The Shadow Palace

by Jane Steen

  “I know, darling. I just need to have a quiet word with this man.” He had stopped to answer a question from a passing gentleman and was eyeing me nervously as he spoke, fidgeting his feet a little.

  “Ma’am?” Freed, he approached me with a sideways glance to the other side of the room, where the headwaiter was busy. “Should I summon Charles for you?”

  “I don’t need anything except an explanation.” I may have been little better than a servant myself for four years, but the training given to me by Grandmama and Mama sharpened my tongue to just the right degree. “It is unseemly to stare, and in your profession, I would think you’d have learned to accept that your customers come in all shapes and sizes. I feel you are giving one of our party unwarranted attention.” I hoped Tess wouldn’t realize I was talking about her. She was often nervous about going out into a world that was too ready to apply the words “imbecile” and “feeble-minded” to her.

  “I’m so sorry, ma’am.” The young waiter looked over his shoulder to see where the headwaiter had gotten to. Fortunately for him, his superior was engaged in a protracted trial of question and answer with a large, loud-voiced gentleman—and yet I had the impression that his eyes missed nothing.

  “I’d never bother a customer in the normal way of things, sure I wouldn’t.” His speech revealed the trace of an Irish brogue, although in the main, his accents were the quick, brash tones of the native Chicagoan. “But a wonderful thing may have been revealed to me.” He turned his gaze full on Tess with an odd, yearning look. “Ma’am—Miss—with no disrespect in the world—could your name possibly be O’Dugan?”

  “It is,” said Tess, beaming. “How funny you should guess that.”

  The waiter bit his lip, and the color mounted to his face. “I hardly dare ask—is your given name Theresa?”

  I sat up straighter. Sarah opened her mouth, and I flapped a hand at her.

  Tess’s small teeth showed in a broad grin. “It is Theresa! You’re very good at guessing. But I like Tess better.”

  The young man’s face was now red to the roots of his light brown hair. “Mother of God,” he breathed. “Could it ever be true?”

  I was almost certain I understood what was happening and felt a bubble of joy mixed with apprehension surge through me. The apprehension was aided by the fact that the headwaiter had freed himself and was looming over the waiter with a look that boded no good for the young man.

  “What do you think you’re doing, William?” He looked as if for two pins he’d have grabbed William’s ear, like a master punishing a naughty schoolboy. “You know very well this is not your table. This is not what we expect at the Palmer House.” He glanced at me. “I apologize profusely, Madam.” As I’d expected, he had a German accent.

  “No need to apologize,” I said. “In fact, I think I must insist that you give William a few minutes’ grace. I believe something remarkable is happening.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.” William had gone from red to pale. “It truly is an exceptional circumstance. I had a sister, you see, sent away when I was no more than five years old. But I never forgot her face, and now here it is before me.” He swayed a little and turned to address me. “If I faint, Madam, you’ll not let them send me away, will you? I don’t know in what relation you stand to our Tessie, but surely you must understand the feelings of my heart.”

  The situation was getting out of hand, and I decided to take charge. Sarah’s face was pink, her obvious longing to fire off a volley of questions and observations at top volume competing with her desire to be well behaved. William really did look as if he were going to faint and would soon have to sit down in clear breach of professional etiquette. Tess was staring at him as if entranced. I stood up.

  “Listen,” I said to the headwaiter, “there’s going to be a tremendous scene at any moment, and I don’t suppose you want it happening in the middle of your dining room. Please show us immediately to a private room where we can make a great deal of noise, and kindly allow William the rest of the day off. I will be sure to mention your kindness to the hotel manager.”

  I began walking away from our table, assuming—correctly—that the others would follow.

  “But, Momma,” said Sarah, “what about our dinner?”

  The headwaiter, who seemed to grasp the situation at last, heard her. “If I ask the kitchen to wait, say, twenty minutes?” He smiled ingratiatingly at me. “It’s kind of you to think of the other diners. William, lead the way to the third private dining room—it is not currently in use.” He steered the young man to the left with a firm hand on the small of his back. “And stand up straight, man.”

