Bookshop

  12. Smithson’s Apothecary

  13. Clinton Street Hardware

  14. St. Vincent’s Hospital

  Alleys

  A. Knock-knee

  B. Shoulder-bone

  C. El-bone

  D. Long-bone

  E. Thigh-bone

  F. Shin-bone

  G. Neck-bone

  * * *

  • • •

  LATER OSCAR SPREAD the map out on the cleared table for them to see. It was made up of sheets of paper that had been pinned together, drawn freehand with ink in some areas and pencil in others. There were crumbs and bits of tobacco caught between pins and paper, liberal ink splatters, and a coffee-colored splash across one corner. It was a layman’s effort, but it had a rough symmetry that made it all come together in an appealing way.

  Aunt Quinlan said, “You have a natural talent for proportion and perspective, Oscar.”

  “High praise,” Anna said, winking at him.

  Oscar cleared his throat quite noisily.

  Sophie looked up from the map. “You’ve included the alleys.”

  “I did. You’ll find out why in a minute.”

  Elise squinted as she studied the dotted lines. “El-bone Alley? I don’t remember that name and I’ve been in the area quite a lot.”

  “The alleys aren’t marked,” Jack said. “But people use them.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Ned said, dryly. “More happens in the alleys than on the streets.”

  Anna said, “We used to make a game of trying to go as far as possible staying off the streets. The longest stretch we managed was from the Hoboken ferry landing to—Sophie, do you recall?”

  She smiled at the memory. “Sheridan Square.”

  “My neighborhood,” Oscar said, using an unlit cigar to tap the spot where he had written his initials.

  “What fanciful names,” Elise said. “El-bone, Long-bone, Knock-knee—”

  “Fanciful!” Oscar huffed a laugh. “You won’t call them fancy once you’ve made a closer acquaintance. Filthy and rat-ridden, most of them.”

  “But not Knock-knee,” Anna, Sophie, and Ned said in one voice.

  Elise raised a brow in surprise, and Sophie answered the unspoken question. “Amelie’s cottage is at the bottom of Knock-knee, you see? Just across from the Northern Dispensary. She saw to it that peace and order reigned and Davvy has kept things just as she did.”

  “It’s like a little village,” Ned said. “Even the gangs wouldn’t try anything in Knock-knee.”

  “It says here that Mrs. Visser’s body was found very nearby.” Elise touched a small cross at the corner of the Northern Dispensary.

  “And Nora Smithson makes a lot of use of the alleys.” All attention turned to Oscar.

  “We’ve had two men keeping track of her coming and going,” he went on. “Her husband never leaves the apothecary building, but she is constantly in and out. And I got confirmation, she looks to be with child.”

  “But shouldn’t be,” Aunt Quinlan said. “Anything unusual in her daily routine?”

  Sorting through his papers, Oscar pulled out a list that he held at arm’s length to read. “Since Monday she’s gone to the market every day, to the post office twice, the butcher three times. But it’s the other outings that raise questions.”

  He bent over the map to trace Shin-bone Alley, which began at Clinton Street Hardware just around the corner from Smithson’s Apothecary and cut over to Ninth Street.

  “I doubt she goes that way,” Ned said. “There’s a massive locked gate on the Clinton end of Shin-bone.” He touched a spot behind the hardware store and traced its path, pausing on the apothecary, Hobart’s Bookshop, the coal depot, and Ackerman’s Tobacco in turn.

  “All the shops have exits that open into the alley,” Oscar said. “It’s true you can’t exit onto Cl
inton, but see where the alley comes out on Ninth Street?”

  Elise crossed her arms over her middle and made a sound in her throat, low and discordant. “Across from the Shepherd’s Fold.”

  Jack said, “Elise, didn’t you tell me that when you and Sophie were having coffee you saw Mrs. Smithson talking to somebody from the Shepherd’s Fold?”

  “Yes, she was talking to Grace. The maid.”

  “Apparently they have a lot to talk about,” Oscar said. “Because Nora Smithson is over there pretty much every day, and she always goes by way of the alley.”

