Cindy Thomson - [Ellis Island 01]

by Grace's Pictures

  “Wait for her to tell,” Hazel scolded.

  Grace patted the wee girl’s head. “This enemy tribe had a great many warriors with long spears and snarling dogs, and the Dagda had no such weapons for his defense.”

  Linden lined his toy soldiers up on the floor. “How did he get his harp back, then?”

  “He spoke to the harp, just in time, before the warriors had him in their clutches.” She tickled Linden and he squealed in delight.

  “Tell the story, Miss Gracie,” Hazel said.

  “Well, the Dagda instructed the harp to play three tunes. The first was a slow, sad tune, and the room full of warriors fell to the ground sobbing in misery until the floor was soaked with their tears.”

  “Then what?” Linden asked.

  “Then the harp played the second tune, a merry piece that had everyone chuckling and dancing and holding their bellies because they laughed so hard.”

  She might not have gotten the Parker children to laugh, but they smiled, so that was better.

  “There was a third tune, Miss Gracie?” Hazel asked.

  “There was. This was the sweetest tune of all, very gentle and soothing. Soon, man by man, heads began to nod and shoulders slumped until the warriors were all curled up on the floor snoring away.”

  “And he got away with the harp?” Linden asked.

  “Oh, aye, he did. See? Didn’t I tell you he had the most powerful weapon? The Dagda, only one man, stood up against a powerful army with only his harp.”

  “I wonder,” Hazel said, resting her chin on her arm. “Did he know the harp could make the men go to sleep or did that just happen?”

  Grace gave her a quick hug. “I suppose he had to have faith that it would work.”

  “I wish I had a magic harp,” Holly complained.

  “Magic harps are only for stories, lass, but you have us, and we love you.” Grace kissed the top of the girl’s head, and it occurred to her that perhaps God would provide what these children needed, despite the loss of their mother. She prayed that she would have as much faith in that as the Dagda did in his harp.

  But sadness was not so easily dismissed. Sitting on the floor with a pile of blocks the children used to make a castle, Grace fought back tears. It was unthinkably sad that these children no longer had a mother nor grieved as Grace might have if it were her own mother who passed away. “Wait here.”

  She hurried down a floor and crept into the Parkers’ bedroom. She found the Burpee catalog in a pile under the bed. The snapshot she’d taken of Mrs. Parker and the children lay on the mantel. Grace picked it up. Somehow Alice Parker had known to ask for this. The photograph was sure to be a treasured memento for the children. She brought both things back to the attic.

  “Children, I want to show you something.”

  They gathered around her. She flipped a few pages. “Here, coralbells.”

  Hazel touched the illustration. “Beautiful.”

  “Your mother wanted these in the yard. We are going to plant them in the spring. What do you think?”

  They agreed and each one took a turn holding the catalog.

  “Remember this?” She let each of them hold the tiny photograph. “We’ll get a wee frame and keep it in the day nursery. She wanted you all to have this photograph because she loved you.”

  Tears rolled down each child’s face, even Hazel’s.

  “Now, now. ’Tis a good thing to miss your mother, but you have these memories of her. Be happy when you look at them.”

  Linden sniffed. “We will, Miss Gracie.”

  “And don’t hide those tears,” Grace said. “Tears are God’s way of washing your hurting hearts.”

  The sound of the front door opening brought her to her feet. “Stay here, children. Hazel, come get me if the baby cries. Do not try to pick him up. You can rock his cradle, but that’s all.”

  “I will, Miss Gracie.”

  Grace scrambled down the back stairs and began pulling plates from the icebox. Auntie Edith came to help her. “I’ll be staying for a while, Grace. To help.”

  The poor woman had barely left before turning back to come to Alice’s funeral. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to neglect your own affairs.”

  The plump woman sliced the butter into pats and placed them on dishes. “I love those children.” She blew out a puff of air. “Alas, I cannot stay more than a week. I have the new term beginning.”

