Promptly at three o’clock Callie rushed around kissing and hugging everyone who’d made it possible for her to leave. She lingered with Madge, a shyness suddenly coming over her. She didn’t quite know what to say to this woman who had taken charge of her for so short a time. “If I didn’t already have a mother, I know I’d want one just like you. I won’t forget what you did for me, Madge. I hope you don’t get into trouble with Owen.”
Madge hugged the girl close. “Let’s just pretend I was standin’ in for your mum for a day or so. Go along with you now. You know where we are in case you need us. You’ll be safe with those fancy ladies looking after you.”
“Fancy or not, they can’t be as good as you, Madge!”
“We’ll be watching out the windows, Callie. Everything will work out, you’ll see. Remember to take the broom out of the kitchen, so’s it looks like you were sent out to sweep the stoop.”
Callie tried to concentrate on sweeping the debris and cigar butts from the steps. She felt heavy and lopsided wearing three pairs of bloomers, two petticoats, and the warm woolen stockings Bessie had given her. The comb and brush and few coins Madge had pressed on her at the last minute were safely tucked away in a reticule worn about her waist under the new blue dress. Callie worked her way down the steps, forcing herself to keep from looking up and down the street for the people who were to come and kidnap her. She was nearing the bottom step when two men and a woman approached and asked her name.
“Callie James,” she told the woman, looking into a square, plain face that was topped by a black hat worn at a tilt over the brow and festooned with quivering feathers.
“Don’t make a scene and come along quietly,” the woman told her. “We mean you no harm. We’ve come to save you from a life of sin and the reward of hell. You’re a Christian, we take it?”
Callie nodded her head, reminding herself not to look back toward the house to see if anyone was watching from the windows.
“It matters little if you’ve already fallen from God’s grace,” the woman told her. “We cast no stones. We want to save your soul, Callie James. Do you love the Lord? Do you believe in His Word?” she held up a black book, pushing it under Callie’s nose, letting her recognize the Bible.
Callie nodded. Yes, she’d been taught to love the Lord. Yes, Peggy had taught her to believe His Word.
“Then come along, Callie James, to save your life and your soul.”
Callie fell into step between the two men. She prayed this was the right thing to do. Madge said it was, so it must be.
Behind the heavy drapes of 16 Cortlandt Street, Madge and her girls clung together watching Callie being escorted away. They clung to one another, wiping at their eyes, until Madge blew her nose lustily and said they would break out Owen’s last bottle of corn whiskey.
“Fanny, I want you to take my red wrapper to the Chinee on the corner and have him clean it. I have to make arrangements to post it off tomorrow. A promise is a promise. All right, ladies, we have things to do, and we’ve got to get our stories straight for Gallagher, so let’s get to it.”
The women settled themselves in the parlor and listened to Madge. “We all know the best lie is the one closest to the truth. Here’s what we’ll say. Too hoodlums broke in here last night just before opening. We’ll say they looked like part of that gang from over in Hoboken that Gallagher’s so afraid of. Anyways, they broke in and stole Gallagher’s corn whiskey and beer and had their way with each of us. First they hung out the sign that said the house was closed for repairs, only they had me print it ’cause they can’t write. Then we say they took Callie off with them because they liked little girls, and they said they’d kill anyone who tried to get her back.”
When Owen Gallagher heard Madge’s story, he shook his head, his face whitening in fear of the Hoboken gang that was pushing its way into the neighborhood. His fear squelched any sympathy or regret over losing Callie. He didn’t even squawk when Madge demanded “a night’s pay for all we went through when we could’ve been killed!”
“If you weren’t so cheap, you’d pay for some protection around here, Gallagher. My girls and me won’t work another night until you get us some bodyguards!”
It seemed to Madge that Owen couldn’t peel off the bills fast enough before making tracks down the street.
Chapter Seven
If Madge and the others had known what they were sending Callie to, they might have reconsidered and judged that their little “refugee” was better off in their own care and under the auspices of Owen Gallagher. As it was, the female societies enjoyed good public relations, and because they were supported by generous patronesses who lived at the best addresses in New York, they were looked upon as estimable organizations for the protection and moral refinement of their wards. In some instances this might be true, but in most cases the opposite was the reality.
