Band of Sisters (22 page)

Katie Rose received her first paycheck from the Triangle Waist Factory on Christmas Eve. When she opened it and saw the seven dollar bills lying flat and neat, one behind the other, her heart and stomach tumbled with one another for the upper hand.
My first pay!

“Wait till you work full-time on the machines next week,” her new friend, Emma, whispered. “They might increase it to nine or even ten!”

Katie Rose could not imagine such wealth.

“Must you turn it all in to your mother, or can you keep a bit?” Emma pressed, then blushed. “It’s none of my business, but I was just thinking, if you’re allowed to keep a bit back, we could go to the nickelodeon. There’s a special show beginning this afternoon.” She leaned closer. “My brother said he’d come with us and bring a friend—a friend I’ve been dying to meet!”

Katie Rose instinctively covered the last of the scars on her face with her gloved hand at the thought of sitting with boys. She could hear Maureen’s sharp orders ringing in her ears:
“Every penny! Remember, we pool every penny until we’re able to move.”

But Katie Rose had seen Maureen’s new shirtwaist last week and knew she’d ridden the trolley car partway home one night.
That doesn’t sound like poolin’ every penny to me! Besides, Maureen’s not Mam. And my scars have nearly faded. I’m not horrible lookin’, or Emma wouldn’t want me to meet her brother.
“How much?”

Emma laughed and linked arms with Katie Rose. “We’ll go straight to the matinee—that’s cheapest—and we can be home before we’re missed!”

Maureen had promised Katie Rose that the first Saturday after they moved, they would go to the nickelodeon together.
But Maureen’s not been one to keep her promises lately, at least not in good humor. She was quite the wretch last week about the Christmas tree market! She promised we’d go but came home late and wouldn’t go out at all. She oughtn’t begrudge me this—it’s Christmas Eve. Besides, I’ve worked hard for it, and I’d rather go with Emma and the boys.

Even so, a shiver passed through Katie Rose as she handed over her first dollar bill and received a veritable pile of change in return. The heft of silver coins in her hand felt a cross between thrill and betrayal, but she pushed her fancies away as silly.
I’m doin’ nothin’ wrong.

As soon as everyone had paid their nickel at the door and was seated in rows of hard wooden chairs, the gaslights were turned low. Emma’s brother, Benjamin, sat on one side and Emma on the other, flanked by her brother’s friend, Chris. Curtains were drawn back from the center of the stage, revealing a large white rectangle suspended from the ceiling and resting against the forward wall.

The piano player, stationed on a platform in the back of the room, began a lively ragtime tune. Katie Rose’s heart skipped a beat when Benjamin passed her a cone of lemon gumballs and let her help herself, brushing her hand more than was warranted in taking them back. A
clickety-clack
,
clickety-clack
reverberated from the balcony above until it smoothed into a continuous hum. Light and dark flickered on the white screen before a banner with the title of the film spread across its surface. And then people appeared, as in photographs.

“Only the photographs moved—the people moved!” Katie Rose recounted that night, swinging her arms to explain and doing her best to regale Mrs. Melkford and draw Maureen into her adventure as they walked to Christmas Eve services. “They spoke and motioned and shouted—though of course, I couldn’t hear a word. But I knew what they were sayin’ because the piano would thunder in the scary parts—I thought my heart might jump out my chest. Like in the chasin’ scene and when the hero wrestled the train robber to the floor of the carriage. It would play so trickily up and down the high notes when the tension mounted—when the bad man crept up behind the beautiful lady and clapped his hand over her mouth. But near the end, when the hero and his fine white horse raced in and rescued her, and he was kissin’ her . . . oh, the music was ever so sweet and tender.” Katie Rose, who’d never seen a moving picture before, nor heard a piano or organ except in church and from the pub beneath them, stopped only to catch her breath. “I didn’t know there was such music in all the world.”

“Were there no signs to explain what was happening in the story?” Mrs. Melkford asked, trying unsuccessfully to hide her smile.

“What?” Katie Rose asked, pulled from her rapture. “Signs? Oh yes, but I don’t know why they bothered. The music said everythin’!”

Maureen, Katie Rose observed, was quiet—had been quiet and withdrawn and worried-looking all week. It seemed she disapproved of everything but gave her full attention to nothing.

Despite her conviction that the matinee was a well-deserved wonder and sure in the knowledge that she would go again next Saturday no matter what Maureen had to say about it, Katie Rose desperately wanted her sister’s approval. “You should go with us next week,” she told Maureen, hoping her cunning might kill two birds with one stone.

“I’d rather save my nickel, thank you.” Maureen’s eyes stayed straight ahead.

Katie Rose sighed, at once put out and relieved.
If Maureen doesn’t go, then maybe Benjamin will want to sit with me again.
“It’s only a nickel, and you’d do well to have a bit of fun. It’s somethin’ we could do together.”

Mrs. Melkford laughed. “The little sage might just be right there, Maureen. You’d best listen to your sister.”

Maureen frowned, but Katie Rose beamed, glad to have earned Mrs. Melkford’s approval while anticipating next week’s nickelodeon unchaperoned, and linked arms with her unwitting conspirator.

How was Maureen to smile, simply because it was Christmas Eve or because Katie Rose demanded it? She dared not say a word to anyone but screamed inside her head:
I don’t care about the stupid nickel. I’m terrified that I’ll come home some night and you won’t be there, that Jaime Flynn or one of those dandies or that sickenin’ Mr. Kreegle from the fourth floor will have come and taken you away! And that’s what I’m afraid happened to Alice.

