Band of Sisters (53 page)

She closed her eyes.
Is this what You want of me, Lord? To be a sister to Maureen and Curtis—the sister Father intended I be to Morgan O’Reilly’s children? I thought . . . I’d hoped . . . I’d hoped so much. Oh,
she all but groaned,
if this is what You want, You must help me, Lord. I can’t do this alone.

At last she cleared her throat. “Of course, you’re welcome to visit Maureen anytime. But I must ask you to go now.”

He stood immediately and walked to her side. “Must you?”

Why does he sound so puzzled, so hurt?

“I’m afraid so.” She clutched the drapery with her fist as if it would provide a lifeline against her own drowning. “You will show yourself out, please.”

“Olivia?” He touched her arm.

His presence was enough, but the touch of his hand completely undid her.
I will not cry. I will not cry!
“Please go, Mr. Morrow.”

“Olivia, I’m so very sorry that I didn’t confide in you. It was not only stupid of me, it was wrong. I regret it in every way. I’d hoped we—”

But she could hear no more and ran from the room.

Floating in and out of consciousness, Maureen’s body became a ship gliding westward, racing the sun. The fiery ball danced ahead, just out of reach, dappling its light upon the water. She pushed on, splintering waves, casting a foaming wake behind. But the globe ran faster yet, spreading its sparkling highway across the sea until it poured, a liquid gold, into the waves.

She closed the distance. Beneath the water the ball was no longer golden but black. A swirling, whirling tunnel, an underground cellar, lined with rusted, water-filled cages. Fingers clawed through the cages’ topmost bars. Long tresses floated, streaming in stark manes, encircling the beautiful, terror-filled faces of women.

And then Maureen was no longer a ship, but one of hundreds of women swimming, swimming against the tide with brass keys wrapped round their necks.

She struggled to lift her key to unlock cage doors, but the keys were too big and the locks too small. All the while the water continued to rise, to her chin, to her nose, to her eyes, until she could not breathe, could not see, could hear nothing but the roaring of the tide.

At last, a voice—the still, small, insistent voice she’d come to know—mingled with Mrs. Melkford’s soft, melodic reading, pushing back the roar. Through the depths, the voice became clearer, until the roar subsided and all she heard, all she saw, was light.

“‘Save me, O God; for the waters are come in unto my soul. I sink in deep mire, where is no standing: I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me. I am weary of my crying: my throat is dried: mine eyes fail while I wait for my God.’”

Yes, that’s how I feel. I’m weary of cryin’. I can’t stand on my own, and these waters, these troubles, are too deep for me.

“‘They that would destroy me, being mine enemies wrongfully, are mighty: then I restored that which I took not away.’”

Yes, they are powerful, these enemies. I tried to help the women they’d stolen. I tried to restore them—but I failed. I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough. Oh, God! I don’t even know their names!

“‘O God, thou knowest my foolishness; and my sins are not hid from thee. . . .’”

Nothin’ is hidden from You. You’ve seen everything I’ve ever done or let be done. It’s that knowin’ that keeps me from You, makes me hide in my shame.

“‘I am become a stranger to my brethren, and an alien unto my mother’s children.’”

Katie Rose has disowned me. I wanted to help her, to save her from my hell. I thought by savin’ her and the other women, I could make her love me, make You love me. But I’ve failed in that, too.

“‘But as for me, my prayer is unto thee, O Lord. . . . O God, in the multitude of thy mercy hear me, in the truth of thy salvation. . . . Let me not sink. . . . Let not the waterflood overflow me, neither let the deep swallow me up.’”

I’ve no one to turn to but You, Lord. Have mercy on me! Forgive me . . . help me!

“‘Hear me, O Lord; for thy lovingkindness is good: turn unto me according to the multitude of thy tender mercies. . . . Draw nigh unto my soul, and redeem it. . . . I looked for some to take pity, but there was none; and for comforters, but I found none.’”

But You saved me when all my enemies would see me dead, when even my family turned their backs. You sent Joshua and Curtis and Mrs. Melkford and Olivia—and the voice, my Comfort.

“‘I will praise the name of God with a song, and will magnify him with thanksgiving. . . . For the Lord heareth the poor, and despiseth not his prisoners. Let the heaven and earth praise him, the seas, and every thing that moveth therein.’”

You heard me in my deepest sorrows when I was poor, in my desperation, locked as a prisoner in a cage, and drownin’. You saved me.

A single tear trickled from the corner of Maureen’s eye, down her cheek, and onto her neck.
Could it be that You love me, Lord? Could it be that You’ve saved me, no matter that I’ve failed to save the others?

Mrs. Melkford did not leave her patient’s side for five long days. Spoonful by spoonful, she slipped hearty broth through her patient’s half-open lips, urging her to swallow, no matter that she’d not opened her eyes. Mrs. Melkford was not deterred. She read aloud to Maureen—the whole of Psalms and every chapter and verse she knew that expounded the Lord’s forgiveness for those who seek Him, His all-encompassing love and mercy.

By the time Maureen opened her eyes, her face was awash in tears—tears Mrs. Melkford counted precious, tears she knew the Lord gathered in a bottle.

