47. Ill-Gotten Gains - 1929
Elizabeth Carter stood at the window of her apartment, looking down at the street below with disbelief and outrage.
Charles had just emerged from a hansom cab, Ella beside him. She looked cute as a button, blond curls peeping from under her hat and her double-breasted coat fastened tight. With one hand, Charles held tight to Ella’s, but with the other, he gesticulated at—
It was her! That unbalanced woman, May Dressler, who’d insisted their Ella was hers, who’d dragged them through that terrible court battle. Ragged as usual, far too thin, she stood with her hand outstretched, mere feet from Ella. Next to her stood a girl of nine or ten, equally bedraggled.
For an instant, Elizabeth empathized with their plight. But then the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up. What were they doing there? And why hadn’t Charles sent them packing?
She narrowed her eyes, peering closer. Charles was talking to the woman, his body inclined toward hers the way it was when he was attempting to be persuasive.
The woman shook her head vehemently. But instead of recoiling, Charles reached into his coat pocket for something and pressed whatever it was into her palm.
Was he giving her money? Some kind of hush payment?
Elizabeth reached for her opera glasses, tucked into the drawer of a side table.
She turned the dial, focusing just in time to see Charles offering a handful of photographs to May.
They’d had a professional set taken of the family a few weeks before, including some lovely images of Ella.
Was he giving copies of those beautiful pictures to this madwoman?
May shook her head again, her whole body convulsing with the effort.
She opened her palm and let the photographs fall to the ground.
Charles bent to pick them up, letting go of Ella, and Elizabeth’s heart clenched.
What if this was all a ruse? What if May and the girl were using this as a distraction to somehow steal Ella away?
But when Charles straightened, photographs in hand, the woman and the girl were still there. May was beating on the lamppost with her fist, yelling, though at this distance, Elizabeth couldn’t make out the words.
Charles’s shoulders slumped, and he offered the photographs to the girl instead. With a covert glance at May, she slid them into the pocket of her coat. Then she took the woman by the elbow and steered her away, thwarting her attempts to go back and harangue Charles some more.
Her husband bent and scooped up their daughter, holding her close. Head hanging as if in shame, he made his way across the street toward the awning of One Lexington and home.
Elizabeth put the opera glasses away and retreated to the bedroom, where she sank down on the edge of the chaise and waited.
She’d known Charles would want to change out of his winter clothes into something more comfortable after he and Ella got home, and soon enough, he pushed the door open and walked through, looking surprised to see her.
“Lizzie?” he said, hanging up his coat. “What are you doing in here all alone?”
“Waiting for you,” she said, her voice hard.
He’d been unbuttoning his vest, but at her tone, his head jerked up and his eyes met hers. “Is something wrong?”
“How astute of you, Charles. Yes, something is wrong. I observed you outside, having a conversation with a woman who isn’t supposed to come anywhere near either of us. Worse than that, you gave her photographs of our daughter!”
Charles’s fingers froze on the buttons. “You saw,” he said, sounding resigned.
“Imagine,” she said, each word a particle of ice, “my shock at glancing out the window, expecting to catch a heartwarming glimpse of my husband and daughter. And instead, encountering such an abominable scenario.”
“It isn’t what it looked like,” Charles said, sounding miserable. “I didn’t know they were planning on coming by—I hadn’t made an appointment to see them—”
“An appointment?” The word was so ludicrous, she almost laughed. “Are you in the habit of scheduling assignations with madwomen?”
“She isn’t mad!” Charles protested. “Simply heartbroken and desperate.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. Had they witnessed the same woman during the trial, shrieking and wailing, clawing her face in misery? “She’s out of her mind, Charles. A veritable crackpot, as they say. How could you possibly want her anywhere near our child?”
Her husband’s face reddened. “Ella was never in any danger. We were within sight of our doorman, for goodness’ sake. And I was right there, the whole time.”
A shiver crawled down Elizabeth’s spine.
She wanted to retort that when their daughter had been stolen from them, the presence of their doorman right across the street had proved no impediment, but Charles was still talking.
“Do you not feel for her, Elizabeth? You know what it’s like to lose a child. Have you no empathy?”
