Band of Sisters

by Cathy Gohlke

  “To share it? Or to give it away as benefactors?” Maureen frowned. “No one wants a handout.”

  “Then why are there beggars in every street?” a woman named Hope spoke from the side of the room. “Help me understand that.”

  “Because they’ve figured a way to make themselves pitiful to you. Beggin’s a job to them—some do it willingly, and some are forced by those greedier and more powerful.”

  The women looked astonished.

  “You pay the hungry beggar for his beggin’ through your coins dropped into his cup, and you both leave happy: the beggar, who’s worked at beggin’, is paid, and you, the ‘employer,’ who’s paid so generously to feel good about yourself.”

  Spines straightened as if Maureen had bitten the women.

  “But the ones in greatest need you never see. They’re behind closed doors, in sweatshops, hunched over tables, workin’ their hands to the bone—too cold to sit in winter and too hot to breathe in summer. They’re down dark alleys, scroungin’ through the leavin’s behind pubs and stores, or hidden away, scrimpin’ and starvin’ or bein’ threatened or beaten . . . or sold by the hour for another’s gain. And their children are starvin’ or sent to beg, dirty because they can’t afford to ask their landlord to fix the water pipe—they daren’t bring attention to their need when they can’t pay the rent.”

  “How do you know?” Hope demanded.

  Maureen stared at the young woman in blue silk, ivory lace, and pearl earrings. She must be all of three and twenty, and she’s never really seen the poor. She’s never gone hungry. She can’t even imagine it. “Because I’m one of them. Because I’ve been one of them, and I’ve seen many worse off than me in Ireland and right here in your ‘land of the free.’ But it’s not free—everything costs money, and those without it are enslaved to their poverty or to those who feed them—at whatever cost to their souls.”

  The only sound in the silence was Katie Rose’s muffled sobs. And for those tears of humiliation and shame, Maureen pitied her sister.

  “But how can we change that?” Julia persisted quietly.

  And Hope echoed, “Please, tell us how.”

  “The problem you describe is monumental.” Agnes spoke as though to herself.

  “All I know is that if you want to help women, you need to help them find jobs—respectable jobs with fair wages so they can afford good food to eat and a safe place to live. Invitin’ the poor to drink tea in your grand houses won’t do that.”

  “We’d hoped to treat them as equals and then to draw them into the church, to help them spiritually and economically.” Miranda spoke up.

  “But you won’t let the poor forget they’ve received a handout, will you?” Maureen replaced her teacup. “You’ll invite us to your church, to sit in your pews and take Communion at your side, but you won’t forget the next day, the next week, that we’ve come from someplace different, that we’ve had to do as you would never do, live as you have never lived, just to get by. You might not even notice us if we passed you in the street, say on Fifth Avenue. You’d not miss us if we disappeared entirely. We’d never truly be a part of your ‘circle.’”

  “I wouldn’t have thought the poor would be ungrateful for help of any kind,” Dorothy replied, not smiling.

  Maureen stood.

  “Please.” Olivia stood too, her distress visible. “We’re all missing something. This is not a ‘them and us’ question; it’s a question of how we work together for everyone’s good.”

  “Until we all go back to our places—all of you to your grand mansions in the squares with butlers and cooks and scullery maids, and Katie Rose and me to our hovel, our tenement near the Battery, our flat above a bar and brothel.”

  “Brothel?” Dorothy paled.

  “It’s not a brothel!” Katie Rose cried. “You’re exaggeratin’, Maureen!” Her eyes flashed desperately round at the women sitting tall in straight-backed chairs, women whose acceptance Maureen knew was her sister’s heart’s desire. “We’re only there until we can afford somethin’ better. We’ve nothin’ to do with the pub downstairs! Tell them, Maureen—tell them!”

  The women waited. Maureen finally spoke. “How can you talk of bein’ like your Jesus and helpin’ the poor when you’ve no idea what it is to be poor, to be powerless and hungry, unprotected and desperate? To be vulnerable all the time?”

  “And what do you do in your desperation?” Dorothy asked coldly.

  “You’re right,” Julia said, ignoring Dorothy. “We’ve no idea and no right. So help us, Miss O’Reilly. Tell us where to begin and what we can do.”

