“I have absolutely no wish to move in with you, Nuala,” I said. “I have a very comfortable apartment, which I share with two female friends and not a fancy man in sight. I came to see how Seamus was getting along.”
Grudgingly she stood aside and let me enter. It was a hellhole of a room with no windows, lit by one anemic lamp. Seamus was sitting in the one armchair and the lamplight made him look like a pale shadow of himself.
“Molly, my dear,” he said, rising awkwardly to his feet. “It’s so good to see you. How kind of you to come and visit us.”
“I was concerned about you, Seamus. I heard that you’d found a new place so I thought I’d come and pay you a call.”
“Yes, well it’s not exactly what you’d call homely, is it, but it will have to do for now, until I can get back on me feet again.”
“Why on earth did you choose to live here of all places?” I blurted out before I realized it wasn’t exactly a tactful remark.
“Beggars can’t be choosers, can they?” Nuala answered for him. “And seeing as how I’m the only breadwinner in the family and I’m working at the fish market there, I’m not risking walking home alone in the dead of night past all those drunken men. This city’s not safe for a woman.”
I thought privately that the men would have to be very drunk indeed to have intentions on Nuala, but I nodded agreement.
“So Finbar isn’t working?” I asked.
“That idle, no good bag o’ bones? Who would hire him? When he worked for the saloon he drank more than he earned. I tried to get him a job as porter at the market but he couldn’t lift the loads.” She sniffed in disgust. “He’s sleeping in the next room.”
“I heard that,” came Finbar’s voice and the person himself appeared in the doorway, looking like Marley’s ghost in a white nightshirt and nightcap, his face pale and gray as the cloth he was wearing. “And if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times, woman, I’ve got meself a fine job lined up for the election.” He smiled at me, revealing a mouth of missing teeth.
“The election.” Nuala sniffed. “We’ll believe that when we see it.”
“Ask the Tammany boys yourself,” Finbar insisted. “They told me they’d pay me for every man I lead, push, or drag to the polling place—who puts his cross for Shepherd, of course.”
“Pay you in liquor,” Nuala said. “You’ll drink yourself stupid and then be out of work again.”
I shifted uncomfortably at this brewing fight. “And where are the children—in school?” I turned to Seamus.
“We haven’t got them into a school yet,” Seamus said. “Bridie’s out running errands, and the boys—well, I don’t quite know where they are.”
“Speaking of errands, I stopped off along the way and brought you a chicken and some grapes.” I found space for them on the table between dirty dishes, yesterday’s New York Herald and some socks that Nuala had been darning. “I thought you maybe could use some nourishment.”
“Most kind of you,” Seamus said. “You’re a good woman, Molly Murphy.”
I watched Nuala sidling up to whisk away my offering.
“Any news from Kathleen?” I asked, beating Nuala to the grapes and handing them to Seamus.
“Yes, but it’s not good. She’s fading, Molly. She keeps up a brave front, but I can tell she’s fading. If only I could be with her. It fair breaks my heart. I tell you, Molly, there are times when I’m ready to take the risk and borrow the money for a passage home.”
“It must be very hard for you,” I said, “but you know you’d be thrown in jail or even hanged if you go home. Think of the children. What good would it do to have a father in jail and a mother who’s deathly sick?”
“What good am I here to them?” he said. “Another useless bag of bones like Finbar. Not able to earn my keep at the moment.”
As he spoke I heard the sound of light feet running up the stairs. The door burst open and Bridie stood there. When she saw me, her face lit up. “Molly. You’ve come back to us. I was praying in church on Sunday that you would.”
I put my arms around her thin little body. “How have you been keeping? And how’s your brother?”
She looked up, a big smile on her face. “He’s become a junior Eastman.”
“A what?”
“He and our cousins. They’ve joined a gang. They’re called junior Eastmans, and they go around busting stuff up. And sometimes they get to do stuff for real big gang members and the big guys give them a quarter each.”
“Seamus, did you know about this?” I asked.