Band of Sisters (46 page)

An army of locals shoveled the road into town by late afternoon, and all the guests, save Curtis and his staff, departed.

It was another day before the electricity came on, thanks to Curtis’s surreptitious trip to the attic. No sooner had the road been cleared but temperatures rose and a new storm, a wild northeaster, swept through with driving wind and rains. The river ran high, and creeks off the Hudson overflowed their banks.

Joshua and Maureen made themselves indispensable to Victor Belgadt and his house. The schedule kept the two trusted employees busy but gave them free access to search all the rooms without Harder peering over their shoulders. Still, they found nothing.

By noon of the fourth day, telephone lines were repaired and service was restored. As Joshua served late-afternoon martinis and Maureen delivered trays of cheeses, caviar on ice, and finger fruits to Belgadt’s study, Curtis convinced the estate’s owner of his need to see proof of profit figures for his brothels and out-of-state trafficking if he was going to merge operations. “It’s down to you and me, Belgadt. Take it or leave it.”

Belgadt drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair and glanced indecisively toward the far wall. He heaved a sigh as the telephone rang, making every other person in the room start. But Belgadt ignored the ring. He’d just risen and headed toward the opposite wall when a knock came at the door.

“Come,” Belgadt ordered, stopping in the midst of the room.

Collins, the new underbutler, bowed. “Mr. Drake Meitland on the line, Mr. Belgadt. He insists that it’s urgent he speak with you.”

“Meitland? What now?” Belgadt grumbled.

“Shall I handle it?” Curtis offered congenially.

But Belgadt ignored him and lifted the receiver from his desk. “Meitland, what is it?”

Curtis knew Belgadt’s silence went on too long. He heard the low rumble through the phone’s receiver and the staccato punctuations, urgent, though he could not make out the words.

Belgadt glanced up sharply, and Curtis knew he stood accused.

“Is there a problem?”

Belgadt pulled away from the receiver. “There doesn’t seem to be a Madame Trovetski or a Thaddeus Skyver in Washington. The address you gave Meitland for the brothel doesn’t exist.”

“That’s impossible!” Curtis exerted every bit of superior indignation he could muster. “Let me talk to him.” He reached for the phone, but Belgadt held back.

“This had better not be a setup, Morrow.” Belgadt held the receiver by his side. “As a matter of fact—”

Curtis jerked the receiver from his hand.

Belgadt was not used to such presumption.

“Drake, Curtis here. Did you go to the office on Green like I told you? . . . No—that’s impossible. . . . Of course he’s not going to admit it—he’s no reason to trust you. You’re right; I should have thought of that. . . . No, stay where you are. I’ll come down first thing tomorrow. . . . Yes, bad storm here, but trains are running again. Where are you staying? Right, just hold on.”

Belgadt pushed a pad and pen toward Curtis and watched as he scribbled an address.

“Yes, I’ll meet you in the hotel lobby tomorrow night. Don’t talk to anyone else. I don’t want you scaring them off. The operation’s made to shut down at a moment’s notice. Wait for me. I’ll contact you when I get there.”

Belgadt reached for the receiver, but Curtis replaced it—a little too quickly, Belgadt thought. A mistake? He wasn’t sure. “You don’t want to cross me.” Belgadt studied the man before him.

“Meitland’s ineptitude had better not have cost my DC operation,” Curtis threatened in return. “Need I remind you that I’m the one who’s lost most, thanks to Harder’s sticky fingers?” He jerked his cuffs below his jacket sleeves. “Now let’s finalize our business before I go. I’ll catch the first train tomorrow. Where are those ledgers?”

Eyes narrowed in concentration, Belgadt rounded his desk and settled slowly into his swivel chair. “I think our business can wait until you—and Meitland—return.” His fingers drummed the desktop. “That will be time enough to lay our cards on the table.”

Although every woman had warmly welcomed her, Mrs. Melkford still felt awkward speaking or voting in the Ladies’ Circle. She didn’t fully understand young women, let alone wealthy young women. But she believed their hearts true and eagerly supported Hope’s motion to purchase and staff a building in lower Manhattan for the purpose of training immigrant women in employable skills.

“They must have the opportunity to learn English,” Julia insisted. “Speaking the language will make all the difference in whether or not we’ll be able to find jobs for them.”

“That’s true, but there are a number of schools that already offer those evening classes. We can’t do everything—or everything in one building,” Isabella argued. “I think we should focus on domestic service training and sewing and tailoring. Those skills are always needed, and most immigrant girls have at least some experience with a needle, some much more.”

“Please.” Julia dramatically rolled her eyes.

“There’s nothing dishonorable about those skills,” Isabella reminded her.

“Of course not. And for some women that will be just the ticket. But we have to offer women more opportunities than they have now. We absolutely must offer training in sales clerking and secretarial skills, including use of the modern conveniences—like the telephone. And record keeping, teach them some basics about budgeting and finance. And all of those skills require speaking English in New York.”

“Might I say something?” Mrs. Melkford timidly raised her hand.

“Of course, Mrs. Melkford.” Olivia turned toward her. “What is it?”

“You all mean so very well. These are wonderful ideas and will make such a difference in the lives of these young women.”

“But?” Julia demanded.

“But they desperately need a place to stay from the moment they leave Ellis Island. They need sponsorship—someone to take responsibility for them, to prove they won’t become a public charge. If women don’t have that, they’ll not be allowed into the country.”

