Chapter 25
Maggie stared out at the view of the corner of Sixty-Third and Wallace, the autumn sunshine filtering through the trees and bathing the street in benevolent gold.
A boy rode by on a bicycle, and two young housewives laughed and chatted together, wicker shopping baskets looped over their arms. A young man in a smart suit walked with a spring in his step; perhaps he was going to a new job.
With something like a shudder, Maggie turned back to the blank sketchbook that lay untouched on her lap.
It had been four days since they’d been evicted from the O’Malleys’ boarding house, and Brendan had saved her from Patrick O’Malley’s violent attack.
Maggie still had bruises on the arm he’d wrenched behind her back.
Nothing had happened to the odious man, of course.
When Brendan had confronted him, icy in his fury, O’Malley had denied it all, claimed Maggie had been propositioning him in a provocative manner, and then assured them both that with her sullied reputation Maggie would never be believed by anyone, not even their fellow boarders, never mind the police.
When Harriet had appeared in the doorway, taking in the dreadful scene in one horrified glance, her furious outrage at Maggie’s “shameless behavior” suggested O’Malley was right.
Maggie had had to endure an utterly unjust tongue-lashing from her landlady as she’d attempted to straighten her clothes and restore some sense of personal dignity, all the while recovering from the viciousness of the attack.
Despite Brendan’s furious insistence that they seek the full force of the law, Maggie had tearfully convinced him to leave the O’Malleys quietly, for her own sake.
She longed only to forget O’Malley’s groping hands and leering face…
but she couldn’t. Four days on, the sight of that dark-eyed, lascivious smirk still felt as if it were seared onto her eyelids.
The feel of his heavy body on top of hers was like a weight she couldn’t shake off.
When she closed her eyes at night, she saw his face pressed up close to hers, felt his hot breath on her cheeks, before she woke up with a gasp, her heart racing and a silent scream on her lips that she forced herself to swallow down.
When they’d come to Dr. Holmes’ establishment, Brendan had offered to spend the first night with her and Danny, to make sure she felt safe, but Maggie had had enough of perceived impropriety, and in all truth, she hadn’t liked the speculative gleam in their new landlord’s eyes.
Did Dr. Holmes think she was a loose woman, too?
She would not give him any reason to do so.
She prayed the druggist was not like Mr. O’Malley, but she knew she couldn’t be sure.
She felt as if she couldn’t trust anyone ever again… except for Brendan.
Dr. Holmes, however, had been charm itself when they’d first arrived, full of gracious bonhomie and warm welcome; Brendan had explained the rudiments of their unconventional situation, which he’d taken, somewhat suspiciously, in his stride, assuring them they could have separate apartments and barely blinking an eye at the admission they’d pretended to be married for so long.
His lack of surprise or condemnation seemed strange to Maggie, and she found she didn’t trust it—or him.
Would the man be like Mr. O’Malley, and assume she was a woman of uncertain character based on the charade she and Brendan had enacted?
The consequences of that decision, she could not help but reflect bitterly, seemed to affect her and her alone.
She was the one who was both blamed and restricted, while Brendan enjoyed any amount of freedom.
It was the way of the world, she knew, the lot of women, and she simply had to accept it, even if the injustice of it still burned.
Dr. Holmes had shown them to two apartments next to each other off a long, narrow hallway, its walls papered in a murky brown and the dim gaslight giving it a gloomy, strangely tomblike feel.
The apartments were modest and plain—two rooms each, with a bathroom and cold water tap down the hall, a gas ring the only implement for making meals.
She and Danny had taken one apartment, Brendan the other.
As soon as they were inside, Maggie had locked the door, and later, when she’d lain in bed unable to sleep and heard footsteps creeping quietly down the hall, all the way to her door where they’d suddenly stopped, she was very glad she had.
Perhaps their landlord was simply checking on them to make sure everything was as it should be, but Maggie didn’t hear his footsteps head back down the hall for several agonizingly long minutes.
She didn’t trust Dr. Holmes, and she never planned to. As soon as she could leave this apartment, this whole neighborhood, she would.
But four days on, Maggie had barely stirred.
She hadn’t sketched anything or even thought about the hats she was meant to design.
Her mind felt strangely blank, like a canvas that had never been written on, that never would.
She spent hours in this chair by the window, staring out at the street, letting her mind remain empty, the only peace she could find in the tumult of memories.
Sometimes she thought of her mother—her gentleness, her cautious smile, the disappointed look in her eyes she’d tried to hide from her children. Her mother had had no ambition but to love her husband, a worthy one to be sure, and yet…
Was that why Maggie had shied away from the same? Would she ever be able to break the hold the memories of her mother had on her? Did she even want to?
She thought of her father too, trying to remember the exact timbre of his laugh, the pitch of his voice, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners—just like Brendan’s.
It seemed strange that she’d longed for him when he had been so capricious in his affections as well as his fatherly duties.
Some part of her still craved a loving papa’s arms, the smell of tobacco and leather that promised safety and comfort, the sense that she didn’t strive any longer because there was someone who could take care of her.
Even though she was safe, and she still had a future, Maggie didn’t think she’d ever felt as alone or adrift as she did sitting by the window in the apartment in Dr. Holmes’ building, watching the world go by.
Danny, of course, had taken everything in his stride.
He was philosophical about their ignominious exile from the O’Malleys’ boarding house, proclaiming he was glad not to have to pretend that she and Brendan were married, as if such a thing were more taxing to him than to her or Brendan.
He didn’t know about O’Malley’s attack; Maggie had insisted on keeping it from him.
As far as she was concerned, the fewer people who knew about it, the better.
She knew the whole sordid episode would only reflect badly on her, no matter the injustice of it all.