  “I’m grateful you will be here. This will be a difficult adjustment for them all.” She knew all about the horrendous turns life could take.

  Edith paused and gave Grace a hug. “You all right, dear?”

  “I believe I am.” She remembered what her mother had told her before she left for America. “Fly free.”

  32

  WHEN OWEN HEARD THE NEWS about Mrs. Parker, he waited until the day after the burial and then paid a visit. Grace answered the door.

  “It was very nice of you to come. I’m sure Mr. Parker will appreciate it. I’m afraid he’s not taking visitors now, though.”

  Owen searched for words. He had not anticipated that Grace would assume he’d come only to offer George Parker his condolences. “I’m sorry. I mean, I will leave my regards for you to pass on, but may I speak with you, Grace?”

  An older woman came up behind her. “Who is it, child?”

  “Edith Milburn, may I present Officer Owen McNulty. He attends First Church. Officer, this is Mr. Parker’s sister.”

  “Glad to meet you, madam.”

  The woman flung the door wide. “Come in, Officer. So nice of you to stop by.” She ushered him into the parlor. “Grace, get our guest tea.” She took his hat from him. “You are off duty now, Officer?”

  “Yes, I hoped to speak to Grace. That is . . . if she is not too busy.”

  The woman winked. “She is not. I’ll get the tea.”

  A few moments later Grace returned. Owen stood. “This had to be difficult for you.”

  She nodded and sat gingerly on the edge of the sofa.

  He returned to the chair he had been sitting on. “I just want you to know, you don’t have to worry about things . . . you know . . . that thug and Walter Feeny.”

  Her head popped up. “Why? What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know if you realize it, but some folks thought you were snapping photographs all over town, and they didn’t want their pictures made.”

  She wrung her hands in her lap. “Who said that?”

  She seemed inappropriately nervous. “Grace, is there any more to the story? Anything I should know? I mean, I’m hot on Smokey Davis’s trail. He’s not going to—”

  “You mean he’s not in jail?”

  “Well, no, but you know that business I said I was involved in, in the Battery?”

  “Aye.”

  “Well, Jake—my partner—and me . . . we’re getting close to shutting down Smokey’s gang.”

  She was visibly shaken. “Officer?”

  “Call me Owen, Grace. I believe we’re friends.”

  “Owen, I got a note from Smokey. I didn’t tell anyone, but he threatened me.”

  Owen’s jaw tightened. “Was it the Middleton business? The photograph of the stuss game?”

  “I believe so. Do you think I’m in trouble? Am I putting the children at risk by being in this house?”

  “No, not so long as I draw breath.”

  She looked surprised.

  “Do you have the photograph?”

  “I don’t know. I got a package from Kodak, but after I found the photograph I took of Alice and the children, I put the rest aside. They are right here in my bag.”

  She opened a cardboard envelope, and they both looked at the small photographs. There were two of Linden romping in a park. Another of a newsboy and some tenements. Grace set those aside on a tea table. Then she pulled out one of the card game.

  “Say, this is a nice clear shot.” He took it and held it up toward the light coming from the window. “There’s old Middleton.
Well, no one would care about this photograph except him. Mind if I take it?”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Don’t worry about that threat, Grace. Smokey’s bark is worse than his bite. I’ll see that he gets this. It’s all he wants. But don’t be snapping any more photographs in this neighborhood, all right?”

  “I promise I won’t.”

  The worry on her face was still there.

  “Is there something else?”

  “I’m not sure.” She squeezed her hands together in her lap.

  “Just tell me. Even if you think it might not matter. Let me be the judge.”

  She glanced up at him. “It was some time ago, when I first got my camera. I was in the park and heard some voices behind the statue. You know, the one of the man with the boat?”

  “Yes, the Ericsson statue.”

  “I was curious, and when I saw the men on the other side, they thought I was spying on them. I thought they wanted to steal my camera and I ran.”

  “Was Smokey among the men there?”

  “He was. He found me in the fish house.”