Callie was escorted to a plain brick building on Bleecker Street, which was designated by a polished brass shield over the door, Bleecker Street Magdalene Female Society. This, Callie thought, was appropriate. Wasn’t Mary Magdalene the prostitute in the Bible who was saved by the love of Jesus? Wasn’t she herself only just rescued from the same profession?
The well-dressed woman who had accompanied the two men to Madge’s house introduced herself as Mrs. van Nostram and seemed delighted to have rescued this bright-looking child from the clutches of sin. She took Callie by the hand and led her up the front steps, nodding a farewell to the two silent men.
“This is a day you’ll remember the rest of your life, child,” she told Callie. “This is the day of your salvation! You’ll be meeting Mrs. Slater, who is the wardress here. She’s a fine, upstanding woman who has dedicated her life to the society. She may seem a little difficult at first, but rest assured, she knows what’s best for you.”
Callie was a little sick of everyone thinking they knew what was best for her. First, her mum sending her off to America, then the emigration officials keeping her in quarantine, then Madge, and now this Mrs. Slater.
Mrs. van Nostram pulled the bell chain and turned to face the child she’d redeemed. Good clear skin, bright blue eyes, a tumble of glossy ringlets bobbing on her head. But there was something about the girl that denied her apparent youth. There was a knowledge in her eyes, a shadow of suffering that bespoke maturity. So many children in New York had this same look in their eyes, and it was born out of suffering and hardship. Lately, since the throng of Irish immigrants had landed, that look was becoming the natural order of things.
Callie heard the sound of brass hittting against brass as several bolts were thrown before the door swung open. A drab woman wearing a dark dress, her hair falling in strings about her gaunt face, recognized Mrs. van Nostram immediately and stepped aside to admit them. In the hallway stood a pail of soapy water and the scrub brush the woman had been using to wash the stairs leading to the second floor. She showed the guests into the front parlor, which was nicely appointed with horsehair furniture and green-velvet draperies. A low fire burned in the marble hearth, lending its warmth to the room. “Tell Mrs. Slater I’ve brought her someone,” Mrs. van Nostram instructed. The woman’s eyes went to Callie, seeing her youth, and there was an instant of pity there.
“No need for that,” said a deep voice, slightly gravelly. With a swish of taffeta petticoats, a tall, square-shouldered woman entered the room. The grim line of her mouth lifted slightly at the corners in welcome to Mrs. van Nostram, but her glance was centered on Callie.
“I’ve brought you another girl, Mrs. Slater. We rescued her from a bawdy house and only just in time, I understand. Poor little thing. Naturally I brought her here to you.”
“Naturally.” Mrs. Slater’s brows lifted, and she crossed her hands over her bosom. “You realize, Mrs. van Nostram, our dormitory is already full, and we’ll be hard pressed to feed another mouth.”
“Oh, of course, I didn’t mean . . .” Mrs. van Nostram took a deep breath and seemed to shrink beneath Mrs. Sl
ater’s scrutiny. “Of course, I’ll speak to the board about raising the price for another bed.” Charity, in the form of orphanages and homes for wayward woman, was very fashionable these days, and she hadn’t a doubt that her contemporaries would dig a little deeper into their purses when she told them of this lovely child.
“That will be most kind of you, Mrs. van Nostram. Without that assurance I would be forced to turn this girl away.” Mrs. Slater’s eyes went once again to Callie, seeming to measure her for some future purpose.
“You understand, girl, you will stay here only on the condition that you lend your services to the keeping of this establishment. We keep no lazy women here.” Her heavy voice filled the room with its volume, and Callie felt herself shrinking backward. She knew she didn’t like this Mrs. Slater with her button eyes and her slash for a mouth. There was something hard and mercenary in the way she appraised her new boarder. Almost like the way Owen had looked at Callie in the ferry terminal.
“If you will see about raising the money this child needs, Mrs. van Nostram, I’ll let you be on your way.” It was more a command than permission to leave. “I will personally see to this child.” The corners of her mouth lifted again in a charade of a smile. “I can see how you’ve come to take such an interest in her.”
