Cinders to Satin. Fern Michaels
sweeping the debris and cigar butts from the steps. She felt heavy and lopsided wearing three pairs of bloomers, two petticoats, and the warm woolen stockings Bessie had given her. The comb and brush and few coins Madge had pressed on her at the last minute were safely tucked away in a reticule worn about her waist under the new blue dress. Callie worked her way down the steps, forcing herself to keep from looking up and down the street for the people who were to come and kidnap her. She was nearing the bottom step when two men and a woman approached and asked her name.
“Callie James,” she told the woman, looking into a square, plain face that was topped by a black hat worn at a tilt over the brow and festooned with quivering feathers.
“Don’t make a scene and come along quietly,” the woman told her. “We mean you no harm. We’ve come to save you from a life of sin and the reward of hell. You’re a Christian, we take it?”
Callie nodded her head, reminding herself not to look back toward the house to see if anyone was watching from the windows.
“It matters little if you’ve already fallen from God’s grace,” the woman told her. “We cast no stones. We want to save your soul, Callie James. Do you love the Lord? Do you believe in His Word?” she held up a black book, pushing it under Callie’s nose, letting her recognize the Bible.
Callie nodded. Yes, she’d been taught to love the Lord. Yes, Peggy had taught her to believe His Word.
“Then come along, Callie James, to save your life and your soul.”
Callie fell into step between the two men. She prayed this was the right thing to do. Madge said it was, so it must be.
Behind the heavy drapes of 16 Cortlandt Street, Madge and her girls clung together watching Callie being escorted away. They clung to one another, wiping at their eyes, until Madge blew her nose lustily and said they would break out Owen’s last bottle of corn whiskey.
“Fanny, I want you to take my red wrapper to the Chinee on the corner and have him clean it. I have to make arrangements to post it off tomorrow. A promise is a promise. All right, ladies, we have things to do, and we’ve got to get our stories straight for Gallagher, so let’s get to it.”
The women settled themselves in the parlor and listened to Madge. “We all know the best lie is the one closest to the truth. Here’s what we’ll say. Two hoodlums broke in here last night just before opening. We’ll say they looked like part of that gang from over in Hoboken that Gallagher’s so afraid of. Anyways, they broke in and stole Gallagher’s corn whiskey and beer and had their way with each of us. First they hung out the sign that said the house was closed for repairs, only they had me print it ’cause they can’t write. Then we say they took Callie off with them because they liked little girls, and they said they’d kill anyone who tried to get her back.”
When Owen Gallagher heard Madge’s story, he shook his head, his face whitening in fear of the Hoboken gang that was pushing its way into the neighborhood. His fear squelched any sympathy or regret over losing Callie. He didn’t even squawk when Madge demanded “a night’s pay for all we went through when we could’ve been killed!”
“If you weren’t so cheap, you’d pay for some protection around here, Gallagher. My girls and me won’t work another night until you get us some bodyguards!”
It seemed to Madge that Owen couldn’t peel off the bills fast enough before making tracks down the street.
Chapter Seven
If Madge and the others had known what they were sending Callie to, they might have reconsidered and judged that their little “refugee” was better off in their own care and under the auspices of Owen Gallagher. As it was, the female societies enjoyed good public relations, and because they were supported by generous patronesses who lived at the best addresses in New York, they were looked upon as estimable organizations for the protection and moral refinement of their wards. In some instances this might be true, but in most cases the opposite was the reality.
Callie was escorted to a plain brick building on Bleecker Street, which was designated by a polished brass shield over the door, Bleecker Street Magdalene Female Society. This, Callie thought, was appropriate. Wasn’t Mary Magdalene the prostitute in the Bible who was saved by the love of Jesus? Wasn’t she herself only just rescued from the same profession?
The well-dressed woman who had accompanied the two men to Madge’s house introduced herself as Mrs. van Nostram and seemed delighted to have rescued this bright-looking child from the clutches of sin. She took Callie by the hand and led her up the front steps, nodding a farewell to the two silent men.
“This is a day you’ll remember the rest of your life, child,” she told Callie. “This is the day of your salvation! You’ll be meeting Mrs. Slater, who is the wardress here. She’s a fine, upstanding woman who has dedicated her life to the society. She may seem a little difficult at first, but rest assured, she knows what’s best for you.”
Callie was a little sick of everyone thinking they knew what was best for her. First, her mum sending her off to America, then the emigration officials keeping her in quarantine, then Madge, and now this Mrs. Slater.
Mrs. van Nostram pulled the bell chain and turned to face the child she’d redeemed. Good clear skin, bright blue eyes, a tumble of glossy ringlets bobbing on her head. But there was something about the girl that denied her apparent youth. There was a knowledge in her eyes, a shadow of suffering that bespoke maturity. So many children in New York had this same look in their eyes, and it was born out of suffering and hardship. Lately, since the throng of Irish immigrants had landed, that look was becoming the natural order of things.
Callie heard the sound of brass hitting against brass as several bolts were thrown before the door swung open. A drab woman wearing a dark dress, her hair falling in strings about her gaunt face, recognized Mrs. van Nostram immediately and stepped aside to admit them. In the hallway stood a pail of soapy water and the scrub brush the woman had been using to wash the stairs leading to the second floor. She showed the guests into the front parlor, which was nicely appointed with horsehair furniture and green-velvet draperies. A low fire burned in the marble hearth, lending its warmth to the room. “Tell Mrs. Slater I’ve brought her someone,” Mrs. van Nostram instructed. The woman’s eyes went to Callie, seeing her youth, and there was an instant of pity there.
“No need for that,” said a deep voice, slightly gravelly. With a swish of taffeta petticoats, a tall, square-shouldered woman entered the room. The grim line of her mouth lifted slightly at the corners in welcome to Mrs. van Nostram, but her glance was centered on Callie.
“I’ve brought you another girl, Mrs. Slater. We rescued her from a bawdy house and only just in time, I understand. Poor little thing. Naturally I brought her here to you.”
“Naturally.” Mrs. Slater’s brows lifted, and she crossed her hands over her bosom. “You realize, Mrs. van Nostram, our dormitory is already full, and we’ll be hard pressed to feed another mouth.”
“Oh, of course, I didn’t mean . . .” Mrs. van Nostram took a deep breath and seemed to shrink beneath Mrs. Slater’s scrutiny. “Of course, I’ll speak to the board about raising the price for another bed.” Charity, in the form of orphanages and homes for wayward woman, was very fashionable these days, and she hadn’t a doubt that her contemporaries would dig a little deeper into their purses when she told them of this lovely child.
“That will be most kind of you, Mrs. van Nostram. Without that assurance I would be forced to turn this girl away.” Mrs. Slater’s eyes went once again to Callie, seeming to measure her for some future purpose.
“You understand, girl, you will stay here only on the condition that you lend your services to the keeping of this establishment. We keep no lazy women here.” Her heavy voice filled the room with its volume, and Callie felt herself shrinking backward. She knew she didn’t like this Mrs. Slater with her button eyes and her slash for a mouth. There was something hard and mercenary in the way she appraised her new boarder. Almost like the way Owen had looked at Callie in the ferry