by Cathy Gohlke
Maureen turned her face to the wall.
Katie Rose, seeing her sister’s shoulders slump in defeat, was moved to pity—a little. She knelt beside Maureen. “What is it? What’s made you so dark?”
“I’ve been demoted. There’ll be no pay this week and only half the next. I don’t know if we’ll be able to keep this flat, and there’ll surely be no trolley fare to anywhere, least of all to the Meitlands’.”
“What have you done now?”
The face Maureen raised to Katie Rose was not repentant but angry. “I’ve done nothin’! I stole nothin’, but that wicked Mr. Kreegle planted a pearl necklace in my coat, sayin’ I’d taken it, and . . .”
Katie Rose sat back on her knees in horror as the story poured from Maureen—details of the necklace, the fighting off of Kreegle, the shaming before the store. Rarely had she seen her sister cry and never in such a state. For the first time in memory, Katie Rose found herself in the role of comforter.
“How dare the man! But don’t cry; don’t take on so. There’s no understandin’ the gall of some of these Americans. We’ll manage.” Katie Rose pulled out her hankie and pressed it against Maureen’s cheek. “We’ve almost the rent saved for another month. We’ll just have to . . . to go Spartan on the tea for a while. And you’re right; we’ll walk to the Meitlands’.”
But the fear in her sister’s eyes did not subside. “They’re tryin’ to force me out of Darcy’s. And you know what that means—no job and no references. We can’t manage on your wages alone.”
“But why? Why would they force you out? Has that Mr. Kreegle so much say, just because you wouldn’t . . . wouldn’t let him have his way?” Katie Rose looked at Maureen as though she’d not seen her before, trying to imagine why anyone would not want her beautiful, striking sister working at their counter. “Is it . . . is it because you’re Irish?” she whispered.
“No!” Maureen threw up her hands. “I think it’s because of what I . . . what I suspect. What I know of them.”
“What on earth are you talkin’ about?”
But Maureen put her face in her lap and covered her head with her hands, as near to keening as silent sobbing allowed. Katie Rose did not know what to do.
“Shall we go to Mrs. Melkford’s, Maureen? Will that help?”
“No!” Maureen cried.
“Then let me get Joshua—or Miss Olivia.”
“No!”
“Then tell me what’s the matter!” Katie Rose was nearly frantic. “It’s got to be more than a demotion!”
And so Maureen began her story with Jaime Flynn and his financial rescue and the job address given at Ellis Island. Before she could go further, Katie Rose cut her off.
“You took money from a strange man?” Katie Rose frowned, knowing such a thing was not to be done. “You shouldn’t have. But it’s all right now. It came out all right with the job.”
“But I lied to get it. I told Mr. Kreegle that the Wakefields had recommended I go there. I forged a letter from Mrs. Melkford, saying she recommended my character and vouched for my workin’ history.”
“You never!”
“I did. I was desperate to stay in America and desperate to keep you here.”
“Mrs. Melkford would have helped you for the askin’, and Olivia would have helped.”
“I didn’t know that then! How could I?”
“How could you do that to Mrs. Melkford?” Katie Rose took her hands from her sister.
“It was wrong. I’ve nothin’ to excuse it, and I’ve never told her. But Jaime Flynn has come and wants his money back—insists—and I don’t have it.” Maureen rocked back and forth in her agony. “The demotion is all part of a plan to force me into greater desperation.”
“Greater desperation?” Katie Rose tried to understand. And as the possibilities dawned, she reclaimed her feet. “What do you mean?”
“I mean—” Maureen drew a deep breath—“that Jaime Flynn never meant me to be a shopgirl, a department store clerk. He meant me to work upstairs, where there’s some sort of . . . sort of . . . ladies escortin’ gentlemen about.”
“You mean a . . . a brothel? Like the women downstairs?”
Maureen shook her head no, then yes. “I think so—or more likely some sort of escort service. But girls have been disappearin’ altogether from Darcy’s—at least my friend Alice and another girl. I know Jaime Flynn and others more powerful are behind it—Drake Meitland, for one.”
