Cindy Thomson - [Ellis Island 01]

by Grace's Pictures

  She glanced behind her as the women finally caught up. No cops anywhere. When she truly needed Owen’s help, he had vanished.

  Edith gasped. “What is going—?”

  “Now!” Smokey shouted, and the men ran toward them, scooping the girls off their feet. Another man had Linden before she could blink.

  “No!”

  Edith screamed.

  Ma yelled for help.

  Grace managed to grab hold of one thug’s shirttails, but she was no match for him. He gave her a sharp rap on her thigh with his weapon. She wailed and tried without success to limp after them.

  Grace fell to the pavement, screaming for help, shards of pain coming not only from her leg but from deep inside her heart.

  Her vision blurred as masses of color streaked and throbbed before her eyes.

  Shrill police whistles stung her ears and then the pop of a pistol.

  She gasped and crawled to her feet. She didn’t know where he came from, but Owen appeared and embraced her, squeezing tight. He was too late.

  Grace squirmed. “Let me go! Someone took the children.”

  “Ten policemen are on their heels, Grace. The captain must have guessed we’d have trouble and he sent help. If only I’d known your plans today, I would have warned you away.” He turned to the women. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes,” Edith answered. “But the babies! Do something!”

  “Yes, ma’am. Can you give a description?”

  Edith started to describe Smokey’s pallid looks and rumpled hair. Ma added a few things as well. Grace reached for words from her dry throat. “’Twas that fellow Smokey. The very same one you arrested a while ago.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am sure. Had some others with him.” Grace clenched her fists into tight balls. “What did they want? Why did they do that?”

  “I don’t think they wanted their picture taken.”

  “That’s what he said, but I didn’t take a photograph of his boss. Not now and not before. I told you that.”

  Owen turned her away from the women and whispered. “When you saw him in the park weeks ago, he thought you took his picture. Didn’t you tell me that?”

  “Yes. I had my camera then too, but on the grave of Saint Patrick I did not take any stranger’s photograph just now. I did take—”

  “He thinks you did, Grace. And you might have, without knowing. That’s why I took the camera.”

  She glanced behind him. “Where is it?”

  “At the station, in case it’s evidence. Sent my partner over with it right after I took it from you. I saw you aiming and I thought it could be possible you’d inadvertently snapped the scum’s mug.”

  “You saw him? The sketch I made . . . You saw him here?” Her mouth went dry.

  “I thought so. Then all the commotion started . . . Well, come along, ladies, and I’ll take all of you over to the station.”

  The police station. Peelers. Not again! Why, God, won’t you help me?

  Owen spoke in a quiet voice, meant, she supposed, to calm her. “When they realized you didn’t have possession of the camera, they turned desperate.”

  Ma, regaining her composure, tapped Owen’s arm. He turned and she reached for Grace. “We’ll go get S. P.,” she sniffed. “He’ll know what to do.”

  “No.” Grace’s voice rang out like broken glass. “We don’t need his help. A telephone.” She glanced around her. “We have to . . . Oh, Edith. We have to call Mr. Parker.”

  Edith embraced Grace. “Are you sure your men will catch up with those thugs, Officer?”

  “We’re doing our best.” Owen pointed toward Broadway. “The police precinct. I’ll take you over.”

  Grace cringed. “Oh no. We don’t want your help.” She meant to say they didn’t need his help but it came out all wrong.

  “Grace McCaffery,” her mother scolded. She turned to Owen. “My name is Ellen Feeny. My husband is with the Royal Irish Constabulary, and we are visiting my daughter. I’m sure he can help. We accept your offer and need to make several calls. To Mr. Parker and to Miss Hall’s boardinghouse on Rector Street. And if my husband is not at Miss Hall’s, then to Tammany Hall.”

  “It will be my pleasure to assist you, Mrs. Feeny. Try not to despair. We are on the case. There is a police wagon over here. We’ll take you straight to headquarters.”

