That man’s behavior toward you was quite insufferable,” Jacob said as the cab carried us away at a fast clip clop. “Give these fellows a badge and a uniform and the small amount of power goes to their heads.”
I didn’t think this was the moment to point out that Daniel, as a detective, wore neither badge nor uniform, and as one of the youngest captains on the force, he wielded a considerable amount of power.
“He has saved me from a couple of awkward situations in the past and was annoyed that I was still trying to pursue the notion of being an investigator,” I said, not wanting to go into further explanations. I was starting to shiver as delayed shock set in.
“That doesn’t give him permission to shout at you,” Jacob said, “especially after what you have been through tonight.”
“What we have both been through tonight. I still can’t believe it,” I said. “Poor Nell. It doesn’t seem possible, does it?”
“I find it hard to believe too,” Jacob said. “I saw so many terrible things as a young man in Russia, but one does not expect to see them repeated, here in America. She was a fine woman. She could have accomplished much. I should have . . .”He turned away from me.
“You tried to warn her. You tried to warn both of us,” I said. “You are blameless in this, Jacob. Don’t put yourself through this torment.”
Without thinking I reached across and stroked his cheek. He seized my hand and brought it to his lips. “When I first saw you, I thought a bright ray of sunshine had come into my life, Molly. I thought—that could be a girl who would make me laugh and dance and forget all I that I have been and seen.”
“I think it will be a while before either of us can laugh and dance again, Jacob,” I said, “but we will help each other get through this.”
His arms came around me and he held me fiercely to him. I let him hold me close, not sure what I felt, still too conscious of Daniel’s angry, worried face in that police headquarters room.
Then Jacob released me suddenly, putting his hands on my shoulders. “I want you to promise me that you will not attempt anything more to do with Nell’s death,” he said. “Whoever did this is heartless and ruthless. Swear you won’t try to track down her killer.”
“I promise you I won’t do anything stupid, Jacob,” I said, “and you must promise me the same.”
“I couldn’t bear to lose you, so soon after I have found you,” he whispered and cradled my head to him again. I lay against his shoulder until the cab stopped at the entrance to Patchin Place.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Jacob asked. “Would you like me to come in and make you a hot drink maybe?”
“It’s late,” I said. “You should get some rest yourself. You look terrible.”
“Thank you for the kind words.” He managed a smile.
I reached up and touched his cheek, my hand savoring the strangeness of his beard. “We’re both exhausted and upset, Jacob. I think sleep is what we need most.”
He nodded. “Very well, then. I’ll take the cab home and see you tomorrow.” He brought my fingertips to his lips, then he was gone.
As I went to open my front door, the one across the street opened and Gus was standing there in a flowing Oriental robe, her hair hidden behind a purple turban.
“Molly, it is you. I was painting in my studio and I thought I saw you getting out of a cab with the attractive Mr. Singer. Have you been somewhere exciting? Do come inside and tell all!”
My first instinct was to invent some harmless event that Jacob and I had attended together, but I couldn’t lie to such a dear friend.
“Actually, it’s been a horrible, beastly evening,” I said, and heard my voice shake. “We found a friend murdered.” I realized as I said it that Nell had been their friend rather than mine. “Nell Blankenship,” I added.
“Nell? Nell has been killed?”
“What’s this?” Sid’s head appeared behind Gus’s turban.
I had no option but to go in and tell them everything. The reliving of the evening was almost as painful as the experience itself.
“How awful for you, Molly,” Sid said.
“Me? What do I matter? I’m alive,” I burst out. “It’s poor Nell! If I hadn’t asked her to help me, she’d be alive. I feel so terrible.” I sank my head into my hands. “She didn’t even like me very much, you know. She saw me as a threat. She was really only carrying out this assignment to please Jacob because she was smitten with him. So I’ve betrayed her all around.”
“Brandy, I think, don’t you, Gus?” Sid rose and went for the decanter.
“Brandy in hot milk. She’ll need to sleep and it won’t be easy.” Gus brought out a saucepan and lit the gas.