  But Maureen had had enough. If sayin’ we live above a brothel shocks them, what would they say to knowin’ the number of their wealthy husbands and fathers and brothers who not only visit those brothels but buy and sell women—dupe or dope or beat them and take them who knows where, right under the nose and with the blessin’ of Tammany Hall and “New York’s finest”? What would they say if I told them Drake Meitland, the benefactor who housed and hosted their ladies’ tea, may well be among those sinners?

  “Come, Katie Rose, we’re goin’ home.” Maureen walked to the door.

  “No.” Katie Rose’s voice trembled, but she stood firm. “I want to stay.”

  “Perhaps you should—” Olivia began.

  “I want to take the pledge,” Katie Rose interrupted. “I want to join you, just as you said, and follow Him together. I can help you help the poor.”

  Maureen stopped with her hand on the door, not looking back. Katie Rose, you’re simply curryin’ favor with these women—women you don’t know if you can trust beyond a pleasant afternoon with tea and scones. Don’t pledge—not for that reason. Wait until you know you can trust this Jesus, until you know that He will help you, love you as you want, before you love Him.

  But no one said anything, so shocking was Katie Rose’s insistence. What can they say? They can’t turn her away from their notion of the all-forgivin’, all-lovin’ Jesus. And perhaps, after all, I shouldn’t. Just because He can’t love me—want me—it doesn’t mean He won’t love her.

  Maureen sighed and turned the knob. “I’ll wait for you in the hallway.”

  Such a simple, foolish girl. But I envy you, Katie Rose. What if this Jesus really loves you?

  “I wondered if I might join you lovely ladies in your pew this mornin’?” Joshua Keeton tipped his hat as he met Maureen, Katie Rose, and Mrs. Melkford on their walk to church Sunday morning. He offered his arm to Mrs. Melkford, who smiled at his courtly manners and slipped her arm through his.

  “You’ll not be sitting with the Wakefields this morning?”

  “I believe Mr. and Mrs. Meitland will have returned. It would make the pew a mite crowded with all of us, and after all, my connection with the family was only to deliver a letter to the Misses O’Reilly.” He nodded toward Maureen and Katie Rose but didn’t address them. “I’d be most grateful for the pleasure of your company.”

  Mrs. Melkford dimpled. “I’m not simple, Mr. Keeton. I know when my presence is a matter of convenience. Still,” she sighed, “it’s been quite a long while since I walked through a church door on the arm of a handsome gentleman, and I’m pleased to do it.”

  Joshua winked in return, knowing his eyes twinkled. But he kept them fastened on Mrs. Melkford and the sidewalk ahead.

  He sensed more than saw that Maureen had stiffened in displeasure and that Katie Rose had melted at the sight of him. Walkin’ a precarious line, I am, but a line that must be walked.

  “What is it that you do, exactly, Mr. Keeton?” Mrs. Melkford asked. “Besides seek out missing ladies?”

  “In Ireland I worked the land with my father and brothers. But here I’ve worked makin’ deliveries for department stores, and now I’ve taken a position with Mr. Morrow in his publishin’ firm.”

  “Oh?” Mrs. Melkford inclined her head approvingly. “What exactly—?”

  “There’s not much farmin’ to be had in the midst of Manhatt
an.” He smiled.

  “No, no, I don’t suppose there is,” she replied. “But—”

  “You’re lookin’ dapper today, Katie Rose. I believe this New York City air agrees with you.”

  Katie Rose blushed from her neck to her hairline. “I believe it does.” She hesitated only a half second. “You know, I’ve a position too, Mr. Keeton.”

  “Have you now?”

  “With the Triangle Waist Factory. I’m a seamstress—I operate one of the new machines at full wages.”

  “That’s quite commendable. Perhaps I should be callin’ you ‘Miss O’Reilly’ rather than by your Christian name.” He tipped his hat to her. “Forgive me if I’ve been impertinent.”

  He heard Maureen snort.

  “No, please call me Katie Rose; I love the way it sounds when you say it.”

  He nodded. “Katie Rose it is, then.”

