Cindy Thomson - [Ellis Island 01]

by Grace's Pictures

  “We’ll fix it.” Owen thought about the informant from the Committee of Fifteen. Jake would not be back on duty, so Owen had to get to Mulberry in time to meet the man. If he said anything to Feeny first . . .

  “Try not to worry, Father. It’s not good for your health.”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling him.” Owen’s mother, looking only slightly better than his father, stood at the foot of Father’s bed. Owen hadn’t heard her approach.

  “He will be fine, Mother.” He kissed his mother’s cheek.

  She rolled her eyes.

  Owen had to go.

  27

  GRACE LEFT EARLY FOR WORK the next morning, just as the sun was rising. Her knees wobbled as she took a seat on the train. No, she could not survive in the city without help. Mrs. Hawkins, Mr. Crawley, the reverend . . . they were all nice enough folks. But what did they know about Dusters and the likes of officers like Feeny? She sucked her bottom lip and watched the city flitter past the train window. God, if you are out there, why don’t you help me? You know how little I can do. You can help me. You are divine. Why won’t you? Do you hate me too?

  The train jerked to a sudden stop and the passengers moaned.

  “Lousy train! Stuck again?”

  A porter began hollering for folks to get off. Grace followed the crowd of people. When her feet reached the icy sidewalk, she skidded about but found her footing again and rushed past surprised street vendors and rag pickers who were just beginning their long workdays. She stopped a newsboy. “Where are we?”

  “Chatham Square, miss.”

  She glanced around. “Do you know of a building around here owned by a Mr. George Parker?”

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  People huddled around fires built in metal cans. Infant wails pierced the sooty air from upper windows that were wide open despite the cold. A nearby alley saluted with lines of dingy white laundry, but other than that the buildings appeared to be shuttered shops or were otherwise unidentifiable. There certainly were no welcome mats to indicate where people might live. How alarming that she had ended up in the very place she supposed Mr. Parker owned property. She took out her camera. True, she’d vowed not to take random photographs, but how was she to know she’d end up here? Did Mr. Parker truly know what it was like in Chatham Square?

  The newsboy posed for her with a toothless grin. She gave him a penny and made her way northward to the next el stop. On impulse she stopped and turned. Aiming her camera carefully, she snapped a few tenement scenes.

  As she sat on the next el train, she recalled something Mrs. Hawkins had said to her. “My Harold always said if you find yourself off course, look around. God may be directing you to something.” And hadn’t she just asked God to help her? She didn’t know why she’d landed in Chatham Square that morning, but perhaps the reason would become clear later.

  Hazel met her at the front door.

  “What’s wrong, lass?” Grace dropped her bag at the door and pulled off her gloves.

  “Nothing, Miss Gracie. I’m to invite you to breakfast.” She collected Grace’s things.

  What a transformation the aunt had made with the oldest Parker child. Hazel had been much more courteous to Grace now that a member of the family had insisted she exhibit proper manners. “Well, that’s very kind of you, but your father doesn’t approve of the help eating with the family. You know that. I’ll have to tell your aunt.”

  “But Father is not here.” Hazel took Grace’s hand with a gentle touch and led her to the dining room.

  Seated around a green tablecloth, Edith, Holly, and Linden smiled at her. The baby cooed from a basket at his aunt’s feet, and Mrs. Parker, still wearing her nightgown and a dour expression, sat in the corner of the room. Candles glowed from the center of the table, and the aroma of egg soufflé invited Grace to come closer. “What is all this?”

  Holly bobbed up and down on her chair. “We wanted to surprise you, Miss Gracie.”

  Linden joined in the chorus. “Surprise! Surprise!”

  Grace removed her coat and Hazel took it from her. “Father had to go in early to help the accountant with the books today. We planned this all week.”

  Grace turned to Mrs. Parker, who shrugged. “The children seemed entertained by it all.”

  Grace wrapped her arms around her chest and faced the others. “I . . . I don’t understand. Why did you want to . . . ? I mean, you could have just told me. I would have made raisin bread.”

