Part 16 (2/2)

”I have decided to lease one of your flats, Mr. Turner. I will have Four B. I am, as you know, an attorney, and I've prepared an agreement for the transaction.” His comments were made on the site, in the hearing of every laborer within twenty yards.

Josh was delighted. Couldn't hurt for the men to know the flats were being spoken for. ”That affords me great pleasure, Mr. Potter. You're precisely the sort of man to anchor a new direction for the city. With residents such as yourself, the East Sixties have a great future. I cannot, however, rent you Four B because it's already spoken for. Four A is available. Also Four C and D.”

”Mrs. Potter will be disappointed. She told me Four B was the one she'd set her heart on.”

”Four C is the same price, Mr. Potter.” How the devil could his wife know which flat she wanted when she'd never been to the site? ”And have you considered the advantages of Four A or D? They're corner flats. That means more light and air.”

”More noise as well,” Potter said firmly. ”Mrs. Potter discussed the question with your wife. They agreed the middle flats would be quieter.”

”My wife?”

”So I'm told, Mr. Turner. When you sent her to visit the ladies of your Bowling Green residence.” The attorney had wandered over to the elevator shaft while he spoke, and was peering up at the newly installed cables and pulleys. The cab wasn't yet in place and the tall empty s.p.a.ce acted as an echo chamber for his booming voice. ”I take it Mrs. Turner got home safely despite the storm. Took a bit of a risk, didn't you, sending a woman on that sort of errand? Though of course you couldn't have predicted the weather.”

”Stanley Potter has given me a deposit on Flat Four C,” Josh said. ”He wanted Four B, but I had to tell him that's gone to the Jacksons.”

”Another one rented! Josh, that's wonderful.”

”Yes, it is rather.” There was a bowl of apples on the dining room table and he reached out and took one. ”These look like Roxbury Russets. From Suns.h.i.+ne Hill.”

”They are. Your mother sent them, along with a note that they're the last of what's been stored from the summer's crop. We're to savor every bite since we'll have no fresh apples again until August next year.”

”Right.” Josh agreed. ”Mollie, does it seem remarkable to you that I've so far rented three flats, and each has gone to someone who presently lives in my Bowling Green residence?”

There was something in his voice, a quietness that was somehow more sober than his usual tone. She was embroidering tiny daisies around the hem of a white lawn, infant-size nightgown with a beautifully smocked top, and she went on st.i.tching while she spoke. ”Not really, Josh. After all, they're exactly the sorts of people you intended the flats for, aren't they?”

”Exactly the sort.” He took a large bite of apple. ”Thing is, not every prospective tenant for a flat at the St. Nicholas is presently a resident in my place on Bowling Green. So it's a bit of a coincidence, isn't it? Three out of three, as it were.”

Mollie kept sewing. ”But one will probably have told the others. Besides, you spoke to those men, didn't you? The ones you thought likely prospects.”

”Yes. Exactly.” He'd finished the apple and he tossed the core into the large bra.s.s bowl Mollie used to collect the bits of thread she discarded.

”It was an excellent idea.”

”I thought so. Thing is, how did you know?”

She didn't look up. ”Know what?”

”That I'd spoken with the men who live at Bowling Green.”

”I guessed. Because you'd underlined their names in the ledger.”

”Right. And you've been keeping the books for more than a month now. So it's no surprise you looked back at my earlier entries.”

”Yes. That's what I did.”

”No,” he said quietly. ”It's not. Because back in January, the day of the big storm, you weren't responsible for the ledgers and at that time you'd had no call to look at them. But that's the day you went downtown and talked with the wives of my tenants. That's how come you got caught in the blizzard.” And when she didn't say anything, only stopped sewing, ”I know, Mollie, because Potter told me. Said you called at the house and spoke to all the women. Even discussed finances, how much the flats would rent for and the terms of the offering. He didn't say as much, but it's obvious he thinks I must be a bit of a cad to have sent my wife on such an errand. Not the sort of thing a gentleman does. At least not in the opinion of Stanley Potter, Esquire.”

There was a long silence after that. Mollie secured her needle in the exquisitely soft fabric of her unborn baby's nightdress, then folded it neatly and put it in the basket along with the rest of the layette she was so carefully preparing; the bonnets and booties she'd already made, and the knit bunting Auntie Eileen had finished and delivered a few days before. When she at last looked up her eyes were s.h.i.+ny with tears, and her husband was staring at her. He looked, however, perplexed rather than angry. ”And you, Josh?” she asked. ”What's your opinion?”

