Manhattan

by Michael Grant

  The next morning, Michael got to work extra early because he knew Cullinane was always the first one to arrive. The old man was in his office working his way through piles of invoices and architectural drawings when Michael knocked on the door. “Cully, can I have a word with you?”

  The old man looked up. “Yeah, Ranahan. What is it?”

  “Might I sit down?”

  Cullinane tossed his glasses on his cluttered desk. “Go ahead,” he said without much enthusiasm. “What’s up?”

  Michael wiped his sweating palms on his trousers. “I … I just wanted to let you know that my wife is pregnant.”

  “Congratulations,” he said, reaching for his glasses. “Was there anything else?”

  The old man was not making it easier for Michael. “Well, with the baby coming and all, it’s going to be an added expense.”

  “Babies usually are. If you’re looking for a raise, forget it.”

  Michael’s heart sank, but he continued, determined to make his pitch. “Cully, I’ve been here for over four months. Haven’t I been doing a good job?”

  “You have.”

  “So why would a raise be out of the question?

  Cullinane put his glasses back on. “Because I’m going to make you a foreman.”

  “A … foreman …?”

  “We’re getting busier and busier. Flynn’s just not up to the task so I’m giving you a crack at it. Don’t screw it up.”

  Michael was elated that Cully was promoting him to foreman, but he was uncomfortable with the fact that he would be replacing Flynn, a man who had become his friend. “Cully, I don’t know if I can take the job …”

  “If you’re thinking of Flynn, forget about it. I already spoke to him and he’s fine with my decision.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “Now get out of here; we both have work to do.”

  An apprehensive Michael waited outside for Flynn. He didn’t want to talk to him about the switch in front of the other workers. Finally, he saw him coming down the street with his hands stuck in his pockets and the ever-present cigar in his mouth.

  Flynn grinned and stuck his hand out. “Congratulation, Michael. The headaches are all yours.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay with this? If not, I’ll go in there and tell Cully I don’t want the job.”

  “Don’t be daft. To tell you the truth, I’m relieved. I can see now that I’m not one for responsibility or bossing men around. I’m not cut out to own my own business, so I’ve gotten that notion out of my head once and for all.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.” He tossed his cigar into the street. “Now come on, we’ve got a wagon load of bricks to deliver to that site on Delancey Street. Oh, I forgot,” he said, slapping Michael on the back. “That’s not my problem anymore. It’s yours.”

  While the other workers drifted in one by one, Michael went to inspect the wagon. He’d helped load it yesterday and he didn’t like the way it had been done. It was just another example of the wasteful inefficiencies he’d been noticing. He’d said nothing because it was none of his business. But now that he was the foreman, things would change.

  As soon as all the men were in the warehouse, Michael said, “Men we’ll have to unload this wagon and reload it.”

  Brian Larkin, a chronic complainer and loudmouth said, “So who died and made you boss?”

  “Cully. As of today, I’m the new foreman.”

  Larkin looked at Flynn. “Is this true?”

  “It is, and I’m very happy to become just one of you lot again.”

  Larkin glared at Michael. “It took us hours to load the bloody wagon yesterday. Why do we have to unload it?”

  “Because it was done all wrong. Look, we piled all this lumber on top of the bricks, but we’ll need the bricks first. That means we’ll have to unload the lumber and leave it in the street while we unload the bricks. It’s double the work.”

  Larkin shook his head. “Well, what’s done is done. I’m not going to undo yesterday’s work.”

  As the newest man here, Michael assumed there would be some who resented him becoming foreman. And he knew that his authority would be challenged at some point. But he didn’t expect it to happen so soon. “Larkin, you’ll do as I say.”

  “And what if I don’t?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw Cully standing in the doorway to his office with his arms folded and an inscrutable look on his face. Michael stepped up to Larkin. They were about the same height, but the beefy man had him by a good twenty pounds.

  Looking him right in the eye, Michael said, “You’ll do what I tell you or you’re fired.”