“I don’t believe it. Darcy’s is a respectable department store.”
Maureen’s stricken face did not move Katie Rose.
“You’ve taken money from a man and accepted his help,” Katie Rose recounted quietly, “just like you did from Lord Orthbridge. If you’re up to your old tricks, I’ll not be part of it.”
“You don’t understand!”
“What I understand is that you’ve not changed! All the village said you—”
“When the floor supervisor ordered me to leave my counter, she said that Mr. Kreegle offered to transport me and my sister across state lines for ‘alternative employment’!” Maureen stood and faced Katie Rose. “Do you understand what that means?”
Katie Rose felt the blood drain from her face. “I understand what you think it means.”
“Katie Rose!”
“Perhaps you’re right about the man at the store, but I’ll not do it—no more than I’d have done it with Gavin Orthbridge!”
“And I’ll not have you do it! But I’m tellin’ you the Meitland man and his friends may be part of the disappearance of those women. They may all be connected, these men who meet on the fourth floor. We can’t have anythin’ to do with him—not with him or his wife or her sister or any of them!”
Despite Katie Rose’s nasty accusations, pouting lip, and obstinate silence through the remainder of the week, Maureen was certain she’d made her point, certain her younger sister would obey her now that she knew the seriousness of their plight.
But when Maureen returned home after a long and wearisome Saturday restocking shelves in the Darcy’s Department Store cellar, she found the apartment empty, with only a note next to the table lamp.
I’ve gone to the tea. Will be back when it’s done.
Katie Rose
Maureen dropped the paper, unbelieving. How could she go when I told her . . . ? Foolish, foolish girl!
But in her anger an image of her sister rose up before her. Young, flirtatious, smiling, trusting—so wanting to be noticed. An image of Drake Meitland followed closely behind, his superior smirk and the cultured voice she was certain was his that night in the dark of Darcy’s Department Store.
Maureen had not unbuttoned her cloak. She grabbed her purse, dug a nickel from the pint jar on their bedside table, as well as the address for Dorothy Meitland, and raced down the stairs.
By the time Maureen reached the mansion in Salley Square, she was breathless, her frozen feet ached, and the rumble in her empty stomach had become a grinding churn. But she pounded on the front door with all the force of a judge’s gavel, determined to rescue her sister.
Olivia had just poured tea for the Ladies’ Circle when a frantic pounding began at Dorothy’s front door.
Dorothy started. Several of the women raised inquisitive brows, but Olivia signaled for her sister to continue with her guests and discreetly slipped from the drawing room, closing the doors softly behind her.
By the time she reached the foyer, George, the Meitlands’ middle-aged protective and vigilant butler, had planted himself firmly in the front doorway and was addressing the ruffian in quiet but not uncertain terms.
Olivia thought to step back, to allow George to attend to his business, but the brogue of the undaunted ruffian sounded surprisingly familiar.
“Where is she? Where is my sister?” The flame-haired, green-eyed monster pushed past George, nearly mowing him down.
“What is the meaning of this, miss, and to whom do you refer?” George, Olivia saw, could barely contain hi
mself before the sprite now in his foyer.
“My sister, Katie Rose O’Reilly. I know she’s here and you daren’t deny it!”
Despite the impropriety of it all, Olivia Wakefield squirmed between them.
“Maureen! I’m so glad you came.” Olivia pulled the irate young woman into the hallway. “George, please take Miss O’Reilly’s coat. She’ll be staying to tea.”
“Where is she? Where’s Katie Rose?” Maureen demanded shrilly.
“Please, lower your voice,” Olivia whispered. “Katie Rose is in the drawing room, with the ladies from our circle, having tea.” She smiled and confided, “I think she’s having the time of her life—she’s certainly the center of attention.”
At that moment Katie Rose’s tinkling laughter rang beyond the door. Maureen visibly perked her ears toward the sound but demanded, “Is Mr. Meitland here?” Her green eyes were startlingly bright and wide.
