“So I’ve heard,” she said. “Well, I expect you’ll be glad that you won’t have to do such unpleasant things any longer. A lady detective, indeed. It’s not natural for a woman.”
“I had to earn my living or starve,” I said. “I imagine that it was much the same way that your family had to survive when they came from Ireland in the famine.” I paused to let it sink in that I was well aware that her family had come over to America with nothing. “It was either that or fish gutting in the Fulton Street Market, or prostitution.” I was attempting to make a joke but her lips were still pursed, so I added, “To be truthful, I’ve enjoyed running my own business, and the excitement.”
“Daniel’s been worried about you, you know. He doesn’t say much, but a mother can tell.”
“I know. But he didn’t have to. I’ve learned to take care of myself pretty well.”
This wasn’t exactly true. There had been times when I was lucky to come out of a situation alive. Those were the times when I had longed for the peace and security that I was now experiencing. Now that I’d had ten days of it, I was ready to go back to my world of excitement and danger. But I’d made Daniel a promise that I’d give up working when we married. I couldn’t go back on that now, could I? My thoughts turned to Daniel and the upcoming wedding and the cold feet returned. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to marry him. I loved him. I was just scared of becoming a wife, confined to the life that respectable wives led: tea parties, sewing and idle gossip, and children soon enough, knowing the way that Daniel and I made love.
“It’s too bad he can’t join us for Labor Day after all,” I said. “I’m sure you were looking forward to seeing him as much as I was.”
Mrs. Sullivan sighed. “You’ll soon learn that being a policeman’s wife isn’t easy. Meals at all hours, calls in the middle of the night, and sometimes hardly seeing your man for days. And the constant worry when he doesn’t come home on time. I went through it all those years with my husband. My hope for Daniel is that he’ll soon leave the force and go into politics. He has the connections, you know, and I’ve no doubt that Tammany Hall would back him. They’d love to see another Irishman in Washington.”
“But he loves what he does,” I said. “He’s good at it. I wouldn’t want him to give it up because I was worried.”
As I said it the thought crossed my mind that he was making me give up my job for that very reason. Or was it rather that my being a detective would not sit well with his colleagues—even open him up to ridicule?
“Did he tell you what important case he was working on that keeps him in the city?” Mrs. Sullivan asked.
“We made an agreement,” I said. “He doesn’t share his cases with me and I don’t share my cases with him.”
Mrs. Sullivan grunted her disapproval again. I stared out across the back lawn to the row of tall trees that separated this house from its neighbors. In the next backyard someone was mowing the lawn. I heard the click-clack of a mower and the sweet smell of new mown grass wafted over to me. There were roses blooming along the fence and the buzzing of bees mingled with the sound of mowing. Truly it was quite delightful here. I should just let my future mother-in-law’s criticisms wash over me and make the most of this time.
“I can’t blame Daniel for not coming out to see us,” she said. “He has no real reason to make the long, uncomfortable journey now that he doesn’t have to collect the furniture.”
“What furniture?”
“I offered him some choice pieces of our furniture for your new house,” she said. “But now that you’re apparently going to start married life in that poky little house of yours, I gather there’s no room for extra furniture.”
My saintliness was wearing thinner. “It’s a dear little house. I’m very fond of it. And it’s in a quiet backwater.” I wanted to add that her house, while pleasant enough, was no mansion. Not much bigger than mine, in fact.
“But the neighborhood,” she said. “I know that Daniel wanted you to start married life in a better part of the city, farther uptown.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the neighborhood.” I could hear my voice rising.
“Greenwich Village? My dear, it’s full of immigrants and bohemians, not the sort of people you’ll want your children to mix with.”
“Mrs. Sullivan,” I said, taking a deep breath to steady myself, “don’t tell me that when your own family stepped off the boat they went straight to the Upper East Side and lived in a mansion. They started off with nothing, in the slums. Daniel told me. And yet I’d say he’d turned out well enough. And in case you’ve forgotten—I’m an immigrant. I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not.”
There was a long, frosty silence during which the lawn mower continued to click away, then she said calmly, “We’d better get back to work if we want these garments to be finished on time. I told you we’re expected at the Misses Tompkins for lunch, didn’t I? And after that I promised Clara Bertram that you’d come and play croquet with them. Clara is another of Daniel’s old friends and she does so want to meet you.”
I’ll bet she does, I thought. So that she can examine the fabric of my dress and find it wanting. I’d already encountered several of Daniel’s friends during this stay. I could see their surprised reaction that Daniel was marrying someone like me when he could have had Arabella Norton and a fortune to go with her.
I picked up the half-sewn white silk petticoat and was about to start stitching when the porch screen door opened and Colleen, the little maid of all work came out. “The post has just come, madam,” she said and handed Mrs. Sullivan several letters. Mrs. Sullivan glanced through them.
“These will be responses to our invitation to the wedding. The Van der Meers,” she said, looking pleased. “Oh, and Alderman Harrison. And there’s one for you, Molly. That’s not Daniel’s handwriting.”
She handed me the letter. I recognized the writing at once. “It’s my neighbor on Patchin Place,” I said, then couldn’t resist adding, “Augusta Walcott, of the Boston Walcotts, you know.”
Mrs. Sullivan looked suitably surprised. “The Boston Walcotts, in Greenwich Village?”
“She’s an aspiring painter. Would you please excuse me if I go and read this?” I didn’t wait for the answer but went down the steps and across the lawn until I was standing in the shade of an elm tree, out of sight of Mrs. Sullivan and the porch swing.My dear Molly, I read in Gus’s educated, fluid script, I can’t tell you how much we are pining for you. Life seems positively dull without having you around. And New York is beastly hot and uncomfortable, but Sid insists on staying put because of the articles she is writing on the suffrage movement. We imagined you sitting in the leafy shade, drinking iced lemonade and having a lovely time, and we were tempted to hop on the next train and come for a visit, but Sid pointed out that your mother-in-law might not approve of us and she didn’t want us to do anything that might cloud your future relationship. Sid is always so thoughtful, isn’t she?But then she had an equally splendid idea. Why don’t we give a small party for Molly, she suggested. All those friends who are not being invited to the wedding. Of course we started planning and scheming immediately. Should it be a Japanese theme, or Ancient Greek? Sid suggested an underwater motif and wanted us all to be mermaids, but that was really impractical as we wouldn’t be able to dance with tails on. So we’re still debating the theme but we thought that some time during the Labor Day weekend would work well, if you’ve nothing planned. Do let us know as soon as possible whether this suits you and we’ll go full steam ahead with the plans.We’ve seen your betrothed from time to time, although I can’t say he has paused to be sociable with us. As you know, he has been having the place completely redecorated. And the other day he stopped by with a load of furniture, presumably from his rooms, since it looked very dour and masculine. We peeked in a couple of times and we must say that it all looks wonderfully brand, spanking new—and the wallpaper remarkably tasteful. I think you’ll be pleased.We do hope you can come for Labor Day. Sid sends her warmest regards.Your friends Sid and Gus,P.S. I almost forgot. A man came to your house yesterday and when nobody answered, he rapped on our door and demanded to know where you were. He said he represented a most important man who had an urgent commission for you and left his card with us. He demanded that you to contact him as soon as possible. We told him we didn’t think you were taking any commissions at the moment but he said he was sure you’d take this one. He was quite insistent. So you might want to come back to the city a day or so before the party, just in case there is a juicy assignment waiting for you. Naturally we’ve said nothing of this to Daniel.