Annie's Stories (19 page)

“I’m happy to hear that. Thank you.” Annie climbed the stairs toward Kirsten’s room. She would need to do a thorough cleaning. She shoved Kirsten’s trunk into the closet and fluffed the pillows. Aileen should be helping. Where was she? When she stepped back into the hall, she noticed the other bedroom door slightly ajar. Pushing it open, she found Aileen sitting on her bed, weeping.

“Aileen?” Annie tapped the door with her fingertips.

Aileen looked up with watery eyes. “While you were away, a messenger came to the back door. Brought this telegram.” She held up the paper.

“What does it say?”

“Don’t know.”

“Didn’t you read it?”

Aileen sniffed loudly and looked away. “Can’t read, Annie.”

“What do you mean?” Annie marched into the room and took the paper.

“The letters make no sense to me. You were the smart one. You were the one who had a chance to make it in America. I can’t even get a job, and now . . .” She stared at the paper in Annie’s hand. “That could be bad news, couldn’t it? Folks don’t send telegrams otherwise. Is it from Ma?”

Annie unfolded the paper. At the top in black block letters were the words
The Western Union Telegraph Company
. On the line marked
To
, she read out loud, “‘Miss Kirsten Wagner in care of Mrs. Agnes Hawkins.’” She glanced back at Aileen, who was trying to suck in sobs. “’Tis not for you. Dry your eyes.”

Aileen let out a sigh and wiped her face with the backs of her hands.

“Get a backbone, Aileen, and come help. There are dresses to trim and decorations to assemble. The wedding’s in just a wee bit more than one week, you know.”

Later, after evening tea, Mrs. Hawkins stared at the telegram on the tea table. “Jonas Wagner seems to already be in the city.”

Annie knew the woman was as sharp-witted as a hawk, but how could she know this? “Why do you think so, Mrs. Hawkins?”

“Telegrams state where the message originated, along with
where it is going. He must have sent it as soon as he got off the train. I don’t know, of course, if he has other business to attend to before he comes, but I must drop in on that boardinghouse I had in mind for him. I should go now. When I return, I’ll draw up a list of things that need to be done.” The Hawk stood, calling out her mental list. “The dried apples need to be soaked for the compote. The herbs must be mixed for spiced cider . . .”

Annie sighed. “I will attend to it, Mrs. Hawkins. Trust me.”

“I know, love.” She patted Annie’s cheek as though she were a child. “We will work on those things when I return.”

So she didn’t want Annie to mix herbs without her supervising. Soon, very soon, Annie would tell her what a businesswoman she was becoming. Annie crept toward her room to read more of the
Wizard
book.

When she got to the part where Dorothy and her friends were falling asleep due to poisonous poppies, she wondered if the author might actually cause harm to come to one of the characters.

Perhaps this book was not really much better than the Grimm brothers’ “Hansel and Gretel.”

“If we leave her here she will die.”

Annie thought about Kirsten. She did not want to abandon anyone the way she had been . . . Well, Da hadn’t meant to leave her, but he had.

She found it hard to concentrate on the book with the wind whipping so loudly outside her window. She met Aileen in the hall.

Aileen shouted to be heard over the howling wind. “’Tis a
storm we’ll be having,” she said. “I’ll check to see the windows are locked up.”

Mrs. Hawkins burst through the front door. Annie helped her inside and took her dripping garments. “We are headed to the third floor now, lovies.”

“What do you mean? What’s happening?” It took all of Annie’s strength to push the heavy door shut against the wind.

The woman hurried to the kitchen and returned with a lamp and a box of matches. “When I got to Miss Hall’s to inquire about a room for Mr. Wagner, she admonished me for not telephoning and sent me right back home. It seems there’s a storm coming, and folks fear flooding. The peril of living at the tip of Manhattan, I suppose. Now, girls, gather all the reading material and other valuables you find near the floor and bring them upstairs.”