“Why, no. He’s away on business, and this, after all, is a ladies’ circle.” Olivia felt a little perturbed. Why should she want Drake? But her assurance that Drake was not there seemed to calm the trembling creature before her. At least she allowed Olivia to draw her into the hallway and take her coat.
“I’m sorry, Miss—”
“Olivia, please.” Olivia reached for her arm.
“I beg pardon for burstin’ in on you like this, but I’d no idea Katie Rose had accepted. I told her to decline.”
“Well, she did—decline, I mean. But I’m so glad she changed her mind at the last moment. I’m so glad you both did.”
“But I didn’t . . . I . . .” Maureen looked desperate, frustrated, and very much like she was going to cry, as though she had been crying.
“It’s a blustery day, I know,” Olivia soothed. “Would you care to freshen up before coming in to join us?”
Maureen looked miserably self-conscious as she smoothed her skirt and tugged the cuffs of her crumpled waist. “No, I don’t want to join you. I want Katie Rose—”
“Come with me.” Olivia pulled her guest into her sister’s downstairs powder room and opened a cupboard. She took out a brush, a comb, and a porcelain dish of hairpins. “Dorothy keeps these handy for her guests. You never know what the weather will be, and it does so wreak havoc with our hair.”
But Maureen’s hands trembled as she glanced frantically around the room, and Olivia knew the poor creature was very near the end of her tether.
“Please sit down.” Olivia gently but firmly pushed Maureen to the seat of the vanity before an oval mirror. “Allow me.” And she pulled the simple pins from Maureen’s wild knot, combing the long and tangled tresses one by one until they shone like silk in the electric light.
The brushing and combing seemed to calm both women, though neither said a word. Olivia wound the thick cords of shining hair into an attractive upswept style, something her lady’s maid would have done for her, and pinned it neatly into place. “There. You have such lovely hair, Maureen. Thank you for allowing me to help.”
“I ran all the way from home. I was so afraid for her.” Maureen spoke low, breathing more deeply now.
“Afraid for Katie Rose?” Olivia watched Maureen’s face in the oval before them. “For coming here? But why?”
Maureen’s wide green eyes held the same bleak expression they’d held Thanksgiving afternoon, when Drake had roughly ushered her from Morningside.
“Why would you—?”
But they were interrupted by Dorothy’s knocking on the door. “Olivia? Are you there? What has become of you? We’re ready to start the meeting.”
“I’ll be right there, Dorothy!”
Maureen’s frightened look was a total mystery to Olivia, a mystery she determined to solve, but later.
“Come, sit with me, and I’ll get you some tea. You must be starving.”
“Please, don’t ask me. Send Katie Rose out, and we’ll go.”
“No, Maureen. You’re here now. Please, please stay. Sit with me. Nothing and no one will harm you here.”
“But—”
“I don’t think Katie Rose will leave willingly. She’s so bright and eager to stay. Please.”
From the look on Maureen’s face and the change in her posture, Olivia knew she’d hit both a nerve and the truth. She took Maureen by the elbow and drew her gently along the corridor to the drawing room, smiling with all the loving care and happiness she could muster, until Maureen breathed almost evenly and gave a tentative smile in return. Then she opened the drawing room door.
For the sake of Olivia, who’d been so kind and reassuring to her, Maureen did not glare the daggers at her younger sister that she might have, that she determined to give in good measure when she got her home—not even when she was introduced as Katie Rose’s elder sister to the ladies of the circle. Maureen thought the ladies welcomed her warmly in words, if a little awkwardly in spirit.
Still, the color faded abruptly from Katie Rose’s cheeks, and while she’d apparently been the life of the tea party, she said not one more word as the meeting was called to order.
The order of business sped by as little more than a blur to Maureen, who, so relieved to find her sister safe, was truly grateful for the piping hot tea in the warm room, the dainty sandwiches and scones. “A lovely English nursery tea,” Lady Catherine would have said.
