Chapter 6
Both Olivia and Daphne met Celia at the door of the Arcadia and practically pulled her inside.
“Why did they raid Mr. Giuseppe? Is he all right? Is he hurt?” Olivia asked at the same time that Daphne demanded, “Who was
that man you and Mr. Kirsch were talking to?”
Celia held up her hands. “I’ll tell all, but may I please have a cup of coffee and something to eat. I left early to buy a
newspaper and stopped by the bakery.” She handed Daphne the newspapers, then pulled out the paper-wrapped rolls, spreading
crumbs on the counter.
Olivia quickly scooped the crumbs away.
“Sorry.” It was hard enough to keep the mice away even with Jane Addams lying in wait for them from the shelves.
“Kitchen,” Olivia said. “Our customers can wait five minutes while we hear the news.”
Olivia hurried Celia down the narrow hall, Daphne practically stepping on her heals. Then she pushed Celia into a chair. “You
talk. I’ll make the coffee.”
Celia squirmed for a more comfortable position. “Basically, they took a stack of Italian newspapers and stuffed their pockets with candy, like a bunch of petty thieves. They should have paid him. Mr. Kirsch told him the committee would take care of his fine.”
“That isn’t fair,” said Daphne. “If one of us took a candy bar, they’d put us in jail.”
“It isn’t fair,” agreed Olivia. “But it’s the way of the world. The rich and powerful make their own rules, and the rest of
us have to live by them.”
Celia and Daphne both stared at their sister.
“What?” Olivia asked, when she saw their expressions.
“You sound like one of those political soapbox orators in Union Square,” said Daphne.
“Do I? Perhaps I should run for president.”
“You’re not serious. Women can’t even vote.”
“No, but it might take a woman to clean things up around here.”
True, thought Celia, and wondered if Olivia would ever join the cause. Celia hadn’t dared bring the subject up with her stern
older sister. But maybe she wasn’t as stodgy as Celia thought.
“It’s that Margaret Sanger who set Comstock off again,” Daphne said.
There was no question about where Daphne stood. No surprise. Still, Celia gave her an impatient look.
“Well, everybody says so. We’ve hardly had any raids lately, and those were mostly about newly published books and affected
the uptown stores and publishers more than us.”
“Just because they happened to someone else doesn’t make them right,” Celia snapped, then let the conversation drop while
she helped herself to one of the flaky rolls. She’d learned a long time ago that trying to convince her sisters of anything
was nigh impossible once they’d made up their minds.
“Anyway, what about the man you were talking to?” Daphne asked, barely containing her curiosity.
“Mr. Kirsch?”
“Don’t be obtuse. The man you and Mr. Kirsch were talking to. He looked young and awfully debonair.”
“You could tell that from across the avenue, through the window, with automobiles and delivery vans and pedestrians passing
by?”
Daphne huffed out an exasperated sigh. “You probably didn’t even notice. Just forget about it.” She turned to the door.
“Sure I did, but if you’re not interested . . .”
Daphne slowly turned back, fight in her eyes.
Olivia wagged a finger at Celia. “Do not tease your sister. We have a store to open soon.” She handed Celia a cup of coffee
and sat down at the little table with her.
“Weeell,” said Celia, drawing out the start of her story just to annoy Daphne. “His name is Joshua Starling; he’s tall and
has blondish hair and blue eyes.” She didn’t volunteer that they were twinkly. “He’s an agent for some big London book collector,
looking for antique or unique works.”
Daphne huffed a huge sigh of disappointment. “Another book collector.”
“Well, really. What did you expect? Sir Galahad on a white horse? We live and work on Book Row.”
“I just thought maybe he wasn’t . . . oh, never mind.” Daphne lifted her chin and marched out the door.
“Try to be nice to him,” Celia called after her.
“He’s sure to call on Olivia for an appointment.
” She turned to Olivia. “I thought it was worth a try. He didn’t say exactly how antique.
I didn’t tell him what was in stock,” Celia added quickly.
“I knew you would want to check his credentials before showing him anything.” Besides, she wasn’t really sure what stock they had, since Olivia was very possessive of her expertise.
Celia had given up trying to keep tabs on what came in or left the shop a long time ago.
“Joshua Starling.” She let the name roll on her tongue a bit. “Have you heard of him?”
Olivia shook her head. “But I’ll look him up in the Trade Directory. And if he does come to look, leave him to me.”
Olivia left to open the store, and Celia took a few more minutes to enjoy her coffee and roll while she catalogued the best
and worst features of her newest acquaintance.
