Chapter 13 May

13

MAY

Dolly went into labor in the middle of the night on the last Monday in November, just as it began, again, to snow.

May was awoken by a scream. For a moment, in the dark, the man’s hands were wrapped around her neck again. She sat up, gasping, keeping her woven blanket around her shoulders.

Faith was up as well, eyes shining, dark hair splayed on her pillow.

“What time is it?” May whispered. Faith reached for the alarm clock and held it up: three. Cook would rouse them to make the morning’s dough at four.

The air in their room held the wet scent of winter approaching. Faith had finally agreed to keep the window open at night, and now a film of flurries had collected on the sill. May got up to close it, muffling the howl of the wind. Her feet felt as if they’d freeze to the floor, but she took a moment to peer through ice-bloomed glass at the front lawn, covered in confectioners’ sugar.

Another moan reverberated under their door, louder this time. Voices murmured in the hallway: the matron and Leigh, who sounded frantic. Footsteps scurried down the stairs, likely off to use Miss Rhoades’s candlestick telephone. They’d call the obstetric nurse at the hospital, who’d send over a student.

The doctor who’d delivered Emmanuel had delivered May, too. He’d seemed tired when he arrived at her house—bothered, in fact, by the inconvenience of her pains starting in the middle of the night. He’d examined her painfully, then yanked off his gloves and tossed them inside out on the floor. He chastened her mother for calling him too soon, as May groaned again, another wave cresting; how, she’d thought, how on earth could this not be the moment of the baby’s arrival?

“ Are you finished? ” the doctor had said over her cries. “Can I speak now? ”

“You are trembling,” Faith said quietly.

May pulled her blanket to her chin. She’d passed a restless night. Hal hadn’t come to church the day before, and she’d lain awake for hours, thinking how many days she had left—only six, including today—to stay safe in this house. “It’s cold.”

Dolly’s voice came at them again, whimpering to Leigh. Their voices pulled Faith’s eyes toward the door, widened with fear. She must not have given birth before—May could read it on Faith’s face. May herself didn’t feel fear, but recognition and sympathy mixed with dread. She knew Dolly had no idea what the hours, perhaps days, in front of her held. But May did.

There would be no going back to sleep, so the girls dressed quickly and headed down toward the kitchen. They met Pearl and Leigh in the hallway, both of whom wore resigned, wary expressions. Leigh’s face looked pale. A white bonnet covered her chopped, shaggy hair, which stood out at odd angles against the ruffle. The others had tied their locks into tight kitchen buns, parted in the middle.

“Miss Rhoades is with her now,” Leigh told May and Faith. “The nursing student’s on her way; then she’ll take Dolly down to the exam room.”

May nodded. How nice, to be addressed directly. It was the most anyone other than Faith had spoken to her in days. Word had traveled quickly that her time here would soon come to an end, and she had become, like Faith, a kind of ghost, invisible now to the rest of them. Girls who left the Bethany Home shed the names and friends they’d acquired here; that was by design. They were forgotten so that they could leave this interlude behind them, and the process of forgetting May had already begun.

Through the door, they heard Dolly cry out, and this hurried them down the stairs. The wind howled; the snow had picked up and formed small drifts on the windows’ mullions. Miss Rhoades had turned on a few electric lights downstairs—only the first floor was electrified—and they flickered ominously as the four walked in silence through the chilly foyer. Late November seemed to have draped its dark blanket on the house overnight.

Cook met them at the top of the cellar stairs, holding a candle. “And our Dolly?” she asked. When she saw their faces, she said nothing more.

By candlelight, in the dank cellar, the bakers’ apprentices worked mostly in silence. Leigh brought in coal from the bin outside the basement steps and shoveled it into the stove while May, Pearl, and Faith carried in a hundred-pound bag of flour from the pantry. They got to work, mixing the flour with water and yeast in the trough, their arms soon whitened to the elbows. Cook got her hands in but had to rest when, as was often the case, she began hacking, the tarry cough of lungs blackened from decades in front of a coal fire.

