Thankfully, everyone seemed preoccupied with finding their carriages.
“You’ll see on the card that I live at 800 Fifth Avenue. Don’t be late.” She nodded at the man—her nephew. “Give her enough fare for a cab tomorrow.”
A cab? I’d never dreamed of riding in a cab.
Someone tore the lady’s attention away again, and the nephew took a step closer to me. He still had his wallet out, so he removed a five-dollar bill and offered it to me, an apologetic look on his face. “You don’t need to come, if you don’t like,” he said quietly. “Though you have nothing to worry about, if you do. Aunt Maude might be a little eccentric, but she’s kind.”
I swallowed hard as I stared at the money. It would take me almost three weeks, working ten to twelve hours a day, to earn five dollars. Even now, I would have to make an excuse as to why I wasn’t at the kitchen table helping piece together shirtwaists.
“I-I can’t take your money,” I said.
He nudged it closer. “For your trouble.”
I looked up into his blue-eyed gaze and found he was serious.
No one handed out free money. Everyone wanted something. Unless he felt pity for me—something I couldn’t abide.
“If you come,” he said, “use the money for a cab. If you don’t come, consider it payment for the flower.” He gently plucked the satin rose from my clenched hand and tucked the five-dollar bill in its place. “Her name is Mrs. Hill, by the way. Maude Hamilton Hill.” He tipped his hat toward me, his white gloves gleaming. “And I’m Alexander Paxton-Hill, at your service.”
No gentleman had ever introduced himself to me. I was both breathless and speechless at the weight of money in my hand and his handsome gaze upon me. “Keira O’Day,” I finally managed to say.
“Kee-ra.” He rolled my name slowly, with a smile, trying it out for the first time. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss O’Day.”
I nodded, unsure what to say. I had no experience being introduced to a gentleman.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I must get Aunt Maude’s carriage before she starts badgering you again. Perhaps you should sneak off while she’s preoccupied with Mrs. Wilson.”
He was teasing, but I sensed there was some truth in his words. What did Mrs. Hill want from me? If she didn’t need a seamstress or a maid, what else did she require?
I moved away from the crowd of people, slipping the five dollars into the hidden pocket in my dress.
What would happen if I went to 800 Fifth Avenue tomorrow? Would I regret it for the rest of my life?
Or worse, would I regretnotgoing?
I walked away from Chatham Square Station, where the elevated railway had carried me from Grand Central which was not far from the new Metropolitan Opera House. I was soon in the dilapidated Five Points neighborhood, on my way to Mulberry Street. The temperature had dropped, and the wind had picked up, carrying with it the stench of the tenements. Heaps of garbage, or homeless urchins, piled up in corners and between buildings. Rotten timbers bowed over doorways and buildings slanted at precarious angles.
I kept my gaze down with my shawl lifted over my head, trying to block out the sights and sounds of the only home I’d ever known—at least, within my memory. I hadn’t always lived in Five Points. I had been born in London, though I suspected my surroundings there hadn’t been much different. As a baby, I’d been handed over to Uncle Charlie and Aunt Orla, who had come by way of Ireland, and we’d left for America. They claimed me astheir own, though they reminded me every day that I was simply one more mouth to feed. An unwanted burden, abandoned by a mother I only knew by name.
Nellie O’Day.
I tried to avoid the worst of Five Points at all costs, but our tenement was on Mulberry Street, in the heart of the neighborhood. Men smoked outside gambling dens, prostitutes stood in open doorways at brothels, and gang members lurked in alleyways. If it hadn’t been for my cousin, Sean, a member of the Five Points Gang, I could not walk alone on this street at night.
I hurried to 36 Mulberry Street, one of many tenement buildings along this stretch of road and climbed up the two flights of stairs to our small apartment. Six of us lived in the two-room dwelling, consisting of a living space and a bedroom.
I opened the door into the main room and found Aunt Orla at the cutting table. She looked up, her wiry hair, once red, was now gray with age and exhaustion. “Where ’ave you been?”
No one knew I made fabric flowers and sold them outside fine establishments such as the Metropolitan Opera House. If they did, I would be forced to hand over the few nickels I made, the nickels that I hoped would one day get me out of Five Points.
“Out,” I said to Aunt Orla, knowing she didn’t care what I was doing or who I was with. The only thing she cared about was me piecing together my quota of shirtwaists for the day.
“You ’ave a pile tonight,” she said, nodding at my worktable, where at least a dozen shirtwaists were waiting for me.
There were snores coming from the bedroom where the family took turns sleeping. I wouldn’t be able to lay my head on the pallet until the shirtwaists were complete, which might not be until the sun rose in the morning. But that would be the time Uncle Charlie and my young cousins Patrick and Imogen woke up and took over the piecework. One of my other cousins, Polly,sat at her table, staring at me with a scowl. She had hours of work ahead of her, too.
Sean had moved out two years ago, joining the Five Points Gang, and another of my cousins, Fiona, had married and moved to Orchard Street, in another tenement, less than a mile away. Though it could be a world away for the differences. Uncle Charlie had no wish to spend more money on rent to move us half a mile away. Fiona’s apartment cost eight dollars a month—more money than I made with piecework.
The smell of boiled cabbage and ham clung to the air. It was a perpetual smell that never seemed to dissipate and, despite how tired I was of the food, it made my stomach growl because I had missed my supper. I’d have to go without food until breakfast tomorrow—which would be cabbage and potatoes.