“Are you all right, Maureen?” Mrs. Melkford asked softly as they walked. “You look a bit pale and peaked. I should have insisted you eat before church.”

Maureen blinked at Mrs. Melkford and turned quickly away. “Yes, I’m all right. I am, thank you.”

And she would have to be; she must keep all her wits about her. But she couldn’t keep her mind from Alice.

Alice had come to work in the beginning of the week all smiles and with a fine pair of new kid boots and matching gloves. She’d polished her counter with stars in her eyes and a smile about her lips but acted as nervous as a cat, keeping her eye on Mrs. Gordon and the staff elevator more often than her work. When Maureen teased that Alice had found a Christmas beau, Alice had taken offense.

“Why? Do you think I’m not pretty enough to catch the eye of a gentleman, Maureen O’Reilly?”

“Why, of course you’re pretty enough—and all the prettier when you smile.” Maureen had not known what to make of her friend. “But who is he? Where did you meet him?”

“Never you mind that.” Alice had lifted her chin. “Some things are best kept secret.”

Maureen hadn’t terribly minded the rebuke but wanted to mend fences. “Shall we walk round to the secondhand shop at lunch? There’s enough to cover the counters for us both to go at once.”

“No, but I do need to do some shopping. I think I’ll try that new silk in the window.”

“The blue silk? The gown in Darcy’s window?” Maureen had felt her mouth drop.

But Alice had laughed. “Yes, of course Darcy’s, and why not? Do you think it suits me? I’ve a bit saved. And I might be needing something special.”

“Whatever for?” Maureen could no more comprehend Alice’s ability to afford such a frock than she could imagine where her friend might possibly wear it.

But her question had miffed Alice, and she’d turned away. “You might have the hair and skin and eyes men go silly over, but you never know what a gentleman looks for in a lady. There’s no reason to think one might not look my way.”

“I never meant such a thing, Alice. But—”

“But what?”

Maureen had stood nearer. “We’ve just never considered shoppin’ here. Everythin’s so dear.”

“Well, I can afford to now.” Alice had dropped her nose to its normal position then and leaned forward confidentially. “You could afford it too. All you have to do is agree to—” But she’d stopped abruptly as if she’d reconsidered whatever she was about to say, then whispered, her eyes twinkling, “I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but I’ve been promoted,” and pointed upstairs.

Maureen knew her eyes went wide.

“It was all so innocent; nothing really.” But Alice’s cheeks had colored. “Just dinner with a gentleman. He’s a good bit older, but that doesn’t matter. Everyone gets lonely sometimes.”

When Maureen didn’t respond, Alice had defended herself. “My mother, God rest her soul, used to say I have a tender heart, that I know how to make someone feel cared for and important.” She folded her polishing rag and set it beneath the counter. “Mr. Kreegle paid me well and said the gentleman—whose name I’m not to know—might ask me dancing this week, and I should be ready with a proper gown.” Alice’s eyes danced as Maureen had never seen them. “I think the blue silk would be perfect with my eyes!”

Then both women realized Mrs. Gordon was near, making her rounds of the store floor and counters, and Maureen had the distinct feeling they’d been overheard. How much, she couldn’t guess.

But that was Tuesday and the last day Alice had been to work, no matter that it was the week before Christmas, the busiest days of the retail year. When Maureen had asked the clerk who’d replaced Alice at her post where she was, the young woman had simply shrugged. Maureen had asked Mrs. Gordon if Alice was ill, and Mrs. Gordon had tersely replied that Alice was gone.

When Maureen pestered further, Mrs. Gordon had retorted sternly that it would have been better if Alice had minded her own affairs and that Maureen should take warning.

But what does that mean? Is that a threat? And if it is, what’s happened to Alice? She’s a hard worker, always on time, always very good with customers, and one of the top salesgirls on the floor. I don’t believe for a minute that she’s been fired! She said she’d just been promoted!

To be certain, at lunch on Friday Maureen had quietly questioned one of the clerks who’d normally walked to work with Alice. Uncertain how directly she dared ask, she’d confided that Alice had promised to speak with her landlady about a flat coming available for rent in her building January 1, but that she’d forgotten to ask the address.

Eliza had paled, given her the address, but whispered, “I don’t know what’s become of her. She wasn’t down to walk Wednesday or Thursday, and you know Alice—she’s regular as the morning mail. Last night I stopped in to see if she was unwell. But her landlady said she’d not come home Tuesday evening—figured she’d run off with some fella for the night based on the way she was dressed last Saturday. Some special date, she suspected, or . . . you know.” Eliza had looked over her shoulder and whispered, “But that’s not like Alice—not at all. She’s not that kind. Something’s happened to her. I feel it.”

Maureen felt it too.
But who can we go to? Who can I trust? Who dare I trust? Not Mr. Kreegle or Mrs. Gordon.

She’d been able to think of little else all day.

The church loomed suddenly before the trio, its gigantic front doors wreathed in spicy evergreen with pinecones wired into its swags. Maureen inhaled as they stepped through the vestibule, drawing in the fragrance of beeswax and cranberry-scented candles. She was no longer afraid of the church, and the smell of scented candles had begun to make her think of Sundays with comforting Mrs. Melkford, which had helped her push back her past associations. She’d begun looking forward to the church services, as long as she could avoid the Wakefields.

“Shall we see if we can sit downstairs tonight?” Mrs. Melkford began leading them down the center aisle. “I’m sure someone will share their pew.”