  Our sudden removal caused a few heads to turn, but it did spare the hotel the loud, chaotic, and tearful scene that followed once we reached the safety of a chilly, unlaid dining room. William—better known to Tess as Billy—did indeed sit down on the carpet and sob loudly.

  “And here we are at the end of our twenty minutes and barely a word of our stories told,” he remarked after thoroughly wiping his face and blowing his nose on an enormous red handkerchief. “You ladies had better get back for your supper, but may I beg the favor of waiting on you in your room later? Pardon the impertinence of asking for the room number, but they’ll never let me stay if I’m seen sitting downstairs with our guests. As it is, I must go back to the dormitory and put on my own clothes or I’ll get into trouble for walking on the guest floors.”

  “Of course you can come and see us, as soon as it’s convenient to you.” I scrabbled around in my reticule for a ticket stub and a pencil to write down our room number. “We’ll expect you as soon as dinner’s over.”

  “And you’ll tell me all about the rest of the family, won’t you?” Tess pleaded. She was standing still so that I could repin her hat and neaten her hair, which had started to come down from its bun when Billy had enveloped her in a bear hug. He was of a compact, muscular build, not terribly tall, but he still towered over Tess’s small, plump form.

  “I’ll tell you all there is to know, Tessie,” replied Billy, pocketing the slip of paper. “All the good—and the not so good.” He stared at Tess for a moment as if he had more to say, but then shook himself. “I’ll not be keeping you ladies from your food any longer.”

  With one last look at Tess, he darted toward a door at the back of the room, disappearing into the gloom—the headwaiter had lit only one gas lamp for us.

  Tess shivered. “What does he mean, the not so good?” she asked.

  I shook my head, not wanting to speculate. But I too wondered what the evening had in store for Tess.

  Billy’s tentative knock sounded on our door at seven thirty that evening. Sarah’s attempts to stay awake after an early start, an excursion to the park, and an afternoon spent looking out of the windows and exclaiming about everything that was happening on State Street had been in vain. I had carried her to bed and shucked her out of her clothes without waking her. Tess and I had remained in our evening dresses in honor of Billy’s visit, and we had tidied our hair as well.

  I was glad we’d made the effort when Billy sidled through the door. He was dressed in what was evidently his Sunday best, a fairly good suit of dark brown with highly polished boots and a well-brushed hat. When he removed the latter article, his hair gleamed in the gaslight. He had oiled and combed it meticulously so that not a single strand was out of place.

  “You can’t imagine what a ribbing I’ve been getting from the boys about going into the good rooms,” was his first remark as he entered. He sounded nervous, but his smile was cheerful and his manner easy, if a touch deferential. “The men’s dormitories are nothing like this, to be sure. And a suite of rooms too.” He turned around in circles, inspecting the ornate design of the ceiling, the polished wood of the floor, and the thick Turkey carpet, before looking at the two of us.

  “May I kiss you, Tessie?” His voice was tender. “If I’m not too much of a stranger to you.”

  By way of an answer, Tess rose to her f
eet and dashed over to him, holding out her arms. Billy gave her three smacking kisses, one on each cheek and one on her forehead, and she turned pink with pleasure.

  “Ah, I can’t think what’s the greatest happiness—the joy of finding you or the thought of what I’m going to tell Ma and Da tomorrow,” Billy said when he’d done hugging Tess and was holding her at arm’s length, gazing at her face. I felt a sense of relief; I’d been worried that Billy was going to inform Tess that one or both of her parents was dead.

  “Whose story are we going to hear first?” I asked, motioning for Billy to sit on the plush settee that faced the fireplace. Tess and I, more hampered by our dresses, perched on the two armchairs.

  “I want to hear about Ma and Da and Mary, Georgie, Aileen, Deirdre, Joseph, and Janet,” said Tess. I’d heard her enumeration of her brothers’ and sisters’ names often enough that they were familiar to me. Billy had been the youngest child when Tess was taken to the Poor Farm.

  Billy settled himself more comfortably, placing his hat on the side table with a self-conscious air. “I’ll start with Ma and Da, then, Tessie. They live in the Back of the Yards—that’s by the stockyards, the Union Stockyard, that is. It’s a ways south of here and reeks something dreadful in the summer, but their house is a sight nicer than the tenement we lived in before the fire.”

