Edward listened to Callie’s animated account and then saw the sorrow in her eyes. The child was homesick. That was something Edward knew about. Especially on gray, dreary days of winter, like this one, he longed for his island paradise in the West Indies. Placing a huge black hand on Callie’s shoulder, Edward commiserated. “I do know how you feel, Missy, and there’s no way in God’s world to hurry the healing. But I promise you, in time the hurt is less, but you’ll never stop longing for home and those you left behind.”
Callie covered Edward’s hand with her own; it looked small and very pale on top of his. “You miss home too, don’t you, Edward?”
“That I do, Missy. But not every moment. There’s much to be said for three meals a day and a clean bed. And I’ve made friends here. Mr. Kenyon, for one.”
“And me too?” Callie inquired, looking up from her chair into his dusky black eyes.
“Yes, Missy. You too.”
Edward carried the tray out of the room, taking one last glance at the young girl who seemed to be swallowed up by the large chair. He had no idea what plans Mr. Kenyon was going to make for her, but Edward had one wish: that the world would deal kindly with Callie James.
That was how Byrch found Callie when he returned. He moved across the room and dropped her own blanket poke at her feet. “Here’s your things, rescued as promised from Bleecker Street. I didn’t have any trouble getting them; Mr. Hatterchain was most eager to help and also to bend my ear in defense of himself and the Magdalene Society.”
Callie dove for her belongings, opening the straps and searching through the odd assortment of clothes. The blue dress! The blue dress Madge had made her and the petticoats! Digging deeper, she brought out a packet of folded papers. “They’re here!” she clapped in glee. “The blue dress and petticoats Madge made me are here and my letters to Mum!”
Byrch found himself smiling down at her. She was like a kitten under a Christmas tree, all life and curiosity and joy. How young and defenseless she was. He knew there were others like her in this vast city, but Callie had grown on him ever since that black night in a Dublin alley. This girl was special, and he couldn’t allow her to drift off on her own with the hope that maybe she’d be all right. Maybe wasn’t good enough. Byrch needed to know Callie was safe and cared for. He cleared his throat and saw her shining blue eyes snap to attention. “It’s all settled. I’ve found a position for you. Tomorrow, after breakfast, I’ll take you to my friend Jasper Powers. You’ll learn domestic duties and the way ladies like things to be done, but you’ll also be a companion to their youngest child, Mary. She’s eight years old and quite high-spirited, something like you, Callie. Perhaps in teaching her, you’ll learn yourself.” He didn’t know where the words were coming from; they just kept rushing out of him. “You’ll be paid a fair and decent wage, and you’ll save most of it if you’re wise. You’ll be given room and board and an allowance for clothing. If you want to send part of your wages home to your mother, Mr. Powers will arrange it for you. He’s a good and decent man, Callie, otherwise I would never send you to him.”
Callie nodded her head, refusing to allow her eyes to meet his. She was aware of a sense of loss. Was she really hoping to stay here? She tried to smile to show her appreciation for his efforts and felt it came off lamely.
“I have to go to the office, Callie. You don’t mind, do you? Edward will be here with you, and I’ll be back in time for supper.” Byrch turned and strode out the door. Well, what had he expected? That she would throw herself at his feet in gratitude? Or perhaps that she would resist, telling him she preferred to stay with him? “Ridiculous!” Byrch muttered scornfully. Why would Callie want to put herself under a bachelor’s care? What would he do with her? All the alternatives he’d pondered earlier that morning came coursing back. No, he told himself firmly. He’d done what was right for Callie. But somehow there was little satisfaction in the knowledge. Already she’d gotten under his skin, and he’d found himself running home from the Clarion this past week just to have supper with her and to watch her prance around the room in her little pink housecoat. This is ridiculous, he chided himself. He’d been house-bound for too long and was working too hard. He’d been neglecting his personal life; he’d been without a woman for too long. Before he did another thing, he was going to send a note off to Flanna Beauchamp of the elegant swan neck. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was eager and ripe for the picking; he wondered how that slender long torso of hers would bend in his arms.
