Chapter 23
“You mean this isn’t even about those stupid poems?” Daphne demanded.
Celia sat on the sofa, feeling reasonably clean after a hot bath, though it would take some time for the memory of that cell
odor to be erased.
She took the cup that Daphne was holding out to her. And shook her head.
“And all this running around and secretiveness has been for nothing?”
“It got me arrested, didn’t it?” Celia said behind the steam of her hot tea.
“And our family disgraced. We’ll be ostracized as thieves and pornographers. We’ll have to move where no one knows us.”
“Oh, do be quiet, Daphne,” Olivia said. “Give your sister a chance to explain.”
Celia took a breath. Once she started, she would go to the end—the end so far. And then there would be no going back; either
her sisters would acquiesce or they would disown her. But either way, she knew what she was going to do.
“For the last year, I’ve been aiding Margaret Sanger in her fight for women’s health and family planning.
” Met with two blank stares, she hurried on.
“I’m sorry that I had to keep it secret.
That I had to lie, but I had to protect those I’m working with and to protect you from . . . abetting a—a criminal.”
“You’re not a criminal,” Olivia said smoothly.
“Why?” cried Daphne. “Why do you have to do it? That Sanger woman wants to kill babies.”
“No, she doesn’t. She wants women to be able to choose when to have their babies, how large to make their families; to prepare
them so they can have healthy babies who will survive and thrive, and so will their mothers, instead of having sick baby after
sick baby because of their husband’s demands.
“I don’t want what happened to our mother to happen to others. It isn’t right. She didn’t need to die. But the law and our
father killed her.” Celia choked back a sob. She’d promised herself to explain rationally and thoroughly about the movement.
But she couldn’t stop the pain and the disgust she’d been keeping in for years.
Olivia gasped.
Daphne looked like she might lunge at Celia. “What are you talking about? That’s a horrible thing to say. He loved our mother.”
“To death.” Celia finished for her.
Daphne cried. “That’s a lie, another lie. You just lie and lie and lie.”
“No,” Olivia said quietly, “I’ve thought the same. Our father provided for us, loved us, but he was selfish. He trained me
to take over the business only in case our mother didn’t give him a son. He really couldn’t believe that might happen.”
“It wasn’t just up to her,” Celia said, barely containing her anger. “It’s dependent on genes, and probability, and sometimes it’s the configuration of chromosomes that’s the culprit. You can’t guarantee a male baby just by persistently keeping your wife pregnant.”
“Ew,” screeched Daphne. “Where do you learn this disgusting stuff?”
“It’s science, and every woman should learn it. As of now, women don’t have a say in what happens to them. That has to change.”
“And you’re going to change it?”
“Yes,” Celia said. There was no doubt in her mind now. “Not alone, but with all the others, many others, who are determined
to make things better.
“You should see the women who come into the settlement house for help. Too many mouths to feed, women battered to where they
can barely walk, children who are already mothers through no fault of their own. The settlement is turning their lives around.
Teaching them a way to take care of their families.”
“Our mother wasn’t some poor tenement immigrant.” Daphne glared at Celia.
“No, but she died all the same. Because she got pregnant too many times, before her body had healed from one she was pregnant
again. Just to make him happy.”
“You’re awful. I hate you!” Daphne ran from the room, sobbing.
Olivia moved closer to Celia and sat in the chair that their mother had once loved. Celia felt wrung out.
The two sisters were silent for a while; Celia was afraid to say more.
When Olivia spoke, it was quietly; still, it shattered the fragile silence. “I never realized you were aware of so much.”
Celia wouldn’t share the times she’d hidden in the closet listening to her mother’s cries until she was too weak to cry anymore. And the resulting babies—none of whom Celia had even seen—were whisked away quickly to ease her mother’s heartache. Even then Celia knew it was in vain.
“You’ve had a harrowing day and night. Go to bed, try not to think about anything. Tomorrow we will make a plan.”
Celia was loath to go down the hall to their bedroom, to face more recriminations from Daphne. But when she got there, Daphne
had turned to face the wall.
Celia climbed into her own bed and faced the other wall. After a few minutes of listening to Daphne’s quiet sobbing, a weak
voice said into the darkness. “I don’t hate you. I followed you to the church, but I didn’t tell anyone. I promise.”
Celia breathed easier but pretended to be asleep. She’d done what Joshua Starling had said she must. She hoped it was worth
the pain it had caused.