“Stop blaming yourself, Molly,” Sid said as she poured a generous amount of brandy into a glass beaker. “You didn’t set out to lure Jacob away from her with your feminine wiles, did you?”
I had to smile at this thought. “No. Of course not.”
“And you didn’t ask Nell to take on anything you knew to be dangerous?”
“No.”
“Then stop blaming yourself.” She took the hot milk off the stove and poured it into the brandy. “I know—I knew Nell Blankenship quite well. She would never have been forced or tricked into doing anything she didn’t want to do. She went looking for this person Katherine because she was intrigued, because she saw it as a challenge. It appealed to her reporter’s instinct. Her choice, Molly, not yours.”
“Now drink up and then get a good night’s sleep,” Gus said. “And if you will take advice from two friends who care for you, you will take this terrible event as a warning. Somebody out there killed Nell Blankenship because of what she discovered. That person is still out there and even more desperate now. So no heroics, Molly. Leave the detective work to the police.”
“That’s what Jacob just said.”
“I knew I liked him,” Gus said, turning to Sid for a confirming nod.
“Has anyone notified her family, I wonder?” The ever efficient Sid rose to her feet.
“Her poor maid should be told, at least,” I said. “Last time I spoke to her, she was sick with worry. Do you think I should call her at this late hour?”
“I’ll do it,” Sid said, putting a firm hand on my shoulder. “You go to bed. Do you want us to come with you?”
“No, you’ve been more than kind, as usual.” I got to my feet. “One day I must find a way to repay you.”
“Repay us by staying out of trouble and not ending up like Nell in an alleyway,” Gus said. Then she gave me a little push. “Go on with you. To bed before the brandy wears off.”
In spite of the brandy that warmed my whole body, I lay awake long into the night, listening to bare branches scratching against the window, my mind in a turmoil. It didn’t matter that everyone had insisted that Nell was headstrong and impulsive and made her own choices, I was overcome with guilt and remorse. This was the second time that I had let someone else do my dirty work. I had put young Shamey’s life at risk and now I had cost Nell Blankenship her life. If I, instead of she, had found out some vital fact about Katherine’s life or death, then maybe I would have been lying behind a coal bin tonight. I swore to myself that I would never again involve another person in my investigations and that by hook or by crook, I would find out who killed Nell. I couldn’t bear the thought that her death would just be ignored by the New York police.
I sat up in bed and reached for my notebook and pencil. I could hear Paddy’s voice in my head—start with what you know. I knew that Nell had discovered that Katherine worked for Mostel and Klein. She had also uncovered another useful piece of information, one important enough that she wanted to share it with me immediately—a piece of information so important to somebody that it had cost Nell her life.
What else did I know? Her body was found close to Mostel’s factory. I tried to picture Mr. Mostel or Seedy Sam throwing Katherine into the river, or stalking Nell and luring her down an alleyway. Somehow it was hard to believe. I could imagine the despicable Mr. Katz at Lowenstein’s doing a thing like that, but not Seedy Sam, for all his bluster. Then I thought how important money was to Mr. Mostel. If he thought his business was being threatened, he might have paid someone to do away with Katherine. That I could imagine. And who better to get rid of her quietly than one of the Eastmans?
If that was so, there was no way I would ever be able to prove it. I was not foolish enough to go poking around the Walhalla Hall and Chrystie Street again—and I had just promised Jacob that I wouldn’t act stupidly. But I could go back to Mostel’s, I decided. It occurred to me that this strike at Lowenstein’s would give me a perfect excuse to return to Mostel’s, especially if Lowenstein did fire some of us for striking. On the other hand, I reminded myself, I would probably not be able to complete my other commission and find out who was handing over Mostel’s designs to his competitor. Which would mean I wouldn’t get paid.