Annie rushed to her room. She had left both the writing desk and
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
on the mahogany desk. Gathering up the book and placing it on top of her stories, she glanced at her father’s Bible. She couldn’t leave it behind and risk something happening to it. It might not be of much importance to her for its content, but it had been to her father. She grabbed the Bible, her book, and the writing desk and hurried toward the stairs, where she and Aileen followed the Hawk up through a door that had been previously locked.

“Aren’t there bats up here, Mrs. Hawkins? That’s what you’ve always said.” Annie ducked her head just in case.

“Perhaps. We’ll see.”

“What?” Aileen froze in her tracks.

“Come on,” Annie urged. “Didn’t I tell you to get a backbone, lass?” In truth the creatures made Annie jittery, but she was determined not to let anyone see.

An aroma of musty wood met them when they climbed the
stairs that were normally hidden behind a wooden plank door at the end of the hall. Once they stood on the drafty third floor, Mrs. Hawkins went to a trunk and pulled out a couple of quilts. Then she tugged a wooden cask across the floor. “Water,” she explained. “In case we’re stuck up here awhile.”

“My, you are prepared,” Aileen said, wrapping an entire quilt around her small frame, leaving just one other for Annie and the Hawk to share.

“There’s no need to fear the wind if your haystacks are tied down,” the Hawk replied.

Such an Irish adage coming from a British lady. “Where did you hear that?” Annie asked.

“Oh, it’s a common expression.”

“’Tis as Irish as shamrocks,” Annie insisted.

“Is it?”

“Mrs. Hawkins, surely you’ve been to Ireland.”

“Indeed. Come on, girls. Get settled in. Thank the good Lord Grace is secure at the Parkers’ and Kirsten is well looked after on an upper floor of the infirmary.”

With the wind wailing so, it was not the time for conversation. But Annie would raise questions later. There was something the Hawk was keeping to herself.

Rain pounded against the side of the building. While Mrs. Hawkins examined her own tattered Bible, Annie held her book toward the glow of the lamp to read. It seemed Dorothy had awakened from the poppy field to quite a surprise. An army of field mice were so grateful the Tin Woodman had rescued their queen from a wildcat that they were teaming together to pull the still-sleeping Lion to safety.

Annie sucked in a breath. Her father had also written about the valiant efforts of field mice. The smallest creatures, who alone could do nothing, had joined together to
accomplish something. There must be a lesson to be learned from that.

Oh, Da, if only I could call to you!

Annie closed her eyes and imagined her library. A massive brick structure because books must be protected from fire and flood. There would be rows and rows of volumes. Novels and inspirational tomes. Maps and dictionaries. But most of all, her books would hold stories from Ireland
 
—especially her father’s, now that they were to be published. Sad that Da had not lived to see his fame. He did know Irish folks enjoyed his tales, but even he could not have imagined how many readers there were in America.

A loud crash came from one of the eaves. The small window there had shattered.

“Watch out!” Aileen cried, throwing her quilt over Annie as shards of glass flung toward them.

Moments later Annie scrambled to her feet. “Mrs. Hawkins, are you all right?”

The woman’s hand was streaked with blood. “I am fine. Just a cut. Oh, dear. We should stack up this old furniture against the wind coming in.”

Aileen pushed against a tall chest with more force than a wee one like her ought to have. Annie scooted the lamp and blankets behind it, and then the three of them squeezed in close.

“Much better, girls.” The Hawk had wrapped her hand in her apron.

“We’d better see to that cut.” Annie slowly unwrapped it.

Aileen ladled up some water from the cask. Not waiting for
Annie to tell her what to do, she gently dabbed the woman’s hand.

“Like I said, it’s not bad,” Mrs. Hawkins said. “After the storm my homemade ointment will heal it in no time.”

Annie stared at her cousin. In the frenzy of the moment she had responded with amazing calmness, not complaining once about her discomfort. Annie never would have predicted such behavior.

Eventually Aileen noticed her staring. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Uh, you really helped, Aileen.”

The girl smiled and began sweeping away the glass shards with a whisk broom.

