“I’m going to ask her to help Amy.”
Malloy half turned on the sofa so he was facing her, his dark eyes nearly glowing with the strength of his emotion. “Sarah, leave it alone. I’m warning you, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“But that poor girl and her baby! She’s obviously from a good family, and she hates it there, hates the things she has to do. I can’t even imagine what it must be like for her.”
“She’s not what you think, Sarah. Those girls are all liars. They’ll say anything to get what they want.”
“But you didn’t see her. She’s terrified of Mrs. Walker—”
“Who?” he asked sharply.
“Mrs. Walker. She’s the . . .” Sarah tried to think of a nice word and failed.
“The
“The Sisters?”
“Yeah. Maybe you didn’t notice, but the house you were in is one of seven that are just alike. They say seven sisters came to the city from New England years ago and each one set up her own house of ill repute . . . Well, I don’t think the madams at the houses next door are really Mrs. Walker’s sisters, but they call that street Sisters’ Row.”
“I have to admit, I was surprised at how well appointed the house was.”
“It has to be,” Malloy said. “They cater to the wealthiest men in the city, which means they pay lots of protection money to the police. If you get in trouble there, no one will help you, Sarah.”
She heard the fear underlying the harshness in his tone. “I told you, I’m not going to do anything foolish.”
“You’re going to help that girl. That’s foolish.”
“I can’t turn my back on her, Malloy. How could I live with myself?”
Malloy sighed. “You don’t know what those women are like. She’s not an innocent country girl who got kidnapped and forced into a life of shame—and even if she was once, she’s not innocent anymore,” he added when she would have protested.
“What about her baby?” Sarah argued. “She can’t bear the thought of being separated from him.”
“So she said, but she probably figured that was the easiest way to get you to help her. Look, do I have to lock you up to keep you from getting involved in this?”
Sarah couldn’t help smiling at the idle threat. “Just try, Malloy,” she taunted. “And no, you don’t. I told you, I’m going to find this Mrs. Van Orner and turn the matter over to her. I’m not going to put myself in danger. I’ve got a family to think about now, you know.”
“Don’t forget it either. How are the girls doing?”
Sarah gave him a report on Catherine and Maeve, then asked, “How is Brian getting along in school?”
“Almost as well as his grandmother.” Malloy’s young son was deaf, and he attended a special school. Malloy’s mother escorted him there and back and helped out in the classroom.
“Is she learning to sign, too?” Sarah asked, delighted.
“She says somebody needs to be able to talk to the boy.”
A knock at the door announced Mrs. Keller’s return with a tray of coffee and some freshly baked cookies. Malloy begged off, saying he had to get back to Police Headquarters, but he took a handful of cookies with him.
He stopped in the doorway on his way out and turned back to Sarah one last time. “Don’t forget what you promised.”
Sarah couldn’t remember exactly what she’d promised.
THE NEXT MORNING, SARAH AWOKE EARLY AND PUT ON the suit she wore when she wanted people to take her seriously. She’d had it for a long time, since she’d left her parents’ mansion to marry Dr. Tom Brandt, but since she hardly ever wore it, it was still presentable, if a bit out of style.
“You’re pretty dressed up to be going to see a new mother,” Maeve observed over breakfast. She knew Sarah’s routines after living in her house for so many months.
“I have an errand to run first.”
“You look pretty, Mama,” Catherine said softly, looking up at her with shining eyes.
“So do you, my darling,” Sarah said, bending down to give her a peck on the forehead.
“Will that boy be fetching you in the carriage again?” Maeve asked.
Sarah looked at her, trying to judge the reason for the question. Jake was a handsome young man, after all, and Sarah didn’t want Maeve getting ideas about him. “Are you hoping to see him again?”
Maeve looked genuinely shocked. “No! And I don’t think you should see him again either.”
“Why?” Sarah asked in surprise.
“He’s a bad one. You can always tell. He’s too cocky and full of himself. He’s mean, too. You can see by the way he treats the horses.”
“You’re right,” Sarah said, impressed. “He’s a bad one. If he ever comes here again, don’t let him in the house.”
“But you’re going to that house where he works again, aren’t you?”
Sarah hadn’t said a thing about her experiences on Sisters’ Row, not wanting to frighten Maeve. But she tended to forget what kind of life the girl had lived before going to the Mission and then coming here to live. Maeve knew more about the world than Sarah ever would.
“I’ll be fine.”
Maeve didn’t argue, but she didn’t smile either.
SARAH TOOK THE NINTH AVENUE ELEVATED TRAIN UP TO the Twenty-third Street Station, then walked across town to Fourth Avenue and back down one block to Twenty-second Street. A check of the City Directory that morning had revealed the address of the Charity Organization Society. The United Charities Building, she knew, had been built with donations from the wealthiest families in the city, with an eye to organizing the charitable relief of the poor and solving the problem of poverty once and for all. Many charities were housed here, offering a variety of services. Sarah’s socially elite parents had doubtless contributed to the construction.
The building was modest but impressive, and Sarah discovered a beehive of activity inside. A young man sat at a reception desk, greeting visitors and directing them to the correct office. For some reason, Sarah had expected to see the needy lined up here to receive assistance, but she saw no trace of the needy. Everyone was well dressed and moving with purpose.
“Good morning,” the young man said cautiously, as if afraid she was going to make some demand of him. He looked to be about twenty and hadn’t yet filled out. He stared up at her with large, watery eyes. “May I help you?”
“Yes, I’d like to see Mrs. Van Orner.”
Sarah saw the slightest flicker of emotion passing over his young face, but she couldn’t identify it. He hesitated another second as he examined her more closely, his gaze darting over her as if to form some sort of judgment. She couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or not, but he said, “Mrs. Van Orner isn’t in today, but you may speak with her secretary, Miss Yingling.” He directed her to an office on the third floor.
As she made her way up, Sarah passed several young women and another young man on the stairs. They all carried papers or folders and seemed bent on a mission of some importance. They did not greet her or even meet her eye, Sarah noticed. Such behavior was typical in the city, but somehow she’d expected the people here to be friendlier.
She found the office easily, but the words painted on the door stopped her: “Rahab’s Daughters.” Sarah had learned the story of Rahab the Harlot in Sunday school, although she hadn’t known exactly what a harlot was back then. Rahab had hidden the Israelite spies whom Joshua had sent to Jericho. In exchange for protecting them from her own people, she asked them to spare her and her family when they took the city. Rahab had done well for herself afterward, Sarah recalled, although she couldn’t remember the details.
She supposed the name was appropriate, considering the work Mrs. Van Orner did, but Sarah couldn’t help