  Larkin’s face turned red and, without warning, he tried to sucker punch Michael. But Michael was expecting it and he easily blocked it. He drove his fist into the man’s fat stomach and Larkin sunk to the floor groaning in pain. Michael stood over him. “What’ll it be, Larkin, will you unload the wagon or will you get out?”

  A sullen Larkin stumbled to his feet and shuffled toward the wagon. “Well, let’s get the damn thing done.”

  Michael looked back to see Cully’s reaction, but he was no longer standing there.

  Now that Emily was sitting in the Hainsworth’s parlor, she was having second thoughts about agreeing to take on the Hainsworth child. Despite what Delia had said, maybe Abigail didn’t want to take French lessons. She dreaded the thought of dealing with two recalcitrant students.

  Just then, Delia and Abigail came into the room.

  “And here’s my Abigail,” Delia beamed. It was apparent to Emily that Delia was very proud of her daughter.

  Abigail, with an oval-shaped face was tall for her age and, like many fourteen-year-old girls, at that gawky, awkward stage. Her red hair was in a long braid that ran down her back, and her green eyes flickered with a charming mischievousness. Emily could see that in a few years she would grow into a beautiful young lady.

  “Abigail, this is Miss Somerville.”

  Abigail bowed slightly and held her hand out. “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Somerville.”

  Emily took her firm hand. “And I’m pleased to meet you, too.”

  Emily was immediately impressed with Abigail’s confident manner and openness; so unlike unhappy little Lucy.

  “Well, shall we get started?”

  “I’ll leave you two to your work,” Delia said, closing the door behind her.

  “Abigail, do you know any French words at all?”

  “Last Christmas we had many visitors to our home, which is our custom on Christmas Day. One of the gentlemen was French, but I didn’t understand a word he said. We had over a hundred gentlemen callers you know. I wrote all their names down in my diary. Some of the gentlemen didn’t stay long, but some stayed for oysters and cake. The gentlemen kept dropping in all day and until long after I had gone to bed. The horses looked so tired, but the livery men made lots of money.”

  “That sounds very exciting,” Emily said, trying not to laugh at Abigail’s unexpected loquaciousness. “What games do you like to play?”

  “I ever so much enjoy rolling hoops and jumping rope.”

  “In French, jump rope is pronounced, corde à sauter. Can you say that?”

  Abigail wrinkled her freckled nose. “Corde à sauter?”

  “Very good. And roll hoops is pronounced, arceaux.”

  “Arceaux.”

  “Excellent.” Emily was relieved to see that Abigail was a bright child and a quick learner. As she had done with Lucy, they spent the rest of the lesson picking up objects in the parlor and pronouncing them in French.

  At dinner that evening, Emily delighted Mrs. Winslow and Gaylord as she described her remarkably bright and funny new student. “My, the child does like to talk. Among other things, I found out her favorite bakery is Mr. Walduck’s.”

  “I know it,” Gaylord said. “It’s on Sixth and Eighth. And indeed, it is my favorite bakery as well.”

  “Abigail also tells me her fav
orite cream puffs cost three cents each. And she informed me that Dean’s candy store has molasses candy that is the best in the city.”

  Gaylord clapped his hands. “She’s spot on. I, too, frequent Dean’s for their molasses candy.”

  Abruptly changing the subject, Mrs. Winslow said, “With a baby coming, I presume you’ll be leaving here soon. Do you have any plans?”

  Michael frowned. “No. But between my move up to foreman and the income from Emily’s two students, I’m hoping we’ll find something suitable.”

  Mrs. Winslow took a newspaper out of her handbag. “I happened to be reading the paper today and I saw an advertisement that might be of interest to you.” She handed the paper to Emily, who read the circled advertisement aloud.

  “To let: Eight entirely new, two-story cottages, piazzas, and veranda fronts, courtyards, thirty-five feet deep, filled with elegant forest trees. Each house contains four bedrooms, two parlors, and kitchen, and hard-finished walls with cornice and center-piece. Possession given immediately; terms very moderate …”

  Emily put the paper down. “My goodness, that sounds … wonderful.”

