Cinders to Satin. Fern MichaelsЧитать онлайн книгу.
know, but I’m going to do the best I can. The kid has nothing to wear,” Madge said.
“Where are you going to get the material? You had Bessie make you a dress out of that yellow silk a month ago,” said a young woman named Dorothy. “I suppose you’ll be wanting that length of blue wool that Mr. Warner gave me.”
“It never crossed my mind,” Madge said.
“And what about button holes? I’m the only one who knows how to make button holes,” Sara said haughtily. “If you go trying to make button holes, you’ll botch up the whole dress.”
“I know, but I’m going to try. We can’t have this kid going around looking like a ricky-ticky immigrant.”
“I could give you that yard of lace Mr. Johns gave me last year,” a plump woman named Elsie offered.
“Never! For shame. I know how you treasure that lace,” Madge responded.
“Tell me you aren’t going to ask for my muslin!” said a tall, overly made up woman who had the same kind of cough as Paddy.
“Bite your tongue, Fanny Mae. I’d never ask for your muslin. If the kid has to go without a petticoat, why should you care?”
“Does she have bloomers?” a tiny girl named Hester demanded.
“I don’t know. Callie, do you have bloomers?”
“No, ma’am.”
“You see! You see, this tyke has nothing.”
“Mr. Owen Gallagher is going to be throwing a fancy fit if we close down tonight,” Sara giggled.
“Who cares?” Bessie laughed. “Come on, girls, let’s get this waif started. No disrespect, Madge, but you just sit and watch.”
“Girls, you are too generous. Too generous. Aren’t they generous, Callie?”
“Very generous,” Callie said, enjoying the way Madge had set up her little scam. Women, Callie decided, could do just about anything they set their minds to.
Madge gave the cook the night off and told her to lock all the doors. “Hang a sign on the front door saying we’re closed . . . for repairs.” The girls doubled over laughing. Madge joined in and almost fell off the parlor sofa.
“Now, you girls go get your sewing things, and I’ll just sit here and try to figure out a way for Mr. Owen Gallagher to be paying us recompense for the night off. Be prepared to rebel if the going gets sticky. That man is a weasel, and we all know it!”
The women in Madge’s employ were impressed with the boss’s sudden display of concern for young Callie. Theirs was a world devoid of children, for the most part, and the generous feeling quickly spread among them. For the night, at least, they would all be honorary mothers, and they could forget the tawdrier side of their lives. In Callie, they had a common goal, not to mention a rare night off with pay.
“Rosey,” Madge directed the cook, “get a couple of pitchers of beer before you leave. And on your way home have O’Shaughnessy bring over a keg. We’ll use those fancy beer mugs we save for our best customers.” She garnered appreciation and smiles from the other women. “I’m certain Mr. Gallagher would want us to enjoy only the best.” There was more than one way to skin a cat; you just had to know which way to yank the hide.
It was a night to remember as far as Callie was concerned. They all laughed and sang and told jokes that she didn’t quite understand, but she laughed anyway. It was so long since she had laughed and had been around happy people. It was good to feel like a child again—without responsibility, with someone looking out for her for a change. By midnight she was the proud possessor of a new light-blue wool dress, two petticoats, and three pairs of bloomers, all exquisitely hand-stitched. Her other clothing had been aired and washed and ironed, and her shoes were polished to a respectable shine.
In the wee hours of the morning, when the keg of beer was nearly empty, Madge hit upon the solution to Callie’s dilemma. “Now we’re all agreed this is no life for the kid. And we all know how those female societies keep banging on our door and demanding this house and others like it be shut down by the blue jackets. They want to save us from this life of sin, they say, so who better to save little Callie here? Fine upstanding women of the community, they call themselves. Pains in the ass, I calls them. But they just may be the answer to our kid’s problem.”
Fanny lifted her head from her sewing. She was putting a patch on a tear in Callie’s old dress. “A nasty patch is better than a pretty hole, my mother always said,” she repeated several times as she worked, receiving praise from the others on the fine quality of her handiwork. Now she questioned Madge, “And how do you suppose we’ll get our kid over to them? Just walk up, bang on their door, and leave Callie on their doorstep?”
Madge took another swallow of frothy beer. “Nah! That’s too risky, too much chance of our kindhearted Mr. Gallagher finding out. No, what we’ve got to do is arrange to have Callie kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped!” the gasps filled the room.
“Right, kidnapped. I heard there was a place over to five corners that didn’t pay protection to the blue jackets, and those fancy ladies just marched in and had the girls taken away. That’s the closest thing to kidnapping I ever heard. So, what I’m thinkin’ is we’ll get in touch with that Magdalene Female Society, the ones who have a place out on Bleecker Street. Callie’ll be safe there, and that weasel Gallagher will never find her. Even if he does, he’ll have some tall explaining to do.” Madge was toasted by clinking beer mugs and pronounced the smartest woman in New York.
Callie listened and frowned. Everything was still so uncertain. Where would she find work? When would she be able to send money home to Peggy? And who or what was this Magdalene Female Society anyway?
Callie slept in Madge’s hammock-shaped bed, warm against her protector’s fleshy body. By noon the next day everyone was enjoying Madge’s famous fried eggs, done to a turn in hot bacon fat and sizzled with brown lace around the edges. From her place by the stove, Madge lectured importantly.
“Now, ladies, if we want this kidnapping to come off on schedule, we have to plan it. As you all know, Bessie took herself off to Bleecker Street this morning posing as a do-gooder from the swell end of town. She described Callie and told them she’d be outside just after three o’clock this afternoon. Now, Callie, put on all the bloomers, the two petticoats, and your new dress. Anything else you’ll want to take, put in your poke, and I’ll see it gets sent on to you later, but you’ll have enough to keep you meantime. And since you took such a fancy to my wrapper, I’ll be sending it on to your mum if you give me the address. I’ll have it washed and ironed first, of course,” Madge added hastily.
Callie was wide-eyed and astonished. “You’d do that for me?” she asked with awe as she tried to picture Peggy’s face when she opened the parcel.
Madge shrugged. “I never did like the man who gave it to me. I just took it to be polite. In this business you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” She turned back to her frying eggs before the glisten of tears in her dark eyes could be noticed.
Promptly at three o’clock Callie rushed around kissing and hugging everyone who’d made it possible for her to leave. She lingered with Madge, a shyness suddenly coming over her. She didn’t quite know what to say to this woman who had taken charge of her for so short a time. “If I didn’t already have a mother, I know I’d want one just like you. I won’t forget what you did for me, Madge. I hope you don’t get into trouble with Owen.”
Madge hugged the girl close. “Let’s just pretend I was standin’ in for your mum for a day or so. Go along with you now. You know where we are in case you need us. You’ll be safe with those fancy ladies looking after you.”
“Fancy or not, they can’t be as good as you, Madge!”
“We’ll be watching out the windows, Callie. Everything will work out, you’ll see. Remember