In no time, May felt perspiration beading on her forehead and dripping down the back of her collar. Every time Leigh opened the back door to get more coal, snowy night air met sweat, a phantom blowing on the back of May’s neck.

“We’re freezing here,” Pearl snapped at Leigh. “Can’t you shovel faster with those manly hands of yours?”

May’s and Faith’s eyes met as they kneaded the dough.

Leigh paused in the doorway, snow swirling behind her. Soot smeared one of her eyebrows and the side of her nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Christ, we’ll all catch our death from this folly!” Cook went to the door and closed it, then slid the bolt shut. “Enough from both of ye.” She turned Leigh toward the stove. “Start stoking the fire or we’ll bloody well be here till morning.”

May’s muscles burned. The dough was beginning to come together, to stretch and give between her hands. Soon they’d be ready to leave it to proof, and she’d be able to steal perhaps another hour of precious sleep. Yet the idea of being alone with her thoughts depressed her. Mrs. Mendenhall had called her into the matron’s office the afternoon before and, in an unusual display of humility, declared herself sorry for having ordered May to leave with such sudden harshness. It wasn’t a punishment, she assured May, simply May’s time. She’d even arranged for May to work at a new commercial bakery on Lake Street, one of the first of its kind in the city. She’d be making loaves, rolls, and pies, to be sold to restaurants and hotels, or in the storefront on the ground floor; she’d have a room of her own on the third, above the owners’ apartment. This would not be a grueling position, this would not be the woolen mill, Mrs. Mendenhall assured her: it would be a decent place to live and work.

May hadn’t been able to say much, besides a nod here and there, and she must have said thank you at one point.

“It will be all right, May,” Mrs. Mendenhall assured her. “I’ve made certain they pay you fairly—five and a half dollars per week—and only charge you two for the room. You will be able to save some money.”

Mrs. Mendenhall’s wrinkled, placid face, her implication that May should feel grateful for this arrangement, filled May with an unexpectedly violent anger. A room of her own on the third floor. Those words, strung together, sounded fine, but May could read between them. Could Mrs. Mendenhall? Had she ever slept in an unheated attic in winter?

And what of the couple who owned the bakery? Would they allow May to come and go as she pleased? Would the husband treat her decently? Would the wife?

May had picked up something heavy from the top of Mrs. Mendenhall’s desk: a pewter paperweight, shaped like some kind of sea bird. She had wanted to throw it.

The bakery owners were Quakers, Mrs. Mendenhall, oblivious, had assured her. People she knew from the meeting house. As though this satisfied everything.

Someone had once told May that her problem was she’d been spoiled in her youth. Her contented home had tricked her into believing that everyone deserved a comfortable life. Thus, she was unable to see that a bit of sleep, a bit of food, and work— any work—were enough, since so many others lived without one or another of them, or all three.

Slowly, her wrist offering a bit of resistance, May had put the paperweight down.

Now she stood up straight, her backbone cracking. She massaged her wrists. Faith, across the trough from her, had stopped working. She stood still, one hand in the dough, watching Leigh work the bellows. May looked over her shoulder. The bellows wheezed in Leigh’s hands, but the fire wouldn’t start. Leigh pressed the heel of her hand to her eye. She pulled off her cap, hair standing askew.

“You’re worried about her,” said Faith.

Pearl snorted. “The witch is talking to you, Leigh.”

“Hush, Pearl,” Cook said, as her own curiosity brought her round the side of the trough to peer at Faith. She’d never spoken in the kitchen before, as far as May knew. It was a miracle the others had even heard her over the slap of the dough.

Leigh turned around, eyes red and full of tears. “Worried about who?”

Everyone’s eyes went to Faith. Even in the dim, sooty kitchen, with her hair parted severely and yanked into her cap, she shone with an otherworldly beauty, her lips a deep pink, her eyelashes fanning onto her cheeks. The girl was downright pearlescent, May thought with some measure of envy. The name Pearl should have been Faith’s.

Faith gazed at Leigh with what May had once considered an eerie, unblinking focus, and now thought might simply be kindness in the form of close attention.