Mrs. Slater looked on as Mrs. van Nostram offered a few words of encouragement to Callie before bustling out of the room. When the doors closed behind her and Callie was left alone with Mrs. Slater, the atmosphere in the room dropped to a chill.
“Very well, you’ll come along with me now to the dormitory upstairs. We’ll get you proper clothing to wear,” she said, eyeing Callie’s dress with interest. “You can’t go about in that.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, Mrs. Slater, but it’s a new dress—”
“Did I give you permission to speak? We don’t like troublemakers here. You will turn in that dress and your other belongings.”
“But it’s new! I’ve had it for less than a day!”
“I can see myself that the garment is hardly used. Elsewise why would I want it? It will be sold to help defray your expenses while you’re here.” This time there was no broaching an argument as Mrs. Slater stepped close, looming over her like a great black crow. “Come with me!”
Callie followed her into the hallway where the woman who had opened the door was on her knees, scrubbing the floor. The woman’s eyes followed Callie, and there was again a glimmer of pity for the young girl.
“Don’t gawk, Ellen, get about your work!” Lifting the hem of her skirt like a grand lady, Mrs. Slater started up the stairs, Callie close at her heels.
“The kitchen is in the basement,” Mrs. Slater stated. “After you’ve changed, you can go down there and see what help is needed. It’s only temporary until we find you employment. The second floor is prohibited to you and the others, except for cleaning. Those are my private quarters and offices. The third and fourth floors are the dormitories where you will spend your time when you are not at work. No one lives here for nothing, you will soon learn. You, like the others, will be trained for employment.”
They had just reached the second floor, and Mrs. Slater pointed to the right. “Down the end of this hallway is our work room. Sewing is brought in from the outside for the women who are unable at this time to go outside for employment.”
Callie could hear the murmur of voices as she followed the wardress down the hall. Mrs. Slater opened the door, and immediately all conversation stopped. Inside no fewer than twenty women, most of them in various stages of pregnancy, stitched away at button holes and collars from a huge stack of men’s shirts. The light was dim; only one flickering lamp illuminated the interior, aside from the feeble daylight coming in through the tall, narrow windows, which were blocked by stacks and boxes of work to be done. The women bent their heads over their work, sewing industriously, nervous fingers working and turning collars, all of them pretending Mrs. Slater was not standing in the doorway; all of them dressed in the same shabby black dresses with dark gray aprons.
“Who dared to light this lamp against my wishes?” Mrs. Slater demanded. “Oil is expensive. Am I to take it that you’re all willing to give over to support your luxury?”
“It’s a gray day outside, Mrs. Slater,” a woman sitting in a far corner spoke up, “and Tillie’s eyes ain’t what they should be.”
“Let her sit near the window,” was Mrs. Slater’s solution.
“Aw, stay where you are, Tillie,” said a woman with frowzy blond hair, awkward in the last stages of pregnancy. “How much more can she take from our wages that she ain’t taken already?”
“Mrs. Slater?” a soft girlish voice called. She was hardly older than Callie herself. “When can I see my baby? Last time I was with him, he had such a bad cold—”
“You’ll see him when you’re able to repay me the cost of the doctor,” came the harsh reply. “Get back to work, all of you, and stop your sniveling. All this talk about babies. If you were all good Christian women, you wouldn’t be having these problems. Open your legs for any man and then cry when you’ve got to pay for your sins.”
The silence in the room was oppressive, and Callie hung her head, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. If this was Christian charity, she wanted no part of it; if this was mercy and goodness, she’d rather be back with Madge and the others.
The dormitories on the third and fourth floors were large and expansive, walls having been removed to create a single area. Beds, low and narrow but clean, were arranged around the perimeters creating a crowded impression. In each end of of the rooms stood a wash stand. It was spare and austere without a trace of anyone’s personal belongings. As she was instructed, Callie removed her new blue dress, and when Mrs. Slater noticed the fresh, clean muslin of her petticoats, she was told to give those over as well. Callie hoped Mrs. Slater wouldn’t notice the new drawers she was wearing.