  “Does Mr. O’Dugan work in the stockyards?” I asked.

  “No, ma’am. His back is terrible, and we had some bad years when he quit working.” Billy reached over to pat Tess’s hand. “But we pulled together somehow. Ma took in washing, and we all went out to work. By that time, Mary was married and could’ve been sitting easy since her husband’s a clerk in the railroad, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She came over every day and baked pies to sell while Da sat in his chair and minded the boys—she just had two then. It’s not a man’s place to mind children, but Da said if everyone else was making a sacrifice, he could too.”

  “Mary has boys?” Tess clapped her hands.

  “Four lads now, all as alike as twins. And a handful they are. Aileen’s married too, but no children.” He shifted on his seat and rubbed his palms together, looking uneasy.

  “What about Georgie?” Tess asked. “I remember that his hair was red and very curly. Is it short now?”

  Billy looked down at his hands and sighed. “Tessie, our George has been in heaven these seven years.” He looked up at her stricken face, his eyes moist. “And our Janet before that, of the scarlet fever. It was cholera that did for Georgie, and the Lord took him quick. Janet went blind toward the end, so it was a blessing it didn’t last too long after that.” He cleared his throat. “But the rest of us is hale and hearty, God willing. Da walks with a stick, but he walks, and that’s a wonderful thing.”

  A fat tear caught the edge of Tess’s spectacles, spreading along the rim. She removed her glasses and blinked at me, her expression so lost and forlorn that it wrenched at something deep within me. “Nell . . .”

  “I’m here.” I crossed the space between us and knelt on the rug by her chair, putting my arms around her, feeling another of her hot tears slide down my neck. Billy came to stand awkwardly behind her, stroking her hair and whispering, “I’m sorry, darlin’. I’m sorry I had to be the bearer of bad news.” His homely face bore an expression of deep sorrow, and I decided I liked him immensely.

  We stayed like that until Tess drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Poor Ma and Da,” she said, scrubbing at her face with her handkerchief. “And now there are only . . .” She thought for a moment. “Six of us. Or did Ma have any more babies after I left?” She looked hopeful.

  “No.” Billy gave an unsteady grin. “Da says the angels took one look at my serious mug and decided Ma had a good boy to take care of her. I was never one for mischief.” He looked across at me and shrugged. “An old soul, so I am, Ma says.”

  “So Mary and Aileen are married. What about Deirdre and Joseph?” Tess was smiling again despite her reddened eyes.

  “Ah, no, not even walking out.” Billy grinned. “Deirdre’s got a good position as a maid with a preacher’s family out by Winnetka way, and she says she’s not in a hurry to marry and leave such a pretty place. Joseph’s apprenticed to a cabinet-maker in Joliet—he’s good at the carving and the like. So we’re all going up in the world, Tessie darlin’.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek before resuming his seat on the sofa. “With all of us working and scraping up every penny we could manage, Ma and Da were able to start a tidy little saloon and live above it. It’s a decent place, with no brawling—a good house where the steady men from the yards can take a pint to get the stink out of their throats. Ma does free bread and soup every Thursday, even for the ones who can’t afford a drink.”

  “When can I see them?” Tess leaned forward in her chair. “Nell, could we go there tomorrow? Billy said he was going.”

  “I suppose I could ask the hotel to hire a carriage for us,” I said. “But won’t it be a terrible shock for your parents?”

  Billy grinned. “I can prepare them for the shock of seeing Tessie if you let me walk ahead a little. I’m not sure if they’ll be ready for a carriage though. But I suppose you fine ladies won’t be wanting to ride the horse cars.”

  He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and stood up, looking alarmed. “I’ll be in hot water if I’m not in the dormitory by nine. And I still haven’t heard your story, Tessie, but it’ll just have to wait. Can you be down at the Ladies’ Entrance at two o’clock? They won’t want me in the good rooms any more than I can help it, and the dormitory master won’t let me leave till I’ve been to Mass twice.”

  I nodded. “We can certainly manage that, and no doubt the carriage too. Is there a good Episcopalian church nearby?”

  “I hear Saint James is . . .” Billy’s voice trailed into silence. “Wait a second. Tessie, are you not Catholic?”