  Maureen spoke at last. “Mr. Keeton, you were about to say what you—”

  “Ah, here we are.” Joshua walked Mrs. Melkford through the portal of the church with a flourish and guided her up the balcony stairs, Katie Rose at his heels and Maureen taking up the rear.

  He stood aside as the ladies filed into the pew and was more than pleased when Maureen, in her lagging behind, ended up beside him.

  “Oh, look! There’s Miss Olivia and Miss Dorothy!” Katie Rose pointed into the congregation below.

  “You mustn’t point in public, my dear,” Mrs. Melkford corrected softly.

  Katie Rose sat up straight, and Joshua smiled his sympathies toward her.

  “Don’t you think they’ll be expectin’ us to sit with them?” Katie Rose whispered to no one in particular.

  But Joshua answered quickly, “I think Mr. Morrow is glad for the opportunity to accompany Miss Olivia with none to distract.” He leaned toward Maureen conspiratorially. “I rather think he fancies her.”

  Maureen shifted in her seat beside him. “You seem to have an opinion about everythin’ and everyone, Mr. Keeton.”

  Joshua couldn’t help the smile that grew inside him. “On the contrary, Miss O’Reilly. I’ve no opinion about you.”

  She shifted again.

  “I’m at a loss what to think,” he teased, but from the corner of his eye he saw her redden and her mouth flatten in a straight line.

  Oh, will you never lay down your prickles and armor, Maureen O’Reilly?

  By the service’s end, Joshua’s head was more filled with the nearness of Maureen than of the Savior he loved and served. Still, he wasted no time in hastening the ladies down the balcony stairs and out the door. He walked them all the way back to Mrs. Melkford’s street and at a steady clip.

  “You’ll stay to dinner with us, won’t you, Mr. Keeton? I’m serving roast chicken and gravy, potatoes, and—”

  “If only I could, Mrs. Melkford, and it’s very kind of you to offer. Very kind indeed. But I must be off. I’ve a bit of work to catch up on.” And he stepped along more lively yet.

  “Are you off to a fire, Mr. Keeton?” Maureen fussed as she caught Mrs. Melkford’s other arm when the good lady nearly tripped over a cobblestone.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, ladies,” Joshua apologized sincerely. “I’m used to bein’ about my business, and my farmer’s legs don’t stride a lady’s pace. Are you all right, Mrs. Melkford?”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, a little breathless.

  “Exactly what is your business?” Maureen demanded.

  Joshua tipped his cap as they reached Mrs. Melkford’s door. “Seein’ you ladies safely home at the moment, Miss O’Reilly.” And he left just as quickly as he’d come.

  For once, Maureen did not doubt Joshua Keeton’s sincerity or word. What was that about? Did Aunt Verna bid him watch over us?

  “I still think we should have stayed to speak with Olivia and Dorothy.” Katie Rose pouted. “I don’t know why Joshua rushed us out so, not if he wasn’t goin’ to stay to dinner.”

  “Nor do I,” Maureen answered. Not that I’m anythin’ but grateful to avoid either one of the Meitlands. But I wonder . . . It’s as though he didn’t want us to speak with them—any of them. Why?

  When Mr. Crudgers came to the door for the rent, Maureen was still at work, and Katie Rose was two dollars short.

  “You’ll have to make it up before the month is out, little missy.” He stepped over the threshold and leered, his tobacco-stained teeth and liquored breath too near her face. “Unless you want to work for it.” And he fingered the stand-up collar of her shirtwaist.

  But Katie Rose, her senses screaming, pretended to see her neighbor from across the hall, just beyond his shoulder. She waved and called, “Mrs. Kaminsky! I’ll be right there. Mr. Crudgers is just collectin’ the rent.”

  He stepped back into the hall then and turned. Quickly, Katie Rose slammed and bolted the door in his face.

  “You little minx! You think you’re clever,” he shouted through the door. “You get me that two dollars, or you and your sister get out!” He thumped down the stairs to the bar below.

  Katie Rose wrapped her arms around her torso, going weak in the knees, and slipped, her spine against the doorframe, to the floor. In the minutes it took for her breath to come evenly and for her heart rate to steady, she tore the collar from her waist and threw it on the floor. Then she made three decisions:

  First, I’ll demand that Maureen take Olivia up on her offer for us to move into Morningside.