“Here, put this on, it looks as though it should fit.” A black dress, the same as the others had been wearing, was tossed to her. As she slipped it on, she noticed Mrs. Slater fingering the light-blue wool. “Will I get my dress back?” Callie asked meekly.
“Hrmph! The same as the rest, expecting to be given clean living quarters and a good meal each day for nothing. No, you’ll not be getting your dress back. It will be sold to pay for your first week’s lodgings until you receive your first pay. Then your expenses will automatically be deducted from your salary, which will be sent directly to me.”
Callie looked at Mrs. Slater blankly. Hadn’t she heard her tell Mrs. van Nostram to raise the price for another bed and lodging from the board, whatever that was? Callie’s lips puckered, her chin lifted. Trembling inside, intimidated by this woman who held her future in her hands, Callie faced her bravely. “I’ve always given a good day’s work for a day’s wages. I won’t be needing charity, nor do I need someone to manage my wages for me. I pay my debts, Mrs. Slater, and I’ll be thanking you to leave me my dress. You needn’t bother to sell it. Mrs. van Nostram will get my week’s lodgings from the board.”
“You little snit!” Mrs. Slater’s hand cracked across Callie’s face. “I knew you were trouble the first time I laid eyes on you! Listen to me, girl. You’ll do as I say and live by the rules of this house or you’ll regret it!”
“I don’t want to stay here! I want to go back to Madge’s. I’d rather take my chances with a whore than the likes of you!” The words were out before she could stop them, but instead of Mrs. Slater being properly shocked at being judged beneath a whore, she merely laughed. The sound was a witch’s cackle to Callie.
“Oh, you would, would you? Well, let me tell you a few things, my girl. This is the end of the road for you. You won’t be going anywhere unless it’s to prison!” She was satisfied by the look of horror in Callie’s eyes. “That’s right—to prison!” Her words were sharp and short like gunfire. “We know what to do with girls like you here in America.”
Apparently Mrs. Slater was satisfied by Callie’
s astonished silence, for she took the blue dress and petticoats and left the dormitory.
Prison! Callie was just unsophisticated enough to believe Mrs. Slater’s threat. After Tompkinsville and Owen Gallagher anything was possible. Prison! The very thing Peggy had sent her away to avoid now loomed on Callie’s horizon. Callie reluctantly donned the black dress Mrs. Slater had given her, finding it much too big and too long. She hiked up the waistband and secured it by tying the gray apron over it, then looked down to see the uneven hemline and the spots and stains marring its front. She mourned the loss of her blue dress.
Walking softly through the house, Callie found her way to the basement and the kitchens. Here three women, including the one who had just finished scrubbing the front hall, went about their tasks of readying the evening meal. From the ovens came the mouth-watering aroma of a roast and the scent of fresh bread. At a long table, bread dough was being kneaded.
“So you’re the new girl Lizzie told us about,” a stout woman with a kind face addressed her. “Do you have a name?”
“Callie . . . Callie James.”
“Well, come over here, Callie James, and put yourself to good use. There’s pots and pans that need washing. I’m Sadie, and this here is Ellen; she’s the one who saw you come in with Mrs. van Nostrum. I see Mrs. Slater took that fine blue dress Ellen said you were wearing. I hope you bid it a fond farewell, for ‘tis the last you’ll be seein’ of it. Ain’t that right, Flora?” Sadie said to the third woman.
“The very last,” Flora agreed sourly. On closer inspection Callie saw that Flora wasn’t much past the age of eighteen or twenty, but her face was thin and haggard, and her stooped shoulders and slow movements gave her the appearance of a woman in her forties.
While Callie did the pots and pans, they asked her questions about where she’d come from. Ellen, in particular, was interested when she learned Callie was only recently from Dublin. “I hauled over on the Meridian two years ago; that was before things got so bad in Ireland. Came over with my brother and sister, I did. They’re both gone now. Eileen came down with sickness, and Lester was hit over the head in a card game. I hail from Cork myself, but I been to Dublin once. My husband, though, he was born right here in New York.”
Cinders to Satin Page 11