  “That sounds too good to be true, if you ask me,” Michael said. “And if it is true, it must be terribly expensive.”

  Emily glanced back at the advertisement. “It says here the rent is four hundred dollars per annum.”

  “What are you paying here?” Gaylord asked Emily.

  “Ten dollars a week.”

  “That’s five hundred and twenty dollars a year.”

  “My, it’s expensive when you look at the annual cost.”

  “Residing in a boardinghouse has its conveniences, but it can be quite expensive.”

  She turned to Michael. “It’s costing us more to stay here than to rent a house.”

  Still doubting the possibility of renting such a fine home, Michael interjected, “But our food is included here. If we rent a house, we’ll be responsible for buying our own food. Then there’s the heating and… God knows what else.”

  “That will be the case wherever you go,” Mrs. Winslow pointed out.

  Michael was not swayed. In his short time in this city he’d learned that people made lots of promises, but just as often went back on their word. “Where is this house anyway?”

  Gaylord picked up the newspaper. “West Fortieth between Sixth and Broadway.”

  “That’s way up,” Michael said.

  Gaylord tossed the newspaper on the table. “Michael, the farther south you go, the more real estate costs. As neighborhoods go, West Fortieth isn’t bad.”

  Despite his doubts, Michael had to agree. He’d seen with his own eyes that the most desirable—and expensive—neighborhoods were all south of Delancey Street. Looking at the expression on Emily’s face, he could see she was very excited at the prospect of moving into a new home. “We’ll have to think about it,” he said noncommittally.

  Back in their room, Emily could barely contain her excitement. “Michael, it has two parlors. We can turn one of them into a classroom.”

  “A classroom for what?”

  “To teach French. With a young baby, I won’t be able to travel up to Gramercy Park three days a week. Besides, Delia Hainsworth hinted that she might know of a few women who would like to have their daughters learn French.”

  “But what if they won’t come to you? Then all we’ll have is my foreman’s pay.”

  “If it comes to that, won’t that be enough?”

  “I suppose. But if—” He was interrupted by a knock at the door.

  Emily opened the door and Mrs. Winslow was standing there. “May I have a word with you?”

  Emily nodded. “Certainly, please, come in.”

  Mrs. Winslow sat down on the rickety chair, Emily sat on the bed, and Michael remained standing.

  The older woman turned to Michael. “I know you’re concerned about being able to afford the rent for that house.”

  “I am. That’s what we’ve just been talking about.”

  “I have a proposal for you that I think will be advantageous to the three of us.”

  “And what is that?”

  “If you decide to rent that house, why don’t I move in with you? I will of course pay you the five dollars I now pay Mr. Coyle each week. That’s an additional two hundred and sixty dollars a year for you, which will more than pay your rental expenses.”

  When she saw them staring at her with their mouths open, she added, “And, Emily, I would be most happy to be a nanny to your baby while you’re teaching your students.” Mrs. Winslow looked down at her lap. “Mr. Winslow and I were never able to have children and I’ve always regretted being childless. I think I can be an asset to your young family and you would do me a great honor if you would accept my proposition.”

  Mrs. Winslow’s proposal had literally taken Emily’s breath away. It was, to say the least, a great surprise. Gaylord had told her about Mrs. Winslow’s tragic past and she’d assumed the woman just wanted to live out the rest of her life alone.

  “Mrs. Winslow, I … don’t know what to say.”

  The older woman smiled. “Yes, would be a good response.”

  Emily looked at Michael for help. She knew he was just as surprised as she was but his expression was neutral. She wasn’t sure if he’d want someone else living in the house with them.

  “Mrs. Winslow, I think we need some time to consider your very generous offer.”

  “No, we don’t,” Michael said abruptly. “It’s up to you, Emily. I’ll go along with whatever you want.”

