“I had to choose between having relations with an inspector at Ellis Island and being sent home to my father.” The truth was bitter in her mouth. “And you know what things were like at home. But now, I’m…I’m pregnant. I’m sorry, amore mio,” she rushed on, trying to make sense and to console him and to be done with this nightmare. “I didn’t know this would happen. I wanted to tell you—knew I had to—but I was still upset myself and didn’t know what to say.”
Rather than the disgust she expected, anger flashed in his eyes. “Who did this to you? That son of a bitch treated you like a common whore!” He stalked back and forth, his hands balled into fists. “I’m not going to let him get away with this!”
“It doesn’t matter who it was now, does it?”
“Of course it matters!” A vein pulsed in his neck. “I intend to defend your honor!”
She shook her head. “To what end? I am still pregnant.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner!”
She stepped back, a warning flaring in the back of her mind. His anger, his fists. She shrank from him, stepping closer to the door.
He stalked down the street, hands on his head, pacing, his anger rolling off of him like steam from a boiling pot.
She didn’t know what to say. She was contrite, and yet, how could she take back what she’d done? She would have never known Fritz or Alma. Never known the taste of a new life—of love—and yet, she’d lose him anyway.
When he returned, he stood across from her and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Fran,” he said. “I’m upset, but I would never hurt you. I didn’t mean to frighten you—”
“I know. It’s all right. You have a right to be angry.”
It had to be all right; she’d do her best to make sure of that. These were the words she’d chanted to herself over and over again the last weeks, trying to convince herself, even now. And yet, she felt despair clawing at her throat.
“I can’t believe someone did this to you.” His face crumpled in pain. “I couldn’t even protect the woman I love.”
She held out her arms. “Amore mio, come.”
He took her in his arms and leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” His tone turned gentle. “What will you do? How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know, but I do know this makes things impossible between us.”
In his silence, she had her answer. Robert and Johanna would never approve of their marriage, and he couldn’t leave behind who he was, his parents and his family, just for her, especially when the child wasn’t even his. And she would never ask him to.
He looked into her eyes, cupped her face in his wide, strong hands, and brushed her cheek with his thumb. “I need some time, Fran. Time to think. I’m in a load of trouble at work. They gave me a warning last week, threatened to call the police themselves if I get involved with a strike. And now this…”
“Of course.” She pulled from his embrace, her tone turning distant. Time was precisely what she didn’t have, but she would give Fritz anything he asked.
“I’ll go.” He stepped away from her, and the bubble of his warmth, his love, dissipated, leaving her cold.
With a last forlorn look before he walked away, he said, “We’ll talk again soon, all right? I promise.”
Soon. She wondered when that would be. She wondered if soon really meant never. Pain coursed through her, white-hot, and all she managed was “Yes.”
She watched him go until his form melded with the soft gray and blue and violet landscape of the city at dawn, as if he’d never been there at all. He was gone, and everything she’d begun to build was slipping through her fingers. No matter which way she turned, no matter her course, she would lose.
She dropped to her knees, cursing the hope she’d held on to with clenched fists, that had tempted her and lied to her, turned its back on her, plunging her into an abyss of sorrow and pain. The tears broke free, and she wept. She wept for Fritz. She wept for the home she would have to leave. For the baby she did not want. She wept for her darling sister, dead and gone. She wept until her insides hollowed out and the tears would no longer come.
When at last the sun peeked over the rooftop of a neighboring building, scattering its rays over the street and gilding windows in gold, she pushed herself to her feet, once again, and did the only thing she knew to do: she surrendered to the uncertainty that lay ahead.
43
Alma made her way to work, her nerves a mess. Today, she’d have to tell someone what John Lambert had been up to, even if it meant trouble for him and worse, trouble for her.
When she arrived at the immigration station, she didn’t bother to take off her cloak, her anxiety propelling her straight to Mrs. Keller’s desk. Before she confronted her parents, she wanted to protect her job, and the only way to do that was to ask her supervisor for help—like it or not.
“Mrs. Keller!” Alma exclaimed as she approached the woman’s desk.
“Lord in heaven, what is the matter, Alma?” The woman’s irritation edged her words. Sighing loudly, she folded the newspaper she’d been reading and laid it on her desk. “You look as if you’ve been crying all night.”
“Not crying, just not sleeping.”
“Well, what is it?” she asked, crossing her arms beneath her ample bosom. “I’m busy here.”
All night, Alma had weighed whether or not she should tell Mrs. Keller everything, especially since she’d turned Alma over to Commissioner Williams. But the fact of the matter was that Alma needed advice, and since she’d always gotten the impression Mrs. Keller disliked John, she was likely the best person to ask.
“It’s about John Lambert.”
Mrs. Keller’s eyebrows arched in surprise.
“I’ve just learned he molested one of the immigrants,” she said, swallowing after the difficult words.
“Have you, now,” Mrs. Keller said. “Are you saddened by this? I know he’s your fiancé.”
“No,” Alma replied. “I’m…well, I’m relieved, truth be told, though that doesn’t sound the way it should. I don’t love him and barely know him. I’m calling off the engagement as soon as I speak to my parents about it.”
Mrs. Keller gave a stiff nod. “Good girl. He’s incorrigible. He wins them over with that smile and then has his way with them.”
“Them?” Alma said, a knot forming in her chest.
Mrs. Keller nodded. “Them. This person you speak of isn’t the first, I’m afraid.”
Alma clasped her hands to hide their shaking, to control her anger. Everyone had known about Lambert’s disgusting behavior. Everyone but her. All of the strange references the matrons had made about him made sense now. She shimmered with anger every time she remembered the way her supervisor had mockingly congratulated her on her engagement and how the others had followed suit. They’d all known and let her walk toward a future with a man capable of terrible things.
“Before the old hall burned a few years ago,” the matron went on, “he impregnated a woman from France. Bedded her at some pay-by-the-hour dump in the city. When she told him she was pregnant, he had her deported. There was something else…a terrible tragedy. An Italian woman whom he bullied enough that she committed suicide.”