Murder on Sisters' Row (5 page)

“You’re right,” Sarah said, impressed. “He’s a bad one. If he ever comes here again, don’t let him in the house.”

“But you’re going to that house where he works again, aren’t you?”

Sarah hadn’t said a thing about her experiences on Sisters’ Row, not wanting to frighten Maeve. But she tended to forget what kind of life the girl had lived before going to the Mission and then coming here to live. Maeve knew more about the world than Sarah ever would.

“I’ll be fine.”

Maeve didn’t argue, but she didn’t smile either.

 

 

S
ARAH TOOK THE NINTH AVENUE ELEVATED TRAIN UP TO the Twenty-third Street Station, then walked across town to Fourth Avenue and back down one block to Twenty-second Street. A check of the City Directory that morning had revealed the address of the Charity Organization Society. The United Charities Building, she knew, had been built with donations from the wealthiest families in the city, with an eye to organizing the charitable relief of the poor and solving the problem of poverty once and for all. Many charities were housed here, offering a variety of services. Sarah’s socially elite parents had doubtless contributed to the construction.

The building was modest but impressive, and Sarah discovered a beehive of activity inside. A young man sat at a reception desk, greeting visitors and directing them to the correct office. For some reason, Sarah had expected to see the needy lined up here to receive assistance, but she saw no trace of the needy. Everyone was well dressed and moving with purpose.

“Good morning,” the young man said cautiously, as if afraid she was going to make some demand of him. He looked to be about twenty and hadn’t yet filled out. He stared up at her with large, watery eyes. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I’d like to see Mrs. Van Orner.”

Sarah saw the slightest flicker of emotion passing over his young face, but she couldn’t identify it. He hesitated another second as he examined her more closely, his gaze darting over her as if to form some sort of judgment. She couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or not, but he said, “Mrs. Van Orner isn’t in today, but you may speak with her secretary, Miss Yingling.” He directed her to an office on the third floor.

As she made her way up, Sarah passed several young women and another young man on the stairs. They all carried papers or folders and seemed bent on a mission of some importance. They did not greet her or even meet her eye, Sarah noticed. Such behavior was typical in the city, but somehow she’d expected the people here to be friendlier.

She found the office easily, but the words painted on the door stopped her: “Rahab’s Daughters.” Sarah had learned the story of Rahab the Harlot in Sunday school, although she hadn’t known exactly what a harlot was back then. Rahab had hidden the Israelite spies whom Joshua had sent to Jericho. In exchange for protecting them from her own people, she asked them to spare her and her family when they took the city. Rahab had done well for herself afterward, Sarah recalled, although she couldn’t remember the details.

She supposed the name was appropriate, considering the work Mrs. Van Orner did, but Sarah couldn’t help thinking that “Daughters of Hope” was a bit more inspiring. She opened the door. A young woman looked up from her typewriter.

Like the fellow in the lobby and the people on the stairs, she was young, probably in her early twenties. Sarah could tell that she could be a beauty if she took some pains with her hair and her clothing, but apparently, she cared nothing for that. She wore her dark hair scraped back into a severe and unflattering bun, and her suit was ill-fitting and a sickly shade of olive green that turned her skin sallow. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I need to see Mrs. Van Orner.”

“Mrs. Van Orner isn’t in today, but I will be happy to give her a message.”

“I’m afraid this is a rather urgent matter.”

The girl smiled slightly, or at least her lips curved upward. Nothing else of her expression changed though. “It’s always an urgent matter.”

“A young woman’s life is at stake,” Sarah tried.

“Then perhaps you will tell me what you need so I can give that information to Mrs. Van Orner.”

Sarah could see that she had no choice. “All right.”

“Please, sit down,” Miss Yingling said, indicating the wooden chair placed beside her desk.

Sarah did so.

The girl had taken a piece of paper and a pencil out of her desk, and she looked up expectantly. “What is your name?”

Sarah told her. The girl then asked for her address.

“Is all this really necessary?” Sarah asked impatiently.

Miss Yingling looked up, her eyes calm, completely unaffected by Sarah’s urgency.

