The Girls at the Kingfisher Club (21 page)

She didn't answer. Too much had happened since she'd left the Kingfisher, and she'd played host as much as her nerves would let her. Now she needed the news.

In this light, he sure looked like the bearer of bad tidings; he looked as if he'd aged ten years since she'd seen him that morning in the police station and he'd saved her hide.

(It felt like ten years, to her.)

“Jake,” she said finally, when he seemed lost in his own thoughts. “Be a pal.”

He sobered and set down his glass.

“Someone came to see me,” he said.

Oh, God, oh God, the girls were in trouble.

Her heart turned over, and her breath caught, and she pressed her hands into the desk so hard her fingertips hurt.

When she trusted her voice she said, “Go on.”

“I haven't seen any of them,” he said at once, meeting her eye. “I'm coming to see you now because I couldn't be sure this news was the right stuff. I tried to find out more, but I know so little about—” He stopped and frowned, as if surprised at his own frustration. “I just didn't know what to do about any of it, and it was driving me batty not being able to find out.”

Jo remembered the night he'd led a handful of them to safety, the look he'd given Lou when he thought no one could see.

He went on. “I was only able to find out that Tom left town and there was some woman running his shop. The rest of it seemed so under the table I didn't know what to do, until I could come see you myself.”

There had, apparently, been no doubt that she was the woman running the place.

“It's still nothing much to go on.”

She didn't blame Jake for thinking this might all be something untoward—for fearing the worst, as his grim face gave way.

Something terrible had happened. Oh God.

“Tell me,” she said.

twenty-four

Lucky Day

“Some man was asking for you,” Jake said.

Jo couldn't breathe. “What?”

Jake said, “You, or any news of you. I didn't know your name—well, yet—but I could guess who he meant. Not many people answer your description, not the way he gave it.”

She could imagine.

“He called you Jo.”

She knew Jake was watching her, and she shouldn't give anything away, but she felt hope creeping in, all the same.

“I wasn't about to tell anything to some stranger,” he said, “but it struck me how sure he was that I would have heard from you already. I don't know what to make of it. Said his name was Sam.”

Jo had to wrap her hands around the edge of the seat to keep from screaming.

Sam Lewisohn. Sam Lewisohn had been to see her.

• • •

She didn't even bother to change clothes. If what Jake had told her was true—if even half of it was true—what she was wearing wouldn't matter.

Jo had waited long enough.

As soon as the floor was swept and the locks thrown, Jo was in a cab headed for the Lewisohns.

Even though the streets were nearly empty this early in the morning, it felt as though the cab was crawling, and Jo pressed an open hand to the door as if to speed it forward.

Every second was too long now.

• • •

She didn't know whether Doris was even with him anymore, if she'd ever been with him, or if he'd seen any of the rest—he hadn't said anything about the sisters to Jake.

(She'd told Jake some of the facts—if he was going to be her friend in earnest, she owed him a little of the truth.

“Sisters?” he'd repeated, and frowned, as if trying to reconcile the picture of twelve strange and disparate and near-magic girls swanning over the dance floor with the dull notion of sisters being brought one at a time into the fold. “You've had your hands full, then.”

“Until a few weeks ago,” Jo agreed, and told him the bare bones of what had happened with their father.

It had gratified her that Jake hadn't laughed it off as an adventure, or suggested anything to her as though it would be simple enough for her to force her father's hand if only she would speak to him sharply.

Instead he'd said, “Then I hope he ends up taking a long walk off a short pier,” and Jo had smiled and said, “Me too.”

Then she'd told him about Lou and Tom; that had been harder.)

• • •

Jo tried not to hope. There was still every chance that her sisters were scattered and lost.

But if Sam Lewisohn was looking for her, Doris had sent him.

She would find one of her sisters today, at least, or she'd know the reason why.

• • •

Sam Lewisohn's house was a narrow, tidy town home on the Lower East Side, and even though the taxi ride felt like ages, it must have been less than ten minutes before Jo was charging up the stairs.

She took them so quickly that the beading on her dress jangled and knocked against her knees as she ran, and her stockings slipped an inch down her calves from the exertion.

She didn't care—the Lewisohns could take her as they found her.

She knocked harder than was polite, five sharp raps with a shaking fist, and braced herself for whatever would happen.

Sam Lewisohn opened the door.

Her heart sank at the look on his face—surprised and wary—and she braced herself for the bad news (and to stick a foot in his door if she had to, until she knew whatever he did).

