After a long moment Oscar said, “It’s a damn odd way to court a woman, chasing around the city looking for orphans for what, almost a month. You don’t think you’ll find them, do you?”
Jack considered, and then lowered his paper. “It’s unlikely,” he said. “But it’s important to her.”
“Hmmm,” Oscar said, and picked up his own paper. From behind it he said, “Tell me where you’ve been so far.”
Jack pulled out his notes and slid them across the desk. It had taken long enough to get Oscar to ask for them.
• • •
A NURSE IN training who looked to be all of fifteen showed Jack up to the third floor of the New Amsterdam Charity Hospital, casting glances over her shoulder when she thought he might not notice and then dropping her gaze to study the floor. He might have asked some questions, but he had the idea that she would have been too nervous to answer. Because he was with the police or because he was male or both; it was impossible to know.
She stopped outside a room with wide double doors and spoke to him without meeting his gaze.
“Dr. Savard said that if you would come in and sit at the back of the classroom, she’ll be with you as soon as possible.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you.”
She hesitated as if she had something else to say, then fairly sprinted away down the hall.
For almost a month now Anna had been setting up little tests, as though she couldn’t decide how to feel about him until she had put him through his paces. If she had grown up in an Italian family, her father would have gone after the same information in one fifteen-minute, sweat-soaked interview. Jack didn’t know much about her own father, but maybe he would have let her handle things this way, feeling her way forward, step by step.
He knew already how her mind worked. She was sure that sooner or later she’d reveal something about herself that would scare him off; he would decide that she was too forward, too opinionated, too educated. She would never defer to his opinion in anything except the law; she had no interest in keeping house. She was tough and uncompromising when it was called for. While she had never said it openly, he understood that she had no use for religion.
She could be irritable, but she was usually willing to let herself be distracted. In the middle of a sharp commentary about the traffic or something in the paper he would sometimes kiss her without warning. She always seemed surprised at first and then, suddenly, pleased, and she always kissed him back. They never discussed any of this, what it meant that she came to him gladly when he pulled her into a doorway and kept her there until she was soft and warm and pliant in his arms.
Sometimes at night, hovering between sleep and waking, Jack asked himself the very question she seemed determined to force: What would it take to make him see that they were not, in the end, suited? Thus far he hadn’t come up with an answer.
Now he slipped into the classroom and sat in the back row to observe Anna as she taught.
The room was not very large, three rows of chairs arranged in a semicircle around a center worktable crowded with books and papers, beakers and covered bowls, and three microscopes. Eight young women were standing at the table, bent forward to watch as Anna described something she saw on the slide. One of them was Sister Mary Augustin, whose white bonnet and habit stood out against the dark blackboard as though she were lit up from the inside.
Anna straightened and turned to the blackboard where she had already printed necrosis, epithelial, and something in Greek. And she teased him about Italian.
As she spoke she wrote out instructions. “I want you to spend at least an hour preparing slides and then examining and documenting the tumor under the microscope. Your drawings and notes should be very specific, from the gross anatomical to cellular. You must discuss the tissue types as a foundation for your diagnosis. For tomorrow I’d like you to write up a prognosis and treatment plan. You may work in pairs if you like. Questions?”
Sister Mary Augustin said something very soft and low, and Anna turned to her. “You certainly are welcome to participate. Your patient will sleep for a few hours more, and a nurse will be sitting beside her until she wakes. Now you’ll have to excuse me while I speak to Detective Sergeant Mezzanotte.”
The little nun’s head came up suddenly and her gaze fixed on Jack. He nodded to them both and left to wait in the hall.
• • •
JACK SAID, “ARE you poaching souls from the Catholic Church?” And was surprised to see that she was a little embarrassed.
“If you like,” she said finally. In her office she sat on the edge of the desk directly across from Jack, who was leaning against the door. “Though I’d characterize it more as responding to intellectual curiosity. She hasn’t taken final vows yet, has she?”
“What makes you think that?”
“She’s wearing white. Most of the other Catholic nuns I’ve seen wear black habits.”
“She wears white because she’s a nursing sister,” Jack said. “At the Foundling all the nuns wear white. All the nursing nuns.”
Anna’s expression shifted, irritation drawing a line between her brows. Apparently she didn’t like this particular fact about the Sisters of Charity.
“Why are you here, anyway?”
Jack took some pleasure in flustering her, there was no denying it.
“Because you sent for me.” And before she could work up any more of a temper he said, “You are very good in the classroom. Very much in control but not overpowering or unaware. You had their interest and attention.”
Now he had embarrassed her, but she was pleased, too. “Thank you,” she said quietly. When she raised her head again she was smiling. “Do you still have time to go to the Foundling on Sunday?”
He nodded. “Sister Mary Augustin?”
“There’s something going on there, but I have no idea what. She seems subdued. The only way to know if she’s willing to help is to ask her.”
They were silent for a long moment, just looking at each other. “Then Sunday at noon, if that suits. But tonight, if you’re still interested—”
She was waiting, her eyes on his face, her expression a study in hard-won composure.
