“I’m not trying to stop you from putting food on your table.” He was becoming annoyed. This little chit was trying to make him out to be some kind of ogre. “What I’m trying to do is maintain a proper tone at the fair I helped to create.”
“Yeah? Well, somebody said it was all right for Madame Esmeralda to set up a booth on the Midway, and somebody else said it was all right for Little Egypt to dance there, so I guess we don’t really have anything to talk about, do we? I guess everybody else thinks our tone is proper enough.” She turned and resumed looking out at the street.
Alex saw that her fingers were tapping out a nervous tattoo on her handbag. He got the impression her state of anxiety didn’t concern herself, but someone else. The person at the hospital? “Are you worried about someone at the hospital, Miss Finney?” He was surprised when he heard the question, since he hadn’t intended to ask it.
Again, she turned and gave him a look that told him what she thought of him. Not much. If anything.
“Yeah,” she said sarcastically. “You might say so.”
“May I ask who it is?” That was polite, wasn’t it? He’d sounded as if he cared, even though he didn’t, really.
“You can ask. I don’t choose to answer.”
“Dash it, you’re a very rude woman, Miss Finney!”
“Gee, I’m really sorry. I usually try to be nice to people who are trying to ruin my life.” The carriage pulled up in front of the hospital. Before it came to a complete stop, Kate had opened the door and leapt out.
Alarmed, Alex lurched to the door after her. “Miss Finney! Miss Finney! Wait!”
She didn’t wait. Furious, Alex decided he didn’t need to lower himself to Kate’s level and charge after her, but waited until his driver had guided the horses to the curb. Then he descended from the carriage in a dignified manner and spoke to Frank, the coachman. “Wait here for a moment, Frank. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
“Sure thing, Mr. English.” Frank touched his cap in a short salute and set the brake. “I’ll be right here.”
Tugging at his expensive worsted frock coat to eliminate any wrinkles, Alex started up the walkway toward the front doors of the hospital. To his irritation, Kate had already vanished into the building. He, however, wasn’t through with her yet, no matter what she thought. He was going to get to the bottom of the puzzle that was Kate Finney, whether she wanted him to or not, dash it. Alex hated being thwarted. And to be thwarted by an unlettered, unsophisticated girl from the slums, at that—well, it was too much, and he wouldn’t stand for it.
# # #
It took Kate only a minute to ascertain that her mother had been taken to the Charity Ward. She’d expected it would be so, because that’s where her kind always ended up, if they ended up in hospitals at all. Generally speaking, they just died without the diversion of a hospital stay.
She ran up the staircase, holding her skirts in her hand, heedless of the gaping hospital orderlies staring at her flashing ankles. Her mother’s ward was number 3B. Kate jerked the door open and stood, panting, staring in distress at the rows upon rows of cots with their pathetic occupants. She had to swallow a cry of mingled rage and pain before she stepped, with more seemly aplomb than she’d heretofore exhibited, into the room.
Her heart raged as she walked down the first row of cots, searching for her mother’s haggard face. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. That her mother, a blameless, pure soul, should have been deceived into marrying her father, a devil incarnate who could put on a good show when he wanted to, was one of life’s more bitter ironies. Her mother hadn’t deserved such a brute as Kate’s father. Kate knew that Ma would have left the bastard long since, except that he’d threatened to injure the children in retaliation. So she’d stayed with him, and he’d only injured her.
That was before Kate was old enough to take matters into her own hands. The last straw had been when her father had come home, reeling drunk, after having spent any money he’d made doing odd jobs. He’d been mad and mean, and he’d needed someone to take out his anger on, so he’d headed straight for Kate’s mother. It had been Kate who’d beaned the beast over the head with a cast-iron skillet. And it had been Kate who’d dragged her mother out of the house and to her own small room over the butcher’s shop.
Hazel Finney had been terrified, but Kate had lectured her long and hard about the wisdom of finally, after far too many years, getting away from her husband. “He’s no good, Ma. You know that better than anyone.”
Her mother, already sick with consumption, not to mention in a general agony of spirit and soul, had broken down and sobbed. She’d nearly broken Kate’s heart with her moans of apology, as if it had been her fault she’d married a wretch and a drunkard.