  “Yes, the aquarium. I saw you talking to him there.”

  “He thought I was trying to take someone’s photograph. Someone who was with him there. But I wasn’t! I didn’t even have the camera loaded.”

  “Did you hear the man’s name, the one who didn’t want his photograph taken?”

  “Something foolish-sounding.” She wrinkled her brow and gazed at a corner of the ceiling while she considered it.

  “Goo Goo, perhaps?”

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “So you did not take his photograph?”

  “I did not. I didn’t take any that day.”

  “But you saw this Goo Goo?”

  “Well, briefly.”

  Owen rubbed his chin. “Can you draw?”

  “I try.”

  “Do me a favor and practice a bit. See if you can recall what that man looked like. Don’t tell anyone you’re doing that, all right? I’ll check back with you in a couple of days. Can you do that?”

  “It would help you catch that mean fellow and keep Smokey from bothering people?”

  “Most certainly. But it must be our secret, Grace.”

  “All right, so.”

  “Good.”

  They smiled at each other for a moment. It felt fine. “I should be going.”

  She walked him to the door.

  “Tell Mr. Parker’s sister thank you, but I could not stay for tea.”

  “Another time?”

  “Yes, thank you. And, Grace, don’t worry. I’m looking out for you.”

  33

  GRACE WAS SO BUSY the next day that she could only spare a moment here and there to practice with her pencil. When Officer McNulty came back, she’d have to tell him she needed more time. Memories could be hard to summon. If only she had taken that thug’s photograph that day.

  Edith had helped Grace prepare some meals in advance, and she did all the mending of the children’s clothes Grace hadn’t had time to do. But she would be leaving soon, and Grace expected Mr. Parker would want her to stay permanently with the children. She would miss her comfortable bed and Annie and Mrs. Hawkins, who were becoming her family. But the children needed her.

  But to her surprise, Mr. Parker made no mention of her staying when Mr. Crawley arrived to escort her home that evening. “Maybe I should ask him,” she explained to Mr. Crawley.

  She made her way to the parlor, where she’d last seen Mr. Parker after bringing the children in for good night wishes. He was still in his chair, but unlike other nights, he had switched on the globe lamp next to his chair. “Grace, come here a moment.”

  She stepped into the room. He was holding the snapshots she had forgotten to retrieve from the table. “Are these yours?”

  She dipped her head and went to take them from his outstretched hand. “They are. I’m sorry. I forgot I left them there.” She licked her lips as she turned to leave, wondering if he was going to ask about the ones taken in Chatham Square.

  “Grace?”

  She turned back.

  “I want you to take tomorrow off. That will give you Saturday and Sunday off. I need to spend more time with my children.”

  “Your sister is leaving.”

  “She is, but she’ll be coming back frequently. The children like her.”

  “So do I. But are you sure you don’t need me? The baby?”

  “I have a wet nurse arriving in the morning.”

  “Oh, all right. If you’re sure.”

  “I am. Good night.”

  When Grace returned to Hawkins House, she found a telegram waiting for her. She almost squealed aloud in delight. From Ma!

  She rushed upstairs to read it. Flinging herself on her bed, she carefully slid a fingernail under the seal and pulled the message out.

  S. P. inquired by way of nephew if you can receive visitors. Answer is yes. Will be visiting in time for St. Patrick’s feast day.

  This was not what Grace had expected, but her mother was coming to see her!

  She rolled onto her back and lifted her arms toward the ceiling. God! Did you hear me after all?

  She clenched the letter in her hand.

  “Oh, that’s wonderful, love!” The Hawk clapped her hands when Grace told her the news. “St. Patrick’s Day, you say? Even though that’s a ways off, I’ll reserve a room for them at Miss Hall’s boardinghouse. We want to make sure it’s available to them. It’s very nice and popular with visitors. Just a few blocks from First Church.”

  “But my mother will stay here.” Grace held the letter against her heart. “She can share my bed.”

