In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

I sat in the shade of their plane tree and sipped lemonade.

“Where is everyone at number nine?” I asked. “Don't tell me that Seamus finally has a job?”

Then I saw their faces. “What? What’s wrong?”

They tried to contact you, Molly, but nobody knew where you were. Bridie caught typhoid. They took her to the fever ward at St. Vincent’s Hospital.”

“Oh, no—is she going to be all right?”

They looked at each other.

“It’s a terrible disease. People have been dropping like flies.”

I jumped up. “I must go to her right away.”

They tried to dissuade me but I ran past them like a madwoman. If I had been here, this wouldn't have happened, I kept telling myself—although I knew that she wasn't my child and not even my responsibility. As I came out of Patchin Place and turned past the Jefferson Market, I opened my mouth in horror as I realized something. The Sorensen Sisters were not fakes after all. That child in the veil at the seance—it wasn't somebody’s niece at first communion. It was a little girl dressed as a bride so that I would recognize her. The message had been for me. Bridie was now with her mother in heaven and she had come to tell me she was all right.

I fought back tears all the way up Seventh Avenue to the hospital. It was a futile mission. If she had really been dead since the stance, then she would no longer be lying in a hospital bed. She'd have been buried days ago. But I kept on running, pushing my way past crowds of people, out shopping for their evening meal.

Stories don't really have happy endings, I told myself. I had gone from the heights of elation to the depths of despair in one day. To have been betrayed by Daniel the coward and then to have lost this precious child was almost more than I could bear. I forced my way in through the front door of St. Vincent’s Hospital and heard a crisply starched nurse shouting at me as I ran down a tiled hallway. She grabbed me and shook me to my senses.

“Where in heaven’s name do you think you are going?”

“I've got to see her,” I babbled. “She wouldn't have died if I'd been there. I have to see her.”

“See who?”

“Bridie O'Connor. She had typhoid.” 'You'll most certainly not be allowed anywhere near the typhoid ward,” the nurse said. “Go back to the waiting room. Someone will deal with you.”

She forced me around and shoved me back down the hallway. As I entered the waiting room, I heard someone calling my name. Young Shamey came running down the hall toward me.

“Molly, you're back!” He flung himself at me with uncharacteristic affection.

“I came as soon as I heard,” I said. “Where is she? They haven't buried her yet, have they? I do want to see her.”

They won't let you see her,” Shamey said. “Nobody’s allowed in the contagious ward. But she’s doing better. They say she’s sitting up and eating broth.”

“Sitting up?” I stammered. “You mean she’s not dead?”

“No. She’s doing fine. Getting better every day,”

Seamus came running to meet me. “You've heard the grand news then, have you? Sitting up and sipping broth.” He wiped a big hand across hisface.1 tell you, Molly. I thought we'd lost her fora while there. She hung between life and death for a couple of days. We tried to contact you, but nobody knew where you'd gone.”

“I'm sorry I wasn't here, Seamus,” I said, “but it is indeed grand news.”

“We certainly needed something cheer us up,” he said. “We got another piece of news while you were away. My dear Kathleen died last week.”

I crossed myself. “Out of her suffering at last, God rest her soul.”

So die Sorensen Sisters might just have been right after all— maybe Bridie did meet her mother during those days when she hung between life and death. The important thing was that she had come back. There was still hope. Life seemed to be one succession of good news and then bad. Ups followed by downs. But there was always enough hope to keep on going. I'd survived a lot before. I'd live through this latest setback. I'd get by without Daniel Sullivan. After all, I had a little family who needed me, friends who loved me, and an ex-nanny who was going to be very pleased to see me. I resolved to take the trolley to her patch on Broadway this very minute and give her the good news.

“Molly, where are you going?” Shamey asked, grabbing my hand. “I just have to go and see a lady and tell her some news,” I said. “Ill be back right away.”

“But Molly,” he said, clutching my hand more tightly, “I'm starving. Couldn't we go home first and you make me some bread and dripping?”

I smiled down at him. “Come on, then,” I said. “Let’s go home.”





Historical Note