Death of a New American by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781788635042
Publisher: Canelo Books
Published: 2019-07-24T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

It was a long ride back to the Benchley house. The train was crowded with people headed home, all of whom seemed to have had a very bad day. Weary, I clung to the strap. A seat was out of the question; chivalry was quite dead underground. One self-described middle-aged man had written to the papers complaining of ‘skylarking, gum-chewing girls… who could better afford to stand’ than he. ‘I harden my heart against femininity in general,’ he said, ‘and “fresh girls” in particular.’ Right now, I was not feeling remotely fresh.

Questions swirled around and around in my head, occasionally catching on a detail or brief insight, only to spin off into further confusion. Had Sofia come to the city to meet Sandro Ardito? Certainly the chauffeur thought so, and a girl hoping to be a mother, stuck in the country far from her own people, might answer a newspaper ad. But the ad – and Sandro’s reaction to the news of her death – implied that they had met before. Was he the reason she had come to the city over the past few months? It seemed likely. But a lover would have wept at the news of her death, begged to know details. Sandro had simply run. His shock at hearing she was dead probably meant he hadn’t killed her. But his terror indicated he knew who had.

How would he know that? None of the answers I came to were comforting.

It was dusk when I got off the train at Fiftieth Street, the air warm and pleasant as the sun went down. I could hear the bells of St. Patrick’s calling the faithful to evening prayer. As I neared the Benchley house, my stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. But food was not what called to me. Bed seemed a marvelous, wondrous thing. I would go straight upstairs and fall upon it. Possibly I would not even remove my shoes. First I would hide the pamphlet Anna had given me. I didn’t want – was it What Every Girl Should Know? Every Wife? The Well-Kept Woman? No, that had to be wrong. Whatever it was, I didn’t want it falling out of my coat pocket.

I opened the back door to raised voices. For a moment, I stood, taking in the sight of Elsie on one side of the kitchen table, Bernadette on the other side, while Mrs. Mueller peeled potatoes into the sink.

‘The sheets are your job!’ Bernadette shouted.

‘Ironing them is my job,’ returned Elsie. ‘Washing them is yours.’

‘That’s not what Mrs. Benchley said—’

‘It is so!’

Probably, I thought, they were both right. Mrs. Benchley could well have said one thing to Bernadette and another to Elsie.

‘Good evening,’ I said, and shut the door.

‘What are you doing here?’ Bernadette demanded, ready for a fresh assault.

‘I work here,’ I said tiredly. ‘Elsie, for today, could you manage the sheets? I’ll take it up with Mrs. Benchley when I go back to Pleasant Meadows.’

‘Missus will tell you she’s supposed to do washing and ironing,’ insisted Bernadette, jerking her head toward Elsie.

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