She was confused by this; Anna could see it, and felt compelled to explain.
“I will go straightaway if Father McKinnawae answers my letter with real information about the boys. Otherwise it must wait. I’m on night duty most of this week, and a trip to Staten Island requires at least one full day.” She was oddly relieved to realize that this was all perfectly true: unless Father McKinnawae had more news to share than any of the other dozens of people she had written to or visited, Staten Island could safely wait until Jack was back and could go with her.
? ? ?
WHEN THEY HAD dropped Mary Augustin off at the New Amsterdam to return to Sister Xavier’s room, Jack motioned for her to come sit next to him on the front bench. Anna hesitated for just a moment. Under other circumstances she would have gone inside to check on her patients, but it was her day off, after all, and Jack was leaving.
Even on Sunday afternoon there was a good amount of traffic, and they were quiet as Jack negotiated the way south on Broadway. He would have to return the borrowed surrey to the police stables, and then what? She hated the nervous fluttering in her stomach, the wondering what he had in mind. Most likely he would take her home and then go home himself to get ready for his trip.
With that thought still in her head she put her hand on the bench between them and then shivered when he covered it with his own.
? ? ?
IT WAS FIVE by the time they were free of the surrey, and then they stood for a moment in the tumult that was the corner of Mulberry and Prince Streets. Across from the police headquarters was an unbroken line of taverns and dance halls and theaters, cheek and jowl with oyster saloons and stale beer joints. She had once wondered how they could stay in business under the nose of the law, but from Jack she understood that this was nothing out of the usual. The beer would cost a penny more, and all those accumulated pennies would end up in the pocket of a roundsman and the superiors who had perfected the art of looking the other way, so long as they got appropriate recompense.
They had walked back to Waverly Place from this very spot more than once, but now Jack hailed a cab. Anna kept her confusion to herself; he never did anything without a well-thought-out reason that he was willing to talk about, if she asked. And this time she was afraid to ask because she suspected that they weren’t going to Waverly Place at all.
Jack helped her up and then went to talk to the cabby. In the span of ten seconds or so it took to give the man directions, Anna reminded herself of her age, education, sensible disposition, and ability to make responsible decisions, and the fact that she wanted to go with Jack, wherever it was he was taking her. To his home, was her guess. She had never even seen the house, but not for lack of trying. The first time she had found a reason to walk past Mezzanotte Brothers Florists after he had explained to her exactly where he lived, she realized that only the very front, the shop itself, could be seen from the street. Everything else was hidden behind a high brick wall interrupted by recessed doors painted a deep glossy green.
Anna wondered if the power of speech had left her permanently, then realized that Jack was just as quiet. He held her hand in the cab, one finger tracing back and forth across her wrist very gently. The nerves of the wrist, Anna reminded herself. She could name them all and still she had had no idea that such a simple touch could be so engrossing. Even while this thought came to her, Jack opened the buttons on her jacket cuff with a shocking nimbleness.
She heard herself make a low sound, a clicking in the back of her throat while his fingers moved over wrist and forearm with a fine rasping touch. When he let her go Anna was breathing fast and the pulse at the base of her throat echoed like a drumroll.
Jack said, “We’re here. I can ask the cabby to take us back to Waverly Place, if you’re uncertain.”
“Don’t you dare.” Her voice was a little creaky, but she managed a small smile.
? ? ?
THE SHOP WAS closed on a late Sunday afternoon, but he used a key to open the door and took her through to the greenhouses, stopping to name plants and flowers, bending down to examine a leaf or break off a bud to show her. Anna breathed as deeply as she could to slow her pulse. She tried to ask intelligent questions and sometimes succeeded. A rose that originated in France in 1820, how exactly did they know that? He answered, and she immediately forgot.
Jack was in no hurry. He held her hand, never giving up the soft stroking of her wrist and palm that made her fingers jerk. Anna forced herself to concentrate.
“It’s very quiet here, considering how close we are to Union Square. Peaceful.”
Somehow it was the right thing to say, or maybe the wrong thing. He was studying her face now, and his expression was not hard to interpret.