Grace's Pictures (38 page)

“S. P. and I have a fine room to stay in, Grace.”

Grace lowered her voice. “You don’t have to. Not anymore.”

“Have to what, darlin’?”

When the Hawk returned with a tea tray, Grace stood. “Ma, I’d love to show you the house and the kitchen. I’m sure the lads won’t mind.” She glared at her stepfather. “Will you, now?”

“Go along,” he said.

As soon as they were in the kitchen, Grace repeated herself. “You are safe here, Ma. You don’t ever again have to live with S. P. Feeny.”

Ma put her palm on Grace’s cheek. “He is my husband, child. I’m not leaving him and my son.”

“I’m your daughter.” Tears flowed freely down Grace’s cheeks.

“Oh, darlin’.” Ma wiped Grace’s cheeks with her thumbs. “You are all grown up. Just as it should be. I have my life in Ireland. You have yours here.”

“But . . . you only married him for me, so that he could sponsor me to come to America.”

Ma wearily sat on a kitchen chair. “I don’t expect you to understand. But I’m a woman with a mind of my own. I’m comfortable being the wife of an R.I.C. officer.”

Grace fell to her mother’s feet. “But ’twas a peeler like him who pulled us apart. Don’t tell me you don’t remember. He yanked me away from your arms. He made me march up those
stairs in the workhouse to the attic. He is the reason I did not see you for months at a time. Tell me you haven’t forgotten.”

Ma’s eyes reddened. “I remember, aye. How I wish those things hadn’t happened. My poor
babaí
.” She looped her arms around Grace’s head and rocked back and forth. A moment later she let go and lifted Grace’s chin. “But you mustn’t blame S. P.”

“Why did you marry him? Why did you allow him to touch you and give you that child?”

She let out a breath. “We care for each other. You don’t understand.”

“He sent me away from you, Ma. S. P. sent me here.”

“I asked him to. If he hadn’t sponsored you—”

Grace pulled away and stood at the sink.

“Grace, if he hadn’t married me, if he hadn’t gotten you out of that place, who knows what would have become of us?”

Grace covered her face with her hand as she heard wee Patrick crying for his mother, her mother.

Ma came to her. “Don’t you see I wanted a better life for you?”

“You don’t have to put up with him, Ma.”

“Aye. I don’t. He’s not bad to me.” She wiped away her own tears. “And like you, I will make my own choices.”

Grace pulled her mother into an embrace. “Are you sure? Are you fine? He doesn’t hurt you?”

“He’s a good provider. He paid for our passage, second class, and for Paddy to see the American doctors. And here.” She drew an envelope from her pocket. “Here is the American money you sent me in your letter, child. I’ve saved it all for you.”

Grace gasped. “That was for you. I was going to send more, in time.”

“I know. And no daughter shows that she loves her mother more than to send money from America. But S. P. has his own sponsors now, American ones. They are helping him because he is what you might call an ambassador for them over in Ireland. He works for the British government, yet he secretly supports the United Irish League.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“’Tis because of what he had to do, evict tenants, that he now supports the UIL. They are pushing for reform, for large landowners’ holdings to be split up among tenant farmers. Perhaps one day no Irish children will ever be forced away from their parents again.” She held Grace at arm’s length. “But besides all that, you should see him with that boy. I do believe the child has given the man back his faith in humanity. ’Tis a frightfully difficult job, that of the Irish peeler.”

“Ma, you could stay here, you and Patrick. We could get a place to live together, the three of us.”

“You didn’t hear me, Grace. My place is with S. P. And his work is in Ireland.”

“Well, he could work here in New York. Why would anyone want to go back? You are here now, safe in America.”

Her mother closed her eyes. “Not everyone’s future is in America, darlin’. Some of us will stay in Ireland. Some of us will work to make our homeland what God intended.” She opened her eyes again. “Not all. Like you. But some. Like me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“’Tis not like before. Folks have hope now. The crops are prospering again. S. P. himself is an important force there, Grace. The link between the common Irish folk and the British law. He is not who you might suppose him to be. He and Walter are raising money here in America for the Irish. That’s why we’re
here right now and will stay through St. Patrick’s feast day, for the parade.”

“Walter? It can’t be good if he’s involved. You don’t know him.”

“True enough, I don’t know the man. But we were able to visit you because of those American benefactors.”

“I don’t know all about that.”

“’Tis true, thank the good Lord. Have you not heard of the St. Patrick’s Day parade in New York City?”

“I know there are police marches uptown, but I don’t pay attention. They do not appeal to me.”

“No matter. But you’ve got to trust me. Ireland’s my place. Yours is here. As much as it breaks a mother’s heart to do it, she’s got to let her girl grow up and take flight like the wild goose.” She squeezed Grace’s hand. “And you’ve made me proud, you have.”

Grace liked that, making her mother proud. Grace, an American family’s nanny, a resident of Hawkins House. She pondered whether it was possible that God could have ordained all of this. She imagined herself to be a transformed swan, free to be who she really was and not what her father had told her she was.

Grace linked arms with her mother. “Help me get to know my wee brother, so.”

Grace did not find it any easier to look S. P. in the eye, but seeing Patrick made her think of Douglas, a baby who no longer had his mother. Grace’s mother took the infant and retreated to the kitchen to nurse him. Grace had thought of Ma as only being hers. But Grace wasn’t a child anymore. Hadn’t she been trying to convince herself she was as strong and independent as any American woman? The time had come to let her old life go like feathers in the wind. The wild goose taking flight.

38

OWEN HAD SPENT WEEKS
poring over his father’s account books. Even consulting with Blevins had not turned up a major crisis in the business. Finally he came to a conclusion and made the difficult trek uptown. Waiting to tell his mother he would not be taking over his father’s company would not make delivering the news any easier. Best to get it over with.