  41

  THIS TIME IT WAS OWEN pacing in the captain’s office. They’d been forced to endure the presence of a Tammany Hall sympathizer, an Irishman here for the parade. He was probably gathering American funds for some Irish cause. But because he was Grace McCaffery’s stepfather and a police inspector in his own country, they could not put him off easily. Problem was, he was related to Walter Feeny. Grace had warned him earlier, but he hadn’t given it a second thought until now.

  The captain twiddled his thumbs. “You say you’re with the R.I.C.?”

  “That’s correct, Captain Nicholson. Done years of criminal investigation in Ireland, and I’m here to lend my support.”

  “When you left Tammany, did anyone ask you where you were going? Your nephew, perhaps?”

  “I didn’t mention it. Walter was in another planning meeting. Should I have?”

  “Uh, no. We have all the resources down here we need.”

  “I just thought I might help.”

  “Appreciate that.” Nicholson tapped a cold cigar on the edge of his desk. He didn’t offer any details about this case or the Hudson Dusters. Wise man.

  “Look,” the elder Feeny said, tapping his tented fingers together. “I don’t want to get into your business. Wouldn’t want anyone in mine, you understand.”

  “Yes, I understand,” Nicholson said.

  Owen cracked open the door and peered into the hallway. “How long does it take to develop snapshots?”

  “Couple hours, I’d say,” the Irishman answered.

  Owen was dying to know the strategy. If only they could get this fella out of the office. “Hey, maybe you could tell the fellas at the board how you track kidnappers in Ireland,” Owen suggested.

  “The men in the hall in front of the blackboard?” Feeny twisted in his chair.

  “Uh, that’s right.” Nicholson stood. “They’re trying to brainstorm ideas for some leads.”

  “Be happy to, if that’s where you need me most.”

  “Oh, it is,” Nicholson answered.

  Feeny rose and hurried out of the office.

  “Good thinking, McNulty.” Nicholson shut the door.

  “What do we do about him?”

  Nicholson shrugged. “I think he’s harmless. He’s just in town to raise money. Tammany will help him do that, but I doubt he has any influence over there. Now . . .” He sat down and leaned his elbows on his desk. “We have to make sure Devery doesn’t get wind of this.” He turned to Jake, who had been dead silent in the corner of the room. “So Smokey thinks we identified Goo Goo, right?”

  Owen glanced at his partner. “Our contact took off like a shot after he pointed him out to us. We only got a quick glimpse, but I think Grace’s drawing was on target.”

  “Not much to go on,” Nicholson said.

  “I believe Smokey thinks we got ’im, Captain.” Jake tapped the heel of his shoe on the polished floor. “And whether his face is in those snapshots or not, we gotta make the Dusters think we have ’im or we’ll have nothing to negotiate with.” He stood and clenched his fist. “How did the boys lose those kidnappers in that tiny park?”

  Owen slapped his partner’s shoulder. “You know how. We talked about it before. Our boys did not have a boat. The gang slipped a rowboat in among the coal barges and steamships, I’d guess, and then rowed away into the fog that was rolling in.”

  “Aw.” Jake gazed at the floor and shook his head. “Could it have been any simpler? And we still couldn’t nab ’em.”

  Owen looked to the captain. “A boat, right?”

  “That’s right. Had to be. They could be anywhere b
y now.”

  At the station Grace sat down and tried to calm her queasy stomach. Where were the children? How frightened were they? Oh, God, hold them in your arms.

  Ma and Edith sat with her, silently wringing their hands and wiping their eyes.

  The sound of Owen’s heavy footsteps made Grace look up.

  He spoke softly. “Mrs. Feeny, your husband has arrived from Tammany. He is consulting with the men now. He’ll be with you shortly.”

  “Thank you, Officer.” She hugged Grace again. “You’ll see, darlin’. S. P. will locate those children.”

  Owen stammered. “I . . . uh . . . I have to get back. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

  “Thank you again,” Edith said.

  Grace could not find the words to respond. How could this have happened? She knew Smokey hung out at the park. She should never have endangered the children by agreeing to go there. “I’m a hopeless failure,” she muttered.

  “Oh, darlin’. ’Tis not your fault.” Ma rocked slightly, making Grace feel like a child again. But not comforted. Cruel men had burned their home when she was a child while Ma rocked her. Nay. Ma could not fix this either, and S. P., a peeler from across the sea, surely could not.

