The Family Way (Molly Murphy, #12)

“I just wondered,” I said cautiously, “whether she might have confided in another girl here of a secret plan she didn’t share with you. Whether she had a special friend here.”


“Sister Francine was still in charge when Maureen was here. I had little contact with her,” Sister Jerome said. “But from what I understand she was a religious girl. Her religion meant a lot to her and I suspect she felt her shame strongly, which would have kept her from making friends here.” Before I could speak again she added, “Besides, I suspect all those who were here with her have departed by now.”

I wasn’t sure if she was being deliberately obstructive or just matter of fact. I took a deep breath. “Would you be kind enough to tell me where I could find any of those girls now? Are any still living in the area?”

“May one ask why this interest in the girl? If you’re wanting to hire her, I think you’d be out of luck. If the Mainwarings weren’t good enough for her, then I suspect you’d have to be a Rockefeller.” And she gave a dry little half laugh, half cough.

“No, I wasn’t wanting to hire her,” I said. “I received a letter from her family in Ireland, concerned because they hadn’t heard from her in a long while and wanting news of her.”

“She wouldn’t have written home, would she?” the sharp voice said. “In fact she told me herself that she could never go home again and face them, after what she’d done. She said they’d die of shame and grief.”

“I think she’d be surprised. They are very fond of her. Very worried about her.”

“Are you a relative?” she asked.

I wondered if I’d be given more information if I said I was. “No. I’m not a relative, just someone that the family knew how to contact in New York. They wrote me such a sad letter, I wanted to help if I could. I know what it’s like to be worrying about somebody and imagining the worst.”

“I wish we could help you put their minds at rest, my dear,” Sister Perpetua said in her soft voice. “But if Sister here knows nothing about where she’s gone, then I’m afraid we have lost her. All we can do is offer to pray.”

“We will certainly pray for Maureen,” Sister Jerome said. “And hope that she sees the error of her ways and returns to the family who were kind to her.”

“I’m staying nearby in Elmsford,” I said. “If you hear any news of her, would you please let me know? I’ll write the address on the back of my card and give it to Katy.”

“You may certainly do that,” Sister Jerome said. “But I doubt we will hear anything. We keep ourselves purposely shut away and hear little news from the wicked world outside. I bid you good day. Pax vobiscum. Katy, would you show this lady out?”

I heard the swish of black robes behind the grille.





Fourteen

The sunlight was overwhelmingly bright as Katy opened the big front door for me. I stood there blinking, feeling the heat radiating from that stone wall and the high demented screech of cicadas in the trees.

“Thank you, Katy,” I said. “You’ve been most kind. When is your own baby due?”

“In about two weeks, they say,” she said, looking down at the ground and not meeting my eyes.

“I’m sure you’ll be glad to get it over with,” I said.

She nodded, her eyes still averted from me. “I’m not looking forward to the birth, though. I’ve heard the other girls. It sounds awful. They scream and curse and call for their mothers—and some of them die.”

“You’re a good strong girl. I’m sure you’ll come through it just fine,” I said. “I have to confess I’m just a tad apprehensive about it myself, but we women all have to go through it, don’t we?”

“It seems so unfair,” she said, looking up at me now. “I mean he was the one who forced me to do it with him and his life hasn’t changed at all. If I went home again, I’d be soiled goods. No respectable man will want to marry me.”

“It’s very unfair, I agree,” I said. “Look, Katy, after you’ve had the baby, I’d like to offer you a job working for me in New York City. I’ve only a small house and the work wouldn’t be hard and you’d be experiencing life in the big city—maybe you’d be able to make something of yourself there. You’d certainly have a chance to meet some nice boys who don’t know about your past.”

Her whole face lit up with unconcealed joy. “You’d do that for me? Oh, ma’am. I promise you I’d be the best servant ever. I come from country stock so I’m not afraid of hard work. I was dreading having to go back to Red Hook.”

“Then we’ll call it settled, shall we? My name’s Mrs. Sullivan. I’ll call back after the baby is born and see how you are doing.”

She nodded.

“I’d better be off then,” I said. “I’m getting a lift back into town.” I thought I could see a cart approaching between the trees.

“There is one thing, ma’am,” she said in a low voice as I went to move away. “You were asking about Maureen.”