“I’m afraid it’s very necessary. All of the charities in this building cooperate with each other very closely. We keep careful records of everyone we help and share that information with each other, so that people can’t just go from one charity to another every time they get into difficulty. That would encourage them to be dependent and weak instead of forcing them to take responsibility for their own lives.”

This seemed so unfair, Sarah hardly knew where to begin asking questions. “You mean people can’t get assistance from more than one of the charities in this building?”

“With some rare exceptions, yes. As I said, our resources are limited, and we can’t waste them on people who are too lazy to improve themselves. Not everyone agrees with these rules, of course,” she added, “but we must abide by them nevertheless. So yes, I do need this information. What is your address?”

Still stinging with outrage, Sarah provided it.

Miss Yingling took down the information in neat handwriting. Then she looked up again. “This girl you want us to help, what is her relation to you?”

“She’s no relation to me at all. I’m a midwife, and two days ago, a young man came to take me to a birth at what I thought was a boardinghouse. I eventually realized I was in a house of ill repute. The young woman whose baby I delivered begged me to help her get away.”

“Did you try?” Miss Yingling asked with interest.

“No, she warned me not to. She said . . . Well, she said it wasn’t safe. She asked me to find Mrs. Van Orner and ask her for help.”

Miss Yingling was intrigued. “How did she know about Mrs. Van Orner?”

“She said all the . . . the girls who worked there knew about her.”

Miss Yingling nodded. “That’s good. Word of our work is spreading.”

“Can you help her?”

“Do you know where the house is?”

“Yes, it’s on Sisters’ Row.”

Her blue eyes widened. “Oh, my.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no, it’s just . . . The police protect these places, you know, and Sisters’ Row . . .”

“I’ve been told it serves very wealthy clients.”

“And that’s another problem.”

“In what way?”

Miss Yingling seemed surprised by the question. “I . . . Oh, I mean . . . Well, because the place earns a tremendous amount of money, and they can bribe just about anyone they want.”

Sarah didn’t believe her. “Are you afraid of offending someone wealthy?”

“No, no, not at all. Mrs. Van Orner isn’t afraid of anything,” the girl insisted. “We’ll just need to be more careful than usual.”

“We also have to rescue the baby,” Sarah said.

“Baby?”

“The baby I delivered,” Sarah reminded her. “Mrs. Walker, the woman who runs the place, is going to take him away from his mother in a few days, and the mother is very concerned that she won’t be able to find him again.”

Miss Yingling frowned. “That’s very odd. They don’t usually allow the girls to have babies.”

“What do you mean?”

Miss Yingling shrugged. “Interestingly enough, very few of these women conceive at all, but when they do, they see an abortionist.”

Sarah remembered a remark Mrs. Walker had made about Amy lying to her. Had she managed to keep her pregnancy a secret until it was too late to end it? But none of that really mattered now. “Can you help this girl and her baby or not?”

“I’ll have to discuss the case with Mrs. Van Orner, of course—”

“I’m going to see the girl today. It may be my last chance to visit with her, and I’d like to tell her some good news.”

“I can’t promise anything without Mrs. Van Orner’s approval.”

Sarah seldom used her family’s power to her own advantage, but this time she saw it was necessary. “Perhaps Mrs. Van Orner knows my mother, Mrs. Felix Decker.”

Miss Yingling’s eyes widened again. “Mrs. Decker is your mother?” Like the fellow downstairs, she looked Sarah over and found nothing to impress her. “But you’re a . . .”

“A midwife. Yes, I earn my own living. Do you know if my parents are donors to your cause? They’re very generous, and I could certainly put in a good word with them about the work you do.”

Miss Yingling carefully wrote, “Mrs. Felix Decker,” on the paper beneath her notes about Amy’s case. When she looked up again, she seemed much more eager to help. “Did you say this girl had a baby two days ago?”

“Early yesterday morning.”

“How soon will it be safe to move her?”

Sarah knew that most doctors wouldn’t even allow a woman out of bed for two weeks after she delivered, but she also knew few women could afford such a lengthy time of idleness. Most of her clients were up doing housework after a week, some even sooner. “I’d like to say a week, but if you need to get her sooner . . . I’d say the day after tomorrow at the earliest, and she’ll need a safe place to go where she can finish recovering.”