Item to remember for future reference, I said to myself. Never try to take on two cases at once. Item number two—never get romantically involved with anybody connected with the case. I thought of Jacob’s arms around me, his lips against my fingers and the strange, not unpleasant, tickle of his beard. Had Nell guessed that Jacob was falling for me? Had Jacob, ever honest and open, actually told her his true feelings for me? In which case we had both driven her to her death.
I fell at last into troubled sleep, only to be woken by the alarm clock what seemed like minutes later. It was still dark. The wind was still blowing, making the bare branches dance crazily in the light of the street lamp. I stood on the cold linoleum, wondering what I was doing awake at this hour, until I remembered that I had to join my fellow workers on a picket line before Mr. Katz arrived at Lowenstein’s.
I dressed in my warmest clothing, looked longingly at my wool cape, then took a shawl like the other girls. I made myself a cup of tea, a thick slice of bread and cheese for later sustenance, and some toast for breakfast. I was just eating it hurriedly when I looked up to see Seamus standing there.
“So you’re really going to walk a picket line, are you?” he said.
I had given him sketchy details when I came home the night before.
“I’m afraid so. Those girls need all the support they can get.”
“Be careful, Molly,” he said. “Those bosses don’t play fair. Don’t try to do anything too heroic, will you?”
“No, of course I won’t.” I was touched by his concern.
“You’re a good woman, Molly,” he said. “I’ve been feeling so guilty that you’ve taken us in like this and I’m doing nothing to support my own family. I’m going out this very day to find something. I may not be strong enough to go back down the tunnel yet, but there are other jobs that don’t require strength.”
“You recover your health first, Seamus,” I said. “I can take care of things until you do.”
“No, you’ve made it too easy for me,” he said. “Life is not supposed to be easy. We’re born to a struggle and we die in a struggle, and it’s a struggle in between too.”
Trust an Irishman to be poetic at five in the morning!
“I’m going to visit Tammany Hall,” he said. “I’m a loyal voter. They owe me something. Surely they’ll find a loyal Irishman a job.”
“Good luck, then,” I said. “Tell the children good-bye for me and make sure they wash their faces before they go to school.”
He smiled. “You’re a good little mother to them. I was thinking, Molly—when the end does come, for Kathleen, I mean . . .”
“Don’t even let that thought cross your mind,” I said severely. “She’s not dead yet and maybe she’s not going to die. And even if she did, I’m not the wife for you, Seamus.”
Then I beat a hurried retreat. I had enough on my plate at the moment without having to worry about proposals from Seamus O’Connor.
The streets were still wet from last night’s downpour and I picked my way carefully between puddles. I had actually been looking forward to this moment, especially to seeing Katz’s face when confronted by a cordon of angry girls. But that was before the events of last night. I couldn’t get the image of Nell’s dead face out of my mind. I had to do something, at least follow up on the Mostel’s connection, but I couldn’t approach him until I had gone through the motions of this strike. Besides, these girls needed my support. I couldn’t back out on them now.
When I reached Lowenstein’s, a knot of excited girls had already gathered, whispering together in the shadows. Rose was among them. She looked up and saw me.
“Molly—over here, quick, we need you,” she said. “We’re making signs, but we don’t write English so good.”
They had some squares of cardboard, a pot of black paint, and a large brush.
“What do you want me to say?”
“You’d know the right thing,” Rose said. “We can write it in Yiddish and Italian and even Polish, but not in English.”
“How about ‘Lowenstein unfair to workers! We want better conditions’?” one of the girls suggested.
“We demand better conditions,” I suggested.
“That’s good. And tell the world we are not slaves, we are free human beings with rights,” another girl chimed in.
“And we need a workplace that is warm enough and light enough.”
“And a proper water closet that doesn’t freeze.”
“And a foreman who keeps his hands to himself.”
“And why should we work on the Sabbath? My papa wants to throw me out because we work that day.”
“He doesn’t even let us get home in time for Shabbat on Friday nights!”
The suggestions were coming thick and fast. “Hold on,” I yelled. “I only have a few signs here. We just need to state why we are striking and that’s because they are unfair.”