For the remainder of the afternoon, Callie pored through copies of the Clarion-Observer, searching for articles with the byline of Byrch Kenyon or simply, Editor. Through those articles, she learned a lot about her benefactor, admiring him for his search for truth and justice. She learned about the newsboys’ strike and about the competition between volunteer and city-paid firemen. But mostly she learned about Byrch, the man.
Dropping the last paper onto the floor, Callie leaned back, gazing into the flames. Lord, Lord, to think that a man like him would jump to help a little nobody like me. Lord, Lord, if only I were as pretty and as old as Colleen. Callie didn’t even dare to complete the wish or its consequences. She was too realistic to believe that she, an ugly duckling, could become a swan, or that a little Irish girl could become a fairy princess loved by the handsome prince. Those were stories Granda liked to tell the children. And she, Callie James, was no longer a child.
Last night at supper, Byrch had presented her with a paper-wrapped parcel. Inside was a navy serge jumper and two white blouses with long sleeves and wide, round collars. Three pairs of black cotton stockings and two camisoles and britches. At least that’s what he called them. Drawers, Mum always said. But most luxurious of all was the coat, warm gray wool that buttoned down the front. The black, beaver shawl collar that draped over her shoulders added additional warmth.
“I would have liked to get you bright colors, Callie,” Byrch apologized, “but they wouldn’t have been befitting your station as a domestic, I’m afraid.” Even now he scowled at the drab, although well-made, goods.
“Where did you get them?” Callie asked excitedly, holding the jumper in front of her, not at all concerned about the dark colors.
“Over on Hester Street. There’s a factory there for ready-made clothing. It’s run by Jews, and this being their Sabbath, I had myself quite a time of it.”
Callie looked up at him blankly, clearly not understanding.
“Jewish people don’t conduct business on their Sabbath, Callie. Sidney even refused my money. I’ll have to send it over to him on Monday. And since you’ll need something to put everything in, I’ve brought you a little satchel.”
Callie took the small black suitcase from him. “Open it,” he instructed. Inside was another package containing a hairbrush, a comb, a toothbrush, and a sparkling bottle of rosewater.
Byrch laughed over Callie’s clowning antics as she tried on one of the white blouses over her housedress, but inwardly he frowned. He would have liked to take credit for his generosity, but he knew it was Anne Powers’s opinion that had prompted him to make the purchases. Her acceptance of Callie would be made upon first impression, and he was determined that it be a good one. That’s why he had chosen dark, utilitarian garments, presentable yet far from ostentatious—just the sort of garb a domestic would wear.
Now, dressed in her new clothes, Callie sat beside Byrch in the hackney, heading south. Her new satchel, containing her old clothes and some of the new ones, as well as the pretty pink nightdresses, bed jacket, and housecoat that were gifts from him also, was by her side. She looked out through the cab window into the quiet streets of the city. When they reached the end of Broadway, some of the buildings became familiar, and when the hackney entered the line for the St. George’s Ferry, Callie realized where she was and panicked.
“You didn’t tell me we were going on a boat!” she whispered hoarsely.
“You didn’t ask. Besides, it’s not a boat, it’s a ferry. Take a look, here it
comes into dock. We’ll be across in no time; you won’t have a chance to get seasick.”
“Isn’t there some other way to go?” Callie asked, her voice desperate.
Byrch looked down at his young charge, saw that the color had left her face. “What’s the matter, sweeting? Are you afraid of the water? Tell me,” he demanded, cupping her face between his hands.
Unshed tears burned Callie’s eyes. She wouldn’t cry in front of him no matter how much she remembered, no matter how much she suffered. “I don’t like this place, that’s all!” was her heart-torn answer.