A few hours later, when the wind died down, Mrs. Hawkins declared it safe to retire to their beds. Descending to the second floor just as Mrs. Hawkins was coming up from checking below, Annie heard a noise in the kitchen.

“Rodents, I’ll bet,” Mrs. Hawkins said. “Floodwaters send them scurrying into the houses.”

Aileen took the oil lamp from her. “I’ll go see.”

Astonished at her wee cousin’s bravery, Annie followed her downstairs in case she needed help. Aileen held the lamp low, and Annie retrieved a broom from the scullery. Thankfully the house had not flooded, but as Aileen directed the lamp toward the table, she jumped back. A stranger sat in one of the chairs.

23

A
S MORNING DAWNED,
Stephen was relieved to find the rain had ceased. Walking home from the diner had been an adventure, holding on to lampposts and fences the best he could against the gale. A glance outside told him this day would be quiet, and he was thankful.

A newsboy on the corner shouted out the headlines. “Scenes of Destruction at Old Coney Island!”

Stephen glanced at the paper. “What happened?”

The boy pointed at a large photograph on the cover page. “Coney Island’s all flooded out.”

“Do you know about the streets in Lower Manhattan and Battery Park?”

“Aw, they’re wet is all. Last night the waters rose, but they went back before dawn.”

He knew the boy would not be wrong. Stephen had been one of them once, sleeping in alleys and basement wells. Stephen had been able to go home when he wanted to but, like most newsboys, preferred the streets because it felt safer there. Stephen’s father, when he bothered to leave the pub, tore into a rage the moment Stephen’s mother asked for money. He
never used his fists, but the shouting and slamming of doors pierced Stephen’s young heart and sent him to seek solace on the crowded streets. He knew it was that way and worse for those boys he saw every day on his route, and that’s why he did whatever he could for them. The most dedicated charity workers could not get them into a home. “You stay safe, son.”

“You bet, mister.”

Stephen would knock when he got to Hawkins House, whether he had a delivery or not. Between the storm and the stranger asking about Kirsten Wagner, he needed to be sure they were safe. He rearranged his route to get there early.

The little cousin opened the door, looking as if she’d seen the devil.

“What’s wrong?”

“Last night. That storm? Someone got in the house.”

He pushed past her. “Where are the others?” Not waiting for her to answer, he made his way to the kitchen. The window in the rear door was smashed. He turned back to Aileen. Dropping his mailbag on the floor, he gently shook her by the arm. “Miss O’Shannon. Where is everyone? Tell me.”

Her head tilted to look at him.

He turned toward the back staircase, where Annie was descending. His knees went weak. “Annie! Uh, Miss Gallagher. Are you all right?”

She dabbed at a scratch on her face. “Sit down. I’ll tell you what happened.”

They each took a chair at the kitchen table. “Where is Mrs. Hawkins? Is she all right?”

“She is. She is at the police station this moment trying to get this resolved.”

“How did you . . . ?” He stretched out a hand but knew it wouldn’t be proper to touch Annie’s face.

She shook her head. “I’m fine. When I ordered that man out, I slammed the door and the glass shattered. Probably weakened by all the wind we had.”

“What man? Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Really I am fine. Aileen, however, is a bit shaken up. She and I encountered the intruder, and it scared the life out of her.”

“Oh, and not you?” Aileen screwed up her face.

“Never mind, Aileen. ’Tis over now.” She turned back to Stephen. “All’s well. Thank you for your concern.”

“I’m so sorry. A burglar?”

“We thought so at first.”

“I should have been more vigilant. Sergeant McNulty asked me to be.” He put a fist to his mouth. He’d failed again.

“We are fine, just faced with a terrible dilemma.”

Again she didn’t want his help. Stephen wasn’t sure what to do.

Aileen sighed loudly and rose to fill a teakettle.

Annie grimaced from the scratch across her cheek when she tried to smile. “This man, this Pinkerton, has been demanding that we allow him to see Kirsten. Something about a case he’s working on, and Kirsten has something he wants.”

