“No, it would be no place for a young girl,” Seamus said. “That’s why we came to look for you. I was hoping that you’d find her a position in service. Mother’s helper or maid of all work. She’s a willing little worker and she learns quickly.”
I could feel my anger rising. Bridie was a sweet young child. She deserved a childhood, not starting out as a servant before she’d had a chance to play and learn. I wanted to volunteer to take her in myself, but then I remembered that I was about to get married. I could hardly start married life with someone else’s child in our household, could I? And I remembered that back home in Ireland many young girls were put into service when they were not much older than Bridie. I myself had been left with three young brothers to raise after my mother had died. But it wasn’t a fate I would wish on anyone else, especially not on a delicate child like this.
“Don’t make any plans for her without consulting me,” I said, trying to measure my words. “I’ll ask my friends and see what can be done for her. I’m staying across the street at number Ten with two ladies while my own house is being decorated to be ready for my marriage or I’d ask you all to stay with me. It must be horribly cramped at Nuala’s place.”
“Aye, it’s not the most comfortable,” Seamus said. “But ’tis for only a short while. Nuala’s willing to take the girl in herself, having only produced sons, but I thought you’d know how to give her a better future than that. I don’t wish a life in the fish market for my daughter and I know my dear departed Kathleen wouldn’t want it either.”
I took a deep breath. “I will do my best, Seamus, I promise. And I won’t let Bridie wind up with Nuala, that’s for sure.” I smiled down at her. “We’ll find something for you, my sweet. We’ll stay in touch, and you’ll come to my wedding, won’t you?”
We parted, my head buzzing with this latest complication. Why was life never simple? I had thought how nice it would be to have Bridie in my wedding party and lo and behold Bridie appears, but now it was up to me to find a way to prevent her from living in that hovel and working in a fish market. Always too many things to worry about.
I made it back to the Bowery and squeezed into a car on the El back to Astor Place. As my straw hat was knocked to one side of my head I reminded myself that at this very moment I could be sitting on Mrs. Sullivan’s cool porch, sipping iced tea, and doing nothing more strenuous than stitching my petticoat. Daniel would probably be angry with me that I had returned to the city. I had taken on another case when I had virtually promised him that I wouldn’t and I was achieving nothing by it. In fact the thought actually crossed my mind that it might be more useful to have acquired some sewing skills—which shows you how despondent I felt.
I quickened my pace as I walked the shady length of Eighth Street. I turned into Patchin Place. Sid and Gus would have a pitcher of lemonade or some kind of exotic drink waiting, and I could sink into one of those chairs in their back garden. Ah, bliss.
I knocked on the front door. Nobody came. This was something I hadn’t expected. They had not mentioned that they might be going out this evening. And I’d left my key to my own house on the dresser in their spare room. I felt tears of frustration welling up as I stood in the deep shade of the alleyway. Now what did I do? They were usually so considerate. Surely they’d have left me a note. But perhaps they assumed that I carried my house key with me and that note they’d written lay on the hall table across the street. With little hope I rapped on their door a second time and waited. I’d just have to go to a coffeehouse and hope that they returned before too long.
I had just turned away when I heard my name being called. I spun around. Gus was standing there.
“Molly, I’m so sorry. We’re all out in the garden and we were debating so heatedly that we didn’t hear the door. You poor thing, you look worn out. Come in, do. Sid has made sangria. It’s divine. And everyone’s dying to meet you.”
“Everyone?” I asked. My mind went to the party they were giving for me at the weekend. They couldn’t have put it forward, could they?
“Our suffragist group. I mentioned to you that we were meeting tonight. Such wonderful women. So brave. You’ll adore them.” With that she dragged me inside and helped me off with my hat.
“Come along. Sid’s sangria will revive you in no time at all.” And she propelled me down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out to the small square of back garden. I had no idea what sangria was and I was too tired to speak or resist.
“Here she is at last,” Gus called. “And in serious need of revival.”
I saw faces looking up from deck chairs as we approached. A group of around eight women were sitting in the shade of the sycamore tree.