  Tess shook her head slowly, and Billy gave a long, low whistle. “They turned you Protestant? Ma’s going to have conniptions.” He looked at me. “Since Georgie died, Ma’s been a terrible one for Mass. Georgie saw an angel standing at the foot of his deathbed, you see, and it did something to Ma. She swore she’d never lose another child if she did her duty as a Catholic, and she was right—she never did.”

  With another glance at the clock, Billy settled his hat on his head. “I’m warning you, she’s not going to like Tessie being turned away from her faith,” he said. “And she’ll winkle that out of us straightaway.” With a swift kiss on Tess’s cheek and a tip of his hat to me, he hastened out of the room, leaving me and Tess staring at each other.

  “Well!” I said.

  “My head’s hurting,” said Tess. “I’m full of happy feelings, but there are sad ones too. And Ma won’t really be cross at me for being a Protestant, will she?” Her hand strayed to her precious Bible, which sat on the table next to her armchair.

  I put my arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

  “I’m sure she won’t.” But I wasn’t sure, not entirely.

  7

  Family

  Tess’s mother was a surprise. I had expected a woman of the stolid Irish type, bearing a resemblance to Billy’s snub-nosed homeliness or Tess’s round, pleasant face. A woman who ran a saloon, I’d decided, would be a muscular, unwavering-looking matron of a demeanor suited to dealing with laborers. As we waited in our hired carriage for Billy to walk ahead and break the news, attracting much attention from an increasingly large crowd of urchins and curious bystanders, I built up a picture in my head of this paragon of sturdy Celtic energy and hoped I’d like her.

  In fact, Mrs. O’Dugan turned out to be a fragile-looking, bird-boned waif of a woman with a mass of wavy hair swept up into a topknot and huge gray eyes that wore a perpetual expression of anguish. There was no doubting her identity though. The moment we descended from the carriage, she flung herself out of the doorway of the neatly painted saloon and wrapped herself around Tess. The wild keening she set up, with much raising
of her enormous eyes to heaven and wringing of her hands, seemed to alarm nobody, as if this were perfectly normal behavior. The process of greeting lasted so long that even Tess, who at first had hugged her mother tight and cried a good deal, began to look a little uncomfortable. Fortunately, the man who followed her outdoors finally succeeded in prying her loose with an injunction to “calm down now, Margaret.” He greeted Tess in his turn with a hearty kiss on both cheeks. By the stick on which he leaned and his resemblance to Tess, I deduced he was Mr. O’Dugan.

  Sarah and I stood a little apart from the reunion, taking in our surroundings. There seemed to be children everywhere, spilling out of the open doorways onto a street with neither trees nor grass. The houses huddled close together as if for warmth. We had come through several streets like this, punctuated by drifts of wasteland bordering the railroad or dominated by hulking brick buildings with a utilitarian air. A few men and a great many more women sat in doorways, hung from windows, or leaned against walls, talking in groups or simply watching. Smoke and the acrid tang of the stockyards tainted the air. Yet the place didn’t seem unfriendly—it was so full of people that it had almost a carnival atmosphere. I caught the eye of one or two of the watching women and smiled. They smiled back and nodded at me as if it was quite the usual thing to have a lady in a carriage come to call.

  After a few minutes, during which Tess quite disappeared, so great was the throng surrounding her, a detachment of people broke away from the crowd and came toward us. They introduced themselves so rapidly I had no hope of remembering who was who. I heard the word “cousin” a few times. The rest appeared to be friends of the family. I caught a hint of Irish brogue often, but also German and Slavic accents, sharper and less musical than the Irish.

  The assembled people herded us inside the tavern. Someone explained that there would be no drink, it being the Sabbath, but they needed the extra space. Women’s voices came from a room adjoining that where we all stood, and before too long, great platters of bread and butter and plain cake were passed around. These were soon accompanied by large cups of strong tea, liberally sweetened. The scents of perspiration and damp wool competed with the odors of tea, sawdust, scrubbing soap, and a faint tang of beer. From time to time, a man would spit noisily into one of the pots in the corners of the room, following the instructions of the notices that proclaimed, “Do not spit on the FLOOR—use the SPITOONS.”