“We could go up on the new bridge. We need to do it today or tomorrow, as I’m leaving Monday and I’m going to be away for a week or ten days.” Watching her expression closely, all he saw was a vague fluttering of her eyelids.
“I see,” she said finally.
“I was hoping you’d be able to visit the Catholic agencies with Sister Mary Augustin while I’m gone.”
“Of course,” she said, quite stiffly. “I’m quite familiar now with the way things work. I’m sure I can handle further inquiries without you. You’ve spent too much time as it is—” She was pivoting to go around the desk and sit down, but Jack stepped forward to take her wrist. She turned back to him with a jerk and looked at his hand as if it were contaminated. He couldn’t help it, he laughed.
“Mezzanotte, please let go of me.”
Instead he pulled her closer and then, holding on to her upper arms, swung her around so that her back was against the door. He put his hands flat to either side of her head, but she was looking down, all her muscles tensed.
“Look at me.”
She raised her head, her eyes flashing with anger and what he thought might be disappointment.
She said, “I see I amuse you. Do you want to let me in on the joke?” Her gaze fell to his mouth and then jerked away.
“I’m not leaving to get out of helping you.”
“It’s none of my business why you’re—”
He leaned down and caught her mouth in midlie. After she gave in with a small sigh, he kissed her again.
“Do you remember I told you about the swindle the Deparacio brothers were running?”
Her expression cleared. “The train tickets. To—Chicago?”
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“Yes. They sold somewhere around five hundred forged tickets from Grand Central to Chicago for ten bucks apiece.”
She nodded, curious now.
“We put out a bulletin. Today we got a telegram from the Chicago police; all three brothers are sitting in their jail. You know how they caught them?”
“They spoke Italian to them.”
“That’s my trick. No, the mopes were hanging around the train station selling fake tickets to Grand Central.”
“You have to go to Chicago to bring them back here.” Her color was rising. “And it’s still none of my business, but I wish you a good trip.”
Jack gave her a narrow look and then, bending down, put his mouth to her ear. “It is your business, Savard. And I can prove it.”
She stiffened. “I have a reputation to uphold here.”
“Then stop lying to me or face the consequences.” He pressed his mouth to the soft skin just beneath her ear.
“I forbid you to take advantage of me in this office.”
He touched his tongue to her throat and felt her shiver.
“If kissing your neck is forbidden, how about—”
She grabbed his ears and pressed her forehead to his. “I have work to do. Let me go.”
“Just as soon as you admit—”
“Yes, all right. It’s my business too.”
He kept waiting and after a good while, she relaxed against him.
“Now that you’re listening I have a couple things to say. First, if you get word from Baldy—”
“Ned.”
“Ned. If you get word from Ned, don’t go anywhere with him alone. Wait for me to get back. Are you going to be stubborn about this?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I know better.”
She did know better—she regularly saw hard proof of the damage done to vulnerable women. And yet he had needed to say it.
“Second, there’s one advantage to this assignment. I’ll have a couple extra days free over the summer. In June sometime I want you to come with me to Greenwood.”
Her expression went blank as she tried to place the name.
“Greenwood is where I grew up. My father’s farm is a few miles south of the village.”
“You want me to come to Greenwood,” she said, a hitch in her voice so that she swallowed visibly before she went on. “You want me to meet your family?”
“I’ve met yours, Savard. Seems only fair.”
She was studying him. “Why?”
“Why do I want you to meet my family?” He gave her his best frown. “That’s a question for a longer conversation.”
Jack stepped away just as someone knocked on the door. He watched Anna gather her thoughts and remind herself who she was. Then she opened it to find the same student nurse standing there.
“Dr. Morris and Dr. Sweet need a surgical consult on a patient who just came in,” she said, her eyes darting to Jack and then away. Anna looked at him over her shoulder as she left the room.
“I’ll come by for you tomorrow at seven,” he said. “As soon as I’ve finished my shift.”
• • •
“JUST GO AWAY,” Sister Xavier said to Mary Augustin. “And leave me to my headache.”
“A headache is quite common after surgery, but it can be treated.” She added two more drops of laudanum to the glass of water she had ready, aware that her patient was watching every movement.
“I see now how it is with you,” said the older nun, refusing to take the glass Mary Augustin offered. “Meek as a mouse until you’ve got the weak and vulnerable to bully.”
Mary Augustin allowed herself a small smile. “Yes, you’ve figured me out. I’m here to bedevil you. You can suffer in silence, or you can take the medicine that will relieve some of your discomfort and let you sleep. Which do you think I’d prefer?”
“Insolent,” Xavier snapped. “Give me the glass.” When she had drained it she sat back against the pillows. “Disgusting.”
Mary Augustin poured another glass of water from the pitcher.
“This too,” she said. “It’s important to keep your humors in balance.”
When the second glass had been emptied, Mary Augustin checked her dressing and went about the small things she could do to make the older nun comfortable.
“You watched the whole operation, I suppose.”
“I did.”
“And?”