And so her brother had gone whistling to work while Maggie remained in this chair, letting the hours slide by and her mind empty out. She knew she needed to rouse herself, that her best hope of moving on was making these hats, and yet she simply could not force herself to lift so much as a finger.
It didn’t help that Dr. Holmes’ building, although impressive on the exterior, was strange and dreary on the inside.
The halls were dark and windowless, the apartments themselves not much better, with what windows there were and doors unevenly spaced, so the whole place felt like a jumbled maze.
Most of the apartments, Maggie had discovered, were empty, only a few occupied by tenants, mainly single men, who kept to themselves.
The young woman who had served her and Danny several months ago had already moved on, apparently married before Brendan had even started working there, although he’d remarked, unconcerned, that it felt as if she’d simply disappeared.
“Young women in cities tend to move around a great deal,” he’d remarked. “Freedom leads to possibility, I suppose. She didn’t even give her notice, Dr. Holmes said.” He hadn’t been much concerned, but all of it left Maggie feeling uneasy.
“There’s something about this place,” she’d told Brendan one afternoon, when he’d come to her apartment to check on her, “that I don’t like.”
Although he’d been endlessly patient with her since the attack, Maggie had seen his mouth purse up at this sentiment, vague as it was.
“Well, it’s all we have for now,” he’d told her shortly, and Maggie had known she had to leave it at that. What did it matter, anyway? She spent her days in this chair, in this apartment, and she’d only seen Holmes once since they’d arrived.
A light tap at the door had Maggie startling from her thoughts. She glanced at it uneasily, unsure she wanted to open it in case it was Dr. Holmes checking on her, although he never had before, but then she heard Brendan’s voice.
“Maggie, it’s me.”
With a groan of effort, Maggie heaved herself up and went to the door to unlock and open it.
Brendan stood there, dressed for work, his light brown hair brushed back from his forehead, his eyes crinkled in concern.
“Have you eaten anything today?” he asked.
Maggie shrugged and turned away. She couldn’t remember if she had or not. “I’m not hungry,” she said as she sat back down in her chair by the window.
“Maggie…” Brendan took a step into the room, closing the door behind him. “It’s been four days… I’m worried about you. Danny is, as well.”
She shrugged again, unsure as well as uncaring how to reply. She supposed she should be worried about herself, too, if she could summon the energy, but she couldn’t.
Brendan took another step into the room. “Have you done any sketches for your designs?”
She shook her head.
Brendan sighed. “I should have punched that bastard’s smug face when I had the chance,” he remarked quietly, almost to himself. “And I shouldn’t have let you convince me not to go to the police.”
“You know I wouldn’t have been believed,” Maggie replied listlessly. “In any case, it doesn’t matter now.”
“Maggie, it does matter. Look at you.” He flung one hand out to gesture to her appearance, which Maggie knew was unkempt.
She’d dressed, at least, but her hair was in tangles and she’d barely washed.
She flinched under his condemnation and turned back to the window.
“You can’t let him win,” Brendan continued urgently.
“Don’t you see? Letting yourself go like this, losing the opportunity to design these hats and make your career as a milliner…
Maggie, you’re giving him even more power!
I have no doubt O’Malley would like to see you laid low in the dust. But wouldn’t you like to cut him direct when you see him in the street?
Wouldn’t you like to ride past him in your grand carriage? Maggie—”
“I’m never going to have a grand carriage,” Maggie cut across him, her voice flat. “Or anything like a career in millinery.”
“Don’t say that—”
“Brendan, those women only hired me as a joke,” Maggie told him, the words bursting out of her like a bloodletting. She felt both relieved and humiliated by the terrible admission.
Brendan’s jaw went slack as he stared at her, confused. “What do you mean—?”
“An amusement, an entertainment,” Maggie explained bitterly.
She’d thought she’d been reeling from O’Malley’s attack, but the words of those women still had the power to wound her.
All of it together made her wonder what the point of anything was.
“They thought it would be amusing,” she continued dully, “to have everyone wonder who had designed their hats. And then to explain it was a shopgirl from Field’s.
How funny!” She let out a hollow laugh as she closed her eyes.
“Oh, Maggie.” Brendan’s voice was low and rough, and she heard his booted steps across the floor before his hand rested on hers, a comforting weight.
“I’m sorry. But you really shouldn’t pay those biddies any mind.
Who cares what they think? They’re still letting you design the hats, and the hats will be seen by thousands of people. ”
“That’s what Th—” She stopped, swallowing what she’d been going to say, not wanting to tell Brendan about Theo, although she wasn’t even sure why. “Someone else said,” she amended. “But I’m not sure I can make myself believe it.”
“Well, you have to,” Brendan replied robustly. “Because I believe it, and I believe in you, and someone else does too.” She stared at him in confusion as he took his hand from hers and removed an envelope from his suit jacket pocket. “This came today.”
He held out the letter and she took it slowly, astonished to see it was from Tovah. “But how…” she whispered. “I never even mailed the letter.” She’d completely forgotten about it in light of everything that had happened.
“I mailed it for you,” Brendan told her. “I saw it and knew you wanted it sent, and I didn’t want to trouble you over it.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way Maggie loved. “Tovah must have written back right away.”
“Oh…” For a second, Maggie thought she would cry.
The loneliness and lostness she’d been feeling these last four days, a shroud-like mist that had obscured everything but those difficult emotions, began to lift.
She wasn’t alone. She had Tovah… and she had Brendan, who had been a good friend to her in so many ways, even when she feared she had not been a good friend to him. “Thank you, Brendan,” she whispered.
She’d spent far too long agonizing over her relationship with this man, Maggie realized. Wanting one thing, then wanting another, taking both his affection and apparent rejection far too much to heart. It was time to put all that behind her.
Brendan was a friend—a good friend—and she was glad.