  Emily was surprised—and pleased—with his response. She had a feeling that he didn’t really like the woman, who, admittedly, could be at times be caustic and abrasive. Emily stood up and straightened her dress. “Well, in that case, we accept your generous offer, Mrs. Winslow.”

  Mrs. Winslow stood up and the two women hugged. “Please, Emily, call me Henrietta.”

  After Mrs. Winslow left, a stunned Michael and Emily stood staring at each other in silence, hardly able to comprehend what had just happened. Any doubt that they could afford their own home had been suddenly, and finally, put to rest by Mrs. Winslow.

  Emily sat back down on the bed. “Can you believe our good fortune, Michael? Thanks to Mrs. Winslow ... I mean Henrietta, our rent will be only one hundred and forty dollars, and she’s willing to help with the baby as well.”

  “I’ll admit it sounds good, but, still, I have my doubts about her. She can be a bit highfalutin’.”

  “That’s only because she’s been alone for so long. She’s a lonely and frightened woman. I think she realizes she needs to be with people, to be wanted, to count for something. We can help her as much as she can help us.”

  The next night at dinner, they broke the news to Gaylord.

  “Well, that’s wonderful news for the three of you. But what’ll I do now? God help me, it’ll just be me and Mr. Coyle.”

  Mrs. Winslow patted his hand. “Gaylord, there will be new tenants with whom you’ll be able to regale with your tales of this wicked city.”

  “Perhaps. But to tell you the truth, I’m a little jealous. I wish I were going with you.”

  “We won’t be far away,” Emily said. “As soon as we get settled in, we’ll have you over to dinner.”

  Michael tapped the tureen with his fork and grinned. “And you can be sure it won’t be stew she’ll serve up.”

  Chapter Twelve

  On Sunday morning, an anxious Emily and Michael took the Sixth Avenue omnibus up to Fortieth Street. The advertisement had painted a pretty picture of the house, but given the exaggerations and outright lies of unscrupulous landowners, they weren’t sure what to expect.

  Fortieth Street was mostly vacant lots with a few squatter’s shanties scattered here and there. It didn’t look very promising. Then they saw the eight houses as described in the advertisement.

  Tears welled up in Emily’s eyes. “Oh, Michael, look.” The row of eight, shiny new houses were even more be
autiful than she’d dared imagine. Each house had a patch of grass in front surrounded by a picket fence. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  Michael grunted. He was expecting to find a hidden catch in all this business. Still, Emily was right. They were beautiful homes.

  Arthur Schaefer, the property manager was waiting for them in front of building 407. “Ah, you must be the Ranahans.”

  “I’m Michael and this is my wife, Emily.”

  The short, rotund man shook both their hands. “Well, let’s see the property, shall we?”

  Off to the left and right of the modest vestibule were the two parlors. They stepped into the one on the right. Emily squeezed Michael’s hand. “This could be my classroom,” she whispered.

  “Come on, let me show you the upstairs,” Schaefer said.

  The second floor consisted of four bedrooms and a small bathroom. Emily was especially taken with the bathroom as she imagined never having to share a bathroom with other boarders.

  “What do you think, Michael?”

  “I have to admit, it’s better than I thought.” He turned to Schaefer. “The paper said the rent is four hundred dollars a year. Is that correct?”

  “It is, and I advise you to make up your minds as quickly as possible. Six of the houses have been rented already.”

  Emily looked at Michael. “Well?”

  All along, he’d been expecting some unpleasant surprise—shabby construction for example, or a pig farm next door, but everything appeared to be in order. “I guess we should take it,” he said with a shrug.

  The property manager clapped his hands. “Excellent. Now if you’ll come to my office on Worth Street tomorrow and sign the papers, you can move in the first of the month.”

  To celebrate the renting of the house Emily suggested they stop at a small restaurant off Broadway.

  Looking in the window, Michael said, “This looks very expensive.”

  “We’ll just have tea and crumpets.”