By the time they came downstairs the next morning, Yannis was gone, but Mr. Henderson was sitting on one of the new chairs
reading a copy of The Lost Prince.
“Nice story,” he said as the sisters stepped out of the elevator. “I sent young Yannis home to get cleaned up before he has
to open the printing shop. The glass man will be over this afternoon sometime to fix the door.”
“Thank you,” Olivia said. “We appreciate all everyone has done for us.”
“One for all, etcetera,” Mr. Henderson replied. “Now I know you ladies have a lot on your plate, so I’ll leave you alone,
unless there’s something I can do.”
They assured him they were fine.
“In that case,” he said, returning the book to the table and standing, “I wanted to let you know that we’ve called a booksellers’
meeting for tomorrow night. We’ve all put up with this abuse for far too long. It’s time we took measures to protect ourselves.”
“I will certainly attend,” Olivia told him, lifting her chin, which Celia knew was an act of unintentional bravery. None of
them felt particularly brave or optimistic. Over breakfast, Daphne had insisted Celia tell them what it was like being in
jail.
Celia held back the more graphic details, but she described the women and the conditions, about Mr. Starling and Mr. Kirsch
rescuing her, and how she felt sorry for those left behind.
She had carefully held back that Mr. Starling had taken her to breakfast and given her instructions on what to do about their
situation. She felt bad about holding out on her sisters, but understood his logic for asking her to do so.
Celia saw Mr. Henderson to the door.
“Mr. Henderson, what happens next? To me, I mean?”
“Ah. I believe your hearing will be set for next week.”
“And then?” Celia tried to steel her voice, but she was afraid she sounded tiny and frightened, which she was.
“And then we have real hope the charge will be thrown out altogether. Comstock is losing more cases than he’s winning these
days, if gossip is true.”
“And if it isn’t?”
“Don’t you worry about that.”
“But if it isn’t?” she insisted.
“Then there will be a trial, but that could be weeks or months away. And the Row will hire a good lawyer. We can’t have one perverted man’s opinions bring down bookselling in Manhattan.
If we let that happen, it will spread, and every uneducated bigoted soul in America will start demanding that their towns, schools, libraries ban whatever books they personally don’t like. ”
“How could that ever happen?”
“Very easily. Just look at Comstock. He was hired to stop pornography in the mail; now he tears up Michelangelo prints, vitamin
sheets, anything that drives his lunacy.
“It’s time someone took a stand. Looks like it’s going to be Book Row. So do not worry about a trial. Mr. Kirsch isn’t worried.
Come, let’s ask him.”
The three sisters glanced at the wall clock. Four minutes until nine. Mr. Kirsch would be outside sweeping his entranceway.
They all headed for the door.
Olivia stopped them. “Mr. Henderson and I will go. I will thank Mr. Kirsch. Yes, yes, I know you have questions, Celia, but
I’ll ask him to drop by at his convenience. We don’t want to impinge further on his generosity.”
And with that Celia and Daphne had to be content. But they watched from the window as Mr. Henderson and Olivia crossed the
street, sidestepping pedestrians and hurrying between automobiles and trucks to reach the other side.
“It isn’t fair,” said Daphne.
“No, it isn’t,” agreed Celia.
And as easily as that, without either having to explain, the two sisters were friends again.
They watched the interchange between the three booksellers as much as they could between the pedestrian and vehicular traffic
passing before them. And Celia keeping an eye out for Joshua Starling. She knew he must be out there. He had unfinished business.
She’d learned a lot about him that she couldn’t share with her sisters. He saved books and art from unscrupulous collectors.
Now that she was home and safe again, she wanted to know how he’d gotten interested in that, if he’d known as a child what
he wanted to do. If something happened to him that led him to become an investigator.
Now that she’d learned a little, she was very interested in everything about him. The little he’d said about himself was filled
with passion and determination. The same fire that she saw in Margaret and that she hoped was within her. But mostly she wondered
how on earth he was going to catch the thief if the poems were safe in their vault upstairs.
She would be glad to have them returned to their rightful owner, but she worried about what it would do to Olivia. Well, it
was out of her hands now. She’d confessed her work with the birth control movement, and that was the end of it until she did
more research about getting into school. But that was for another day, when all this was over.
It was a good ten minutes before Olivia returned, and when she did she was escorted by Max Lienhardt.