  “Don’t have to,” Holly chimed in. “Me and Auntie already did.”

  Hazel must have made a face at her sister because Holly stuck out her tongue.

  “Now, girls,” Auntie Edith said. “You all helped. What did I tell you about humbleness?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they responded in the chorus they’d repeated plenty of times before.

  “Mother ordered flowers from the florist,” Hazel said, stretching her brows. “Mother says they grow them in winter in greenhouses.”

  Grace touched the edge of a delicate pink lily. An extravagance that she hoped cheered the mistress. “Very lovely indeed.”

  Edith inclined her head. “Please sit, Grace. The food is getting cold. Alice is only having coffee.”

  At least that was the excuse so she would not have to sit with the biddy, Grace thought. Still, it was a monumental step for the woman to allow this.

  “Sit, please. Sit,” Linden echoed.

  Grace pulled out a chair opposite him and gave him one of her this-is-a-special-treat looks.

  Edith gave thanks, and just when Grace thought she was about to say amen, she added, “And we thank thee for Grace and what she has done for this family as we celebrate her birthday today. Amen.”

  “Were you surprised, Miss Gracie?” Holly asked.

  “I’ll say I was. ’Tis not my birthday.”

  Hazel, sitting next to Grace, placed Grace’s napkin on her lap for her. “We didn’t know when your birthday was, so we just decided to pick a day. If we asked you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

  “Well, this is a delight. Thank you.” She turned to the children’s aunt. “I don’t know how we would have fared if you had not come to help.”

  The woman fanned the air in front of her face. “You were doing a fine job without me, Grace.” She leaned in to whisper, although clearly Mrs. Parker could hear her. “Don’t you despair. I’m working on my brother and his excessive vigilance.”

  Alice Parker cleared her throat and left the room.

  Grace cut into her portion of the egg dish and savored the moment. Things were certainly improving at last.

  Linden started to talk with his mouth full, but after Grace shook her head at him, he understood. After he swallowed, he said, “You are older than Hazel. Are you twelve, Miss Gracie?”

  She laughed. “I’m a bit older than that, lad.”

  “How old?”

  Edith reprimanded him. “Now, Linden. Only children are asked their ages.”

  “I don’t mind. I hardly even remember being twelve. ’Tis not my birthday, but in June I will be nineteen.”

  The boy’s mouth formed an O.

  “That’s old,” Holly said.

  Auntie Edith rolled her eyes. “Oh, to be that young again.”

  After they cleaned up, Grace had a moment while the girls brushed their teeth to prepare for school. She found Mrs. Parker in the parlor. “I do hope you don’t mind, ma’am. I’ll tell Edith we won’t be having any more breakfasts together.”

  Alice Parker turned her dark eyes toward Grace. “You are more of a mother than I’ve ever been.” She’d said that before.

  Grace stepped closer. “Oh no, ma’am. You are their mother. Only you.”

  A tear dripped down the woman’s face. “Truth is, I don’t know how to be a mother.”

  “But you can learn. I mean you can get better. ’Tis not hard. I had no experience with children before I came here.”

  Mrs. Parker shook her head. “Do you still have you
r Brownie camera, Grace?”

  “Aye. Yes. I bring it with me every day. But I promise you I do not let it interfere—”

  “A portrait. Just me and the children. Can you do that?”

  “I can try. They are wee prints, though, ma’am. Nothing you can hang over the mantel or anything. They are called snapshots.”

  “Capture the moment. Isn’t that what the advertisements say?”

  “Aye. Yes.”

  “Very well. This afternoon. It might take me that long to get ready.” She sighed.

  “As you wish.”

  Grace wasn’t sure about photographing the Parkers. What if Alice Parker hated it? What if Grace could not get a good shot? She’d never photographed a group before.

  After the girls came home from school, they all assembled. Grace removed the shades from the electric lights and pulled back the heavy draperies, hoping that would create enough light. Alice Parker put a gentle hand on Holly’s shoulder and she looked up at her mother, perhaps a bit surprised.

