City of Promise (30 page)

“May I ask when you are expecting the child?” He didn’t look at her, only continued tying his cravat while gazing into the old mirror above the dresser.

“Towards the end of the summer, Dr. Thomas thinks,” she said. “Late August, or perhaps early September.”

“Time enough then.”

“For what, Josh?” With a look at once startled and perplexed.

“To be in our own home. I would hope, Mollie, to have our first son . . . if indeed it’s to be a boy,” he’d added hastily, “to be born under my roof, not Zac’s.”

“Are you proposing we move to one of the St. Nicholas flats?”

“Nothing of the sort.” Josh sounded astounded at the notion. “I shall do a bit better than that for us. I promise, you shan’t live as if you’ve married an office clerk. But,” he added as she stepped closer to remove a speck of lint from one broad shoulder, “the flats must be built and sold before I can make other arrangements. So, about the books . . . ,” with a hand to her cheek, “I know it’s beyond wifely duties, but if you truly don’t mind . . .”

“Of course I do not. It makes no difficulty, Josh. I’m happy to take it on.”

“That’s my girl.” And he’d dropped a quick kiss on her forehead and headed down the stairs and into the front hall where his freshly brushed hat and the old cloak that was better for winter riding than his fashionable overcoat, and his gloves and his cane all waited by the door. Mollie held the hat while he flung on the cloak, then took charge
of his gloves and cane while he adjusted the topper. Finally, ready to meet the world, Josh reached for the door, but paused before opening it. “The bookkeeping’s only temporary, Mollie. But since you’ll doubtless need extra help what with it and your . . . the circumstances . . . Do you find Tess agreeable?”

“I do, Josh. Very. She’s always cheerful, and she does whatever I ask.”

“Why not keep her on then? Tell her I’ll pay a wage of forty-six dollars a month. Plus room and board. My only condition is that she stop wearing that ridiculous bonnet indoors. Let me know if she agrees.”

“I will do that, Josh. I’m sure she’ll agree, it’s quite generous. And thank you.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation. “Josh, there’s something I should tell you.”

“Is it urgent? I’m already delayed.”

“No, of course not.” A great whoosh of relief flooded up from her toes at the let-off.

“Fine, then we’ll leave whatever it is for later. Not tonight, though. I’ll be late home. I’m planning to go down to Bowling Green after I’ve seen everything’s as it should be on the site. I haven’t been since before the storm. That’s much too long.”

Bowling Green, Mollie thought looking at the door he’d closed behind him, where Francie Wildwood would tell the story Mollie had not had the courage to confess.

She spent what seemed a very long day rehearsing in her mind what she’d say when Josh finally returned. How she’d explain herself and what he would doubtless deem her interference in his affairs. With such nearly disastrous consequences. Six o’clock came, then seven with no sign of him. Tess—empowered by her new, more regular place in the household—persuaded Mollie to eat something, but she only picked at the food. Finally, close to ten, Mollie went upstairs and undressed and climbed, quite miserable, into bed.

The hall clock had just chimed half-ten when she heard the front
door open, and a few minutes later the uneven rhythm of her husband ascending the stairs.

At first she pretended to be asleep. Until, when he had finished undressing and was sitting on the side of the bed releasing his peg, she whispered, “I’m awake, Josh.”

“Sorry to be so late. And for waking you.”

“You didn’t. I’ve been lying here waiting for you.”

“Have you then? Well, that bodes well, I must say. You are a loose woman, Mrs. Turner. And I delight in it.”

He was chuckling. And turning to her. And kissing her cheeks and her neck and soon pushing up her nightdress so he could suckle her breasts. He smelled of brandy and cigar smoke and it seemed he’d passed a congenial evening, but one that left him hungry for still more pleasure. He took her swiftly, with surpassing vigor and at the end a gleeful shout that made her cheeks redden, for she was sure Tess and Mrs. Hannity, sleeping above their heads, must have heard. After which he fell immediately asleep.

Leaving Mollie to lie awake wondering what Francie Wildwood was playing at if, as appeared to be the case, she had said nothing to Joshua about his wife’s visit on the day of the storm.

12

T
HE CLANGING BELL
announced the approach of a horsecar, the very first run to be made by Hopkins and Sons Omnibus Company between New York and the St. Nicholas flats.

Josh was standing by the door of the building, holding his pocket watch. “Ten past two, Washington. Excellent, don’t you think?”

“If you say so, Mr. Turner.”

Josh grinned at the other man. “Indeed I do, Washington. Providing the car left Forty-Second Street at half past one as Hopkins promised, we’ll have proved the claim that the journey can be done in less than an hour and—My word, what’s this?”

Three men and one woman descended to the pavement and stood with their heads thrown back, staring at the tall building—its steel frame now fully wrapped in slabs of pale gray granite—rising improbably on Sixty-Third Street. Meanwhile the driver, aware that his skills were on display, deftly pivoted the team of four, turning them with a few tugs on the reins and some low-spoken commands, and omnibus and horses disappeared into the stable. “Crikey,” Josh heard someone say. “It’s a stunner.”

“It will be.” Josh hurried through the wide-open double doors onto the sidewalk.

“It will be a fine building, and the first in New York City designed for genteel folk exactly like yourselves. May I ask how you knew about the car’s coming today? It was meant to be a trial run. I didn’t think it had been announced.”