  “Don’t blame yourself, Grace,” Edith added. “We were all with you, and none of us could have stopped those pipe-wielding toughs.”

  No one understood the voices in her head. Weak. Pitiful. You will not survive.

  Grace gritted her teeth. She would not accept those messages anymore. She’d done fine with the children before this, and she would not surrender to self-doubt. She had to be strong for the children. They needed her.

  Mr. Parker burst through the doors, his face red as hot coals. “Where are my children?”

  Edith stood. “Now, George, try to remain calm.”

  Grace could not meet his eyes. Owen emerged from his meeting again in time to put his tremendous hand on the man’s shoulder and convince him to sit down on a bench. Just as soon as he was released, Mr. Parker lunged toward Grace. “How could you allow this to happen? I trusted you.”

  Owen stood in his path, once again her protector.

  Grace stammered. “It . . . it . . . uh . . . happened so fast. They just grabbed them.”

  He pointed his finger over Owen’s shoulder. “You! If any harm comes to them, it’s your fault, young lady.”

  “George!” Edith shook her head at him as if that would shut her brother up.

  “Calm yourself, Mr. Parker.” Owen managed to wrestle him back down on the bench. “No one meant for this to happen. Our men are out there right now looking for your children.”

  Mr. Parker’s voice was tight. “And why are you in here, Owen?”

  “I’m keeping you from accosting your nanny, sir. If we could all keep cool heads, I could get on with my business.”

  That seemed to subdue Mr. Parker. Owen was called back into an office. The air between Grace and her employer lay heavy with tension even in the silence. She left and found her mother pacing the hall. “I have to do something,” she told her.

  “What, darlin’? ’Tis the job of the police now.”

  “No, none of them can help. I must think of something.” Her voice faltered. She swallowed hard. “Only someone who knows what those children are feeling can help. No one rescued me when I was a child. I can’t let it happen again.”

  Ma grabbed her arm so hard, pain shot to Grace’s shoulder. “This has nothing to do with that, Grace, and you better know it. Get ahold of yourself. Listen to me. Those police want to do their job. They want to find the children, God bless ’em. This time they’re working for the wee ones, not for some landowner.” She shook Grace’s arm. “This is not about what happened to you.”

  Grace caught her sob with her hand. “But what can I do? The children . . .”

  “Pray. And thank God you’ve got Officer McNulty on your side and S. P. here as well. They are trained, equipped, and know far more than you and I how to track kidnappers. God has sent the help we need, Grace.”

  Grace turned to find her stepfather moving toward them. S. P. gave Ma a kiss on the cheek and then turned to Grace.

  This time Grace dared to look into his eyes. His face was creased with worry lines and his eyes were soft. “Are you all right, Grace? Are you hurt?”

  “I’m well. All but my heart.” She put a hand to the hollow in her chest.

  “I know, Grace. I’ve talked to Owen. Not a Tammany man, and he let me know it. Still, I believe they are capable. I’m staying here to lend whatever assistance I can. There is a hansom waiting to take you all home.”

  An indignant surge leaped to her voice. “I can’t leave.”

  He touched her shoulder. “There is nothing you can do here.”

  She glanced back to the hall where Mr. Parker sat, head in hands. “Maybe there is.” She had misjudged Owen and probably even S. P., who truly seemed concerned. But perhaps the worst thing was how she had believed Mr. Parker didn’t deserve his children. The thought of the pain he had to be in now stung like nettles in her heart. She gestured to her mother. “You and Edith go on along. There are two babes that will be needing you. I’m going to sit with Mr. Parker.”

  “Are you certain, darlin’?”

  “Aye. I am.”

  Ma hesitated. “I’m not sure I should leave you.”

  S. P. huffed. “She’s a grown woman, Ellen.”

  Ma shook a finger at him. “Don’t be telling me what I already know.”

  Grace patted her mother’s shoulder. “He’s right, Ma. Patrick needs you and I can handle things here. You always told me I was smart, important, able. I’ve been able to do much more in America than I ever imagined I could. You’re right. I did not cause this.”