  “Look this way,” Grace called out.

  The baby opened his eyes at just the right moment, cradled in his mother’s left arm. Linden sat straight up, and even Hazel smiled, just a bit.

  “One, two, three.” Grace held her breath and clicked the shutter.

  Mrs. Parker was quiet, but the way her eyes lit up when she looked at the children, who celebrated as though Grace had just shot off fireworks, seemed to suggest that the ubiquitous thundercloud hanging over the woman’s head was beginning to break up. Perhaps there was hope for this family yet.

  As Grace and Edith were preparing supper, she brought up the topic that had been bothering her all day. “Auntie, you know what you told me about Mr. Parker and his growing up?”

  “Yes. You haven’t spoken of it to anyone, have you? He’s very sensitive.”

  “Oh, nay. No. I was wondering . . . if you don’t mind . . . where you all grew up. Was it in this city?”

  “Sure enough. We moved from the family home when I was a baby. If you think the Bowery’s bad now, it’s nothing compared to then. Filthy, so sad. But when my grandfather bought the home, it was a respectable place. We moved close to Washington Park, not too far from here in fact. George sold the place when I got married and moved away.”

  “The Washington Park residence?”

  “Yes.”

  “So he spent most of his life right here in this neighborhood, then?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What about your grandfather’s place? Does he still own it?”

  “Oh, I hope not. All the old homes, chopped up into tenements. Such a shame. It’s a sewer down there.”

  “Tell me more.”

  She clicked her tongue. “The tenements? Sad places.”

  “Aye, but how did they get that way? I’ve heard that the people who live in them mostly have jobs and make money, but they spend most of what they earn on rent. Mr. Riis said so too, but how can living in those places cost so much?”

  Auntie sighed. “Such an intelligent question but I’m afraid it has no good answer. Greed, child. It’s just greed. The owners know all those immigrants have to live somewhere. You are overcrowded here in Manhattan. Demand means they can charge what they want.”

  “That’s just not right.” As ornery as she thought Mr. Parker was, she had not imagined him to be so horrible.

  “No, it’s not. Wish we had more reform. Tear those shacks down and build proper houses.”

  Yes. Grace had seen it for herself when the el train broke down. Now she wondered, was she supposed to see that for some reason?

  Auntie set the kitchen table with bowls for the children’s stirabout, something the woman liked to call porridge. “I must tell you, I’m preparing to return home. I’ll hate leaving that little Douglas, though. And all the children.”

  “They will miss you, too.”

  Edith pinched Grace’s cheek. “You are doing fine here, girl. Maybe I can convince that brother of mine to let you come up to my school for a few weeks in the summer. You’d love the library, a smart girl like you. You could bring the children for a holiday.”

  “That sounds lovely. Thank you.” A smart girl like her?

  28

  BY THE TIME OWEN got to the precinct, he was too late.

  “There was a man here inquiring for you earlier,” the desk officer said.

  “Did you ask him to wait?”

  “Hey, what do I look like, McNulty? Your secretary?”

  Owen leaned over the desk. His size could intimidate, but he only took advantage of that when he needed to. “Look, I know they only put greenhorns at the desk, but try to be more helpful. Did this man talk to anyone else at the precinct?”

  The fella would not look at him. “I . . . uh . . . I don’t think . . .”

  “That’s the problem, now isn’t it? Think, Jones! I know you can do it if you try hard enough.” Owen pounded a fist on the desk.

  “Let him be, McNulty.” The captain appeared at Owen’s side. “The kid can’t keep track of every visitor who’s not here on official business.” He put an arm around Owen’s shoulder, though he had to reach high to do it. “In my office.”

  The man shut the two of them in before he spoke. “I told you word would get out.” This time the captain did the desk slamming. “If I could fire that Feeny, I’d do it in an eye blink.”