Mary Augustin sat down on the stool beside the bed. “What do you want to know?”
Sister Xavier flapped a hand impatiently. “Don’t be dense. Tell me what she did. Your Dr. Savard.”
It was difficult to know where to start, how much detail to provide, whether it was her place to offer conclusions or if she should simply refuse to talk about the surgery itself. But it seemed to her that Sister Xavier had a right to know.
“Dr. Savard made room for me to stand beside her and watch,” she began. Every minute was fresh in her memory, but Mary Augustin had the sense that it didn’t matter how much time passed, she would remember it all, detail by detail. It was a revelation to watch Dr. Savard’s hands moving very quickly and surely while she explained exactly what she was doing in a calm, methodological way. She had pointed out different types of vessels and tissues and the tumor itself, an encapsulated mass the size of a lemon.
“A lemon!” Sister Xavier interrupted her. “It felt far bigger to me.”
“It was easily removed, which is good news. No blood vessels involved.” She used a fresh cloth to wipe the perspiration from Sister Xavier’s forehead until her hand was batted away.
“Where is it?”
“Pardon?”
“Where’s the tumor they took out of me?”
“It was dissected and is being studied under a microscope.” And she hoped that this would be enough information, because as curious as Sister Xavier was, Mary Augustin doubted she wanted to know about the tumor that had broken open like a bad egg on the laboratory table.
When she turned to look, the pain lines between Sister Xavier’s brows had lessened and she blinked.
“You are a good nurse,” she said, in an almost pleasant tone of voice. “I hope you won’t regret giving it up.”
14
ON SATURDAY MORNING just before ten, Sophie turned onto Park Place and came to a stop. For more than a year she had been avoiding this corner for fear that she might see Cap, and for fear that she might not. Now she took a moment to catch her breath.
The house was as it had always been, classical in its lines and elegant, the counterpoint to new mansions springing up along Fifth Avenue, where excess had become a religion. Here nothing had changed, and nothing was the same.
For days she had been reminding herself that the Cap she knew so well was gone. This man she was going to marry would look nothing like the boy she had grown up with. Where her Cap had been strong and lithe and restless, this man would sit quietly. He would be gaunt and flushed and feverish, and he would cough until he was bloody with it. What she could do for him medically was limited, but she could give him some peace of mind. She would look at him and not see the illness; she would put that aside, and concentrate on the man held hostage by the disease.
The familiar gave her some comfort: the gardens that framed the front of the house, perfectly kept, backed with blossoming magnolia trees. Each flower stood proudly upright like a fat pink candle on a leafless branch. Mrs. Harrison’s beloved pansies overflowed the pots standing sentry to either side of the door, as old-fashioned and sweet as the housekeeper herself.
As soon as Sophie set foot on the walkway, before she could think about knocking, the front door opened and gave her the day’s first surprise. Cap’s uncle Conrad stood beaming at her, and just behind him were Bram and Baltus Decker, Cap’s cousins and best friends. The Decker twins, who had been as unruly
as wild ponies as children and had not changed much with age.
“Here she is, Uncle.” Bram touched Conrad’s elbow as Sophie approached.
The older man’s mouth quirked in a familiar expression. “I’m blind, Bram,” he said with his usual great dignity. “Not deaf. I hear her.” He held out both hands, and Sophie took them.
“Sophie, my dear,” he said softly. “High time. High time indeed.”
“You look surprised to see us,” Baltus said, kissing Sophie’s cheek. “Did you imagine we’d miss the fun?”
“Cap wanted us here at seven in case you came to breakfast,” his brother added. “But you didn’t, and so we had to do right by Mrs. Mack’s pancakes without you.”
Conrad said, “You see these two are as measured and mature as ever, Sophie. You should go ahead, Cap is waiting for you.
“Give a shout when you’re ready,” Bram said. “And we’ll bring the photographer up. If he ever gets here.”
Sophie stopped short. “Photographer?”
“For the engagement announcement. Got to have a picture, says Cap. Quite insistent.”
Sophie looked from Bram and Baltus to Conrad.
“The family hasn’t been told yet,” Conrad said, as if she had put a question into words. “But that’s not something to worry you. Go on now, he’s waiting for you.”
Sophie got no farther than the first landing, where Mrs. Harrison was waiting, her eyes red-rimmed and damp. At the sight of Sophie two teardrops rolled down her cheeks. “Miss Sophie,” she said. “It’s so good to see you, so good I could just cry.”
“You are crying, Mrs. Harrison.” Sophie took her handkerchief from her cuff and blotted the old woman’s cheeks. “How is your lumbago?”
“Never mind about me,” said Mrs. Harrison, waving a hand as if to discourage a fly. She picked up a small silver tray from the table beside her and held it out to Sophie. There was a mask of fine mesh and a pair of gloves. Both smelled vaguely of carbolic acid. Sophie was not surprised that Cap would have made such arrangements, but Mrs. Harrison looked embarrassed.
“It’s perfectly all right,” Sophie said. “I don’t mind at all.”