“I swear to you, Katie, that I didn’t know,” she’d cried. “I swear on my mother’s Bible.”
“I know it, Ma. I know it.”
Kate had never been much good at being a child, having spent her youth figuring out how to survive in an uncertain and often brutal world, but it had been then that she’d taken over the mothering of her family. Her siblings had left home by then, driven away by the misery her father perpetrated.
Since home had never offered any succor but that which their mother could sneak them behind their father’s back, Kate’s brothers had taken to visiting Kate when they needed a good meal or a shoulder to cry on. They were all overjoyed when Mrs. Finney joined Kate in the room over the butcher’s shop.
Every time any one of the children ran into Mr. Finney on the street, he threatened to kill them if they didn’t tell him where his wife was. Fortunately, all the Finney children were spryer than the old man. It was embarrassing, they all agreed, to be cursed by their own father and threatened with death, but it was better than living with the mean old son of a bitch.
He’d meant the threats, as Kate had recently discovered. If it hadn’t been for the unexpected arrival of Belle Monroe into Madame’s booth, Kate would be dead right now, and her mother would probably be back under her father’s thumb. The idea made Kate shudder. She didn’t even consider that the police might have arrested the old man for attempted murder. The police didn’t pay much attention to what happened to people in Kate’s station in life. They spent all their concern on the Alex Englishes of the world.
“Ma!” Kate’s relief at finding her mother still breathing was only mitigated by the dismal surroundings and her mother’s obvious distress. She fell to her knees beside the cot. “Ma, what happened?”
Her mother’s eyelids lifted, revealing watery blue eyes that held a world of pain and disappointment. Yet the woman managed to smile at her daughter. “Katie. I’m fine, really. I told Billy not to bring me, but he insisted.”
“Nuts. I ordered Billy to bring you whenever he thought you needed help when I wasn’t around, Ma.” She wouldn’t tell her mother so, but Kate understood why her brother had insisted Mrs. Finney go to the hospital. She looked even worse than usual. In truth, she looked like she was already dead and was only still talking by pure chance.
Her mother’s smile made Kate want to scream imprecations against the fates or God or whoever was in charge of things. That her mother, who was the gentlest, most loving human being in the world, should have to suffer like this wasn’t fair, and Kate resented it. Nevertheless, she smiled back, as cocky as ever. “Tell me the truth, Ma. What happened?”
Hazel Finney tried to sigh, which precipitated a spasm of coughing. Kate held her breath and gritted her teeth as she watched her mother’s affliction. “It’s okay, Ma. Take your time.” Kate dug a clean handkerchief from her handbag and wiped tears and perspiration from her mother’s withered cheeks. Hazel Finney herself lifted the stained handkerchief she’d been holding and discreetly mopped the blood and spittle from her mouth. She still had her pride, Kate knew, for whatever good that had ever done her.
“I had a little coughing spell,” Mrs. Finney told her daughter when she could.
“I see.” Kate hated
feeling helpless. Unfortunately, no matter how much grit and determination she had—and she had tons—she was helpless when pitted against the White Plague. That didn’t stop her from fighting it tooth and nail.
Hazel smiled through the tears that still pooled in her eyes, left over from her coughing. The coughing spasms took everything out of her. “And how about you, Katie? Did you dance tonight?”
Kate gave her the sauciest grin in her repertoire. “You betcha, Ma. I gave ‘em a great performance.”
Hazel patted Kate’s cheek with a hand that looked too heavy for its arm. “That’s my Katie.” Her vague smile faded and died. “But what’s this, darling?” She reached for the scarf tied around her neck, and Kate cursed herself for loosening it in her pique at Alex English.
Quickly reaching for her mother’s hand, Kate drew it away from the scarf. “It’s nothing, Ma. Just a piece of my costume. I guess I forgot to take it off.”
Her mother’s troubled eyes told Kate that Hazel didn’t believe her. “Kate, if Herbert did that—”
”Ma, I’m fine.” Kate made her voice go hard, as if with irritation at Hazel’s prying. “It’s nothing.”
