Grace's Pictures (26 page)

Tears sprang to Grace’s eyes. “’Tis the way most fathers are, I believe.”

“Ah, probably so.” Edith untied her apron and hung it near the back door. Then she seated herself in the spot Linden had
vacated. “But in George’s case, it only served to make him emotionally withdrawn and bitter. I study human behavior, being a scholar. I don’t ascribe to many of the modern philosophies, but I know what I see and observe. Since I’ve been here, I’ve become concerned about his family. Do you know what I mean, dear?”

She did. “I know my place, Auntie.”

“Oh, indeed. I’m not asking you to jeopardize your job, dear.”

When Grace placed the loaves in the oven, Edith gestured toward a chair. “Sit a moment. You have time.”

Grace took the chair opposite her. She liked Edith, but now she was wondering if she’d misjudged her. She had a soft, nearly creaseless face, and unlike Grace’s, this woman’s hair stayed neatly twisted into a bun, and her starched neckline gave her a proper, polished look, the way a school matron should appear.

“Dear, I just wanted to make sure you understand my concerns. I’d hate for Linden to learn to be such a disconnected human being. He’s such a loving, happy child now.”

“He is that.”

“You’ve done a marvelous job thus far with the children, Grace.”

Grace’s face flushed warm. “I don’t know about the girls. They quarrel quite a bit.”

Edith clicked her tongue. “Girls are different. Don’t I know that. At my school there is a squabble about some minor issue nearly every hour. But girls are emotional. It’s their nature.”

A long pause followed. Grace rose to pour them some coffee. She tried not to be emotional. Her own father had despised tears like Mr. Parker. A sign of weakness. She set a cup in front of Edith.

“But boys are taught not only to restrain their emotions,
which is critical in business dealings, of course, but also to restrict heartfelt expressions. I’ve heard my brother scold his son for trying to hug him.”

Grace stiffened, remembering having been struck once for trying to merely touch her father’s hand.

“You are a breath of fresh air for these children, Grace.”

Oh, how she hoped so. Grace lifted her cup. “As are you, Auntie.”

They toasted with their cups and laughed.

“But I’ll be gone in a few days, Grace. I just wanted to encourage you to keep loving these little ones and showing kindness to their mother. Someone has to. Otherwise . . .” She paused.

“Otherwise what?”

“Well, let me just say that in my occupation I have seen girls who were neglected in childhood bloom into productive, happy adults under the proper care and tenderness. That can happen here as well, with you as these children’s nanny.”

The coffee, and Auntie’s words, warmed Grace down to her toes. Grace had learned so much at the Parkers’. Life was different in America, but in many ways people were the same, both good and bad. She had once thought leaving her mother would be the end of feeling connected and loved. But there was another force at work, the source of the warmth streaming inside her right now. Others radiated the kind of affection her mother had for her, and that amazed her.
You are important.

When Grace picked the girls up from school, Hazel could barely contain her excitement. “Carolyn Feeny wants to come to my house to play.”

Holly bounced on the balls of her feet. “Can I play too?”

Hazel shrugged. “Do you think Mother will allow it, Miss Gracie? She just has to.”

Grace glanced around but didn’t see a Feeny face. “I thought you didn’t like that lass, Hazel.”

“Well, she’s being nice now. Pleasant, so . . .”

“Are you sure you want her to visit?”

“Yes! If Mother says no, all the other girls will think I’m aloof.”

“For the love of St. Michael, child, where did you hear such a word?” Grace hurried them along, hoping to avoid meeting any senior Feenys, even the lass’s mother.

“Carolyn Feeny uses lots of big words. She said if you find words in the dictionary and use them, people will know how smart you are.”

“A ruse, that is. Don’t be trying to be someone you aren’t, dearie.”

“But will you talk to Mother, Miss Gracie? Please?”

“I will, so long as you get straight to lessons when we get home.”

Grace was surprised to discover that Mrs. Parker was amicable. She had secretly hoped Mrs. Parker would not approve. “So long as they entertain themselves upstairs, it’s fine.”

Carolyn Feeny, a flaxen-haired girl bearing no resemblance to the Feeny Grace knew, appeared on the doorstep. Grace smiled at her. “Hello.”

“I’ve come to see Hazel.” She pointed behind her to the sidewalk. “My cousin walked me over.”

“Oh, delightful.”

The man tipped his hat back, and Grace saw that he bore the same moon-shaped face and red hair that S. P. had, the face she thought she’d glimpsed earlier on the walk to school. And he was dressed in New York police blue.

“A word with ye, ma’am?”

Grace led them in just as Hazel scrambled down the stairs.

“Do you like checkers?”

The two girls disappeared upstairs before Grace could turn back to the other visitor.

“Are you Grace McCaffery, by chance?”

She wanted to lie but thought better of risking her position for being untruthful with guests. He’d never believe her anyway. He’d been looking for her. “I am. Did someone tell you my name?”

“I knew yer stepfather back in Drogheda. Ole S. P. Feeny.”