But that dark expression only lasted a moment; then he was glancing behind her at the street, and then he was opening the door for her.

“In the garden,” he said.

She was already running.

She'd thank him later. This couldn't wait.

Doris was in the center, a book open on her lap. Next to her was Sophie, who was quietly bent over some sewing, and a little farther away at the edge of the garden, Violet was practicing the Baltimore, stepping gingerly over the stones when it was time for shines.

The relief was like a punch to the stomach, and it took Jo a moment to make sure she was still breathing.

Doris glanced up just before Jo shouted her name.

Over the surprised bleats Sophie and Violet made, Jo trampled down the stairs so quickly she missed one and staggered the last step into Doris's arms.

Something was pinching her between two of her ribs, but by then Sophie and Violet had reached her, and she was trying to encompass for all three of them at once, and for a moment it was a tangle of limbs and Violet and Sophie welcoming her back and telling Doris not to cry and Jo was holding them too hard, and Jo knew she was probably making a fool of herself.

When she had herself under control, she pulled back and held them at arm's length, until she could rub the tears from her eyes and focus on them all properly.

“Tell me what happened,” she said.

Doris laughed. “There's the General we missed.”

She wiped her eyes with her cuffs, then frowned at them.

“I have to stop things like that,” said Doris. “Mr. Lewisohn Sr. gets in a fit when he sees you mistreating clothes, and I'm in enough hot water with him.”

Jo looked down at Doris's left hand, which had a thin gold band on one finger.

After the first shock faded, she said, “When? Why? Where is he?”

“Well, don't hit him or anything,” said Doris.

“That depends—now tell me.”

“He's been the bee's knees,” Doris admitted. “He was the first place I went after we ran—”

We, Jo thought—who was we?

“Did you all get out?”

For a moment, Doris went pale and gripped Jo's hands. “Oh my God, Jo, you really had no idea what happened to us, did you? Not for a month—oh, Jo, I'm so sorry.”

“So you all made it?”

“Yes,” Doris said. “Everyone.”

Jo's legs turned suddenly to jelly, and she concentrated for a moment on standing up. She locked her knees.

“All right,” she said. Her mind was racing, she couldn't focus—she wanted to know everything at once. “All right, tell me what happened to you.”

Doris grinned. “Well, I went to see him, with these two in tow, no less, and I was prepared to make a scene like you can't imagine, but I never had to. He took us in lickety-split, and we were settled here before sundown.”

“Romantic. Is that why you just couldn't wait another minute to get married?”

Doris blushed. “Not exactly. Father got in contact with Sam the next day, to warn him that we'd all gone off the rails and were hysterical and roaming the streets. Father said that if we ever contacted Sam, he should let Father know and he'd take care of it all.”

The hair on the back of Jo's neck stood up.

“But Sam's not simple,” Doris said, “and he knows a threat when he hears it. So he and I decided to get married by a justice of the peace, sooner rather than later, so that Father couldn't make a case to drag me back.”

Jo raised an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

Doris pulled a face. “Mr. Lewisohn Sr. wasn't thrilled,” she said. “But Sam pointed out that if I was good enough for him when he was sent to court me, then I was good enough for him now.”

Jo wondered if Doris knew she was blushing.

“A week ago we filed adoption papers with the court for Violet. It's going to get ugly, I'm pretty sure, but Mr. Lewisohn Sr. hates Father so much for giving him the trouble of a daughter-in-law with none of the cachet that she promised, I think he's looking forward to a little fight. When things come through, she's going to school. Sophie's too old to get protection for, but she's safe with us until something else happens. We're hoping Mr. Lewisohn Sr. can find her some work for evening gowns.”

Jo glanced at the embroidery Sophie was holding.

“Sophie's stitches are so even that she's almost made up for the awkward, poor, sudden daughter-in-law,” Doris said solemnly.

Jo saw that Doris's book (it was the edge of it that had pinched her) was called
A Tailor's Companion
.

She couldn't help laughing. “Doris, of all people,” she said. “I hope he's worth it.”

Doris's blush spread. “It's not perfect, but as problems go I'll take these over the ones we had before. And he's been a prince.”

“He has, truly,” put in Violet.

“We all like him,” Sophie said.

Jo still stumbled over who “we all” might be, but then she heard a noise on the stairs and saw that Sam Lewisohn was just appearing in the doorway. He had loitered a little, then, to give them time.