  Aunt Quinlan said, “I don’t like the sound of this.”

  Oscar gave her a grim smile. “There’s just one more place she went twice this week. Took a cab down to Chatham Square and she went into Ho Lee’s.”

  Jack pushed out a noisy sigh. “So there, finally. A soft spot.”

  “Ho Lee’s?” Elise asked.

  “Opium den,” Ned told her. “There’s three of them right on Chatham Square, and another six within a block.”

  “Mrs. Smithson smokes opium? That’s seems unlikely,” Elise said.

  “If she does, it’s not at Ho Lee’s,” Oscar said. “She was in there no more than ten minutes and then went straight home. The cab waited for her.”

  “If she does take opium she’s hardly alone in that,” Sophie said.

  “If she doesn’t take opium, who does?” Jack said. “Why is she getting it from Ho Lee when she can order it from a wholesaler, like any apothecary? And if she’s giving it to someone else, do they have any choice about it?”

  Anna thought of Nicola Visser’s ravaged body, the way she had been restrained, the puncture marks from hypodermic needles, and how she had died. Those same images were on Sophie’s mind, because she swallowed visibly.

  “So the hypothesis is that Nora Smithson kept Mrs. Visser against her will,” Elise said. “Restrained for some six months, with the idea of taking her child, is that it? That’s—”

  “Insane,” said Aunt Quinlan. “Quite insane, yes. No hope of a logical explanation.”

  Sophie considered for a long moment. “If you think she really may be dangerously insane, if she’s locked up at least one woman, why are you sending Elise in to confront her?”

  “To make something happen,” Oscar said. “One way or the other, with as little threat to the public as possible.”

  Sophie stood suddenly. “I see you are dedicated to this course of action. And now I have to get home to see to Tonino and the girls.”

  There was a small silence, but nobody said the obvious: Sophie had hired nurses to be there around the clock for Tonino, nurses with excellent references, each of them still watched closely by Laura Lee. Rosa and Lia had both Laura Lee and Sam Reason to keep them safe and occupied in the house, and Noah Hunter to watch over them in the gardens.

  Sophie needed to go home for Sophie. Nobody begrudged her that.

  * * *

  • • •

  WHEN SOPHIE LEFT Roses she saw that Noah Hunter was waiting for her beside the phaeton. He had put up the canopy, and in fact there was something of rain in the air. Sophie realized she had forgotten all about him, and more than that: she had kept him from his evening meal while she ate a substantial supper.

  “I should have asked you to come in,” she told him. “I apologize.”

  One sharply crooked eyebrow was the only indication that she had surprised or confused him. He opened the door for her.

  “You must be hungry.” Sophie knew why she felt the need to explain herself, and so she told him.

  “I am still surprised to find myself with a staff. You’ll have to pardon me if I am awkward at times, but it doesn’t come to me easily.”

  He inclined his head, but not before she caught the hint of a smile.

  “Do I amuse you, Mr. Hunter?”

  He met her gaze directly. “You surprise me,” he said. “You are very blunt.”

  “Blunt!” Her laugh was a small, odd thing.

  “Blunt. Forthright. Honest? Is that better?”

  “Mr. Hunter,” Sophie said, climbing into the carriage. “You might find this odd, but I’m not offended to be thought of as blunt. I like it.”

  As they started off Sophie smoothed her skirts around herself, thinking of Noah Hunter, who found her blunt. It was true that most women would be affronted by such an evaluation, but Sophie had grown up in a household of plain-spoken women and now, she realized, she had surrounded herself with people who were just as plain spoken. Laura Lee, Sam Reason, Noah Hunter, even Mrs. Tolliver, they were all blunt to the degree that they would find it difficult to function in a more traditional household. And she liked them for that fact. The matrons of Stuyvesant Square would be shocked to learn that Sophie thought about her staff in such terms, but having people around her she liked and trusted was far more important than her neighbors’ approval.