They nodded and watched as I wrote the messages, then Rose handed them out to several girls. While this was going on the three men who were the cutters and pressers came to work. They needed a little persuading to join us, but when they saw that they weren’t going to be allowed inside and that fifty angry girls might set upon them, they changed their minds. Two of them went home and one decided to join our line.
“I watched the police hack strikers to death with their swords in Poland,” he said. “That is why I come to America. Now I see if democracy works or not.”
Jacob arrived, carrying his camera, and with him the young Russian from the cloak-makers’ union arrived and a couple of men I hadn’t met before. While the Russian was instructing the girls about passive resistance and not losing their tempers whatever was said to them, Jacob drew me aside. “I’ve been worrying about you all night,” he said.
“And I about you,” I replied. “I don’t suppose you slept any better than I did.”
“Hardly a wink. I could not shake off the awful feeling of guilt.”
“Jacob, you shouldn’t feel guilty. You admitted yourself that Nell was headstrong. She did what she pleased.”
“It’s not just that,” he said. “I feel guilty that she wanted more than friendship from me and I was unable to give it to her. I can’t help thinking that some of her bravado and daring were attempts to make me admire her.”
“Love doesn’t work that way,” I said. “You can’t choose when you fall in love. It just happens.”
“This is so true,” Jacob said, and his gaze held mine.
I smiled uneasily. “We have sterner things to occupy us this morning, I fear.”
“Yes. And I wish you weren’t involved in this matter, Molly. I don’t want you to be involved in more danger.”
“How can there be danger?” I demanded. “Look how many of us there are. You have your camera. You can take pictures and get public opinion on our side.”
“I intend to, but just in case—could you not go home?”
“Of course not. I’m one of these girls at the moment. I suffered with them in Lowenstein’s. Their conditions are intolerable, Jacob. They do deserve better, and they might need a spokeswoman who speaks English.”
“This Katherine you seek was a spokeswoman who spoke English,” he said, “and look what happened to her. Look what happened to Nell last night.”
“All right everybody. To your places,” Rose shouted. “And remember, we don’t scare easy. We are not going to be bullied, whatever they say. This is America. We have a right to strike here.”
“God bless America,” a voice from the crowd said and was echoed down the line.
I stepped into the line beside Rose. Jacob and the other men moved off to one side, where they could observe from a stoop. At around six thirty Mr. Katz arrived. He came striding down the street, his black derby at a jaunty angle on his head, and didn’t notice the line of girls until the last minute.
“What’s this?” he demanded.
Rose dug me in the side. “It should be fairly obvious, Mr. Katz,” I said. “We don’t like the way Lowenstein’s treats us. We’re on strike until our demands are met.”
He glared at me. “I should have known you were trouble. A rabble-rouser like all the damned Irish.”
“It was not I who instigated this strike,” I said. “All the girls feel the same. The place isn’t fit for a pig, it’s freezing cold, you cheat us out of our money by fining us, by charging us to use the washroom, and by turning back the hands on the clock too. Don’t think we haven’t seen you! And now you want to cut our wages in half because we worked too fast and finished the order. That was the final straw. It made the girls angry enough to walk out.”
Katz looked up and down the line. “Those of you who are stupid enough to listen to these troublemakers will find yourself out of a job and right before the holidays too. Just when you’ll be needing money for heat. And don’t think another firm will take you on, because they won’t. So it’s up to you. Get inside now and nothing more will be said. Stay out and you’re all fired.”
“And who’s going to make the new season’s dresses for you then, Mr. Katz?” Rose asked sweetly. “Won’t the designs be ready in a few days?”
“Don’t think we’ll have any trouble replacing you, Rose Levy. I’ll put out the word today and by tomorrow girls will be lining up from here to the Battery.”
“They can line up as long as they want,” Rose said, “but they are not going into this building. Neither are you.”
“You think you can stop me? A few little girls?” He laughed.