The morning was fairly busy, with many dropping in just to get the details of the raid. Most agreed it was just another one
of Comstock’s annoying upsets, and by afternoon no one even mentioned the raid on the tobacconist. By evening, even Celia
had stopped jumping every time the door opened or a car passed by moving too fast.
Hopefully, it was exactly what Mr. Kirsch said. Just an annoying ploy to vent Comstock’s frustration, which was a good thing,
because the settlement had sent a request for another hundred copies of the prenatal health and vitamin information, plus
she had an article on birth control methods that needed to be typeset and printed and had been delivered with a pouch of enough
coins to pay for ink and paper. She was happy to volunteer her time and expertise to the cause, but she didn’t have the kind
of pocket money that the costs of paper and printing required. Which did give her a pang of guilt. Yannis was doing this out
of the goodness of his heart. And not just for her. She knew he didn’t charge Jon for the workers’ flyers. She suspected he
helped others in the same way.
She and Yannis were friends, but not the kind who shared their innermost thoughts. They had a tacit agreement about doing the right things and fighting for just causes. She wasn’t even certain he had read any of the literature he printed for her.
And she realized with another little pang of guilt that he might be doing this because he thought it might help him get in
the good graces of her sister. Celia knew that Daphne was looking for a prince from one of those happily-ever-after books
she read, and Celia didn’t think Yannis, though a good heart, and nice-looking to boot, filled that particular expectation.
As soon as the supper dishes were washed and put away, Celia announced that she would be next door helping Mr. Teller with
the accounting.
“I wish you would take as much interest in ours,” said Olivia.
“I think he just likes the company as much as my stellar math skills,” Celia said and laughed, hopefully skirting the issue
of her neglect of the Arcadia accounts lately. “I shouldn’t be too late.”
She retrieved her bag and the new cylinder from beneath the OED and let herself out the back door. It was still early enough that she could see her way to the Tellers’ door. Which just
meant she had to be extra careful. Back doors were used for other things than clandestine illegal activities, like taking
out the trash and throwing out cleaning water and . . . Still, there was no reason to take any chances.
When she was certain the alley was deserted, she quickly made her way next door and gave the knock. She was surprised to see
that it was Selena who let her in.
“Yannis had a rush copy job,” Selena explained as they hurried down the stairs to the “sitting room.”
The furniture had been moved and the bookcase opened to reveal the extra room. But the printer hadn’t been rolled out.
Baby Estelle was in her basket. But there was no Jon or Yannis. Then she heard voices from inside the extra room.
“What are they doing?” Celia asked as she emptied her knitting bag of the additional flyer leaflet.
“Some friend of Yannis’s needed some notices printed.” Selena shrugged, but she seemed nervous.
“What kind of notices?”
She shook her head. “Jon gave me the look that said, ‘Don’t ask.’”
Celia’s stomach made an uncomfortable flip. She knew Yannis was sympathetic to her cause and Jon’s, but she had often wondered
if he had deep loyalties that he didn’t share. She pushed the thought away.
Not because of Yannis but at her own unexpected reaction. Because he’s an immigrant. And she kicked herself for succumbing to the same wrongheaded prejudice she hated in others. She knew Yannis; he was her
friend. He had never even hinted at political leanings of any kind. And yet that had been her first thought, and she was appalled.
Selena had gone back to finishing the leftover work from their last meeting.
“I have another one that needs to be typeset. An article that was never published, thanks to the mighty morality man,” Celia
said, opening her knitting bag and extricating the new article on contraception. “It was supposed to have been included in
the next edition of The Woman Rebel. I don’t know how he can ban something that hasn’t even been printed yet. Honestly, men shouldn’t have a say in what we do.”
Selena laughed. “Don’t let Jon hear you say that. He thinks he’s the boss.”
“But he doesn’t have you arrested if he doesn’t like what you decide to do.”
“He’s my husband. He wouldn’t do such a thing.” She cut Celia an evil grin. “He wouldn’t dare. But I know what you mean. Comstock
won’t stop us. But he can make things really difficult.”
Both girls sighed and gathered the printed nutrition sheets into a neat stack.
Jon came out of the back room, wiping his hands on a cleanup rag. “Whatcha got?”
Celia handed him the contraception article.
Jon whistled. “Wow, who knew there were all these—”
“Jon!” Selena exclaimed.
“Sorry, forgot myself. How many of these do you need printed?”