Each time Maureen heard a footfall outside her door, her heart rose. But when the door opened, revealing solicitous visitors bearing gifts, she pasted a grateful and welcoming smile across her mouth as her heart quietly fell, for not once was the visitor her own sister.

She’d been told that Katie Rose had been moved to Dorothy’s home, that they’d not told her the entire story because it was crucial that no more details be leaked to the press or the defense before the case went to trial. Now that Drake was safely locked away, Curtis thought those ladies safe, though he’d posted guards at every door. Olivia assured Maureen that Katie Rose was the perfect companion for Dorothy. By not knowing all that had happened to Maureen, Katie Rose could continue to go to work and lead a more normal life. Once the trial was over, she could be told everything.

Maureen tried to understand, mustered the bravest face she could, but knew that they were all shielding her from the fact that Katie Rose had also refused to see her.

By the middle of the second week, Maureen was sitting up and feeding herself. Though she felt perfectly capable of walking and resuming minor activities, the daily visiting physician, Mrs. Melkford, Curtis, Olivia, and Joshua all insisted that she remain confined to bed and chair rest.

By the third week she felt more a prisoner than a guest. When the five—Olivia, Mrs. Melkford, Curtis, Joshua, and she—met over dinner in Olivia’s dining room to discuss the coming trial, Maureen demanded her freedom.

“Aren’t you comfortable?” Curtis asked—too innocently, Maureen was certain. “I’m sure Olivia will provide more novels if you like.” They all looked to Olivia, who nodded helpfully, before Curtis went on, “Perhaps Mrs. Melkford could come more often.”

“Certainly, if you—”

But Maureen cut Mrs. Melkford off. “I want to go back to work.” She spoke slowly and plainly as if Curtis had a hearing problem. “I’m perfectly well. You promised me a job—a respectable job—and I want to get on with it. I hold you to our agreement, Mr. Morrow.”

“We’d best tell her,” Joshua said quietly.

“Just another week of rest,” Curtis insisted.

“Tell me what?” Maureen straightened, taking in the glare Curtis directed toward Joshua.

But Joshua ignored him and took Maureen’s hand. She tried to pull away, but he held tight as he said, “There have been threats.”

“Threats?”

Curtis assured her, “We’ve men stationed at every door and on every floor, in the yard, and in the street. Belgadt’s ogres don’t stand a chance of getting past my men. They’re trained security, to a man.”

Maureen remembered a new face in the hallway but had thought nothing of it. “But why? Why do I matter to them now?”

“They fear your testimony.”

“I’ve already told you, I’ll not testify. Besides, you said you found the ledgers and the pages I hid. You have enough evidence without me.”

But she saw the momentary hesitation between the two men.

“You did find the ledgers after the police raid?”

“Exactly where you said they’d be,” Joshua reassured her.

“Well then?” She glanced back and forth between the four before her but was conscious that Olivia looked away. “You said if we found those ledgers, it would be more than enough to hang them.”

Curtis sighed. “The ledgers irrefutably link Belgadt and Drake to Darcy’s Department Store. It’s clear they used the store as a front, and a number of employees and well-connected men have already been arrested. But so much of what we’re able to make stick depends on the judge.” He threw his napkin to the table. “Whose payroll he’s on or how or if he’s linked to Belgadt. The man is even better connected than I’d thought.”

“It seems so impossible.” Mrs. Melkford shook her head. “The idea that those reprobates might not be held accountable for the crimes they’ve committed, that they might be freed to go back to committing such horrors against other women and children—it’s unthinkable!”

“Surely that won’t happen.” Olivia laid her hand over Mrs. Melkford’s.

Curtis shrugged. “It’s happened before.” He leaned toward Maureen. “That’s why your testimony—everything we can possibly throw at them—is vital.”

Maureen sat back, conscious that her hand remained in Joshua’s.

“I won’t lie to you. They’ll likely tear you apart on the witness stand.”

Maureen stiffened. It was what she’d dreaded, what she’d feared. “How do you mean?”

“They’ll try to make you out as one of Drake’s girls who’s eaten sour grapes because you didn’t get the money you wanted or the customers you wanted. They may say you’re an immigrant who came here for purposes of prostitution. They’ll use Jaime Flynn’s testimony against you—say you took money from him for services rendered.”

The knot twisted in Maureen’s stomach.

“They’ll say you went willingly to the address he gave you, knowing it was a front for prostitution.” Curtis sat back. “They’ll surely bring up the theft you were accused of at Darcy’s and the letter of reference you forged. They’ll have the personnel manager and floor supervisor from Darcy’s testify against you.”

Maureen could not keep at bay the ring of heat spreading round her neck. “If you know this, why do you want me to testify?”
Why would you put me through such public shame?

“Because you were an eyewitness—the only eyewitness to every phase of Darcy’s and Belgadt’s operation,” Curtis urged. “From Jaime Flynn at Ellis Island directing homeless girls and women to Darcy’s prostitution ring, to his and Drake’s kidnapping women from the store, women you knew! You even witnessed the involvement of the cop—what’s his name?—Flannery, on the corner! You saw firsthand what went on at Belgadt’s, the extent of the ring of trafficking connections. You found the ledgers, the tunnel, the women imprisoned in cages. You saw it all—nearly every step of their operation. You can expose them in a way no one else can.”