“Not just a few little girls,” Jacob said as he and his friends stepped from the shadows. “We are representatives of the United Hebrew Trades and the cloak-makers’ union. If necessary we will call out more of our members in support. We will provide a ring of steel around this place. So try your best, Mr. Foreman. You are wasting your time.”
Katz shot us a look of pure venom, then stalked away again.
“We’ve won! He’s going away!” one of the girls shouted.
“Don’t be silly,” Rose said. “This is just the beginning. He will be back with Mr. Lowenstein and they will do everything in their power to try to frighten us. But we will not give in. If we can hold out this time, then we’ll have made it better for every working girl in New York City.”
“Let’s hear it for Rose! Rose is our champion!” someone shouted and the line of girls broke into applause.
Daylight came and with it a watery sun, making the sidewalks steam as the puddles evaporated.
“I prayed last night that it wouldn’t rain today,” Rose said, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders. “Maybe I should have prayed that the sun wouldn’t shine. Only in New York can November be as hot as summer if it pleases.”
We stood and stood. Passersby shouted out words of encouragement. Mr. Samuel from the deli came across with hot tea for everyone. Clocks across the city chimed out the hours. We drew quite a crowd of bystanders, some curious, some supportive, some mocking. Then around noon the crowd parted to let a long, elegant automobile through. Its hood was down and it was driven by a chauffeur in brown livery. It came to a halt and Mr. Lowenstein got out of the backseat. He came toward us cautiously.
“Girls, girls,” he said in a soft, gentle voice. “What foolishness is this? You risk your jobs because some socialist tells you to strike? These Hebrew Trades fellows—they don’t have your welfare at heart. They’re anarchists, every one of them. They want to bring down the economy, bring down the government. They don’t care about you.” He looked up and down the line. “I tell you what—I’m going to make you a most generous offer. Any girl who goes back to her machine right now, I’m not even going to take a note of her name, and I keep her on at full pay. The rest of you—out. Finished. On the street. Is that what you want?”
Rose dug me in the side again. I stepped forward hesitantly. “We want better conditions, Mr. Lowenstein. Fair conditions—enough heat in the winter, enough fresh air so we don’t get sick, enough light so we don’t go blind, and a foreman who doesn’t try to cheat us by winding back the clock. That is all we ask. We work as hard as we can for you. We want you to be fair.”
Lowenstein held up his hand. “All right. All right. I get better lighting put in, just as soon as electricity comes to this street.” He held up his hand to silence the angry mutter that rose from the line. “And any girl who goes back now—I give a dollar bonus.”
Several girls stirred on the line. Rose stepped out in front of them. “Not good enough, Mr. Lowenstein. We want six dollars a week, like the girls get at the other shops. And no more paying for the washroom towel and mirror, and no more being fined if we have to stand up to stretch our backs or we need to use the washroom.”
Lowenstein looked up and down the line. “You want six dollars, go to one of those other shops who pay this magnificent amount. You are trying my patience. All right, girls. Back to work now if you want your jobs and the bonus I promised you.”
One tiny, frail-looking girl stepped out of the line. “Please, Mr. Lowenstein, does that mean that we’ll all go back on full wages right now? No more half pay until the new line is ready? My sister and I are the only breadwinners and my mother is sick. We’ll starve if I don’t work.”
I saw that a new idea had occurred to Lowenstein. His brain was ticking: If he kept us out on strike for a few more days, he wouldn’t have to pay us a cent. “Full wages when there’s work to be done. I don’t pay girls to sit twiddling their thumbs,” he said. “I guess none of you want to be sensible and loyal. Fine with me. I’ll replace the lot of you.”
He spun around and stalked back to the car. The chauffeur leaped out to open the door. I noticed then the other occupants of the backseat. They sat together, very chummy, whispering and smiling. One of them was his daughter, Letitia, in her fur-trimmed bonnet. The other was a handsome young man. It took me a moment to place him. As the car drove away, spattering mud from the puddles on those who stood too close, I remembered who he was: He was Mr. Mostel’s son.