“Look what your devoted servants have done for you,” Sid said, pushing open the studio door. “We have risked life and limb bringing the monstrosity up the stairs for you. I hope you are duly grateful.”
Gus looked up from her painting. To me it was a lot of red streaks and black dots, but then I hadn’t yet learned to appreciate the intricacies of modern painting. Sid went over to it and put an arm around Gus’s shoulder. “It’s one of your best yet, Gus dear. It speaks to the heart. A true representation of the chaos of war.”
I smiled and nodded agreement without actually having to say anything.
“Do you know what is going to happen to the house opposite when Mrs. Herman moves out?” I asked, before I was drawn into a discussion on the merits of the painting.
“It will be rented to someone else, I imagine.” Gus slashed another great daub of red across her painting.
“You don’t happen to know who the landlord is, do you?”
“What is this?” Gus laughed. “Have you tired of our company and are seeking to make an escape?”
“Not tired of your company,” I said, “I could never do that, but I have been plagued with guilt about the little family I brought over from Ireland. I can’t leave them living in deplorable circumstances any longer. Now that I have two commissions and I’m well on my way to becoming a successful businesswoman, I could consider renting a place of my own if the rent were not too high.”
“We would hate to lose you, Molly,” Sid said. “But across the street would be better than nothing. And I have to admire your philanthropic attitude.”
“Across the street would suit me just fine,” I said. “It would be perfect, in fact. I could wave to Gus as she does her painting, and come over for Sid’s Turkish coffee.”
“Of course you could,” Gus said. “And we can help you look after those two poor, dear children.”
It was sounding better by the minute. I resolved to write to the landlord immediately. As yet I had no money of my own, apart from the pittance being paid me for my work at the sweatshop, but J. P. Riley and Associates had money in the bank, from which I could loan myself an advance on my salary. It would be an enormous risk, renting a whole house on such a flimsy promise of future income, but if worse came to worse, I could always take in boarders or even start my own small school. There was no limit to the things I could do with my talent and enterprise! I was resolved to forge ahead with my life without Daniel Sullivan, one way or another.
I dropped the letter in the mailbox on my way to work on Monday morning and got a reply on my return home the very next day. The landlord was prepared to rent the place for forty dollars a month. Forty dollars a month was twice as much as I was making in the sweatshop right now. Although I had the expectation of a handsome fee at the end of my assignment, I had come to realize that not all cases were resolved successfully and not everybody paid. In my case nobody had paid so far! Four hundred and eighty dollars a year—I went hot and cold all over at the thought of it. My family had never owned that much money. I wasn’t at all sure I could earn that much in a year, but I wasn’t about to let this chance slip away. I wrote the check with trembling hand to pay the deposit. I had already taken some fairly large risks in my life, but this counted among them. Like most of my risks, I had little choice if I wanted to rescue Seamus and his family. Afterward I was so excited and full of nervous energy that I went straight to Fulton Street to deliver the good news.
Nuala let me in, grudgingly, her eyes darting to see if I had come with more chickens or grapes. The children had already bedded down for the night, curled up like puppies on top of some crates that still smelled of their fishy origin. They all scrambled up as I came in and Bridie ran to my side.
“Greenwich Village,” Nuala said with a sniff as I told them my news. “No respectable person would want to live there—a lot of students and rowdies and Negroes and anarchists from what I’ve heard.”
“Which suits me just fine, because you surely won’t be welcome, Nuala. Not you nor your children.” You don’t know how long I’d been waiting to say something of the kind. It gave me enormous satisfaction. I looked at Seamus, sitting pale and white in his chair. “So it’s up to you, Seamus. If you want to move into your own room, with heat and running water, then I’m offering you a place. But no relatives. Take it or leave it.”
Bridie rushed to hold my skirt. “I want to go and live with Miss Molly,” she said.
Seamus smiled weakly. “We’d be honored,” he said, then turned hastily to his cousin. “No offence, Nuala, but I have to do what’s best for the children.”
Nuala smoothed down her apron over her wide hips. “You don’t see me crying my eyes out, do you? Crammed in like sardines we were with the three of you. I’ll be glad to see the back of you and that’s God’s truth.”