“Come down, then,” she said. “I'd like to shake hands with my brother.”

Sam grinned and came down the stairs into the garden, though as it happened, he preferred to hug his sister rather than just shake hands.

“You had us worried,” he said. “We couldn't find hide nor hair of you.”

“We even tried the paper,” Sophie said, “in case you'd left a message.”

“Of course we'd already thought about the Kingfisher, but we didn't know if Father knew about it,” Violet added. “So Sam offered to go.”

“The man I spoke to froze me out but good,” Sam said. “I couldn't tell if he even knew you.”

“And that was two weeks ago,” said Doris. “We were trying jails by then, but if you were under a false name we'd never know, and of course you would have been.”

Jo smiled. “I was last time.”

“You see, I knew it,” said Doris.

Jo watched some silent conversation between Doris and Sam, and a moment later Sam was going down the stairs into the kitchen—calling for breakfast, then.

(She'd have to learn not to worry about those things; just because Jo was in the habit of pulling people aside for news for the last month didn't mean every private moment was a dangerous one.)

“All of us were stumped after that,” Violet said. “We worried Father had gotten his hands on you.”

“
Some
of us did,” said Doris. “I always figured that if he had you, you'd have cut the phone line so he couldn't call around scaring people.”

“Some of
who
did?” Jo said. “Who else have you seen? Is everyone all right?”

“Rebecca and Araminta are still in the city,” Sophie said. “Araminta already has work at Bloomingdale's. She's a seamstress there, does alterations in Ladies' Gowns.” There was a note of wistful envy in the words.

“And Rebecca's gone to school for stenography,” Doris said. “She had so much money stashed away that she could afford school three times over, but she'll end up somewhere that does her good.”

Jo frowned. “So why aren't they here with you?”

Doris cocked her head. “Why would they be? They found a lovely apartment on a quiet street not too far north, and they have some money to live on.”

“But—” Jo faltered. “But wouldn't you want—?”

“They like it,” Violet said. “Sam even offered, but they didn't want to.”

“Because they didn't want to impose on Sam,” Jo said, “but I'm sure if I found us a place to be all together again we could—”

“Jo,” Doris said. Her eyes were dark and serious. “They're happy where they are.”

For a moment, Jo's mind failed her, and she could only think in terms of things missing, as though she'd left something behind—something she couldn't name—and it was already too late to ever find it again.

(They hadn't failed, even though she'd failed them. It hadn't come to her worst fears. She should be happier than this.)

When she looked around, she and Doris were alone in the garden, and Doris had led her to the garden bench and was looking at her a little strangely.

“Jo, I can't imagine what you've been through, all on your own. I can't even think—I had Sophie and Violet with me and I knew the others had gotten away all right, but I still didn't sleep for a week, not until I'd heard from Ella.”

Ella. “Where is she? How did you find her?”

“She found me, actually,” Doris said. “She guessed where I would go, and that Sam would be brave enough when it counted. She called him up—she was prepared to shout him out of town, I think, if he had let us go—but the next thing I knew he was handing me the phone.”

That made Ella a sharper judge of character than Jo had been.

“And Sophie found Araminta,” Doris said. “They both answered an advertisement for a position in alterations at Bloomingdale's—they found each other in line on hiring day. You could have knocked me over with a feather. When Sophie came home with Araminta and Rebecca in hand I thought I would faint, I really did. I ruined two cuffs, I was crying so hard.”

It felt like Doris was laying stones on Jo's chest.

“When—when did that happen?”

Doris said, “Just over two weeks ago. That was the night I asked Sam to go to the Kingfisher and ask about you, because I thought if we had one miracle in a day we might as well have two.”

“I wish you'd gone over yourself,” Jo said. “Jake thought it was a trap—I had warned him that nothing was to be trusted—and it's why he waited to tell me.”

Doris sighed. “Well, that's what happens when you let twelve suspicious girls loose on the streets, I suppose. Can't be helped.”

Her skin prickled—she needed to see them all again, as many as possible and as soon as possible (sheep-counting was a habit that was hard to break).

“Boy,” Doris said, “do I wish Ella and the twins had gone a little later.”

Ella was with Hattie and Mattie, then. All three of them had gotten out all right. Jo made fists, released them.

“Where did they go?”

Doris wrinkled her nose and braced herself a little, as if she was still fourteen and waiting to be told whether or not they could go out dancing.