Little Shoes and Mistletoe

by Sally Laity

  A door opened upstairs. Eliza assumed Anabelle’s driver had come for her.

  But the heavy footsteps that clambered down to the basement brought Micah Richmond instead, his shoulders sporting a dusting of snowflakes. “Where is everyone?” he asked jovially.

  Eliza smiled, his sudden appearances no longer catching her off guard. “You just missed them. They went home not five minutes ago.”

  “And left you with the drudgery, I see,” he teased.

  “We take turns, actually.”

  “Ah.” He scanned the room. “Ana’s not here?”

  “Sorry, no. She’s under the weather this afternoon.”

  “Oh, yes. She complained of a chill last evening, as I recall. I’ll run by later and look in on her.”

  Eliza nodded and gathered her belongings together.

  “I assume these are today’s completed quilts?” He tipped his head toward the end of the table.

  “Yes. Four this time.”

  “Wonderful.” Micah picked them up and took a few steps toward the doorway, then turned. “Uh, Miss Criswell? I don’t suppose—”

  “What is it?”

  “Must you go home directly?”

  Her eyes widened. “Well, naturally Aunt Phoebe expects me soon after the close of the quilting circle. I did tell her and Anabelle’s driver that I would be detained a few minutes after the session. But Graham might be waiting for me.” Noticing Micah’s troubled expression, she paused. “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s nothing. Never mind.” Filling his lungs, he started away, but halted again. “On second thought, I might as well come out with it. I’m in dire need of a favor.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  A sheepish grin appeared on his lips. “I was hoping to deliver these right away, but my assistant was called out of town to her daughter’s home on an emergency. I was wondering if you could possibly accompany me.”

  Eliza merely stared, unsure how to respond.

  “Many women at the tenements have been widowed or deserted by their husbands,” he explained, “and they’re more at ease if I bring a female companion along. I promise not to keep you a moment longer than absolutely necessary.”

  “I–I don’t know what to say.”

  He released a disappointed breath. “I understand. It was just a thought. Sorry to impose on you.”

  His deflated expression tugged at her heart and made her change her mind. She’d probably regret doing so later, but after all, he wasn’t asking that much of her. “Wait!”

  He halted on the steps and looked back.

  “If you’re sure it would help, I suppose it couldn’t hurt for me to go along this once.”

  Micah’s strong, manly features took on a boyish quality with his grin. “Splendid. I’ll not keep you long, I assure you.”

  But even as Eliza followed him up the stairwell, she wondered if her decision had been a rash one. Hadn’t Anabelle told her he often went to disreputable areas of town?

  Outside, the Dumonts’ coach indeed stood waiting. Micah went to thank the driver for his trouble and sent him on his way. Then he assisted Eliza into his much plainer buggy, climbed aboard himself, and took the reins. “I truly appreciate your willingness to help me out, Miss Criswell.”

  He clucked the horse forward, guiding it out among the assortment of other conveyances on the busy street. “Would you think me terribly forward if I were to call you Eliza? Since you’re such a good friend of Ana’s, and she speaks of you so often, I thought perhaps you’d consider me a friend as well.”

  The brief recollection of the last man who called her by her first name brought a pang, but Eliza ignored it. “As you wish.” Her breath crystallizing in the cold air, she tucked her hands into the fur muff which complemented her winter coat. Soft feathery snowflakes swirled around them.

  “Then you must call me Micah. It will save time, not to mention be less cumbersome.”

  She gave a perfunctory nod and averted her attention to the passing residences on either side of the unfamiliar Manhattan thoroughfare as the horse’s hooves clopped in regular cadence over the pavement. Stately and well-tended, the grand homes had lovely grounds whose summer glory could only be imagined. But even beneath winter’s cold spell their subdued beauty was a sight to behold as the profusion of old trees reached lacy crowns toward the heavens.