  She leaned back and rested her head to watch dust motes dancing in the evening light, borne on a welcome breeze when every day was a little warmer than the one before. In another month she would be sweltering in her widow’s black, something Cap had foreseen and forbidden. She was to order gowns in summer-weight muslins and silks.

  “Grays and somber colors if you must,” he had said. “But no black, not after a month.”

  She had tried to make a joke of it because it had hurt too much to be discussing mourning with a husband who was still alive, but for once Cap was without his celebrated sense of humor. “No,” he said, his hand resting on her wrist, so lightly. His bones seemed to be melting away, as hollow as a bird’s. “I will have my way on this, and if it means haunting your closets. No more black after a month.”

  It was more than a month now, and she still wore black. Daring him to fulfill his promise.

  Sophie studied Noah Hunter’s straight back and wondered if he believed that the dead were nearby and willing to intercede. From her grandfather Ben she had Seminole and Choctaw blood, and from her grandmother Hannah, Mohawk. They had grown up on opposite sides of the country, but both had been raised to think of death as something just a step removed. Family legend had it that Hannah had conversations with her first husband, who had died fighting for Tecumseh, and with the son of that marriage, who had died not long after, still a boy.

  “They came to sit with her when she was confused,” Sophie’s father had told her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “They came from the Shadowlands and talked to her when she lost her way.”

  Since Cap’s diagnosis, Sophie thought a lot about the Shadowlands. By birthright she should be able to find her way there, a place where she could be comforted by those who went before. It was the first thing she would ask her Aunt Amelie about when she finally saw her again.

  When the carriage stopped Sophie waited for Noah Hunter to help her out, and then she stood considering him for a moment. She knew only that he had been born into one of the tribes in the western part of the state, the Seneca or Cayuga, and that he had been adopted by a white family as an infant.

  “Mr. Hunter,” she began, and he turned to her, solicitous as ever. “Are you Christian, may I ask? Or really what I’m wondering is, do you know of the concept of the Shadowlands?”

  His gaze met hers. Eyes as dark as a midnight sky, but there was a warmth there in his expression, as if he understood the question better than she did herself.

  “I’ve heard the term,” he said. “But it isn’t mine.”

  “You don’t believe in . . . heaven?” Her voice caught a little, because this was really too personal a question.

  He didn’t seem to be offended. “You may not like what I believe.”

  “I may not,” she agreed. “But if you would be so kind, I’d like to hear it anyway. I won’t hold it against you.”

  A misting rain had begun to fall and he looked up into it, hi
s eyes closing for an instant.

  “I will answer your question, if I may ask a favor. I would like to be called Hunter or Noah, or even Noah Hunter.” He met her gaze. “But not Mister anything.”

  Sophie smiled. “I would be happy to comply. And so, Noah Hunter, do you believe in heaven or the Shadowlands or something similar?”

  “No,” he said. “I do not. Dead is dead.”

  “I don’t know whether that is harsh or hopeful,” Sophie said. Surprising herself most of all.

  * * *

  • • •

  ROSA WAS WAITING for her in the parlor, an exercise book in her lap. She managed a small, tight smile as Sophie sat down beside her, and then at the touch on her shoulder she leaned in. Sophie gathered the girl against her and put her cheek against the curve of her head, the dark hair pulled tight against the skull. Rosa was like an overwound watch, always trembling with emotion that she held back for fear of what would happen if she were to let go.

  Sophie waited. If she asked questions Rosa would answer them, and whatever was weighing most on her mind would be pushed aside, and might remain hidden.

  Upstairs a door opened and the faint odor of lavender bathwater came into the room, followed by Lia’s voice, singing one of her nonsense songs as Laura Lee shepherded her along from bath to bed. There was a pause, a low whisper, and then after a moment another door opened and closed.

  “She wants to say good night,” Rosa said now. “But he’s already asleep. He slept most of the day today. Is that how it will be now?”

  “Yes,” Sophie said. Another time she would talk about the progression of the disease, and the mixed blessing of morphia.

  Rosa nodded. “I sat with him at lunch-time and told him a story about the day he was born.”