  “You can depend on it, Grace. I am so proud of you. Telephone if you need me, darlin’.”

  “I will.” She kissed her mother, hugged Edith, and sent them off.

  As she moved toward the man she worked for, Grace was unsure how he would respond. He might still be angry.

  She sat next to him. He didn’t stir.

  Shadows paced beyond a frosted glass door. Owen and some others met inside. Plotting. Planning. Preparing. Doing the work that police did in criminal cases. Ma was right. She had no idea how such things were done. Thank you, God.

  Behind the door, hands waved; men marched back and forth. She watched as S. P. entered the room. All the while Mr. Parker sat silent.

  Soon a young lad emerged from the meeting carrying her Brownie camera.

  “Hey!” She leaped to her feet. “Where are you taking that? That’s mine.”

  “Going to find someone to develop the pictures, miss.”

  Owen must really think she took the gang boss’s photograph. He’d be disappointed when he saw the shots. Unless the boat could help in some way. It was worth finding out. “All right.” She reached for the camera. “Let me take the film out for you. You don’t need to take the whole camera with you.”

  He rushed off with the roll and she returned to her vigil.

  Eventually Mr. Parker looked up. “Your camera?”

  “Aye. Yes. The police think I may have taken someone’s photograph unintentionally. Maybe something will show up that will help them.”

  He blew out a breath. “I suppose that caused all the trouble.”

  “I am so sorry. I should not have brought them to the park.”

  He wagged his head. “You didn’t know. It was my suggestion, seeing as the big parade is drawing so many folks uptown. I’m sorry I yelled.”

  “You were upset, of course. Anyone would do the same.”

  “But it’s not your fault.”

  Even Mr. Parker did not think she had messed up.

  They sat for a few more quiet moments.

  “Grace?”

  “Aye? Yes, Mr. Parker?”

  “I saw the photographs you took in Chatham Square.”

  “Oh.” He hadn’t mentioned it and she’d figured he hadn’t
noticed.

  “I’m not the man I seem to be.”

  “You don’t have to explain.”

  “Those snapshots woke me to what I’d been doing, pretending I was someone I wasn’t and all the while collecting high rents for . . .” He put his head in his hands. “I suppose I had turned a blind eye to how bad it was down there. But snapshots do not lie.”

  “They do not,” she answered softly.

  “I . . . I’m afraid my actions may have caused this. God does invoke punishment, doesn’t he?”

  “Well, I don’t—”

  “You see, I never wanted to let the children go far from home because . . . well, I know there are . . . dangers, Grace. Dangers I know about.”

  “Aye. Yes. I understand. You wanted them to be . . .” She could not get the word out. Were they safe now? Please, God. If you can hear me, please help!

  He grunted and sat up straighter. “I held too tight and still lost my wife. You see, I never told anyone this, but she did not come from a well-to-do family. She was raised in an orphanage. I wanted her life to be safe and secure, a cocoon, and I wanted that for my children as well.”

  “I know.” She’d never told him how Mrs. Parker had confided in her.

  He hung his head. “And I could not do it, keep anyone safe. Not myself when I was a child. Not Alice and now not the children. I’m a failure.” He caught a sob in his fist.

  “Oh no. I don’t think—”

  “Oh yes. Chatham Square was not good to me. I could not bear to go back there and so . . . I let the building rot. I was a coward.”

  “Nay, Mr. Parker.”

  “My father told me to be strong. It was what I learned, what I was trying to teach my children. I was wrong. I want to tell them that and hold them and . . .” He sobbed into his hands.

  “No one is perfect, Mr. Parker. I should know that. But you are not a failure so long as you keep trying.”

  He mumbled into his hands. “I want to, Grace.”

  “I’d be happy to call Reverend Clarke for you, if you’d like.”

  He flung his head up to look at her. “I declare now before you and God that if my children return unharmed, I will become a better person.”

  Grace bit her lip. Hadn’t she bargained with God if he would just let her mother come to her? She hoped Mr. Parker would become a better person. She hoped she would too. But bargaining with God over the children? That did not feel right.