May didn’t expect her to speak again, but Faith whispered, “Dolly.”

Leigh’s face went red with rage. “You keep her name out of your mouth,” she said, stepping toward the trough. “Don’t you dare curse her.”

Again, Cook leapt to hold Leigh back and turn her toward the oven. “Blazes, what’s gotten into you girls today? No blood spilt before morning coffee, that’s the rule.”

Faith went back to kneading dough. Her chest rose and fell in a sigh. Her eyes met May’s, and then widened in concern. May hadn’t realized she’d started crying, but now she felt a drip run past her jaw and down her neck. She dragged the back of her sleeve across her eyes.

Faith had only been trying to look out for Leigh. Who would look out for May if she went to work in the bakery? Who would wait up to ensure she came home safely at night?

—

Later that afternoon, May lurked a few doors down from Kitty Ging’s dress shop. Fine snow had been falling all morning, decorating the black sleeves of her threadbare wool shawl with six-pointed flakes. She leaned against the fa?ade of a tea shop, near a downspout that had leaked a puddle of ice onto the sidewalk. Passerby after passerby slipped in the ice, grasping the sleeves of their companions, but May was too distracted to warn them.

She had to enter the dress shop armed with poise, assurance, and a convincing lie. Sure, she could mend and darn and hem, whatever Kitty needed. Needlework had never been one of her strong suits, but with concentration and effort, she could figure it out. Kitty could tell her where a young woman could live on her own in this city without having to engage in brothel work or the confines of domestic servitude.

Carefully, May stepped over the icy patch of sidewalk. Before she could get to the store, the bell rang and the door opened. Hal strode out, flexing his fingers in his leather gloves, and May froze. He was speaking to someone over his shoulder and laughing. Kitty stood in the door, her arms crossed, propping it open with her shoulder. He said something May couldn’t hear, and Kitty shook her head, grinning. Then he took her bare hand and kissed it.

May waited, heart pounding, until he strode off down the avenue, thanking the Lord he hadn’t come her way. Then she walked up to Kitty’s door and, with a deep breath, opened it.

It was warm inside, the radiators humming, gas and electric lanterns lit. A gramophone’s record wobbled in circles, playing something May had heard the matron turn on: Debussy, she thought. Kitty stood behind the desk, lost in thought, arranging a pile of tan envelopes. Her black curls were lacquered perfectly, and she wore a dress of rich cranberry velvet.

“Miss Lombard!” she exclaimed when she looked up, putting her hand on her chest. “You scared the wits out of me; I thought I’d seen a ghost.”

“Not a ghost,” May replied. But just as insubstantial. She stood with feet pressed together and fingers interlocked, feeling a fool for having come here. What had she been thinking? If by some miracle Kitty offered her a job, and Hal saw her working here, it would look as if she were trying to insinuate herself between Kitty and him. Her desperation would be plain for all to see.

Kitty snapped her fingers in remembrance, startling May. “You wanted to know about the purple gown. The polonaise. I couldn’t tell you when we were at Gussie’s, but I can now, if you’ll swear to secrecy.”

“Oh. Yes.” May collected herself. She stepped forward, so that the fringe of her shawl touched the edge of Kitty’s desk, as Kitty flipped through a ledger. “Yes, I figured it would be more discreet if I came to ask after the gown in person.” In truth, she hadn’t thought about Faith’s dress in days. To prod into Faith’s past, now that she knew her roommate better, felt a kind of intrusion. Still, the dress made the perfect excuse for coming all the way here.

Kitty’s manicured fingertip landed on a line of the ledger. “Aubergine silk with charcoal satin underskirt, ordered by Mrs. Jonathan Lundberg on May the eighth, ’92.” She peered up at May, one thick black eyebrow raised high.

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Mrs. Lundberg, from Gussie’s dinner!” Kitty scoffed. “Surely you remember her. You sat beside her husband.”