She swallowed hard. “Are you Officer Feeny, then?”

He bowed. “Walter Feeny, at your service. Was just about to pay a visit to your boardinghouse, but you saved me the trouble, lass.”

“You should know I’ve no fondness for that old peeler.”

He laughed. “Is that the way of it? Well, so. Just a moment, please?”

“In the kitchen.”

“After ye.”

He pulled up a kitchen chair, making himself at home. “He’s supposed to be related to me, so I hear. Don’t know him well, I don’t.” He stretched his neck like a goose, taking note of her. “I think I’ve seen ye before, Miss Grace McCaffery.”

She turned toward the sink. “You’re mistaken.”

“Ye might be missing the red petticoat now but ’tis herself all right. I’d know yer pretty face anywhere. Ye were with those
Dusters, now weren’t ye? Carrying a box camera? That was yerself now, wasn’t it?”

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He chuckled. “Don’t get coy.”

“Dusters? I don’t know what that is.”

He squinted at her. “Ye mean it, don’t ye?”

She turned, hands on hips. “S. P. sent you to check on me. I am fine. I have written to my mother. There is no need for any other questions, Officer Feeny. What time will you pick up your cousin Carolyn?”

“In the park. At the aquarium. I saw ye talking to a fella called Smokey Davis.” He snapped his fingers. “A known criminal, don’t ye know?”

“I did not know. I’m friendly enough to folks.”

“Well, ye can’t be too careful out there, miss. But ye can count on me. I’ll not be mentioning this wee . . . uh, indiscretion to the Parker family. Wouldn’t want this to cost ye yer position here. I hear Mr. Parker is quite . . . uh . . . sanctimonious when it comes to his family. And since ye did not know to whom it were ye were talking . . .”

“Thank you.” She might have gritted her teeth, but she got the words out.

He stood and placed the chair back against the wall. “Well, I would appreciate it if ye’d repay me for this kind turn I’m doing ye. Just a dance or two.”

She faced him, her hand at her throat. “Excuse me?”

“At the maid’s dance on Thursday. Over at the Hibernian Hall near yer boardinghouse. Ye know the one?”

“I do.”

He lowered his chin. “See you then, aye?”

“Well . . .” A trapped toad once again. “I will be there.”

When he left, she doubled over with nausea. Things had been going well, but now a peeler—named Feeny, no less—had the power to threaten her job.

24

WITH THE INFORMATION
Owen received from the pawnbroker, he was eager to get back to work. But unfortunately a disturbance at a canning facility in Chinatown took up his time for days. And with daily visits to his father and phone calls back and forth, he had not been able to follow up on his tip. A week later he was determined to get back on the Dusters case. But first there was the organizational meeting at headquarters. Walter Feeny walked close to Owen as they traveled on foot from the precinct closest to headquarters. Owen didn’t think Walter suspected anything, but he hadn’t expected the police chief to turn up at Miss Amelia’s either. Owen constantly had to watch his step.

“Surely ye like Irish music sessions, being that yer family is from Ireland,” Walter Feeny said as he and Owen maneuvered past a strolling accordion player singing “Rosie O’Grady.”

“I suppose so.” The truth was, not much of the old country was in Owen’s upbringing. Only memories of his granny’s brogue and her kind spirit. None of his surviving family had ever been across the sea.

“Ever been to one of those maid dances?”

“Me? No.”

“Owen rarely goes anywhere,” Jake added, popping up on Owen’s left.

Thanks, Jake.

“I invited a pretty lass to come tonight. Ye fellas might remember seeing her around the Battery when ye were patrolling.”

Jake groaned. “Not one of those ladies of the evening, Walter. What are you thinking?”

Walter reached around Owen to slap Jake’s back. “Not the typical one, anyway. Yous might have seen her loitering some time back, but she didn’t stay around. This one is maid for my wee cousin’s school chum.”

“Swell.” Jake attempted to steer Owen on ahead of Walter, but the man kept trailing right along with them.

“The Parkers over on Fourteenth. Nice house. Real nice.”

Owen waited up for him. “You don’t mean Grace McCaffery?”

“Oh, and you do remember her, so.” He whistled. “Fine-looking lass.”

Jake tugged on Owen’s arm. “Let it go. None of our concern.”

Owen put his hand on Jake’s shoulder before they ascended the stairs at headquarters and muttered in his ear. “You know how Walter treats the ladies?”

“Yeah. Chews ’em up and spits ’em out. He’s always trying to one-up you, Owen. Haven’t you noticed? It’s his problem. Ignore him.”

“Reverend Clarke would want me to do something for that young lady.”

“Sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“So do something. Hey, Walter, hurry up.”

The man jogged up next to them.

Jake slapped the Irishman on the shoulder. “Where’s this dance held?”

When Owen entered the hall Thursday evening, he wondered if he’d made a mistake. The building was familiar. He’d passed it every day on his way to the station. “Are you sure this is the right address, Jake?”

“Yeah. These kinds of dances are pretty plain. The musicians will be here soon.”