“I know a lie when I hear one,” Byrch growled when Callie pulled away from him, cringing against the seat in the hackney. “If you aren’t afraid of the water, and I believe you aren’t, there’s another reason. Staten Island is only across the bay; it isn’t the other side of the world!” Even as he uttered the name of the island, he realized the basis for Callie’s fear. “Callie, the quarantine hospital is only one small place on a good-sized island. I promise you, you’ll not even have to look in that direction, and the Powers’s house sits high up on a hill, miles away from Tompkinsville. I hadn’t thought about the memories Staten Island would bring you.”
Callie cowered against the seat, and Byrch could see his plans for her future and her security flying out the window unless he could get her to face her fears and accept reality. “Let’s talk about it,” he began, only to have her turn her face away. “Talk! Dammit! I want to know what’s going on in that head of yours! I can’t help if I don’t know!” His patience was at an end, and he seized her by the shoulders and shook her until she thought her teeth would rattle.
Callie moved her lips to protest, to fight him back. Instead, the rush of words that poured out began the story of Beth and Patrick. Byrch had to ask her to slow down while he tried to absorb all that she was telling him. He stared at her, hardly believing what she was saying.
“And she jumped! She just jumped with little Paddy still in her arms! She didn’t want to have her baby in a hole in the ground! I didn’t know! I swear I didn’t know she was going to do it until the end. I tried to stop her, to talk to her, but she killed herself and the baby and Paddy, and Patrick was at the end of the dock and he saw her do it. I know he saw her!” Callie collapsed in a hysteria of tears, burrowing her face against Byrch’s topcoat.
Byrch stroked the chestnut curls, trying to give comfort. “Patrick saw her, but he didn’t save her. Why? Why?” she moaned, and the sound tore at Byrch’s heart. “She loved him so much that she killed herself to give him his dream. Now she’s buried out there behind the hospital and Patrick has his dream . . .”
Byrch swallowed past the lump in his throat. Good God! What a monstrous thing to have witnessed. And now she wanted answers from him; she kept sobbing over and over, “Why?”
“Callie, your friend Beth was a foolish but very unselfish woman . . .” he began.
Callie raised her face from his breast, looking him squarely in the eye, her lower lip jutting out in anger. “Don’t talk to me about unselfish love and what it all means. I know all about it! I watched my mother with my father. Then I watched Beth with Patrick. I suppose what I can’t accept is that I know Patrick wouldn’t have done that for her. I wanted him to love her as much as she loved him and to be worthy of that love. I wanted them to have a life together. Patrick loved Beth, but I know he wouldn’t have done the same for her.”
“Callie, love is such a fragile thing. Women sometimes think they have a monopoly on it. I never met Patrick, but I’m certain that given enough time he would have come up with a solution to their problem. You don’t know for certain that Patrick wouldn’t have done the same for Beth, that he didn’t love her unselfishly.”
Callie. backed away, staring at him through tear-filled eyes. “Well, that explanation isn’t good enough for me! I said those same things to myself while I watched them bury her. Don’t you be handing me any malarkey about Patrick finding a solution. He’d never find a solution because he believed Beth was a burden to him. When his dream was dashed, or he thought it was, he was broken. In the end, it would have been Beth who solved the problem. And . . . and I suppose that’s just what she did, just so the man she loved could have his dream. Why are women always falling in love with the wrong man? I never will, that’s for sure! I never want to love any man!” Byrch handed her his handkerchief, and she blew her nose lustily. “I see you have no answer for that one, do you?” she challenged.
Byrch scowled. On that point she was correct.
The hackney cab moved along in line, boarding the ferry. When the horse was tethered and blocks thrown under the wheels, Byrch assisted Callie out to the rail. The thin sunshine of December shone down on his ruffled dark hair, and he gazed out at the water with a grim expression. Callie stood beside him, small and vulnerable, her hands gripping the rail as the ferry began to steam across the bay.
“I don’t have the answers you’re looking for, sweeting,” Byrch said softly. “It’s the system of things. Laws are made for the good of the majority. Quarantine is necessary. You don’t understand it all takes time to—”
“Understand? I understand, all right!” Callie answered. “Beth didn’t have time. Little Paddy was on borrowed time. You,” she said, jamming a finger into his midsection, “have the power to change things. Why aren’t you doing it? You didn’t even know what’s going on in your country, even though it’s happening less than five miles away, over there”—she pointed an accusatory finger across the bay—“there in Tompkinsville!”