  “Her husband is coming, right, love? They will want to stay together, and I don’t permit men to board here, not even fathers.”

  Grace gritted her teeth. “He is not my father.”

  “Sorry. Stepfather. Just the same—”

  “Fine. Reserve a room for him.”

  “But won’t your mother want to stay with him?”

  “She will not.”

  The Hawk shrugged and reached for a butter biscuit on the tea tray near her chair. “We will let them sort that out. I’ll reserve a double just in case. Of course, your mother is welcome here, should she choose.”

  “Thank you. You’ll need money for that room. How much?”

  The Hawk pursed her lips and shook her head. “I will take care of it. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

  “I have a job. Just tell me how much.”

  “No, no. When my girls get visitors from home, the Benevolents provide the guests’ room and board. That is our way. Do not argue with me.”

  “But—”

  The woman held up a hand. “I said no argument. It’s settled. So long as they are not permanently staying on. Your mother said a visit, yes?”

  “She did, but I expect she will stay on and her husband will go back.” Grace fought hard to keep disgust from her voice. “He has a job to return to, Mrs. Hawkins. Responsibilities.”

  The Hawk poured Grace a cup of tea. “Your mother is welcome to stay with us as long as she wishes, love.”

  Grace inhaled the flowery smell of Mrs. Hawkins’s special brew. She wanted to say that the man was definitely not worth the Benevolents’ concern. Let him sleep on the floor at the police precinct. But she held her tongue. Grace had to admit that she was relieved there was now a means to separate her mother from that man, at least at night.

  34

  OWEN NOW HAD TWO GOOD SOURCES FOR LEADS: Grace’s potential drawing of the suspect and the name the pawnbroker had written down for him, a man called Michael Taggart, a fellow who had left the gang and held a vendetta of some kind.

  After discussing the note with his captain, Owen surveyed the wall of mug shots until he found the one he wanted: Michael Taggart.

  “Shift’s up, McNulty. Follow this tomorrow.” Nicholson leaned over his shoulder. “Ugly mug, huh?”

  “At lea
st his pockmarked face is one I’ll remember. See you tomorrow.”

  Murphy tapped Owen on the shoulder. “Message for you. Jones has it at the desk.”

  “Thanks.” This could not be good. He hurried over to pick it up. From his father.

  Arrange to see Blevins immediately. He is spending more money.

  John McNulty

  Owen dismissed sleep in order to catch Blevins when he arrived at the office. Fatigue caused his mind to swirl. He could have used a cup of coffee, but Joe had indeed closed up shop, and he had no time to go looking elsewhere.

  The Sixth Avenue el slowed at the Fourteenth Street station, and Owen stood to get off quickly. Marching past the white limestone department stores, he made his way a few blocks down to his father’s building. No one would suppose the great McNulty Dry Goods Store held their business office in such a modest structure.

  He let himself in and was pleasantly surprised to find a secretary there brewing coffee.

  “How is your father?”

  He accepted a cup from the plump, middle-aged lady he’d not met before now. “If he could lessen his emotional stress, he’d be much better.” He could have kicked himself. He should not give such personal information to an employee. He was not good at this and told himself to use his detective instincts from now on.

  “Isn’t that the way with us all? Mr. McNulty, are you here to see Mr. Blevins by any chance?”

  “I am, as a matter of fact.”

  “He just telephoned and said he wasn’t feeling well today.”

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  “Oh, I don’t think you should—”

  “Look, madam, both the principal owner and his second in charge are under the weather. Do you truly think I should leave the company’s welfare to chance?”

  She set the coffeepot she’d been holding down on her desk. “Well, when you put it that way . . .”

  “I’m in a dreadful rush, if you don’t mind.”

  “Certainly. Mr. Blevins lives at number 105 East Seventeenth Street in Gramercy Park.”

  Thirty minutes later Owen rapped on the door.

  Blevins, rather than a servant, opened it. “Mrs. Miller let me know you were on your way, Owen. Please come in.”