Mrs. Finney stared at her daughter with eyes that told Kate she knew exactly what had happened. “Oh, Katie. My precious Katie. Don’t let him hurt you, Kate. Please.”
Kate knew that if her mother wasn’t so weak, she’d rise from the cot and try to tackle the world for her children. Fighting the world and Herbert Finney for her children’s sake was what had ruined her health.
“Nuts, Ma. It’s nothing. Honest. You just stop thinking like that. Here, Take some water.” Kate knew the these spasms left her mother weak and thirsty. “I’ll lift your head.”
With a sigh, Hazel Finney gave up. “Thank you, Katie. You’re the best daughter anyone ever had.”
“Nuts.” As ever, Kate swallowed the bitter tears clogging her throat as she poured water from a cracked pitcher into a cracked glass standing on the table beside the cot. Then she very carefully lifted her mother’s head and raised the glass to her mother’s mouth. Hazel drank a few sips before her eyes closed and Kate could tell she was too exhausted even to drink more water. Without speaking, she lowered Hazel’s head to the pillow.
“Thank you, Katie,” Hazel whispered without opening her eyes.
“Sure thing, Ma. I’m going to talk to the nurses now. You tell me if they don’t treat you right, you hear?”
Without opening her eyes, Hazel managed a gurgling laugh. “They treat me fine, Katie. You just don’t worry about me.”
Fat chance. Kate wouldn’t say so. Rather, she squeezed her mother’s hand, rose from her kneeling position, and squared her shoulders. Feeling rather as she expected knights of old felt when preparing to go off to war, she marched back down the row of cots in search of the nurses. Kate knew they didn’t pay much attention to charity cases. Why should they? But she wasn’t going to let them get away with ignoring her mother.
Chapter Three
Alex had never been to this wing of the huge hospital. He’d visited friends at Saint Mildred’s occasionally, and once or twice had visited on behalf of an agricultural charity or benevolent association. He’d donated lots of money to the hospital, but he hadn’t actually observed the ward at which his charitable donations had been hurled.
The cold walls, which had once been painted white and which were now fading to a creamy yellow, made him shiver. The hospital board hadn’t wasted any pretty scenic prints on these walls. And there was no flutter of nurses eager to be of service to the patients. There were no flowers, no boxes of chocolates, no baskets of fruit, no pretty dressing gowns. For that matter, there were no rooms.
When he opened the door to Ward 3B, in fact, all he saw were several straight rows of small, cheap cots, each one filled with a huddled form. The room wasn’t quiet, as he expected a hospital room to be. Rather, moans and coughs and sobs greeted his ears. He saw one white-clad form bending over a cot what seemed like half a mile away, and he took the form for one of the nursing sisters.
With a feeling of impending contamination, Alex steeled himself and ventured forth into the room. It seemed to take him forever to reach the nurse. He tried not to look at the people on the cots, but he couldn’t help himself.
Looking was a mistake. Alex had never been this close to utter desperation and hopelessness before. He didn’t like it. How did people sink this low? Was their destitution their fault?
He’d always believed poverty to be a man-made condition, and one in which only the meanest of souls wallowed. But most of these people were women, and the few men he saw didn’t look particularly debauched. Rather, they looked sick.
But surely, they had family members who could help them. Didn’t they? Alex discovered that all of his preconceived notions about good and bad and wealth and poverty were getting muddled up, and he decided to think about them later. Right now, he wanted to discover what business had taken Kate Finney to this awful place. And in his carriage, too. Alex managed to work himself into quite a respectable huff when he considered how kind he’d been to bring her here and how rude she’d been in return. She hadn’t even thanked him.
The nurse looked surprised to see such a well-dressed gentleman here, in the Charity Ward. “May I help you, sir?”
Alex presumed the woman was a nun, since Saint Mildred’s was a Catholic institution. He didn’t hold with popery, although he was tolerant enough to allow Roman Catholics to exist in his city. “I’m looking for—” He stopped speaking all at once, realizing he had no idea whom he was looking for. “Yes?” The nun smiled kindly upon him.