Byrch was so startled by her outburst that he was temporarily at a loss for words.
“You should be out there beating the bushes, as my mum would say. You have that newspaper of yours, and you should use it to make things right! Make it so women like Beth don’t have to live in a hole in the ground just to avoid the filth and disease in the hospital! She was so afraid, Beth was, of having that baby like an animal.” Spent with her outburst, Callie stared in defiant outrage at Byrch.
“I’ll try, Callie. I promise, I’ll try.” Byrch’s cat-green eyes had deepened to a murky sage as he guided Callie away from the rail to a polished plank bench and then sat beside her. She was a spitfire, a hellcat of the first order. But then, he’d known that from their first meeting. Callie James was not ordinary, she would never be ordinar y. This little girl from Ireland had given him plenty to think about. He did have the power as she put it. Now if he could figure out the best way to use it, he might be able to help others like Callie James.
The ferry was midway across the channel, and in the nearby distance ships weighed at anchor and small boats volleyed around the harbor. “Look over there, Callie. See that? It’s the entrance to the channel leading to Tompkinsville. See how it looks from here? Harmless. That’s what most New Yorkers see, and there’s nothing that would distress them. Don’t blame me, Callie. Don’t blame others like me. I promised to try to help change things, and I will. Do you believe me?”
Callie nodded her head, her short curls ruffling in the wind. “I suppose I’ll have to,” she murmured, but she knew in her heart that Byrch Kenyon was a man who cared, and she lowered her eyes so he wouldn’t see the shining adoration she felt for him.
Just as they entered the hackney again before disembarking from the ferry, Callie turned to Byrch and asked one last favor. “I’ve got these letters to my mother. Lord only knows when I’ll be able to post them. She’ll be worried not to hear from me for so long. Last night I told her about going to work for the Powers family, but I couldn’t break her heart by telling her about Owen Gallagher and what a toad he is. Would you send them for me?”
Quickly she opened her little satchel and brought out the packet of letters. The top sheet of folded paper held the address.
Byrch took the packet and stuffed it into his inside coat pocket, patting it into place. He felt as though he held her life against his heart.
Chapter Ten
As their hackney pulled up the Pow
ers’s drive, Callie looked ahead, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. “Am I to live here?” she asked weakly. “Surely I’m not to live here! Oooh! ’Tis grand as a castle!”
Byrch smiled, liking the way Callie’s brogue thickened when she became excited or terribly pleased. “Yes, that’s where you’ll live. And it is a grand place,” he agreed. “It sits upon the highest hill. Look out there,” he pointed, “you can see the narrows and just across, that’s Brooklyn. That way,” he said, pointing to the left, “is where we’ve just come from. So you see, I’ll be a little more than a stone’s throw away.” It was almost on the tip of his tongue to tell her that she wasn’t alone, that he’d always be there for her. No, he never wanted her to be alone. Instead he helped her from the hackney as though she were a grand lady and led her across the yard to the front porch.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye, saw the way she tilted her chin upward, held herself erect. Poor little thing, she must be scared to death, and yet here she was with that certain brand of bravado that was hers alone.
Callie liked Jasper Powers immediately. Byrch was astounded at the expression of sheer ecstasy on both their faces as Jasper foled her into a bear-hug embrace. His friend held the girl at a distance, staring deeply into her eyes. “Forgive me for doing that, child, it’s just that you’ve the look of Ireland all about you, and for a moment I held the old country close.”
Callie smiled, nearly breaking into a giggle. Jasper didn’t know what Byrch had seen in the depths of Callie’s eyes, but he himself read loyalty, determination, and strength. She might be slight, but this girl held an iron power. He could feel it. Callie James would become a force to be reckoned with. Somehow she reminded him of his own mother with her iron will, indefatigable energy, and unfailing sense of justice.
Cinders to Satin Page 16
