Band of Sisters (26 page)

Maureen closed her eyes.
How can I make them understand without tellin’ them? Look what my simple questions did to Alice and Eliza! There’s no one I dare tell, no one I dare risk, and no one I dare trust, none to help! Even Officer Flannery is party to their stealin’! Oh, please, God!

All her foundations felt like melting snow. Never had Maureen felt so entirely, absolutely alone, not since the night Julius Orthbridge first threw open her door.

Maureen woke Friday morning, exhausted, only to find the sun streaming through the window and Katie Rose gone to work.

“We didn’t want to wake you, dear,” Mrs. Melkford said when she peeked in the door midmorning. “You moaned through the night in your sleep, and you’re still running a fever.” She pulled the quilt up to Maureen’s neck. “I sent word to Darcy’s Department Store that you’re ill and won’t be in today or likely tomorrow. That should give you a good rest.”

Maureen sat up, knowing she should protest, worried that Mrs. Melkford had associated herself with any employee of Darcy’s, especially one who might be under suspicion for protesting so much—who might have been seen by Jaime Flynn. But the room began to swim and her thoughts with it. She laid her head back down on the pillow.

“That’s better,” Mrs. Melkford cooed. “I’ll bring you some breakfast. Just you wait here.”

But when Maureen closed her eyes, she saw the faces of Alice and Eliza rise up before her.
Where are you now? Oh, where have they taken you?

She couldn’t seem to hold the thought steady in her brain. Her mind was about to drift to dreaming when she remembered why she’d returned to Darcy’s last night.

Maureen forced her eyelids open and willed strength into her limbs. She dropped her feet over the side of the bed and tiptoed across the cold floor to find her cracked leather purse laid squarely atop her neatly folded shirtwaist and skirt and stockings. She pulled Joshua’s letter from her purse, intending to throw it on the fire without reading it. As she prepared to toss it into the flames, she realized the address wasn’t from Joshua Keeton in America. The postage was Irish.
Aunt Verna?
She pulled the sheet of paper from the envelope.

Dearest Maureen and Katie Rose,

It has been over two months since you left County Meath, and I’ve not heard a word as to your health or whereabouts. My letters to the address of Colonel Wakefield have been returned, marked “Unknown,” and when I wrote directly to the colonel himself, my letter was returned, “Deceased.” I am at my wits’ end and regret the day I urged you to go.

I learned of Joshua Keeton’s whereabouts through his mother and took the liberty of writing to him, hoping that he will find you and see that you are both well. Please, please, dear nieces, if this reaches you, write and let me know where and how you are getting by. If the colonel is truly dead, I fear for your safety.

I’ve asked Joshua to help you, so be good to him, Maureen. He’s doing my bidding. I know your nasty temper, child.

All my love,

Aunt Verna

Maureen refolded the letter and returned it to the envelope. She crept back into bed and pulled the covers high about her neck, pushing away the chill that raced upward from her cold feet.
You’re right to fear for our safety, Aunt. This is no better than Ireland. It’s hidden and secret and more violent in the stealin’ of its women—at least more violent than I’ve known. But it’s stealin’ and coercin’ and no doubt rape just the same. And who is there to stop it?

Maureen’s time of reprieve nestled in Mrs. Melkford’s gentle care passed quickly. Fever and sore throat were little price to pay for the mothering she craved and received in abundance.

But she worried that Katie Rose walked to and from work with no more protection than other girls her age; she feared for her sister’s boasted brazen flirting with the policeman in Washington Square, near the block of the shirtwaist factory, knowing Katie Rose had no idea the fire she toyed with.

And yet telling her still seemed the greater risk. Katie Rose would never be able to keep such knowledge to herself or the knowing from her face. She’d make herself a target by her fear.

Maureen worried that she would lose her job at Darcy’s for being out sick. She worried that she would keep her job—and leave the company not because she was dismissed, but in a burlap sack or the back of a truck, as Alice and Eliza had.

She tried to remember the other girls who’d disappeared.
It’s not possible that they were all stolen away and that no one has noticed or said anythin’.
And then she remembered Eliza’s fearful glance over her shoulder in the lunchroom and Alice, the first day they went shopping together, when she’d begged her not to leave the store floor.

Maureen sat up in bed Saturday morning. Every word, every glance took on new meaning. Had they known there was more going on than escorting lonely gentlemen to dinners or dances? Alice had seemed so pleased to be asked to escort, had seemed to think it was not so bad after all. But Maureen did not believe such “escorting” could be innocent—certainly not for long.