As Maureen’s nerves calmed, she recognized the conversation around her—sometimes heated and passionate, sometimes calm and questioning—as a continued discussion of the book and its purposes that Reverend Peterson had commended in church some weeks before.
“Have you read In His Steps?” Julia directed her question bluntly toward Maureen.
“No.” Maureen nearly choked on her scone for the sudden attention drawn to herself. “I’ve not.” The women stared, seeming to wait for her to continue. “I’d not heard of it until Reverend Peterson mentioned it just before Christmas.” Women nodded politely, still waiting. The silence was awkward, so Maureen offered, “We may not have it in Ireland, it bein’ an American book.”
“Well, I would like to read it, if I may.” Katie Rose spoke up and basked in the approving smiles of the women around her. “Is there a copy I might borrow?”
“Gladly.” Carolynn beamed. “You may take my copy with you today.”
Agnes, the eldest and the leader of the circle, appeared to overlook Katie Rose and returned the conversation to Maureen. “Do you understand the question posed by the book and the purpose of our meeting, Miss O’Reilly?”
“I—I think so.” She hesitated. “You’re askin’ each one to do what they think best for the poor.”
“They’re asking what Jesus would do for the poor,” Katie Rose corrected.
“That’s right,” Agnes praised the girl, “and we’re each taking a pledge to do just that—whatever we believe Jesus would do in every situation.”
“Regardless of the consequences,” Miranda added.
“But how do you know what Jesus would do?” Maureen asked. “How can you be sure?” She looked around at all the different women, twelve in all, wondering if they realized just how different they were from one another, from her—how different they all appeared from the radical Jesus pictured in the stories Reverend Peterson read about from his Bible in the Sunday pulpit. “And what if you disagree?”
“Maureen!” Katie Rose admonished.
“No.” Julia jumped in. “That’s a perfectly legitimate question, and I applaud you for asking it.” She glanced round the group, daring them, Maureen thought, to contradict her. “We’ve been praying, asking the Lord to lead each of us individually, trusting that He will lead us in a similar direction to work with the . . .” She hesitated. “The poor.”
Maureen forced a smile, realizing suddenly that she was not a guest and not an equal, but “the poor” and the cause of the forthright young woman’s discomfort.
“The Holy Spirit leads us,” Olivia offered. “We’ve no right to question the Spirit’s leading of one another.”
“The still, small voice of God within. The Comforter who leads and guides us,” Carolynn explained.
Could that be the voice I heard? The voice that helped me battle Mr. Kreegle?
“But we want to do something that truly matters,” Agnes intervened. “Something that makes a difference great enough to change the lives of . . . of . . . women who . . .”
“Women who what?” Maureen stared her down.
“Of women in need, especially those who come to this country with nothing,” Miranda spoke plainly.
“Women like me and my sister?” Maureen asked quietly. “Is that why you’ve asked us here, because you want to give us tea?” She set her cup in its saucer. “Do you think tea will solve the problems of the poor?”
“No.” Agnes took charge. “We know it won’t.”
“But we need to know what will, and we need to form a solidarity with the women of—the women in need.” Julia regained her voice.
“Until there is no difference between us,” Olivia offered. “Until we are sisters, a band of sisters, strong and united. That is why I asked you here, because I want us to be sisters in every way.”
“A wonderful plan,” Katie Rose enthused.
“It won’t work,” Maureen said flatly. “The poor don’t go away rich. We don’t stop bein’ poor or uneducated or hungry because you want it. Our employers don’t suddenly become generous or honorable or even fair.”
Katie Rose bit her lip, and Maureen saw the daggers she’d intended to give her young sister spring from Katie Rose’s eyes.
“It will work when we all come to know the Lord, to share fully and freely in the gift of life He died to give us.” Dorothy Meitland spoke for the first time, lifting her chin, Maureen was sure, in some sort of barely perceptible snub.
“Jesus said that the reason some have wealth or earn an abundance is to share it with those who have none.” Carolynn, who seemed to be the quiet one of the group, spoke up. “We just need to know how to best share it.”