Her mouth fell open. “You’re not honestly comparing me to that—that—” For once, words failed her.
“You’re right,” Charles said, a muscle twitching in his cheek.
“There can be no comparison. Here you are, with everything you could possibly want. A man by your side who adores you, a warm place to sleep, all the luxury money can provide, and a daughter returned to you, by the grace of God. What does she have? A dead husband, a missing child, an empty belly, and barely a penny to her name. I pity her, if the truth be known. And if the price of having our daughter back is to bear witness to the poor woman’s grief, then I will gladly pay it. ”
Elizabeth could hardly believe her ears. “Are you defending her?”
“No, of course not.” He sounded guiltier than ever. “I just...want to help. When you volunteered with the Junior League, you spent time in the tenements; you know how they live. What’s wrong with alleviating her suffering, if we have the means to do so?”
Elizabeth had indeed volunteered in the Lower East Side’s tenements, before Ella had disappeared.
She remembered well the grinding poverty and the dreadful stench, the unrelenting heat in the summer and the bone-chilling cold in the winter.
Now, every time she thought of the place—of the idea that her precious Ella could be spirited back there, under the care of a madwoman—it turned her stomach.
She wanted to put as much distance between her family and that dreadful place as she could, lest it somehow reach out and snatch Ella from her.
“Let her find help somewhere else,” she begged. “Surely there are places she can seek it. The woman’s proud. She doesn’t want your charity. Why do you insist on giving it?”
Mulish, Charles shook his head. “It’s not just May. She has five children. What about them? How are they to live, with their mother in such a state? Perhaps this is why the Lord has brought the Dresslers into our lives, so I can extend a hand. It’s the Christian thing to do.”
“They’re not Christians, Charles,” she pointed out, trying to make him see reason. “I hardly think the philosophy applies.”
He looked incredulous. “The woman I fell in love with,” he said, knotting his hands together so tightly the knuckles turned white, “the woman I married would see how hypocritical this is. You were willing to go into those destitute apartments with the League, to bring food and read to the children and teach art lessons. But now, when there’s a personal connection, you shy from generosity as if it would poison you.
Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same.
I want to help, and I will.” He set his jaw. “I have.”
“You have, have you? What else have you done for them?” Her voice crept upward, becoming what Doctor Davies would surely term hysterical.
“Lizzie—”
“Don’t you Lizzie me!” She stamped her foot.
“I’m your wife, Charles, not one of your underlings.
And though you may earn our money, when you chose to marry me, we agreed what was yours, was ours—just as I’ve shared my inheritance with you.
So you tell me now. Have you been going behind my back to spend our funds on those greedy liars, the ones who want nothing more than to take our only daughter from us? ”
Charles set his shoulders, as if preparing to stride into battle. “I’ve given them coats, Elizabeth. Nothing more.”
She snorted, scorn seeping into her voice like blood through an ill-bandaged wound.
“You expect me to believe that? I saw that woman today! She wore a threadbare jacket and no hat. If you must lie to me, surely you can be more creative than to come up with something I can contradict with the evidence of my own eyes.”
“I’m telling you the truth. She wouldn’t wear the coat I sent. Her daughter Susi, the one who was with her today, said she thought it was a bribe, the ill-gotten gains of blood money.”
Elizabeth let out an indignant squeak. “So you’re on a first-name basis with her daughter now, are you? Next thing, you’ll be telling me you take Shabbat dinner with them at their table.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” The guilt was gone; now his voice was cold.
“Ridiculous?” She snatched her hairbrush from her dresser and hurled it across the room.
It struck the mahogany armoire and bounced off, leaving a scratch behind.
Under normal circumstances, this would have horrified Elizabeth; but these circumstances were anything but normal.
“First you lie to me, and now you condescend to me. When we married, you promised to honor and respect me, Charles Carter. Clearly you have no hesitancy about breaking your vows.”
That hit home, as she’d known it would. Charles’s honor was paramount to him; he prided himself on being a man of his word. He’d bent over to inspect the damage to the armoire, but at her words, he straightened and glared at her. “You’re one to talk, Elizabeth.”
Her voice came frigid and haughty, every bit the regal debutante she’d been raised to be. “And what precisely do you mean by that?”