“Um, Miss Kate Finney was visiting—someone—here. I, er, wanted to know . . .” Good Gad, he hadn’t until this minute realized how flimsy his motivation was.
“Oh, Kate.” The nun laughed softly. “Dear Kate. I’m afraid that no matter how hard she tries, or how much she prays, her mother still has consumption. And I’m also afraid that even if Kate had a lot of money, there’s only so much that can be done for Mrs. Finney.”
“Her mother?” Alex swallowed. “Er, yes. Mrs. Finney. Exactly.”
“Are you here to visit Mrs. Finney?” The nun looked skeptical, as if she couldn’t credit such a fine gentleman having anything to do with a member of the Finney family.
Alex hesitated for a moment, then discovered his mouth making up his mind for him. “Yes,” he said, surprising himself. “I’m here to visit Mrs. Finney.”
“Are you a member of the family?” The nun eyed him strangely. She reminded Alex of an all-white penguin, with her arms folded and her hands tucked into the sleeves of her habit.
“Employer,” he said promptly. “My name is Alex English, and I’m a member of the Agricultural Board at the Columbian Exposition. Miss Finney works for me.” In a manner of speaking. At least she worked at the Exposition at his whim. The notion gave him no comfort. Actually, he was beginning to feel like Little Red Riding Hood’s Big Bad Wolf, and the sensation was not to his taste.
The nun’s air of confusion vanished and was replaced by one of pleasure and surprise. “How nice of you to take time to visit, Mr. English. Most employers don’t care, I’m afraid. It’s such a comfort to know there are kind hearts in our city.”
Guilt attacked Alex. He fought it off as if it were a mugger in the park. Dash it, he was a kind-hearted person!
“Follow me,” the nun said, still smiling. “I think Mrs. Finney is asleep, but she might be able to see you. She is,” she whispered confidentially, “is in rather poor shape, I fear. She’s had quite a difficult life, I understand.”
Alex said, “Mmmm.” He didn’t want to hear about Mrs. Finney’s difficult life.
“This is her cot.” The nun stopped beside a bed that looked as if somebody had just climbed out of it and left a jumble of covers in her place.
Slowly, reluctantly, Alex walked up to the bed. He didn’t want to look down for fear of what he’d see, but he forced himself.
Damn.
His worst fears were realized. What had looked like a jumble of covers was the sheet-clad body of a tiny, emaciated female form. “My God,” popped out of his mouth before he could stop it.
The nun gazed down at the woman on the cot, her sadness clear to read on her gentle features. “I fear she’s awfully sick, Mr. English. It’s kind of you to visit.”
That was the second time the nun had accused him of being kind. It was the second time Alex knew he didn’t deserve the word, and he hated the knowledge. “Isn’t there anything that can be done for her?”
Beside him, the nun sighed. “I’m afraid we have no cure for tuberculosis yet. I understand scientists have isolated the bacillus that causes it, but a treatment is still years away. The best we can recommend is rest and quiet, preferably in warm, dry, peaceful surroundings.”
Alex dragged his gaze from Mrs. Finney and cast a glance at the Charity Ward. “These surroundings aren’t very peaceful.”
“No,” the nun agreed. “They aren’t. They’re all we have to offer people like Mrs. Finney, I fear. Taking care of consumptive patients is a costly business, Mr. English. Unfortunately, most families can’t afford to send their members to a sanatorium in countryside.”
“No. Of course not. I didn’t mean—”
She laid a hand on his arm. “Of course, you didn’t. I wasn’t criticizing. I think it’s wonderful of you to take an interest in the family. They’re a hardworking, good lot, except for the father. And we keep praying for him.”
“Hmmm.” Any man who’d allow his wife to linger in this hellhole needed more than prayer. He needed a bullet in the brain.
An idea was beginning to take root in Alex’s head, and he wondered if a bullet to the brain might do him some good.
Mrs. Finney stirred on her cot. A small hand reached out from under the rumpled sheet. “Kate? Katie, love?” The hand moved, as if it were feeling for another person. The hand looked like a claw and the voice was like a soft scrape on the atmosphere.
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