“Johnny,” said May, and Kitty nodded. May tried to remember their faces, but it was their voices that had imprinted more clearly on her memory: the way he’d kindly told her who everyone else at the table was and whom they belonged to. The way his wife declared she’d rather he return to her dead than wounded. “But…”

“But what connection could the Lundbergs have with your friend? Well, this city is smaller than it seems. I’m not one to gossip, but I’ve heard about him and his maids. It wouldn’t surprise me if he got one of them into trouble, and then gave her the dress as a parting gift.”

May licked her lips, which felt scaly and dry. She’d never heard Faith say anything about having done domestic work, but, then, she hadn’t heard Faith speak about her past at all.

“She’d been badly treated when she arrived at the Bethany Home. Since we’re speaking in confidence,” May added. “Bruises round her neck. Would Johnny Lundberg have done that?”

Kitty shook her head slowly, and May expected her to say, He’d never, but she didn’t. “I don’t think we can ever know what men do in their other lives,” Kitty said, her voice wispy. “As their other selves.”

Outside the windows, the snow created a blue, filtered light that contrasted sharply with the warm russets and mustards of Kitty’s décor. The gramophone had stopped playing, but the record continued going round and round on the turntable, making a sound like fingers grasping at silk. May took an uneven breath. “Would he have given her money?”

Kitty wrinkled her nose. “Maybe a little. The dress itself was worth a lot, before it was destroyed. Seems unlikely he’d feel the need to send her off with money if he knew she was going into a home for unwed mothers. She wouldn’t have needed it. Unless he intended for her to take care of herself another way. But then he would have paid the doctor.” She closed the ledger and stood up straight. Her neck was long and white, her bosom pleasantly round; May remembered how jealous she’d felt a few minutes ago, how jealous she still was.

Kitty continued, “I’m sorry this raised more questions than answers about your friend. But, please, remember, this conversation stays between us.”

May blurted out, “Do you know where I might find Hal?”

Kitty’s nose wrinkled. “Savino’s, I believe. But, Miss Lombard, it’s a faro hall. You don’t want to go there.”

“It’s within walking distance?”

“Well, yes. On Nicollet, a few blocks west. Miss Lombard—”

May was turning to go when one of Kitty’s seamstresses came through the curtains separating the back of the store from the front, holding up an unfinished sleeve for Kitty to inspect. Kitty held up a finger.

“If you insist on entering that wretched place,” she advised May, “ask for Harry Hayward. You’re the only one I know who calls him Hal.”

“It’s how he introduced himself to me,” May said, her tone regrettably defensive.

Kitty nodded. “I’m sure he did. May, please trust me on this. Whatever you think you’ll get from Harry Hayward…”

The seamstress looked from Kitty to May and back again over her half-moon glasses, seemingly glad to have come in at such an opportune moment.

“…you won’t,” Kitty finished. There was kindness in her expression, along with a galling concern. If Kitty knew better than May did, why had she accepted a kiss from the man mere moments earlier? May had a feeling they both knew what he was, and, still, neither could stay away from him.

“Please, do not threaten me, Miss Ging,” May replied. “Especially when you seem fond of him yourself.”

“Oh, you were watching us, were you?” Kitty’s expression hardened. “Good for you. What you saw may have looked like a girl and her suitor, but would you like to know the truth? You saw a girl and her lender .”

The seamstress’s eyes bulged; this seemed to be news to her as well. May felt unbearably hot, with the funnel of her collar giving off an odor of damp wool; the air in the shop was stifling.

A splotch of red had appeared on Kitty’s throat. “He’s the one who gave me the money to keep my store running, and now that he’s come on hard times himself, he’s asking me to repay him at his demand. I must act as though I still like him so he won’t send someone to break my fingers.”

“I am sorry.” May shook her head. “I didn’t know.” She found herself, quite horribly, relieved. Kitty was not a romantic rival. Kitty was a business partner.

“I thought…” Kitty’s face contorted into a painful smile, more of a grimace. “I thought it would be my ticket to success, letting him come on as an investor. I thought it would allow me to expand. Maybe even open a second store. Turns out I was a fool.”

“How much do you owe him?”

“None of your goddamned business.” Kitty shot a glance at her seamstress, who was busying herself with the sleeve. “Go ahead, May. Marry the fellow if you can catch him. My debts can warm your marriage bed.”

