“Alma, let her explain,” Helene said quietly. “I suspect there’s a great deal more to the story than you think.”
Alma met Helene’s eyes again. Helene had said John was aggressive with women. He had a reputation, she’d said, and even mentioned a potential investigation because of rumors about inappropriate conduct at Ellis Island. And it turned out they were true and Helene was right—far beyond what Alma had imagined. She stood and paced the length of the church steps and back again. She remembered the day she’d arrived at work only to suffer the embarrassment of Mrs. Keller and the matrons congratulating her on her engagement, their tones mocking, the giggles and murmurs that had followed her all day. Helene had known and Francesca had known, and God only knew who else knew John was a scoundrel—and they’d almost let her marry him. Alma stopped. “That day in the park, when you were sick…”
Fran nodded, sending a fresh cascade of tears streaming down her cheeks. “Alma, please, it’s not what you think. I wanted nothing to do with him. Even now, with his child. You must believe me. I—I traded my body for my freedom.”
A look of triumph crossed Helene’s face. “I knew it! I knew he was molesting the immigrants, but I had no idea he’d go this far. Remember what I said, Alma? You see! This is what I was trying to tell you.”
“This is not what you told me, Helene!” Alma shouted, anger surging through her. She felt like she was going to be sick.
Helene put her hands on her hips. “I tried, but you wouldn’t hear it. You seemed so set on acting like a martyr, like there was no other choice. So I gave up. I guess I was hoping he would change, too, once you were married.”
“I wanted to tell you, too,” Fran said, “But I was hoping it would all go away, somehow. That perhaps I was wrong about the pregnancy and no one would ever need to know.” She glanced down at her stomach. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”
Alma burned with embarrassment and anger. She couldn’t meet Fran’s or Helene’s eyes. She felt so stupid, so blind and foolish.
Fran moved to comfort her, but Alma held up a hand. “I need a minute.” She sucked in a deep breath to steady her nerves. Fran had nothing to gain and everything to lose by this situation, so Alma knew her friend was telling the truth. Alma needed to direct her anger at the right person. “All right,” she said, “tell me exactly what happened. Every detail.”
Fran lifted her chin. “All right. The truth. After you gave me the employment waiver, I went to the registry office. When it was my turn, the inspector—Lambert—made it clear he’d let me pass if I offered myself to him. He said my employment papers didn’t look valid since they were signed by such a wealthy and well-known man. So I made a quick decision.” She paused, looked down at her hands. “I know how this makes me look and I’m so sorry, amica mia, but I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t, Alma. You know that. It was a small price to pay.” She laid her hand on her stomach. “Until now.
“Now I’ll lose everything, all over again. My new job, my new friends. Fritz. How could I have known the inspector would be your future husband… I just… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it would end like this. I understand if you can’t forgive me.”
Alma’s head ached. The man her parents had promised her to had essentially forced himself on Fran in exchange for her freedom. He’d taken advantage of her and destroyed her chance at happiness with Fritz, and now there was a baby. She wondered how many other women he’d molested without a second thought. Disgust and fury, followed by a deep sadness, mixed in her breast until she wanted to scream. This was the man her stepfather would condemn her to!
“Oh, Fran. I’m so sorry!” She threw her arms around her friend’s shoulders, squeezing her with all her might. “There’s nothing to forgive. It isn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve this, and you’re not in this alone! I’m here. We’re in this together.” She dabbed at her friend’s cheeks gently with a handkerchief. “If I can help in any way… Do the Lancasters know?”
“No.” Fran’s tone was grave. “Not yet, though it’s time I started looking for another position and a new place to live. But before I do anything, I have to tell Fritz the truth.”
Fritz. He might be in jail this very minute.
“Let’s get you home,” Alma said suddenly. “I have to try to find out what happened to my brother.”
Fran’s face contorted with fear. “What do you think they’ve done with him? He’s all right, isn’t he?”
Though Helene looked on quietly, her wide eyes reflected the shock they all felt—at the way the night had gone, and at all they’d learned about John.
“Yes, he’s all right. Now let’s get you home. You’ve had a shock, and we don’t want to upset the baby.”
Alma slipped her arm through Fran’s and pulled her friend close, and the three women walked silently uptown.
*
Fran had resisted leaving Alma alone to ask after Fritz and only gave in when Alma threatened to tell him the truth if she didn’t look after herself. Helene, not wanting to be assumed to be an anarchist, had gone home right away.
Alma, on the other hand, decided to ride a hackney cab back to the bierhalle. The owner directed her to the local police station. But Fritz wasn’t there—or, at least, the policemen wouldn’t share anything, so she reluctantly returned home. In bed, Alma’s mind tossed between worry for her brother—and the disbelief she’d been brave enough to seek him out at a police station on her own—and all Francesca had said. In the early hours of the morning, she’d calmed a bit, struck by the sheer luck of this development. Now she had a real reason to break things off with Lambert. Her parents could no longer chalk it up to her silly wishes or her avoidance of marriage. This was a very real reason to cancel the wedding. She chewed her lip raw, considering what she should say and all of the ways her parents might reply.
Eventually, she realized she wasn’t going to sleep and padded downstairs to the bierhaus so she wouldn’t wake anyone. She’d hardly opened the coffee canister when the lock in the entry door turned and clicked.
Fritz slipped inside, shoulders hunched and his hair a mess.
“Are you all right?” she asked, racing to hug him. “What happened? I went to the police station looking for you and they turned me away.”
“They booked me for a few hours in a holding cell,” he said tiredly. “Asked me a bunch of questions. They knew enough about my meetings here at home and about my men at work that I know who ratted me out. It had to be Mark Schumacher, that jealous son of a bitch. This could make a lot of trouble for me at work.” He turned the knob of the lamp, and the room was flooded with light. “Got a bit of a shiner, too.” He proffered his cheek.