”I don't know. I've been thinking about it all the way home. And it's a good thing Midnight knows the way, because I was so preoccupied with the question I didn't notice a single thing between Sixty-Third Street and here. But the puzzling did me no good. I'm no closer to understanding than I was when I started.”

”I wanted to help, Josh. I knew you were worried about the flats not renting, and I was sure getting the wives involved, getting them to tell their husbands they'd love to live at the St. Nicholas and it wasn't financially out of reach . . . That would be sure to promote business.”

”According to the evidence,” he admitted, ”it did.”

”Yes.” Two big tears were rolling down her cheeks. Mollie wiped them away. ”But now you hate me.”

”No, I don't. Far from it. I'm simply very disappointed. I can't believe you'd lie to me in such a fas.h.i.+on.”

”I never lied to you. Not once.”

”You kept the truth from me, and that's the same thing. It undermines my-”

There was a quick knock on the dining room door. It opened and Tess appeared. ”Mrs. Hannity sent me up to lay the table for your supper.”

They didn't say much during the meal. Tess was in and out serving it for one thing, and Mrs. Hannity herself brought up the custard pie she'd made for dessert. That way Josh could shower her with praise for making him all the things he liked best. A woman of any age, Mollie had long since noted, basked when Joshua smiled at her, missing leg notwithstanding.

Eileen Brannigan insisted that a clever woman could fix anything in the bedroom. Mollie didn't get the chance to try. That night Joshua slept down the hall.

It had gotten to the point where the workmen at the St. Nicholas were tripping over each other as the different trades applied their diverse arts to the finis.h.i.+ng of the building. Interesting as well, Josh thought, how various immigrant groups gravitated toward one or another skill. Just now the site was crawling with half a dozen Italians laying the tile floors of the lobby and corridors. Last week it had been all Irish carpenters, except for the two days when not one of them showed up. First because it was St. Patrick's Day; second, because it was the day after St. Patrick's Day.

”What do you think, Was.h.i.+ngton?” The black man was pulling a wagon piled high with stacks of tiles, heading for the elevator when Josh stopped him. ”Are there any Italian holidays coming up?”

”Can't say, Mr. Turner. Don't know much about Italians. Never met none before.”

”Nor I,” Josh said. ”But they do remarkable work if this is an example.” It was Charles McKim who had recommended the Italians to do the flooring, and their precision at executing the architect's design was splendid. The center of the lobby had a sunburst pattern that required expert cutting and fitting of the tiles. Two older men had done all the work, leaving the four others to get on with the simpler checkerboard effect of the border and the solid sections between. Now that the sunburst was finished the pair of superior artisans were occupied with the precise tr.i.m.m.i.n.g of the edges. ”Those two,” Josh said nodding toward them, ”don't speak a word of English, but I expect they won't want for work here in New York.”

Was.h.i.+ngton braked the wagon with his foot and looked at his employer. ”Got something going for them 'sides how good they does their jobs,” he said.

Josh was intrigued.

Was.h.i.+ngton didn't turn his head, but his dark eyes darted in every direction. No one seemed to be paying them any attention, but there were workmen everywhere.

Josh nodded toward the wagon. ”Leave that,” he said. ”Come outside with me. I want you to carry something over from the stables.”

And once they were on the street, standing between the St. Nicholas and the Hopkins horsecar barn, ”All right, no one can hear us out here. What are you saying?”

”Nothing. I ain't saying nothing 'cause I don't know nothing.”

”Yes, you are, and yes, you do.” And when the other man made no reply, ”I've treated you fairly, haven't I? You and Sampson. No different from the others. Seems to me it's in your interest as well as mine to see nothing gets in the way of our getting this building done on time and as it's supposed to be.”

”Don't know any reason why it won't.”

Josh was unwilling to credit that denial. ”Tell me,” he urged. ”Whatever it is, whatever I do about it, I won't involve you. You've my word on that.”

Was.h.i.+ngton turned and looked back at the entrance to the St. Nicholas. One of the Italians came out carrying a bucket of something-grout it looked like-and dumped it on the road. ”Them fancy flats as is going up downtown on Broadway,” Was.h.i.+ngton said, pitching his voice a bit louder than it needed to be and looking at the tile mason.

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