  Micah didn’t seem very talkative, and Eliza sensed he had a lot on his mind. Without the need for polite conversation, she concentrated on the sights that were completely new to her as the buggy turned onto Broadway. There her gaze drank in the limitless variety of stores and tall buildings whose tops scraped the sky. Signs of the approaching holiday season abounded in colorful window displays of the latest in fashion and children’s toys.

  When they passed city hall and neared the East River, however, the scenery took a turn for the worse. The streets became narrower and more crooked. Dwellings looked gloomy and wretched and crowded together. And despite the salt-laden breeze coming from the vast Atlantic, whose briny waters mingled with that of many of the large rivers along the eastern coastline, a foul stench from the refuse-filled gutters pervaded the air.

  Eliza surveyed the conglomeration of grim, multistory dwellings in Manhattan’s lower East Side. In various stages of disrepair, all of them fairly teemed with inhabitants. She was appalled at the cheerless appearance of the tenements, to say nothing of the hordes of hopeless-looking people and ragged children seemingly everywhere. Dismal, frozen clothing and diapers flapped from clotheslines strung high above the narrow road from windows opposite each other, and Eliza couldn’t begin to discern the number of foreign languages being bandied about.

  “I can’t believe people live like this.” Having actually uttered that thought aloud, she cringed with embarrassment.

  “You haven’t seen anything yet.” Drawing the horse to a halt midway down one of the cobbled lanes, Micah got out and helped her down, then reached for the quilts. “Just stay close to me.”

  He needn’t have said it. Nothing would have made Eliza venture anywhere by herself.

  As bad as the exteriors of the tenements looked, the interiors proved even worse. In her wildest imaginings she wouldn’t have dreamed such filth existed, or that people could actually spend their days in such horrid conditions. Clutching her skirt to keep the hem out of the grime, she doggedly followed Micah into the common hall of one of the buildings, their footsteps echoing off the cracked plaster walls and bare floors. A rickety staircase, out of reach of the faint light struggling to penetrate the single window at the other end of long corridor, ascended into utter darkness.

  “Mr. Micah! Mr. Micah!” The gleeful, boyish voice carried the entire length of the dreary hall. The patter of little feet followed immediately as a curly-headed boy sprang up from where he’d been sitting in an open doorway and flew to throw his arms around Micah’s legs. His shirt gaped where a button was missing, and his trousers were too short, but his exuberant greeting lacked nothing at all.

  “Hi there, Vinnie.” Micah knelt to return the hug, the bulky quilts clutched in the crook of one arm. “What’s up, buddy?”

  By now, other little ones peeked out into the hall from the same room as well as other rooms lining the hallway. They all came running.

  Eliza stood back in amazement, watching her companion tousle hair, hug shoulders, and pat heads in turn. The sight warmed her heart, and she returned each timid glance with a smile she hoped appeared friendly.

  “Guess’a what, Mr. Micah?” a scraggly-haired girl of about five said in a conspiratorial tone. She toyed with the torn pocket of her faded dress. “Rosa and Gabriella’s mama, she gone’a to da angels. Dey both’a stay’a wit us.”

  His cheery expression turned somber. “I thought she was getting better.” Then he gave a nod of resignation. “Well, I’m on my way to see your mother right
now. Come on, Gina. Think you can show my friend, Miss Eliza, the way?”

  The little one gave Eliza a dubious glance, but with a sigh, took her hand. “Dis’a way.”

  Trying not to reveal her dismay at the grubby little fingers and dirt-smudged face, Eliza allowed herself to be led along.

  Two doors farther down, Micah rapped on the jamb. “Mrs. Garibaldi?”

  The youngsters clustered around him, their huge brown eyes adoring as they stroked the fine material of his winter coat.

  “Eh? Who’sa dere?” came a voice from inside. Seconds later, wiping her hands on the soiled apron covering her threadbare cotton dress, a large-boned, frazzled woman of indeterminate age appeared. “Oh. Mr. Richmond. Come in’a, come in.” She eyed the bounty he carried, then glared pointedly at the children. “Hey, bambinos. Whatsa matta you bother da nice’a man, eh? Go. Play.” Waving them away, she leaned out the door to watch them go down the hall.