“And he thought he’d drop by during a horrendous rainstorm?”

“Oh, he said something about getting in out of the rain and no one heard his knocking, but I think he’s trying to scare us into giving him what he wants.”

“Any idea what that might be?”

She blew out a breath. “That package you delivered to her. He didn’t say what he was after, but I would suppose that’s it. She wouldn’t reveal what the package contained, but I can’t imagine she would have anything someone would want
 
—not money or jewels or anything. She is just an unpretentious immigrant. She has been mysterious about her brother and all, but the Pinkerton has never mentioned him.”

Aileen spoke up. “He just sat there in the chair you’re sitting in now, plain as the nose on your face. Said he was aware Kirsten was not in the house. ’Twas as though he’d been spying on us. Mrs. Hawkins wants him charged for trespassing.”

Stephen drew in a long breath while he thought about this. “Why was he here if he knew Kirsten was not? Did he say?”

Aileen grunted. “I believe he thought he could bully us into telling him where she is.”

Annie nodded. “This Pinkerton was warned to leave us alone.” She motioned for Stephen to take a toast triangle from a plate on the table. “We haven’t had time to bake this morning.”

He accepted the bread. “This is fine. Thank you. Now, what about Kirsten?”

“Somehow he knows Kirsten was taken away somewhere.” Annie’s gaze drifted to the baseboards as though she were talking to herself. “I suppose he might have seen the ambulance, but if he had, surely he would have followed it.”

The man he’d run into at the diner. Stephen should have checked on the women right then. He recalled some time ago Annie telling him about some men nosing about and accusing their newest boarder of impropriety. He should have known something like this might happen. How could he ever become the kind of man Annie would be drawn to if he wasn’t smart enough to put clues together and protect her?

Annie wagged her head. “I don’t understand it all, but he says he will have our house shut down for harboring women of ill repute.”

“Preposterous! Does Sergeant McNulty know about this?”

Aileen spoke up. “Mrs. Hawkins is going to speak to him again.”

Stephen was outraged. “How dare this man insinuate such
a thing and threaten you this way. Mrs. Hawkins runs a fine Christian outreach here.”

Annie agreed. “She does, but Kirsten
 
—although she’s done nothing wrong
 
—has given some people reason to wonder. ’Tis all a misunderstanding.”

“I am sorry, Miss Gallagher.” He turned to Aileen. “Miss O’Shannon. But it must be more than that for the man to come into your house in the middle of a terrible storm. The package you mentioned. Earlier in the day a man asked me about something I delivered here for Miss Wagner. I didn’t tell him anything. It must have been this Pinkerton.”

“From Jonas Wagner,” Annie said. “That’s what I was talking about earlier.”

Stephen couldn’t sit by. “How can I help?”

“Find out what that Pinkerton wants,” Aileen snapped.

Annie stood. “No matter what it is he wants, Cousin, we won’t turn Kirsten over to him.”

The younger girl shook a tea towel at Annie. “But how can we get rid of him if we do not know what he is after, Annie?”

Stephen felt he had to stand too. “Well, if that man is bothering you . . . I think Aileen is correct. I will see what I can do.” He retrieved his mailbag and headed to the front door. “Would you like me to send a carpenter by to fix the door?”

“Very kind of you, but I will wait to see what Mrs. Hawkins would like to do. We covered it with blankets last night.”

“Would you like me to help with that?” He glanced around, looking for something to use.

“Thank you, no. We’ve swept up the glass and we will take care of it. You are very kind to ask, though.” Annie’s expression softened. He might have stood in the glow of her gazing all morning if Aileen had not cleared her throat loudly. He excused himself and went out the front door.

Instead of finishing his route, Stephen headed straight for the neighborhood police precinct.

“McNulty’s off duty,” the man behind the desk told him. “He works nights, and what a night we had too with that weather.”

“I imagine. When did he depart?”

“I don’t know exactly. They had a meeting this morning. Not sure if he’s left from that.”

