Even though it was almost time to return to the Society’s building, Frances strolled over to where Fifth Avenue crossed Broadway. It was still an exciting vista of well-dressed women who visited the many shops with their window displays of ribbons, laces, and bolts of material for dresses to be made by skilled dressmakers. Every bit as showy as the window displays were a few wealthy women, wearing large, plumed hats. They rode up and down the avenue in their gleaming open carriages.
Frances remembered with a pang the beautiful doll she had once admired in the window of a nearby store. She crossed Fifth Avenue and stood before the shop’s window once again.
The doll in the tucked and pleated pink silk dress was not there, of course, but another doll—equally lovable—was propped in the same spot. It was a baby doll, with a tiny white bonnet and lace-trimmed christening dress. Its arms were spread wide as though begging to be picked up.
“If only I had a little girl,” Frances whispered as she clasped her hands together. “How I would love to bring her this doll.”
But I don’t, she told herself crisply. Besides, the doll would surely cost a fortune. She tore herself away from the window and headed toward the church her family had attended.
It was cool and silent inside, the heavy stone walls shutting out the noise from the street. Sunlight brightened the stained-glass windows, casting splotches of melting rose and blue and gold on the pews and altar. Votive lights flickered next to the tabernacle and in rows in front of the shrines at both sides.
Frances genuflected, then slipped into a pew and knelt on the hard wooden kneeler. How often, when she was a child, had she knelt with her family like this on the special occasions when they were able to go to Mass? Just as when she was young, she found comfort in the silence and beauty and love that seemed to swirl around her shoulders like a blanket.
She prayed for her family, and as she lit two votive candles she said the special prayer for the dead for Da and Danny. In her mind she could see their happy smiles, their loving faces, which had been so much alike. “I miss you,” she whispered.
The lowering sun cast a final burst of color through the stained-glass windows, then dimmed. Frances hurried to leave, knowing she must return to Amity Street and the Children’s Aid Society before dark.
5
AS FRANCES WALKED through the front door, Miss Hunter rushed to greet her. She grasped Frances’s arms in her eagerness. “Oh, Miss Kelly! We badly need your help!” she cried.
“Where? What has happened?” Frances pulled away from Miss Hunter and reached up to remove the long hatpin that anchored her hat.
“Oh, no, no. It’s nothing immediate. That is … it’s immediate, but …”
Frances waited patiently for Miss Hunter to collect her thoughts. Finally Miss Hunter said, “One of our agents—Mrs. Margaret Dolan—has become quite ill and is hospitalized.”
“I’m sorry. What would you like me to do?” Frances asked.
Miss Hunter took a deep breath and let it out quickly, her words tumbling with it. “Mrs. Dolan was to escort a group of children to Missouri. Now, of course, she can’t, and there is no one else available to take the children, but it’s been advertised in three towns when they’d arrive. I know that you’re a teacher, and you know how to deal with children, so could you possibly take her place and escort the children on their journey?” Her voice faded to a squeak and she managed to add, “Please, Miss Kelly?”
“When are they scheduled to leave New York City?”
Miss Hunter clapped her hands to her face. “Tomorrow morning! I realize that if you take the job it will rob you of a sightseeing day in New York.”
Frances suddenly realized that she had no further desire to sightsee in New York. Her happy memories were of another New York City at another time. She’d always have the memories, but it was time to come back to the present—and to the future, which lay in Kansas.
Miss Hunter took another breath, which brought pink back into her cheeks. “There are thirty children. We’ll pack some food for them and give you money to buy them milk and bread and whatever else they’ll need on the journey. The pay you’ll receive for your trouble is not great, but it should meet your immediate needs.” She didn’t say “please” again, but her clasped hands and the begging look in her eyes spoke for her.
“I’ll be glad to escort them,” Frances said, then smiled as Miss Hunter sighed with relief. “The ride back, traveling alone, would have been lonely.” She didn’t speak her thoughts: And it would have given me too much time to dwell on the argument I had with Johnny.