“Not all foreigners are murderers,” Sarah reminded her sharply.
“Oh, dear, I guess that did sound patronizing, didn’t it?” Opal said, chagrined. “I only meant… Well, I guess I did mean it badly, but… I can’t help thinking that people in other countries aren’t raised with the same sensitivities as we are. You must admit the Italians treat each other terribly.”
Sarah had to agree with that when she thought of the Black Hand. “Even still, it’s hard to think of a mother killing her child, although it happens with alarming frequency when people live in poverty.”
Opal patted her hand in a gesture of comfort. “Does Mrs. Wells know yet?”
Sarah nodded. “We haven’t arrested anyone though. I haven’t been able to get in touch with Mr. Malloy since I found out who it was.”
“That means she could escape,” Opal said in horror. “Good heavens, what if she kills someone else?”
“We don’t think that’s likely. She killed Emilia in a fit of passion. She wouldn’t have a reason to kill anyone else. As for escaping, she has no idea anyone even suspects her.”
“Thank heaven for that. But poor Mrs. Wells, this will be so difficult for her, with a trial and all the publicity. She’s already been through so much, and yet she has such strength. Did you know she lost a child in addition to her husband?”
“Yes, she told me.”
“She was such a comfort to me when Hazel died. I know she was to Hazel, too. In fact, she was Hazel’s last visitor. She told me they prayed together and that Hazel had finally found the peace she’d been seeking.”
“That
“You ladies look entirely too serious,” Charles Graves informed them. “I’m afraid I must ask Mrs. Brandt to dance to cheer her up.”
“That should do it,” Opal said with a smile. “Dancing with Charles usually makes women laugh out loud.”
Her husband wasn’t the least bit offended. He took Sarah’s hand with as much dignity as he could while dressed like an ancient Roman and led her to the dance floor. With her towering wig, she was even taller than Opal, but he was accustomed to the difference in height. By the time the dance was over, Sarah was indeed laughing at his clever teasing. She would think about killers tomorrow. That would be time enough.
Much later, Sarah turned to Richard as they rode home in his carriage. “I had a lovely time tonight. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Thank you for accompanying me. I wouldn’t have gone alone. I haven’t been to a party like that since Hazel died.”
“Then that explains why Opal was so happy to see me there.”
“She and Charles have been good friends, although I suspect they’ve stuck by me mostly because of guilt.”
“Why should they feel guilty?” Sarah asked.
“Because Opal was the one who got Hazel involved with the mission. I never blamed her,” he hastened to explain. “But I think she may have blamed herself.”
“She did tell me how much Hazel enjoyed working at the mission, and that she’d found the peace she’d been looking for.”
“That’s what Mrs. Wells told me, too. I’m afraid I didn’t take much comfort in that at the time, though. I was too angry.”
“That’s understandable.”
“I also thought she was a bit of a… a fanatic, I guess.”
“She does take her work very seriously.”
“No, not about her work,” Richard said. “It’s the way she seems to think people are better off dead than alive.”
“Where did you get that idea?” Sarah asked in surprise.
“From her.” He sounded a little defensive.
“What did she say to make you think that?”
“She said Hazel was in a better place and she wouldn’t be sad anymore, things like that.”
“I’m sure she was just trying to make you feel better,” Sarah argued. “Opal said Mrs. Wells was a great comfort to her.”
“I’m glad she was a comfort to someone.”
Sarah didn’t know how to respond to that.
Before she could think of anything, he said, “Didn’t you say that one of the girls at the mission was murdered?”
“That’s right.”
“I wonder what she thinks about that.” Sarah heard the bitterness in his voice.
“She did say she thought Emilia was at peace now. The girl had a very unhappy life,” she added.
“Who’s to say the rest of it wouldn’t have been happy if she’d lived, though?” he challenged.
“I suppose we’ll never know,” Sarah said.
“Did they find out who killed her?”
“Yes,” Sarah said reluctantly. “We believe it was her mother.”
“Her
“Yes, she… She never liked the girl, and apparently, they quarreled.”
“So she sent her to a better place?” Richard offered sarcastically when Sarah hesitated. “I suppose that’s what Mrs. Wells thinks, at least.”
“Richard, Mrs. Wells was devastated when Emilia died,” she said gently.
He didn’t seem to hear her. “Sometimes I think…”
“What do you think?” Sarah prodded, hoping it would help him to speak about the feelings he’d kept inside all these years.
“I think the woman is in love with death.”
Richard’s words haunted Sarah all night. She knew he had misinterpreted Mrs. Wells’s faith, but she still couldn’t shake the gloom he had invoked. Probably, she was just depressed because soon she would have to watch Malloy arrest a woman for killing her own daughter.
Wondering what the odds were of catching Malloy at home on a Sunday morning, Sarah was up earlier than was sensible after her late night. Since no trains ran east and west in the city and Hansom cab drivers were still recovering from their Saturday night jobs, Sarah had to walk all the way across town to Malloy’s neighborhood in the Seventeenth Ward.
The streets were busy with the faithful on their way to or from church on this unseasonably warm morning. Everyone wore their finest clothes, and children hadn’t yet had time to wear off the clean from their Saturday night baths. Sarah arrived just in time to see a sight she’d longed for. Mrs. Malloy and Brian were coming down the front stoop of their tenement, also dressed in their Sunday best. Mrs. Malloy held Brian’s hand as he carefully negotiated the steps on his own two feet.
He was wearing obviously new shoes, and he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off them. Or else he still felt the need to watch his feet when he walked. Whatever the reason, he didn’t see Sarah until his grandmother yanked him to a stop before he reached the last step.
“Good morning, Mrs. Malloy,” Sarah said with a warm smile, ignoring the old woman’s disapproving glare.
Sensing her presence at last, the boy looked up. His face broke into a glorious smile, and he flung himself into Sarah’s arms. She caught him with difficulty, somehow managing to pull him up so he could wrap his legs around her waist and his arms around her neck. She hugged him fiercely.
“It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed into the sweet curve of the child’s neck. Then she pulled back and looked him in the face. “You’re walking so well!” she exclaimed, freeing one hand and moving her first two fingers in a walking motion to illustrate her words.
He nodded enthusiastically and scrambled back down to his feet so he could show her. In a second he had ascended the front stoop and in another second he was back down again, his new shoes clumsy but effective. Sarah beamed and applauded his efforts when he looked up for her approval.
He started back up the steps again, still showing off, and Sarah looked at Mrs. Malloy to catch a reflection of
