“But your country is no stranger to tragedy either,” Jacob said. “How many of your countrymen died in the great famine?”
“That’s true enough. Everyone in our village had a story of lost relatives, including my own family. Apart from my father and my brothers I don’t think I’ve a living relative in the world.”
“Then we are united in a struggle to make things better, are we not?” He smiled at me. His eyes held mine. I flushed and looked away.
“Jacob is a photographer, as well as being a rabble-rouser,” Nell said. “He and I work together. I fish out the facts, he takes the pictures. Together we have been into the most disreputable parts of the city.”
“Then I am indeed fortunate to have met both of you,” I said. “I can’t tell you how much it riles me to have to abandon my search for Katherine.”
“Let us hope you will not have to abandon it,” Jacob said. “If Nell recognizes your photograph, then we can start to trace what happened to this unfortunate Katherine. All will be made clear on Saturday.”
“And in the meantime,” I said in a low voice, “please don’t give away that I am not just an ordinary sweatshop girl. I am with them heart and soul in this struggle and I fear they would not trust me if they knew I was not really one of them.”
“You can count on us to say nothing,” Jacob said and glanced across at Nell for agreement. Her face remained impassive.
“At what time do you expect us on Saturday?” she asked.
“Shall we say eight? We are supposed to leave work at six on Saturday, as a special gesture of beneficence.”
Jacob laughed. “She has the Irish gift of the gab, does she not? I am so glad that your investigation brought our paths to cross, Miss Murphy.”
“Eight o’clock on Saturday then,” Nell said. “That will work out splendidly. We’ll have time to go to the opening of that art exhibition first, Jacob. Are we done here, do you think? I am suddenly tired and would like you to walk me home.” She had her arm through his and she steered him away from me, toward the door.
They must be sweethearts, I thought, and was surprised at the rush of disappointment that I felt.
“I wondered where you’d got to, Molly. Have you tried these little cakes yet?” Rose took my arm and dragged me back to the group at the table.
Fifteen
On Saturday Sid and Gus insisted on preparing a feast at their house.
“But it’s so long since we’ve seen Nell,” Gus said, when I tried to protest, “and we’ve been dying to meet this Jacob Singer, so you can’t be selfish and keep them to yourself.”
“All right, if you insist,” I said, “but you have already done so much for me. Let me at least provide the food.”
“Nonsense. You know how we love trying new recipes,” Sid said. “And we have just been reading a book about a woman who traveled alone through North Africa, disguised as a male Bedouin. Doesn’t that sound like a simply marvelous thing to do? We were all set to try it when we finished the book, but then we decided we really couldn’t abandon dear old New York and Patchin Place. So we’ve settled for the food. We shall cook couscous and kebabs—although I don’t think we can procure camel’s hump.”
I laughed. “Camel’s hump. Now I’ve heard everything.”
“It is considered a great delicacy among the Bedouin,” Sid said, attempting not to smile. “But you may bring the wine and the grapes, if you insist.”
So when I was finally released from work at six thirty-five on Saturday I wandered among the Italian food shops south of Washington Square and chose a jug of robust red wine, enclosed in a neat raffia basket. I felt very worldly carrying it home. If they could see me now in Ballykillin, I thought with a smile of satisfaction. When I arrived at 9 Patchin Place I found that Sid and Gus had been up to their old tricks—they had transformed their parlor into an Eastern boudoir, with the walls draped in velvet and gauze and the floor strewn with Oriental carpets and large pillows. They had even produced an Oriental water pipe which they insisted we should smoke later.
Nell and Jacob arrived at eight and we had a messy meal, eating with our hands, while perched on cushions.
“Now I know why they always have dogs around in such scenes,” Nell exclaimed, wiping a sticky chin with her napkin. “It is to clean up the food that falls around them. I feel revoltingly primitive.”
“But remarkably free, wouldn’t you say?” Sid asked.
I glanced at Jacob and found that he was watching me. We exchanged a smile.
I looked at the plates, still piled high with food. I ate another grape and felt instantly guilty.
“Doesn’t it worry you sometimes that we can go home to eat like this while those girls at the sweatshops probably go to bed hungry each night?” I looked across at Nell and Jacob.