May hesitated for a moment, unsure what she could say to rectify the situation.

“Go!” Kitty bellowed, and May scurried from the shop, the bell ringing behind her.

—

Hal sprang up when May appeared at the door of the faro hall, almost as if he’d been warned of her imminent arrival. She had only a glimpse at the saloon, a crowded space no wider than the width of two tables, packed with men sitting on wooden stools. It was much quieter than she’d expected, the gamblers’ eyes fixated on the green felt of the tables, as they waited for a few standing men in bow ties and suspenders to turn over the house cards. Tired waitresses bent to deliver neat whiskeys and foamy beers. A haze of blue smoke hovered under the tin ceiling, and the floor near the door was caked in boot slush. May slipped as she came over the threshold and let out a little yelp. A hundred eyes popped in her direction.

“May, darling.” In an instant, Hal was at her elbow, turning her away from the room. “This is no place for a girl like you.” He reached for his coat and top hat from a coat tree behind her, then turned over his shoulder. “Adry, hold my chips.”

Adry stood—a pudding-faced man with an oversized mustache who had been eating crisped potatoes—and wiped his hands on his trousers. “You aren’t going to introduce me, Harry?”

Hal sighed impatiently. “Miss Lombard, please meet my brother, Mr. Adry Hayward.”

“Oh,” May said, accepting the man’s hand, her face flushed. Adry looked to be at least five years older than Hal and hadn’t received the lion’s share of the family’s good looks. Still, she felt a thrill at meeting Hal’s brother, even though she hadn’t been invited. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Mr. Hayward.”

Adry offered a brief smile and patted her arm. “Remember, you’re down,” he warned his brother.

“I’ll be back,” Hal called, pushing May out the door and into the snow.

“I thought you detested gambling,” she said, wincing in the cold. The sky felt simultaneously overcast and too bright for her eyes.

“I do, darling. It’s an awful pastime,” Hal said, steering her. “Never said I didn’t play a hand now and then, though, did I?” To her surprise, he headed for one of the carriages out front, a two-seated gig attached to a single black horse. As she climbed in and Hal untied the reins from the post, the horse shook his mane, tossing off a coating of powder. “I’m borrowing this from a friend,” he explained as he took the seat beside her, pulling the reins into his lap. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

“You can take me to the streetcar, the Hennepin stop.” The seat felt cold under her bottom, chilling her through to her hipbones, but she pulled the wool blanket into her lap and felt snug and secure when Hal’s leg touched hers.

“I’ve just been to see Miss Ging,” she said after they’d clopped a little way down the avenue, through tire-worn muck. “You hadn’t told me you were in business with her.”

His mouth disappeared into his mustache for a moment. “How dare she—” He raised a fist to his mouth, collected himself, and started again. “Everyone’s in business with Kitty, darling. I don’t know how she keeps track of all the fellows she owes. Really, she’s going to find herself in trouble one of these days. It’s concerning.”

May burrowed her hands farther under the blanket, squeezing her fingers together inside her mittens. “According to her, you’ve been the one asking her for money.”

The corner of Hal’s mustache twitched. “I’ve had some additional expenses lately. Look, don’t trouble yourself. It’s been this way for a while with me and Kitty. Money going back and forth. Hard to keep track of who owes whom. That’s why I’m about to shut it down.” He pulled a face and made the sign of the cross, as though protecting himself from a witch. “Cut ties for good.”

“For good,” May echoed. No more Kitty Ging. May let out a held breath. She peered out under the gig’s awning. Incredible how quiet the city could appear in the snow. By January, she’d have tired of it, but for now the whirling flakes felt peaceful.

She remembered Dolly, and her spirits dropped. What was happening to Dolly at this very moment, as May enjoyed the quiet company of a warm carriage in a snowstorm?

“How about you, Miss Lombard? Did you arm yourself, as I suggested?”

