“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?”
“Why are you here then? If you don’t mind my asking?”
She held up a black leather bag. “I’m a doctor. I have an infirmary in lower Manhattan, where I see my patients for free, but not all of them can make it over there. So I make calls over here and do what I can.” She handed her card to Ruby: DR. ELIZABETH BLACKWELL, M.D. NEW YORK INFIRMARY FOR WOMEN AND CHILDREN, 170 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK, NEW YORK. “Should you ever need a doctor, you come see me. We are less than a mile south of here.”
Ruby nodded and tucked the card into the pocket of her dress.
Dr. Blackwell searched Ruby’s face. “Is there something I can do for you now?” she asked again.
“Oh no, I’m not sick, I just—” she faltered. Why had she sought this woman out? “Maybe you can help me. I just lost my tenement in the Fourteenth Ward, and I need to find a place to stay here—it’s all I can afford, you see—but I have been having trouble finding a place that’s—suitable.”
“Not surprising.”
“I guess not. But do you happen to have some idea of a good place around here to live? I’ve seen some signs for basement cellars for just a few pennies a night. Are those any good?”
“They’re cheap for a reason, my dear. Spend many nights there and it will whittle away your health until you have nothing left. I can always spot a basement dweller in a crowd. The skin becomes almost corpselike, and the musty smell pervades not just their clothing but their skin and hair as well. The beds are mere pieces of canvas stretched between poles, and the owners stack them two to three tiers deep. They are so crowded—with people and vermin—I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“What’s left?”
“Well, if you don’t want to prostitute yourself—”
“Of course I don’t.”
“Glad to hear it, and longer life for you then. Have you looked into the House of Industry on Worth Street? Just around the corner, just there, you can’t miss it. It’s a charitable organization that teaches trades to women and houses them, too. Mostly sewing but other skills now, too, I believe. If you could find a place in there, you’d be safe and well cared for, at least until the end of your course. Good luck,” she called after Ruby, who had already seized her hand to shake it and was headed back toward Worth Street.
The Five Points House of Industry cast a long shadow, like a lighthouse above the raging sea. Hoping this place would indeed save her from her personal shipwreck, Ruby took a deep breath, scurried inside, and knocked on the door labeled “MR. LEWIS PEASE, SUPERINTENDENT.”
“Come in,” called a tired voice.
Ruby pushed the door open and stepped inside. The desk was covered with stacks of papers and books with pencils wedged into the spines. Articles clipped from the New York Tribune were pinned on the walls, trumpeting headlines like “Five Points Mission and House of Industry Gems of Moral and Physical Regeneration.”
“I heard you take needlewomen here.” Her voice sounded small, even to herself.
Mr. Pease leaned back in his chair and took in the sight of her. “Sort of. We take women and teach them to sew, then we find jobs for them.”
“Would you have any use for a woman who already knows how to sew?”
“Hmmm.” Mr. Pease drummed his fingers on the desk and grabbed a sheet from the top of a stack near him. “Do you have any aptitude for teaching? We have an opening for an instructor.”
“I have been sewing for years. I’m sure I could tell others how to do it.”
“I couldn’t pay you much, Miss—”
“Mrs.,” corrected Ruby. “Ruby O’Flannery. My husband is in the Sixty-Ninth, you see, but they haven’t paid him yet, and I simply ran out of money and choices.”
“Understood.” His face, though weary, held no judgment. Maybe he really did understand. “I must ask you, do you have any references? You’ll be working with women who have just come from lifestyles of vice and immorality. We at the House of Industry believe strongly that they’ll never be able to succeed unless they completely turn their backs on their old habits. We want them to be surrounded only by positive influences so they don’t fall back into whatever means of surviving they had relied upon before. This is why we house our workers here, so they can avoid confronting the degrading lifestyles so rampant outside of these walls when it’s quitting time. As an instructor, you could be housed among them if you like. So you’ll forgive me if I ask for some character references of some kind. Is there someone who would vouch for you? Surely you understand our need to be quite careful about who we allow to move in among these women.”
“References,” Ruby repeated. The cogs of her mind turned slowly, but she couldn’t get any traction. Who on earth would vouch for her?
“What about your pastor?”
“I’m Catholic.”
“Your priest then?”
“I—no, that wouldn’t work. I’ve been sewing around the clock for so long, I haven’t had time to go to mass.” She looked at him to see if he bought her story. �
�Believe me. This is why I want to be here, instead. I just can’t keep working that way. I’d like to go back to church, really I would.”
“That may be, Mrs. O’Flannery, but the fact remains that I must have references before I can accept you. Family member?”
“My husband is off fighting. The rest of our family’s in Ireland.”
“Can you think of anyone else?”
The only person who knew her very well besides Matthew was Emma. “Would a friend count?”
“Well, it’s better than nothing. Name?”
“Emma Connors.”
“And where can I reach her?”
“She moved. I haven’t got the address.”
“Does she happen to work somewhere?”
Ruby looked at her hands. How could she tell him that her only character reference was a prostitute? She told him just a piece of the truth, then. “I don’t know where she works.”
Mr. Pease put his pencil down. “My dear Mrs. O’Flannery, you realize you are not making this very easy for me. I’m afraid I cannot accept you until I have at least one character reference, preferably two or three.”
A knock sounded on the door, and a small woman with mousy brown hair drawn tightly into a bun motioned to Mr. Pease to join her in the hall.
“If you’ll excuse me one moment,” he said, and left the room. Ruby peered out the window just in time to see a glimpse of a camel suit disappearing around the corner.
By the time Mr. Pease came back in, his face had gone from warm to cold.
“Mrs. O’Flannery,” he said, standing over her now. “We have just received a visitor who has informed us that you and your ‘character reference,’ Emma Connors, are both prostitutes.”
“What?” she gasped.
“Then you deny it?”
Ruby sighed. “’Tis true, Emma has gone that way, but only out of desperation. And I have done no such thing. I’ve been true to my husband every day of my life, I have.”
He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at her. She tried not to hate him for distrusting her.
“It’s your word against this gentleman’s word, you realize.”
Wedded to War (Heroines Behind the Lines) Page 9
