The Family Way (Molly Murphy, #12)

“We don’t have no fishing poles with us,” Jonah said, “but I’ll ask the mistress if I can take you fishing someday, if you’ve a mind to learn.” Clearly Bridie had become the favorite of the household.

Tarrytown was another of those charming riverside towns with clapboard and brick houses lining narrow streets that descended to the river, which had here begun to widen into something closer to a lake. Jonah said it was called the Tappan Zee, presumably by the early Dutch settlers in this region, and today it sparkled in sunshine, with the hills on the distant Jersey shore adding to the pleasing appearance. On the shoreline was a ferry dock and beside it a low white lighthouse, presumably to remind mariners heading downstream that the lake diminished into a river again just beyond. I soon found not one but two charming inns with views of the river, checked out the bedrooms and inquired about availability. I bought sugar at the grocers and paid for a chicken at the butchers, to be collected on our way home. Then I suggested that Jonah take Bridie down to the riverfront and let her look at the fishermen, and at the ferry crossing to New Jersey while I ran some personal errands. I also slipped him some money and suggested an ice cream.

Now for the real business of the day. I inquired about the convent in the dry goods store, where Mrs. Sullivan had asked me to buy white baby ribbon, and was given directions—up on the hill in North Tarrytown.

“Is it within walking distance from here?” I asked.

The woman behind the counter looked at my figure, then shook her head. “It’s a mile or more, I’d say.” She turned to the man serving at the other counter, “Wouldn’t you agree, Seth?”

Seth nodded. “More than a mile,” he said, gloomily, “and uphill too. A good way out of town.”

The shopkeeper was looking at me with interest and I sensed that she was trying to decide whether I was one of those fallen women, in need of the nuns, or not. I was about to say that I was looking for a young relative who had gone there when I hit upon an absolutely marvelous idea.

“I’m thinking of offering one of those young women employment as a maid,” I said.

She nodded with enthusiasm. “I’ve heard of folk around taking the girls into service afterward,” she said. “That’s a good Christian act, for you.” She glanced across at Seth again, whom I presumed was her husband. “You were going to make that delivery of the canvas in North Tarrytown, weren’t you? You could run this lady up to the convent.”

“I was going to wait until later,” he mumbled, but the woman said firmly. “It has to be done sometime and it might as well be now.”

He sighed, took off his apron, and started for the back door, glancing back at me. “Come on, then,” he said. “Can’t wait around all day.”

So I rode beside the uncommunicative Seth through the town and up the hill until the houses gave way to meadows and small farms. Then we left the road for a narrow rutted track, bordered by tall somber evergreens until we turned a corner and there before us was a grim building of rough-hewed gray stone. It was only about two stories high at this point, but it had square towers at both corners facing the river and I glimpsed a higher sloping roof of what was probably the chapel on the far side, adorned with a simple cross. No windows looked out toward us, but in the middle of the wall was a big wooden door. It was about the most uninviting building I had ever seen and reminded me of the medieval strongholds of my childhood in Ireland.

“This’ll be it then,” Seth said. “How long do you reckon you’ll be?”

“Not more than fifteen minutes or so,” I said, eyeing that foreboding door. “Will that suit you?”

“I suppose so,” he said grudgingly. He didn’t offer to help me down, so I clambered down from the seat none too elegantly, I suspect.

“If I come out and you’re not here, I’ll walk up the track to meet you,” I said.

“No point. I have to come this far to turn the cart,” he said. “You’d best wait in the cool until I get you. And don’t let those nuns lock you in there.” He gave a dry chuckle. “There are some as say that girls go in there and aren’t seen again.”

I could tell that this was his attempt at humor, but all the same I felt a chill run down my spine as I walked toward that massive door with as much bravado as I could muster. I rapped firmly on the knocker and waited. I heard Seth turning the cart around and then the horse clopping away before suddenly a panel right in front of my face slid back and a voice from the other side said, “Can I help you?”

I handed my card through the dark slot to an invisible female person. “Mrs. Molly Sullivan of New York,” I said. At the last moment I decided to keep to the story I had invented. “I wonder if I might have a word with the mother superior. I’m in need of a servant and I understand that there might be a young woman staying here who would fit my needs.”