“I have.” She’d taken the last of her savings and bought herself a LeMat revolver originally owned by a Union soldier, now engraved with roses and vines on its frame. The salesman had talked her up from a muff pistol. He’d shown her how to load the gun with black powder and place six rounds in the chamber, but blood had been pounding so loudly in her ears that she hadn’t been able to pay attention. Since then, she’d kept the revolver hidden in her dresser.

“How does it feel to carry it, darling?”

“Well, I haven’t been, to be honest. It is rather heavy—”

Hal threw up his hands in exasperation, causing the reins to flap and the gelding to lurch forward. “What good does it do if you’re not carrying it? You must defend yourself, next time some ratbag tries to mess with you.”

A bit of snow blew into May’s face. “I don’t know how to load it.”

“Then let me show you.”

The gig rocked to a sudden stop, flinging May forward at the waist. She hadn’t been watching where they were going, and she realized Hal had taken her not to the streetcar stop, but to the edge of Loring Park. The little lake spread out before them, a quiet, lovely picture: falling snow; bare, dark trees; the mostly frozen lake, still a bit dark in the middle. Here and there along the banks, other carriages were parked. Steam billowed from their cabins. Pairs of lovers, she thought, her face flushing.

Alone at last, she realized. She and Hal were all alone.

When she turned to face him, she saw that the tops of his cheeks were bright pink, too. He tugged off his gloves with his teeth, and she watched, breath hitched in her throat.

“You could come to my apartment tomorrow night,” he said quietly, his voice husky with suggestion, “and I’ll teach you.”

“You’ll teach me?” she murmured. He’d reached out to caress her jaw. His thumb slid over her lower lip.

“How to load it,” he whispered. “Unless you’d rather not come to a bachelor’s home alone. I’ll understand.”

His fingers crept under her hat. His hand wrapped around the back of her neck; his fingers snaking through her hair brought gooseflesh to her arms, sent chills through her earlobes, all the way down her back and between her legs. All the while, his crystal-blue eyes never left hers. He knew what he was doing, that was for sure. The man knew women and exactly how to please them. She let her eyes flutter shut. She wanted to lunge for him but couldn’t. It was best to let him believe she did not have an equal amount of experience—or any experience, for that matter.

“I’ve never been to a bachelor’s apartment,” she replied.

After she said it, she realized it was true.

He paused for a moment, hand still on the back of her neck. His eyes flickered toward the lake; he was thinking. A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips, and then it was gone. “I have something for you. It may help with your worries about impropriety.” He reached into a jacket pocket.

“I told you, I’ve had some additional expenses,” he said, opening a small velvet box to reveal a bejeweled ring.

“Hal! My goodness!” May tugged off her mittens and slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand: a small ruby flanked by two bright diamonds, set in gold.

Hal smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Aren’t you a picture,” he said, watching her admire her hand.

“Thank you,” she said shyly. What else was she expected to say? Should she have responded, “Yes”? There hadn’t been a question, no mention of marriage, but surely that was what this ring implied. How perfect, a proposal in the snow. All her uncertainty could come to an end, and what a telegram she could send her mother!

“It’s Thanksgiving this week,” she said. “Perhaps we could dine together?”

Hal laughed. “I forgot all about Thanksgiving, but why not?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his, kissing him again and again. The tip of her nose and her upper lip felt reddened and raw against the bristle of his mustache, but she didn’t mind. After a moment his mouth traveled down toward her bodice. He undid her scarf and kissed her neck and collarbone, warming her chest with his breath.

“It seems funny to do this in front of the horse,” she said, panting, and she felt him laugh against her sternum.

“You’re a card,” he said, his nose pressed to her skin.

His hand found her breast where it spilled over the top of her corset, only the thin layers of her chemise and her dress between his hand and her nipple. It was too much, the press of his fingers too intense, and she cried out, which only made him kiss her harder.

She pushed away from him, hand on his rib cage. Breathlessly, she promised to visit him at the Ozark Flats tomorrow afternoon if he could bring the gig to pick her up at the Hennepin Avenue stop. The man who’d attacked her was still out there, after all. She’d appreciate the escort, even if it was only partway.

Two o’clock, Hal promised. He and the horse would be there.