  Micah peeled off the top quilt. “This is for you. You said last time that you could use another one.”

  “Graci. Vittorio and’a me, we appreciate dis.”

  While Micah talked to the lady of the house, Eliza couldn’t help looking around the bleak, narrow room in the feeble glow from a kerosene lamp. She could smell the stew simmering in a pot on the stove at the far end. Worn, sparse furnishings in no particular arrangement filled most of the wall space. Her heart went out to the young, curly-haired baby sitting on a blanket remnant on the otherwise bare floor, sucking on the sole of an old shoe. Surprisingly, though cramped and cheerless, the place seemed somewhat tidy, even if far from clean.

  “Gina told me Mrs. Riccio passed on. Is that true?” Micah asked.

  “Si. Yesterday, noon. Dey already take’a da remains. Vittorio say to me, ‘Sophia,’ he say, ‘Giuseppe and Anna Marie our friends’a since Naples, eh? We should keep’a Rosa and Gabriella for our friends.’ So, bambinos, dey stay wit us, like’a before. Where else dey go?”

  Micah gave a noncommittal shrug. “Won’t they be a bother with your own children to look after, your sewing, and all?”

  “What else friends’a do, eh? Dey live here when’a we all come to America. Dey play wit our Maria an’ Gina, you know?”

  “Well, if they get to be a burden, tell me. I might be able to find a place for them.”

  She nodded, albeit reluctantly.

  “Where are the girls now?” Micah asked.

  “Asleep. Dey cry an’ cry. Dey finally sleep.”

  “Mind if we look in on them?”

  Just then the baby toppled over and let out a wail.

  “Go look. Dey all right.” She pointed toward the next room, then stooped to pick up her own little one.

  Following behind Micah, Eliza almost bumped into him when he stopped abruptly. She peered around his shoulder into the dim interior of what was hardly more than a closet, where sleeping pallets were crammed so closely together that not a spare inch of floor remained. Grubby, ragged blankets were strewn every which way among the lot. A lump rose in her throat.

  On one mattress, two slumbering girls, about six and three years of age, clung to one another in sleep, their thin bodies still racked by occasional sobs.

  Micah turned to Eliza, his expression taut with concern. And without another word, he took another quilt from the three remaining and spread it over the motherless sisters.

  ❧

  “I’ve never witnessed such despair,” Eliza murmured a short time later on the homeward journey, her thoughts still on the impoverished recipients of the quilts. The rest of the coverlets had been distributed to other needy families.

  “You might be surprised to hear that many of these folks are well-educated and had highly respectable jobs in their homelands,” Micah answered evenly, his light brown eyes warm in the fading light. “But they left everything they had just to come to America. Home, family, friends, their livelihoods, all in hope of providing their children with a better life in a new country. Granted, a few are in such poor health the voyage itself claims them before they ever reach our shores. And with the lack of nourishing food, the rest are susceptible to any sickness that comes along.”

  “But the children! They haven’t proper clothes. Some of them look as if they haven’t seen a bathtub in months, if ever. And I even saw a rat scurrying along the hallway of that building. How can people continue to live in such squalor?”

  “They’ve nowhere else to go. Most don’t even speak the language when they first arrive. They’re dependent upon go-betweens, often ministers or social agents, who set them up in language classes and find jobs for them—usually work no one else will do. The immigrants labor hard and long, and in time some of them actually do save enough money to start businesses of their own. But sad to say, those are often the minority.”

  “And those little girls whose parents passed away. What will become of them?”

  “That’s a common occurrence here in the tenements. That pair is lucky, since family friends will assume the responsibility of caring for them. So many in similar situations are left to fend for themselves. Child Placement shelters quite a number of orphans until we can find new families willing to adopt them. And, of course, there are other asylums in the city with similar facilities.”

  “But it’s. . .it’s just overwhelming.”