“Sponsorship?” Agnes clasped her hands together. “But that means providing housing.”

“That’s quite another thing,” Dorothy responded.

“It would mean providing a live-in situation, a safe place, and accountability,” Mrs. Melkford replied, doing her best to make eye contact with each woman without singling out Dorothy. “Those are the things most difficult to find.”

“Don’t most women know they won’t be allowed through Ellis Island without family? Wouldn’t that deter them from coming in the first place?” Isabella asked.

Mrs. Melkford looked at Katie Rose, hoping she would speak up, but the girl appeared to be studying her cuticles. “Yes, it keeps many from coming, but not all.”

“Then perhaps they shouldn’t come,” Dorothy persisted, much to Mrs. Melkford’s dismay.

Mrs. Melkford hesitated, framing her words. “Sometimes they don’t understand that rule before they come, and for some there is no choice but to leave their country. Victims of starvation, war, abuse, and forces beyond their control—they come to America for so many reasons, almost always because life was not tolerable in their home country. And sometimes—” she moistened her lips—“it would be better, safer, for young women to be with other young women, rather than with their families.”

Dorothy, paler than usual, looked away. Mrs. Melkford wondered if the young woman was unwell or if the topic upset her more than it had the others.

Mrs. Melkford knew she was treading on delicate ground with women of protected sensibilities who, she was certain, knew little of the world of poverty, but she added, “You may be aware that some girls are forced into less than desirable forms of employment in order to provide for their families—even
by
their families.”

Eyes widened. The women said not one word. Katie Rose’s face flamed.

“In that case,” Miranda said at last, “they should refuse.”

“You know that’s not always possible,” Carolynn reprimanded softly. “They’ve nowhere to go, no one to help them, no money. In many cases they speak no English to ask for help.”

“Precisely why we must teach English!” Julia insisted.

“And why we must consider taking some into our homes,” Olivia added, turning to Mrs. Melkford. “That’s what you meant, isn’t it? That we must take them into our homes?”

“Jesus said it best,” the older lady replied, smiling softly. “‘I was a stranger, and ye took me in.’”

The quiet that followed gratified Mrs. Melkford.
At least they’re not bolting, Lord, and they are taking it in. They’ll need time to talk with their husbands and families, time to make arrangements. But it’s a start. Thank You, Lord, for giving me the courage and the opportunity to speak for our sisters, to help bridge this gap between. Thank You for opening the hearts of these women. Infuse their hearts with Your love to open their homes and lives, as well as their purses.

“You’re right,” Hope said. “We need to think about life in New York from their point of view—and that begins with a safe place to stay. But we can’t stop there. It’s not only what they physically need when they first come to a strange country, but what they need to know—and we must help them learn it quickly. Everything from how to count money to the tools and products they’d use to clean in wealthy households, locations of the markets, what foods they’d be expected to prepare, where to go for help—medical or spiritual—or . . . everything. Everything will be different.”

“I can help with that part,” Katie Rose little more than whispered. “There were a hundred things I wished I’d known when I first stepped off the boat.”

“It’s a good thing you and your sister came together!” Isabella encouraged. “Think how hard it must be for those without family.”

“Not so different—” Katie Rose shifted stiffly in her seat—“dependin’ on who your family is.”

It’s hard not to contend with such ingratitude, Lord,
Mrs. Melkford prayed, her patience with Katie Rose wearing thin.
Child, you’ve no idea how hard Maureen worked for you. I’m not sure I do.

“That’s it, then. We must treat them as if they are our family, as if they’re our sisters, and not strangers we’re helping,” Julia affirmed.

“We clearly have a great deal to consider,” Agnes sighed. “Mrs. Melkford, we’ll be looking to you for guidance; you’ve worked with so many young women. But in the meantime, I believe I speak for all of us when I say we want to begin making arrangements. All in favor of taking pledges of means and service to purchase and staff a building in lower Manhattan, to be used for the purpose of teaching immigrant women and girls English and life skills, and for training them in domestic service, sewing and tailoring occupations, sales clerking, and secretarial work, show your hands.”

“Unanimous!” Julia squealed. “It’s a bold plan to go right into the thick of things. We’ll need a site where the girls are likely to look for housing, an area they’d find affordable to live permanently so they won’t have a huge distance between home and training and employment.”

“You’re out of order,” Miranda teased the effervescent Julia.

But Agnes lovingly, patiently prayed for the Lord’s guidance and blessing on the project, on each woman there, and adjourned the meeting.

“We’ll need to staff the different departments, but we must also consider staffing security for the building round the clock,” Hope advised as the women collected their coats and hats.

“Security for that area will add to our expenses,” Agnes cautioned. “We’d best see what the building will cost, estimate our operating budget, and get busy right away raising pledges.”

“Dorothy, your husband’s in real estate, isn’t he?” Carolynn asked. “Perhaps he could help us find what we’re looking for—something suitable but within our means.”

Dorothy’s pale cheeks flushed at the question. “Drake’s been away on business a good deal lately. I can ask him, but it might be better if we don’t wait for him.”

The women turned toward Dorothy, brows raised.

Mrs. Melkford sensed the young woman’s discomfort and turned to Olivia. “Perhaps Mr. Morrow could help us? I understand that he’s begun investing in real estate.”