When he arrived, he found his father sitting in a rocker next to the front window, muttering.

“The bankers, Father. Give me their names and I’ll talk to them.”

The man’s face tightened. “Bankers? What bankers? I’m so very tired.”

“Father? Tell me which bank has threatened foreclosure.”

John McNulty shook his head.

Something wasn’t right. Owen did not sense the man was out of his mind. He seemed to be playacting. Owen motioned for his mother to join him in the hall, and he shut the pocket doors for privacy. “I think he needs medical attention, Mother.”

Owen’s mother bristled. “No. They’ll stick him away in some institution.”

“I don’t think so. The doctor said he could be evaluated and that you should consider going to Florida.”

“What? Whatever for?”

“Rest and relaxation, of course. I’m going to mention the idea to Father.”

She blew out a breath and fingered the cameo at her neck. “You’ve forgotten about the bankers, I suppose.”

“No, I haven’t. Mother, have you spoken to these bankers?”

“Of course not. Your father handles the business.”

“Tell me, does it make sense that after all the years he has done business with the bank, they would so suddenly foreclose?”

“Owen, what are you suggesting? That your father made this crisis up?”

“Not entirely. Blevins does have some work to do. But in part, yes, I’m afraid he has stretched the truth in an effort to manipulate me.”

She took a step back. “Preposterous!”

“I can’t do any more, Mother.”

“Oh, you could, but you won’t.” She looked away and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the handkerchief she always had in her left hand.

“I don’t expect you to understand completely, Mother, but I hope you’ll try. I believe everything will work out.”

“How, Owen?”

He turned away, pulled open the doors, and approached his father, who looked up at him with sad eyes. “Tell me about Blevins, Father.”

The older man sighed but said nothing.

“If I summon him, will you two speak to me, together?”

His father shrugged.

“Good. Mother, telephone Mr. Blevins and ask him to come over immediately.”

“Owen! Why on earth?”

“Mother, please. It’s better to get everything out, and I’m too tired to argue.”

Her face whitened and her eyes bulged. She was unaccustomed to her son giving her orders and likely still reeling from Owen’s accusation. “No. I will not.”

Owen crossed the room to her. “We must talk to Blevins.”

“He’s . . . well . . .” She whispered even though his father showed no signs of attending to their discussion. “He thinks your father is going mad.”

“I doubt that, but yes, he has concerns. Look at him, Mother. This might be a temporary breakdown, but you cannot argue that he’s in his right mind.”

As proper as always, and obviously in hopes of keeping up appearances, his mother refused again.

Owen breathed in the musty, fire-warmed air of the gilded parlor, praying that he had the will to say what he must. “Then I have done all I am able. If you still believe the bankers are threatening the business, I suggest you call Blevins. If you give him authority, he’ll trim expenses enough to make the proper payments to the bank and then give you an allowance to take Father on a temporary leave from the company.”

He went to the door and halted. Turning, he softened his voice. “I may not be able to follow up to see that you’ve done this, Mother. But I must insist. If you need me, come to my apartment. I will welcome you.” He had his hand on the door latch before the servant could escort him.

“Owen, wait.”

He turned.

His mother’s eyes blazed. “Don’t go.”

He held her gaze a moment. “I will pray for you both.”

On his way down Broadway, he fought the dismay that
boiled up. His father’s business was not really in danger of failing. Whatever mismanagement had happened, Blevins was willing and adequately able to remedy. Owen had nearly fallen for his father’s ruse. He kept telling himself that his father had suffered a mild breakdown. It wasn’t his fault. He was not that manipulating under normal circumstances.

It had been a damp and dreary few weeks, and when Owen had checked with Dasher, he’d told him Goo Goo had not arrived back in the city yet.

The day after Owen told his mother what action she should take, he’d called and discovered she’d allowed Blevins to take some initiative with the business. That, at least, was a relief. Owen had not pushed too hard but had allowed the train conductor of his life to take control of matters.

And finally Jake was back on regular duty.

Owen met his partner under a streetlamp on the corner of Wall Street and Broadway. They had been sent again to guard against gang activity near the park, although clandestinely so no one from Feeny at the bottom to Devery at the top would hear about it. Owen would be ready when Goo Goo showed up.

Jake pulled his collar up against the rain. “Ready?”

Owen shrugged. “Ready. Let’s rid Manhattan of those thugs we’ve been trailing; what do you say?”

“What’s changed? We’ve had no luck so far.”

“This will be easier now.”

“And why would that be?”

“Wait until you hear what’s been happening while I was waiting for you to get better, Jakey.”

They strolled south toward the Bowling Green. Owen
talked excitedly. “Got a new contact. Someone a bit older and more reliable than those kids we’ve been talking to and a little less shifty than Smokey Davis.”

“How is that?”

“What would you say about a fellow who survived drug withdrawal and now wants to see the Dusters done in, a fellow who up until a few months ago was the runner for the big man himself?”

“For Goo Goo Knox?”

“That’s him. This fellow was his, um, secretary. That’s what he called himself.”

“Excellent. You’ve done well.” Jake patted Owen’s shoulder. “But how do we know Feeny didn’t set us up?”

“Easy. This guy’s got a mug shot. Saw it myself. It’s him, all right. And he didn’t come find us. I sought him out. Followed a tip from the pawnbroker who had my watch and met up with him at the Old House at Home.”

“McSorley’s?”

“That’s the place. It’s the best we got, Jake. Now’s the dirty work. Hope you’re up for it.”

“I’m up for it, partner. Good job running down these clues.”

“Well, folks are beginning to trust me in this neighborhood.”