“Wasn’t.” Josh recognized the speaker as Mr. Jackson from his Bowling Green residence. And he was fairly certain the woman with him was his wife. “We went to inquire about coming here and were told there was a car leaving imminently, so we took it.”

The same explanation was offered by Mr. DuVal Jones, also from Bowling Green, and by a third man, a Mr. Anthony Wolfe. Josh had mentioned the flats to Jones and Jackson. But Wolfe was a stranger. Tall, well dressed, and good-looking despite a black eyepatch.

“Good luck for all of us, then,” Josh said. “Me certainly. I assume, Mr. Wolfe, you’ve seen my notices and you’re here to inquire about the leasing of flats? All of you? You’re all interested in living here?”

There were murmurs of assent.

“Excellent,” Josh said. “Let me show you around together, then I can speak with each of you privately and answer individual questions.”

The underboarding on all eight floors was in position—though none were yet overlaid with the oak floorboards McKim specified—and the plasterers and the gas fitters were working in tandem on the interior walls. They were finished as far as the fourth floor, but Josh led his potential buyers up the stairs only to the second. “We needn’t go higher since every floor’s the same, and as you can see, the elevator’s not yet installed.” The last with a nod to the yawning chasm where the elevator was to go.

“I’ve never lived where I had to ride in an elevator to get to my bed,” Margaret Jackson said. “I canna’ say I fancy it.”

“Then you’ve no need to do so,” Josh said. “You can choose a flat on the second or third floor. Or even the first.”

“First three floors are dearer, are they not?” Her Scot’s burr sounded offended by each syllable.

“Yes, Mrs. Jackson, they are. So perhaps you’d prefer using the elevator after all. I’m sure you’ve had the experience at Macy’s or Stewart’s or one of the other stores.”

“Not to get to my bed,” she said stubbornly.

“No,” Josh agreed. “Of course not. But—”

“Bit out of the way, isn’t it? And I hear you’ve not yet rented any of these places.” This from Wolfe. He’d wandered off on his own to look at the arrangement of the rooms, then rejoined the group.

“Not yet,” Josh admitted cheerfully. “But as you can see, we’ve only just begun the interior construction. The framework is made entirely of steel—first of its kind in the city, I believe—and that had to be erected before we could do anything else. Then there was the storm. Naturally, we were held up a bit by that. As for being out of the way, since you came here by horsecar you can see what an easy and speedy journey it is. Particularly once you’re past Forty-Eighth Street. And at the end you’re here at home away from the congestion of the city.”

“First time we heard about these wee flats,” Mrs. Jackson said, “was the day of that fearful blizzard. I’ve been thinking it was a bad omen.”

“Not a bit of it,” Josh said. “We were back at work within three days. And no serious damage done. Now, let me show you how each flat is to be laid out. I think you’ll find they’re not so wee as all that. Over here is your own front door, and to the right, the parlor.”

He took his time about it. He’d come up without his cane and his good leg was aching badly by the time he finished, but he was too elated to care. He had, he was quite certain, all but definitely rented three units.

“According to Wolfe, he’s living with his wife’s family on Fourteenth Street and Seventh Avenue. Seems they have two children and expect a third. No wonder they think it’s time to move to a place of their own.”

Mollie wrote down all the information, repeatedly dipping her pen and careful to blot away any excess ink. She was quite sure this
was a ledger that would someday be a family heirloom. The first flats Joshua ever built and rented. When he was the king of Manhattan property she knew he would be, they would show it to their child. Their children, she amended to herself, keeping her free hand in her lap all the while, pressed tight against her belly. According to Tess and Mrs. Hannity she should be feeling a kick any day now and she was terrified she might miss it. “Which flat are the Wolfes to have?”

“Six A,” Josh said. “Corner flat closest to Fourth Avenue. At least that’s what he said he’d have if he decided to go ahead. Mind you, he’s not yet put down a deposit. None of them did, unfortunately.”

“It can’t be expected, Josh. Not on the first visit. I’ll make a column that indicates how many times you see a potential tenant before the lease is signed. That way you’ll be able to establish guidelines. You can know what to expect for the future.”

“Do that, Mollie. That’s quite clever.”

She smiled, but went on with the business at hand. “Mr. Elva Jackson, isn’t it? And his wife’s name is Margaret. They’ve three children as well, I believe.”

Another glance at his notes. “The names are right, but I don’t know how many little Jacksons there are. They may have said, but I didn’t write it down.”

He was looking at her quizzically. It was, Mollie knew, her moment. She could tell him the whole story right now when he was so happy about the enormous breakthrough that meant so much to the future of his business. He’d be sure to forgive her. Even if it turned out Francie Wildwood had spilled Mollie’s beans and Josh had for whatever reason kept silent about it, she’d get credit for doing so herself. She could do it. She would. Except . . . “The ledgers for the house on Bowling Green,” she said, her courage deserting her. “You’ve noted the numbers of children in each family in those records.”

“That’s right, so I have. Well remembered, Mollie. And after only a week.” Despite his earlier reluctance, Josh had slipped into having her keep the books for the rooming houses as well as the flats. Hard
not to when she did it with as much ease as skill. “You’re a wonder, my girl.”

And a coward, Mollie thought.