Impatient, Stephen carefully measured his words. “How might I find out if he’s still here?”

The officer nodded to some chairs lined up in the hall. “Wait there, and when the police chief’s door opens, you can see if he comes out or not.”

And these are the folks protecting our city? They can’t even keep track of each other.
He did not sit, but on his second pacing past the chairs, the door opened and Owen McNulty stepped out.

“Mr. Adams? What brings you here? No trouble, I hope.”

After Stephen told him what he’d learned at Hawkins House, Owen escorted him outside. “Mrs. Hawkins has been in. We should talk about this, you and me. I’ll explain what I know. Coffee?”

They made their way to Dexter’s.

Owen McNulty wearily clutched his coffee cup as they sat at a corner table, away from eavesdroppers.

Stephen smacked his fist on the table. “That man was in their home in the middle of the night!”

“I know that is disturbing. I’m happy no one was harmed, but this fella, he just likes to intimidate people, as though scaring them to death can help him get what he’s after. Thankfully Clayton Cooper
 
—that’s his name
 
—is not a common criminal, even if he is rude and irksome. And I hear Annie Gallagher gave him what for and he took off, tail between his legs.”

Stephen chuckled. “Yes, Annie Gallagher has made it clear she can handle all sorts of matters on her own.” He stirred another sugar cube into his coffee. “Has anyone questioned Miss Wagner about this object she is accused of having?”

“It’s a delicate matter, considering her health, but I trust that has been done.”

“I think it’s a book of some sort. Something I delivered from her brother.” Stephen told Owen about his conversation with the Pinkerton the night before.

“I see. Well, try not to worry. My father, Mr. Parker, and Dr. Thorp are all with Mrs. Hawkins at the police chief’s office on Mulberry as we speak. My father and the others support her in such matters. They have a committee of sorts they call the Benevolents. It seems this Pinkerton has a lot of pull, but together these Benevolents have quite a bit of influence in the neighborhood themselves.”

“So has the Pinkerton explained what he’s after or who he might be working for?”

“It would seem Kirsten has something
 
—likely the object you delivered to her
 
—pertaining to an investigation into a stock market investment scheme, and not a legitimate one.” He tapped his fist on the tabletop. “If you ask me, the man should have just been up-front about it. Scaring all those women the way he has. Pinkertons don’t know how to conduct themselves. These are not bank robbers he’s dealing with.” He stared out the window as though considering what he’d just said. “You know, I would not put it past this Cooper fellow to be working
for
the schemers and not in pursuit of them.” He pulled a photograph out of his coat pocket. “Not a mug shot, but we do have a few images of the agents at headquarters.”

“This is the man I met in the diner.”
Wait a minute!
His earlier hunch may have been right. That day he’d encountered
a man demanding to have something that had been deposited in a letter box . . . Could it be that he’d been following Jonas? “I don’t know for certain, but a while ago a man about my height, wavy black hair . . . I didn’t know about the Pinkerton then, but it could have been the Cooper fellow I saw pounding on the side of a letter box. He wanted something back, but I was not at liberty to give it to him.”

“Would not surprise me at all. Pinkertons don’t care about the law. If there weren’t any people around, he would have blown the top off it to get what he wanted. These financial schemers are relentless.”

Oh, my. “I have been helping with an investigation of the sort at the post office as well. Could they be connected?”

The man wagged his head. “I don’t think so. I read your report. What the Drapers were doing was small-scale. They did not even buy stocks, just used new deposits to pay withdrawals.”

“Borrowing from Peter to pay Paul, so to speak.”

“That’s right. A small operation and easily shut down. This, however, is more than that.”

Stephen remembered what the postmaster had said. The US Post Office was primarily concerned with mail fraud, and since this package the Pinkerton was so keen to find had been delivered in the US mail . . . “I have some checking to do of my own. Thank you, Sergeant, for telling me about this.”

They stood. “Certainly, but, Stephen, you do realize this is a matter for the police?”

“I understand.”