  Second, if Maureen refuses, I’ll go without her.

  Third, I’ll ask Joshua for help and company, no matter what Maureen says. He has demonstrated himself a protector—completely trustworthy and every bit a gentleman. A gentleman I’d be proud to walk out with . . . proud to marry. She felt the heat race up her arms and face at her own confession but did not repent the thought. Perhaps he’ll notice me more if I’m not forever standin’ in Maureen’s shadow.

  “Absolutely not!” Maureen fumed that evening. “You’ve no idea what you’re sayin’.”

  “He wanted to touch me!” Katie Rose shouted. “Do you hear me? That filthy, lecherous man wanted to touch me!”

  Maureen pushed her tea away and leaned her elbows on the table, her hands covering her face.

  “He said that we could ‘work’ for the rest of the rent! Do you know what he meant?” Katie Rose demanded.

  Maureen felt the weight of the world descend. “Yes, yes, I know. Do you know?”

  “Don’t be stupid! Of course I know. I told you on the ship that I would never have done it in Ireland, and I won’t do it now.” Katie Rose stood before her, hands on her hips, but Maureen could not bring herself to speak.

  How has it come to this?

  Katie Rose slumped into the chair across from her and clasped Maureen’s hands in her own. “We can’t go on like this, Maureen. You must go back to your old wages and your old job.”

  “They’ll not take me. I don’t even know if I’ll have a job at the end of my ‘probation period.’”

  “We’ll never pay the rent at this rate, let alone eat. It’s plain as plain we have to move somewhere, and Olivia’s offered to take us in—rent free.”

  Maureen ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. “Yes, I know we have to move, but not there. We can’t make ourselves beholden to her or her sister—none of them. We can’t trust them. We must make it on our own.”

  Katie Rose stood again and pushed her chair beneath the table. “I thought you’d say that. And I’m tellin’ you now that I won’t move to someplace lower and cheaper and dirtier, with who knows what or who livin’ above or beneath or beside us. Vermin live with vermin, and that’s what we’ll become if we go on like this. We’ve barely enough to keep body and soul together now—to keep ourselves clean and respectable enough to stay employed.”

  “It will only be for a short time, until I can find a different position.” Maureen sat up. “What about the Triangle Factory? I could learn the sewing machines too. And I’m fair with fittin’—you said they needed
more fitters. You could put in a word for me.”

  Katie Rose colored. “They need more fitters, but girls are standin’ in line for those jobs. They pay better than runnin’ the machines, and they’ll not appreciate someone waltzin’ in off the street and snaggin’ the position from them—especially not Irish.”

  “Does it matter what they think?”

  “It matters to me. Those girls are my friends. They and their families need the work as much as we do. And I think it’s best if we don’t work at the same place.”

  “But I’m your sister.”

  Katie Rose turned and crossed the room. She pulled back the tattered curtain and looked into the darkened glass. Maureen watched her sister’s reflection as she waited, watched her features change, wondered what brewed in her thirteen-year-old head. She sighed at last, unable to guess. “Come away from the window.”

  “I’ve decided.” Katie Rose spoke quietly. “With you or without you, I’m goin’ to Olivia’s. We came to America for a different life, and I mean to have it. I won’t become like you. I won’t crawl, and I won’t do the things you’ve done to get what you want.”

  “The things I’ve done? What I want?” Maureen could not believe her ears.

  Katie Rose faced her sister. “I saw you do it in Ireland. I know you took money from that man at Ellis Island—you told me yourself. And now, now that we can’t make ends meet, you’d rather move into some deeper, darker hovel than take the decent hand that’s offered us.”

  Maureen gasped, anger and shame both rising within.

  “Well, I’ll not do it, and if you persist, I’ll not have anythin’ to do with you.”

  Maureen stood. “What I did in Ireland I did so you and Mam could keep a roof over your heads and food in your bellies! I did it so you wouldn’t be sleepin’ in ditches and barns after Da died or be driven off to the poorhouse.” She shoved the chair between them aside. “I did it because Lord Orthbridge was bigger and stronger than me and I had no other choice. And I did it with no thanks or pity from you or Mam! Not once!”