  “My sentiments exactly. And more shiploads arrive every day.”

  By the time the buggy pulled up outside Harper House, Eliza felt completely spent, emotionally as well as physically. It was all she could do to make her way up the front walk.

  Micah took hold of her elbow and assisted her. “Well, thanks again. I appreciate your willingness to help me today. I could have gone alone, but as I mentioned before—”

  “I understand. Truly. The experience was rather enlightening, to say the least. I shall never complain again.”

  His lips spread into a smile.

  Eliza glimpsed then, for a brief moment, Micah Rich-mond’s soul, the depth of his caring and the concern that motivated him to work beyond the normal hours of his employment. And she fully understood his calling. She wanted to say something to commend him for his efforts, something profound, but nothing worthy enough came to her weary mind.

  The door opened then, and Aunt Phoebe leaned out into the snowy air, some of the flakes landing on the crocheted shawl worn about her shoulders. Worry creased her face. “There you are, at last, Eliza! I was wondering what had detained you.”

  “The fault is all mine, dear lady,” Micah explained. “I imposed on your niece’s good nature to help me out this afternoon. Which she did most graciously, I must say.”

  “I’m just glad you delivered her safely home. Would you like a cup of hot tea before you go?”

  “No, but thank you kindly. I’m expected at Anabelle’s.” He switched his gaze to Eliza as she was about to enter. “Again, I can’t thank you enough for filling in for Mrs. Wilson. I’ll endeavor not to take advantage of you again.”

  She merely smiled. “Good evening. Give Ana my love when you see her, and tell her that her presence was sorely missed at the sewing circle.”

  “I’ll do that. Good evening to you both.” Touching the brim of his bowler, he gave a polite tip of his sandy head and returned through the falling snow to his buggy.

  Eliza stepped into Harper House, its golden lamplight casting intricate shadows among the finery, and closed the door. Hanging up her warm wrap, she turned, her gaze drinking in the array of splendor before her. And she closed her eyes in reproach. All of this, for two people.

  There had to be more she and Aunt Phoebe could do to help.

  seven

  After a short visit with Anabelle and her parents, Micah returned to his rented room on Columbus Avenue. . .the sum total of his living quarters the past few years. Reluctant to spend the time or money it would require to keep up his late parents’
sprawling house, he had leased it out to a young couple with a growing family and moved his personal things into a one-room apartment in a row of brick town homes. Simple and cheerless, it at least freed him from having to get caught up in repairs and other mundane chores involved with owning property.

  Now, alone with the ticking of the mantel clock and the slowly dying embers of the fire he’d lit earlier, Micah rose from his knees and extinguished the bedside lamp before climbing between the cool sheets on his bed. The light snow which had begun earlier that afternoon now fell in earnest outside, muffling the normal night sounds in almost eerie stillness. And because he wasn’t especially tired, it seemed a good time for reflection. Retrospection.

  He couldn’t help but think back on his day, on the heart-rending thankfulness expressed by the recipients of the latest quilts. Having just prayed for those folks and so many others with whom he’d dealt over the past several months, he imagined them warm and toasty beneath the thick coverlets provided by the nimble-fingered ladies of Faith Community Church.

  He also thought of newly orphaned Rosa and Gabriella Riccio, who’d found refuge with family friends, the Gari-baldis. But with the kind couple already stretched to the limit with an abundance of offspring of their own, Micah could only hope and pray that the sad little girls would adjust to life without their parents and not be too much of a drain on the Garibaldis.

  And he could not entirely dismiss from his consciousness the memory of Eliza Criswell’s presence this afternoon. He knew the young woman’s gentle upbringing had sheltered her from the sort of reality found in Manhattan’s lower East Side and most likely she’d been shocked over the whole grievous situation. But thinking back, something else had also been obvious. She hadn’t appeared sickened or repulsed by what she’d seen. Instead she’d seemed touched. Humbled. Most especially, her heart had gone out to the little Riccio sisters.