“We have a house in the city where the women can stay until they find honest work.”

“This is a wonderful thing you’re doing,” Sarah said, feeling absurdly grateful even though Miss Yingling hadn’t even agreed to anything yet.

“Yes, it is,” the younger woman said, but for some reason, she didn’t look as if she believed it. “Now tell me everything you know about this girl and the house where she lives.”

 

 

S
ARAH REACHED SISTERS’ ROW JUST BEFORE NOON. SHE went to the back door again so she wouldn’t be seen. Few respectable women would want her to attend them if they knew she’d been in a place like this, and she couldn’t risk her livelihood.

Beulah let her in. “Didn’t expect to see you again,” she remarked.

“I wanted to make sure Amy and the baby are all right. I always visit new mothers the next day.”

Beulah sniffed. “I’ll tell Miz Walker you’s here.”

“I’ll just go on up to see Amy,” Sarah said, hoping she could get some time alone with the girl before the madam joined them. “I know the way.”

Before Beulah could object, if she really was going to object, Sarah found the back stairway and went up. The house was eerily quiet, and she recalled Jake’s reminder about the girls sleeping late. She saw no sign of anyone stirring on the second floor. All the doors were shut. Sarah tapped lightly on Amy’s door, then entered without waiting for an invitation.

Amy lay in bed, supported by pillows, and she looked up in alarm when Sarah entered.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said with a sigh. “I’m as nervous as a cat. I’m afraid they’re going to come get the baby.”

Sarah hurried over to the bed. She saw that the baby lay beside her, wrapped tightly in a blanket and sound asleep. “I spoke with Mrs. Van Orner’s secretary this morning.”

“Why didn’t you see
her
?” Amy cried. “I told you to see Mrs. Van Orner!”

“Shhh,” Sarah cautioned, aware that Mrs. Walker could appear at any moment. “She wasn’t in, but the secretary was going to tell her your story today. You can’t be moved for at least a few more days yet, and they need some time to make plans. But they’re coming for you, Amy. I promise you they are.”

“What if they take the baby before they get here? I’ll never find him!”

“I told you, I’ll take him. I’ll speak to Mrs. Walker today about it.”

“What if she won’t let you? What if I lose him!” Tears flooded her eyes, and Sarah was afraid she would get hysterical. She’d have a difficult time explaining that to Mrs. Walker.

“You have to be strong, Amy,” Sarah told her. “Trust me. I’ll take care of everything.”

Amy didn’t look willing to trust anyone, but Sarah heard the door opening.

“How often is the baby feeding?” she asked in a normal voice.

Amy looked at her stupidly for a second before she noticed Mrs. Walker had come in. “He kept me up half the night,” she said. “He’s a greedy little thing.”

“That’s good.” Sarah put her hand on the girl’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever. I’ll need to—”

“So you came back,” Mrs. Walker said.

Sarah turned, feigning surprise. “I told you I would.”

This morning Mrs. Walker wore a red silk kimono. She looked weary, as if she hadn’t slept well since the last time Sarah saw her. “I always assume people are lying to me, Mrs. Brandt, and I’m usually right.” She nodded at Amy. “How’s she doing?”

“I haven’t had a chance to examine her yet, but I’ll be happy to give you a full report when I’m finished.”

“You do that. I want her healthy so she can get back to work real soon.”

Sarah flinched and Amy made a small sound of protest, but if Mrs. Walker noticed, she gave no sign. She just turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

“I hate her!” Amy whispered.

“You won’t have to be here much longer,” Sarah promised. “Now let me examine you and the baby.”

“And tell me everything that secretary person said.”

Half an hour later, Sarah could delay her departure no longer. She left Amy with a promise to return as soon as possible. When she reached the kitchen, Beulah led her down a hallway to what she discovered was Mrs. Walker’s office, a modestly decorated room in stark contrast to the rest of the house.

The woman sat at an elaborately carved desk, still wearing her kimono. She’d been making a list of some sort, and she looked up when Beulah brought Sarah in. When the cook had closed the door behind her, Mrs. Walker said, “Don’t believe anything that little whore told you.”