Did the girls know about this other—this horror? What had she read in the newspapers? What did they call it—this stealing of women?

When Maureen had read the headlines, she’d thought it simply sensationalism—a crude tactic to sell papers. But she’d heard things whispered in the cloakroom—something about the passing of the Mann Act. Only she’d overheard a discussion on the trolley that made it clear the act had nothing to do with men; it was all about preventing the transport over state lines of women and girls intended for prostitution and the selling of human beings for sexual purposes.

Slavery—they called it “white slavery” and “modern slavery.”

When the girls in the cloakroom talked about it, they hadn’t been whispering for sake of embarrassment or impropriety of the subject at all—they’d been afraid! Afraid they might be next!

The knowledge sat like a brick in her brain.
But won’t their families miss them? Won’t they inquire?
Maureen bit her lip, and that made her remember. She’d asked Alice about her Christmas plans, and Alice had looked away, saying she had no family. And what of Eliza Farnsworth? Did she have family, or was she, too, a young woman on her own?

Maureen didn’t know, but she did not doubt the answer.
Young women no one will miss.

Katie Rose had gone to finish dressing when Mrs. Melkford laid a cool hand across Maureen’s forehead Sunday morning at breakfast. “At least the fever’s gone. I’d surely like you to stay here a bit longer.”

“You’ve been so good to us, but we can’t keep takin’ advantage of your generosity.” Maureen’s green eyes looked bigger in her too-thin face.

“I’d dearly love to keep you both permanently; you must know that. But the Missionary Aid Society provides my small apartment in exchange for the bit of work I do for them, and . . .” Mrs. Melkford didn’t finish. It was the first time she resented giving up her own home after her husband’s death.
If only I had those two stories now!

“It’s all right, truly. We must manage on our own; we’ll be fine.”

Mrs. Melkford knew Maureen did not believe that. She didn’t know what had happened, could not understand why Maureen’s confidence had suddenly flown, only that it had. “Won’t you reconsider Olivia Wakefield’s offer? You and Katie Rose would be no farther from your work, and you’d be safe and warm and well fed.”

But Maureen shook her head. “I can’t. It’s impossible. Please don’t ask me.”

“I just don’t want to see you go back to your flat alone.” Mrs. Melkford worried her lip.
What is it she’s not telling me? Whatever kept her from telling me the truth in the first place?
“Is there someone you’re afraid of? Has someone threatened you?” She knew by the widening of Maureen’s eyes, though she clearly tried to hide it, that she’d stumbled on the truth or some semblance of the truth. The man in the checkered hat came to mind.
But Maureen was not here when he . . .
“If that is the case, you girls mustn’t be alone.”

Maureen shook her head again, and Mrs. Melkford could see she was very near a new fount of tears.

“If you’re not able to confide in me, and you don’t feel you can trust Olivia Wakefield, perhaps you should talk with that young man Joshua Keeton. He seemed so concerned for you.”

“Joshua Keeton is concerned for himself and his wants.”

Maureen’s sourness startled Mrs. Melkford. “I didn’t see that at all. He’s worried for you and only wanted me to give you your aunt’s letter and his offer to help should you want it. He asked nothing in return.”

Maureen turned her head away, but Mrs. Melkford was certain she caught a shade of doubt cross the younger woman’s features. “He called you an angel but said you didn’t know it.”

“Joshua Keeton called her an angel? Maureen?” Katie Rose stood at the door to the kitchen. “Was he jokin’?”

The look that passed between the sisters told Mrs. Melkford that it was anything but funny and that all was not well in the O’Reilly home. She couldn’t help but wonder if it had more than a little to do with the handsome Irishman.

Maureen had not planned to go to church that morning. She’d wanted only to write Aunt Verna—lie outright and tell her everything was fine and not to worry—and rest one more day, hide from the world long enough to gather strength for her return to Darcy’s on Monday. But Katie Rose’s remark had stirred the dreaded war between shame and ire within her breast. And Maureen, despite her fears of the future and failings of the past, still rose for the battle.

Puttin’ it off won’t help. It will be best to test the waters with Mrs. Melkford there. Though what can that dear soul do to protect me?
And the thought came as clearly as any she’d known:
She can pray, and I will . . .
But Maureen cut off the stirring in her soul before it was fully formed, certain it was not real.

The walk to church was quiet, and Maureen knew Katie Rose was miffed that Joshua should mention her older sister in anything but derision.
In fact, I’m not certain his words were anythin’ but a cruel joke, no matter what Mrs. Melkford thinks of him.