  “Are you sure you can’t question him, Captain? Or at least let him know you don’t sanction colluding with gangsters?”

  “Talk is cheap, McNulty. Tell me. The fella you were expecting. Who was he and why did you plan to meet him here?”

  “I don’t know his name but he’s working with the Committee of Fifteen.”

  Nicholson wandered to the left side of his desk to begin his usual pacing. “Oh, is that so?” He stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “You mean those wealthy businessmen and the like who want to take law enforcement, and even interpretation of the law, into their own hands?”

  “I don’t know, Captain. All I know is he was in a Dusters’ dive and he can identify Goo Goo.”

  “You don’t say?” The captain rubbed the stubble on his chin and then stroked his muttonchops, considering.

  “I thought it would be no trouble to meet him back here, but then I got detained.”

  “What detained you?” Nicholson sat and lit a cigar.

  “Family matters.”

  “Look, son. When you came on, we all made it clear that a police officer in this ward will need to put his personal life second. You work long, tough days. Don’t tell me you didn’t know you’d signed up for this.”

  “Yes, but my father’s business is in trouble.”

  The captain shrugged. “Like I told you before. I’ll have to replace you if you can’t give us all you got here. Things are shaking up.” He took a long puff.

  “I want to do my job, sir.”

  “Good. The Committee of Fifteen, I’ve been told, meets tonight at eight on Worth Street.”

  “You knew about them, then?”

  The man smirked. “The building right next to the Italian mission. Know the one I mean? Limestone front?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stockton’s not operating on all cylinders yet. Doc says I can’t schedule him as much as I’d like. I’m depending on you. And not just me.” He shoved a newspaper across his desk. “Take a look at that, second column on the right.”

  Increase of Criminal Element. Charities Threaten to Abandon the Battery.

  “Just like you thought.” Owen laid the paper back down on the desk.

  “I’m not making this up, McNulty. We’ll have a much bigger mess on our hands in ninety days if we don’t catch that goon.”

  “Ninety days?”

  He poked at the paper with his index finger. “That’s what they said. They’ll leave in ninety days when their lease is up. One of the mission houses. Won’t take long for the others to follow.” He waved his cigar in front of his face. “I got two choices: patr
ol there more or get rid of the problem. Both are nearly impossible. I simply don’t have enough trustworthy men to put in the park all night long. Catching Goo Goo would be the better fix.”

  “I agree. But ninety days? I’m not sure that’s enough time.” Investigations and arrests could take much longer.

  “That’s all we got. You’ll have to pull some double shifts until Stockton gets back full-time. Can you do it?”

  “There’s no one else?”

  “No one I can find that quick. Look, I know I’m bucking the system. I know Devery put me down here because he wants me out of Tammany business. Reckon that’s why you’re in my ward, McNulty. But God willing, we can do our job down here.”

  So the captain knew Devery wanted Owen to back off tracking the gang even without Owen telling him. He should have figured. “Captain? How did you know to find me in the park that night my mother telephoned the precinct?”

  He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms against his chest. “Think I was born yesterday? The Committee of Fifteen. Some of their inspectors were in the area and telephoned to tell me you were there. Wanted to know if I approved. Sometimes they’re meddlesome; sometimes they’re helpful. The citizenry is often my secret weapon. Now keep that under your hat, son.”

  That evening Owen slipped away from his rounds to get over to the meeting Captain Nicholson steered him to. Night classes were in progress at the Italian mission house next door. The windows were lit up and you could see rows of tables with people huddled over them. The quicker immigrants learned the language, the money, and the customs of this country, the easier time they’d have of it. There was no shortage of schemes to separate a newcomer from his money.

  He tapped lightly on the front door of the limestone building. A man with a handlebar mustache opened the door. “May I help you, Officer?”

  “McNulty. Captain Nicholson sent me.”

  “Sent you why?”

  Owen whispered. “To attend the meeting.”

  The man made no sign of recognition.

  “The Committee of Fifteen? I was supposed to meet a man at the precinct today, and I was late.”