Through the Window(3)

“You must feel free to come and visit me whenever you choose,” I said. “We’ll go on excursions. We can take the trolley together up Broadway to Macy’s new department store.”

Those dark eyes flashed momentarily, then she shook her head. “Mr. Emory would not approve,” she said. “He gives me no money for frivolities. When I told him I needed a new dress he came home with five yards of dark gray serge and said I should make one myself. Dark gray serge—can you imagine?”

I smiled and shook my head. “Then at least we’ll enjoy each other’s company when we do our grocery shopping together.”

“Yes,” she said with enthusiasm. “Surely he can’t find anything wrong with that.”

But apparently he did. When I heard nothing from her for a few days I called at her house to ask if she’d like to accompany me to Wannamaker’s Dry Goods, as I was planning to buy fabric to make bedding for the baby.

Her face was an expressionless mask. “I’m afraid I’m too busy today but thank you kindly for the invitation,” she said.

I considered this as I walked away. Had she decided that she didn’t like me? Was I beneath her socially? Or had Mr. Emory ordered her to avoid my friendship for some reason—because I associated with Sid and Gus, perhaps?

After that I saw her occasionally when I was out shopping. We’d pass each other at the butcher’s and she’d give me a polite nod. But there was something wistful in those dark eyes that made my heart ache for her. Of course she wanted friends. She was lonely. I vented my opinion strongly to Daniel and Sid and Gus.

“I’ve a good mind to go round to see that Mr. Emory and tell him what I think of him,” I said.

Daniel told me not to interfere, and Sid suggested that my visit might only make things worse for his wife. “He may chastise her physically, Molly,” she said. “His sort of person takes delight in inflicting punishment, especially if he believes he has God’s sanction for it.”

So I left the Emorys alone. I had plenty to keep me occupied that summer and was away at my mother-in-law’s house in Westchester County during the hottest months. When I returned I glimpsed her from time to time, walking down Patchin Place with her dainty Southern parasol over her head. I only saw them go out together on Sundays. Then she’d be dressed in black, presumably going to church.

I could not have been more surprised, therefore, when there was a loud knock at our front door one evening toward the end of my two weeks of laying-in. I heard a deep voice at the front door and had already put on my robe when my mother-in-law appeared at my bedroom door.

“There’s a man here from down the street,” she said. “He seems very anxious and asked for Daniel. Perhaps you’d better come down and speak to him.”

“I’ll get dressed and be right down,” I said. “Did he say his name?”

“A Mr. Emory, he said. “Your neighbor.”





Two


I dressed in a hurry and came down to find my mother-in-law perched upright on the edge of the sofa while Mr. Emory prowled up and down across the fireplace like a caged tiger.

“Mrs. Sullivan,” he said, turning to face me as he heard me coming down the stairs. “Forgive me for this intrusion. I would not have troubled you, but I know your husband is a member of the police force and I thought he might be able to advise me in how to proceed.”

I had never really had a chance to examine him close up before. He was tall and lean with a gaunt, severe face and a neat little dark beard. He was dressed in a black suit with a high collar and black ascot. The height of propriety. But his dark, sunken eyes darted nervously.

“I’m afraid my husband is not home yet,” I said. “And I can’t tell you when he might return. As you can imagine he does not keep regular hours. Is there anything I can help you with?”

Mr. Emory was wringing his hands now, clearly agitated. “My wife is missing,” he said.

“Missing? How long has she been gone?” I asked.

“Since yesterday. She received an invitation to visit our former pastor and his wife. He retired from ministering to our flock here in New York and they moved out to Long Island to be with their son. The pastor’s wife had been most kind to Francine when she first came to New York and knew nobody, and Francine had grown fond of her, so I was happy to give her permission to make the journey.”

He paused, started to pace again, then checked himself. “But she didn’t come home last night. Naturally I thought that perhaps the weather had been inclement and they had persuaded her to stay. By this afternoon I was getting worried and sent them a telegram. I just received a reply to say that they had not seen my wife. She had not been to visit them after all.”