“How do you plan to stop them?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know that we can. We can slow them down, but new Italian immigrants keep pouring into the city, so they’ll have keen new members all the time. But the commissioner says we must shut them down before they become too powerful, so try we must. We’ve got their big cheese behind bars now and I think we’ve enough on him to make a conviction stick, in spite of the dearth of witnesses willing to testify against him. We’ll see if he manages to wriggle out of it.”
And he went back to his eating.
“I had two letters today,” I said, trying to change the subject to more cheerful matters. “One from your mother—you’ll never guess what she’s up to?”
“She’s found a new way to make jam or she’s hosted another coffee morning?” He looked up, grinning.
“No, she’s off on a trip out West with her friend Letitia Blackstone. They’re going to visit Letitia’s daughter—the one whose husband is building a bridge across the Mississippi River.”
“Good God,” Daniel said. “Mother on a trip out West? I thought a journey from Westchester to the city counted as a long journey for her. I hope her health is up to it.”
“She’s as strong as an ox, Daniel. And it will be good for her. She’s taking Bridie along for company.”
“Amazing.” Daniel went back to eating. “I suppose it’s too late to dissuade her?”
“Why stop her? Travel broadens the mind. One needs adventures.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“And my other letter was from Sid.” I held it up to him. “They’re having a lovely time in Paris. Sid’s discovered a long-lost cousin and started writing poetry. Gus has an introduction to Reynold Bryce—”
Daniel grinned. “I shouldn’t have thought Gus painted in a style he’d approve of. Didn’t he do all those portraits of the angelic child, copies of which now grace half the nurseries in America?”
“He moved on and became an Impressionist, so I’m told.”
“But Gus is certainly not an Impressionist.” Daniel chuckled. “I’m not sure how you’d define her painting. Bad, I’d say, but I suppose you’d leap to defend her.”
“It’s not my cup of tea,” I said, loyalty struggling with honesty, “but I’m not a qualified critic of the arts. I don’t think we fully appreciate modern art, such as the pictures Gus paints.”
Daniel snorted as he picked up his glass and took a long swig of beer. “Well, good for them. At least they’re enjoying themselves and staying out of mischief with that damned suffrage movement.”
“Sid wanted to know if policemen ever got time off to travel,” I said. “She and Gus want us to join them.”
“Travel to Paris? On a policeman’s salary?” Daniel laughed. “Those women have no idea what it’s like to live in the real world.”
I chose not to add that Gus had offered to pay my way if necessary. That would only insult Daniel’s pride.
“I’m rather glad they’re away for a while, to tell the truth,” he said. “It gives you a chance to concentrate on your husband and son, and not get any more silly ideas in your head.”
“Daniel Sullivan, don’t you dare talk to me like that,” I said angrily. “I think it’s just grand to be a wife and mother, but I’ll get all the silly ideas I want, thank you very much.”
He laughed again. “I love it when you’re angry. Actually I was afraid you were becoming too docile of late. Not the wild Molly from Ireland I first fell in love with.”
“If you say any more patronizing things to me, you’ll still find me wild enough, I’ll warrant,” I said, giving him a challenging stare that made him laugh all the more. I came around the table to him and he grabbed my wrist, drawing me down toward him. “And I wouldn’t mind a good wrestle either,” he said, his face now inches from mine. “I’ve been so damned preoccupied that we’ve hardly had a good.…”
Suddenly there was the sound of breaking glass somewhere at the front of the house. Daniel and I broke apart and were on our feet instantly. “What the hell—” Daniel started to say as he made for the hallway. He had just reached the kitchen door, with me hot on his heels, when there was a tremendous boom. A great blast flung me off my feet, sucking all the air out of my lungs. As I was hurled backward I got an impression of a wall of flame, hurtling toward me before I crashed into the wall, hitting my head. Stars flashed before my eyes as a wave of pain came over me and I think I might have passed out. When I came to my senses I was lying with debris on top of me. My ears were ringing, my head swimming, and I was still fighting to breathe. I pushed a chair and what felt like big chunks of plaster from me and staggered to my feet. The air was so thick with smoke and dust that I found it hard to make out where I was.