Victoria Thompson: Murder on Washington Square

On such a lovely day, she had expected to find Mrs. Malloy outside with the other women who had gathered on the stoop to visit and gossip and escape the confines of their small, dingy flats. But the old woman wasn’t there, nor was Brian. Sarah suspected Mrs. Malloy’s habit had been to keep him inside, hidden away. For the first three years of his life, she had believed him to be a simple-minded cripple. Now she knew he was deaf, and his club foot had been surgically repaired, or at least it had been operated on. Of course, Mrs. Malloy would consider his deafness equally as shameful as being feebleminded, so Sarah shouldn’t be surprised he was still being hidden away.

Although Sarah had never met any of the neighbors, they obviously knew who she was and greeted her with knowing smiles.

“You’ll be looking for the Malloys, now won’t you?” one of the women asked with a grin that revealed several missing molars. “Francis isn’t home, though. He works for a living, he does.”

Sarah managed not to look embarrassed or annoyed. “Is Mrs. Malloy at home?” she asked pointedly.

“She usually is,” another woman said sourly. Her pinched expression revealed either a dislike for Mrs. Malloy or for the entire world in general. “Keeps that boy locked up so nobody’ll know what’s wrong with him. As if we don’t all know just the same.”

Sarah bit her tongue to keep from replying. “Thank you,” she said, making her way past them up the front stairs and into the tenement building.

The front door stood open to allow both light and air into the passageway and up the stairs. In the winter and at night, when the door was closed, the area would be pitch dark except for what little light might escape beneath the doors to the various flats. The hallway smelled like cabbage, but it probably always did, from years of people cooking cabbage here. The floors were relatively clean, though, evidence that the tenants took pride in their home, no matter how they might struggle otherwise.

On the second floor, Sarah found the correct door and knocked. In a few moments, it opened a crack and one suspicious eye peered out.

“Good morning, Mrs. Malloy,” Sarah said with determined cheerfulness. “Mr. Malloy told me I might find you and Brian home today,” she lied. “I’d like to see how Brian’s doing since the surgery, and I’ve brought him a small gift.”

Now she was at the woman’s mercy. She only hoped that her mention of Malloy’s name had served as a warning that her son would not be pleased if she turned Sarah away. Of course, he knew nothing of this visit, and when he found out, he might well be angry that she’d come, but Sarah would deal with that later.

“The boy has enough toys,” the old woman said. “We don’t need no charity from the likes of you.”

“I know Brian has plenty of toys,” Sarah said, keeping her tone pleasant. “But I saw this, and I couldn’t resist. I wanted to see how his foot is doing, so I used that as an excuse to bring him something.”

The eye kept peering at her, and for a moment Sarah was afraid Mrs. Malloy was going to slam the door in her face. But then Sarah heard a scuffling sound, and the door jerked open far enough for her to see Brian had crawled over to see for himself who had come to call. At the sight of Sarah, he started jumping up and down on his knees and reaching out for her.

She hoped Mrs. Malloy couldn’t disappoint him, not even to spite Sarah, and she was right. Grudgingly, the woman opened the door wide enough for her to enter. Sarah reached down and picked the boy up, settling him on her hip so his cast was in front of her and she could examine it.

“Oh, my, you’re getting so big,” she exclaimed, smiling into his face.

He returned her smile, his sky blue eyes glittering with happiness. He was, she had to admit, one of the most beautiful children she had ever seen. She thought of Malloy’s dark, scowling features and realized Brian must take after his deceased mother.

“Soon you’ll be too big for me to lift,” she told him.

“He can’t hear you, you know,” Mrs. Malloy said, closing the door behind her. “You’re wasting your breath.”

Sarah ignored her and carried Brian over to the sofa. She sat down and settled him on her lap.

“Can I look at your foot?” she asked, pointing to the cast, and he obligingly held it up for her, beaming with pride. He might not understand the words, but he had no trouble discerning what she wanted. Unfortunately, seeing the cast told her nothing, since nothing was visible except the tips of his tiny toes. “Does he have much pain?” she asked the old woman.

“He cried a lot with it at first,” Mrs. Malloy admitted grudgingly after a moment’s hesitation. She didn’t want to tell Sarah a thing, but she also must be anxious for a professional opinion on the boy’s progress. Anxious enough that she’d even seek it from Sarah. “Francis said that was normal, but he kept trying to kick the thing off his leg. Must’ve thought that was what was making it hurt.”

“It’s hard when you can’t explain things to him,” Sarah said. “You can’t even tell him it’s going to make his foot better.”

“How do we know that it will?” Mrs. Malloy asked, the fear in her voice unmistakable.

“The doctor couldn’t promise a miracle, but he did think Brian would be able to walk when his foot has healed,” Sarah assured her. “He might have to wear a special shoe, but that’s a small thing when it means he’ll be able to walk.”

“Doctors,” Mrs. Malloy grunted. “What do they know?” She walked over and sat down on the chair opposite, still scowling at Sarah with disapproval.

Sarah had no answer for that. The truth was that doctors knew very little about many things, and medicine was as much intuition and guesswork and luck as it was skill and knowledge. Still, her friend, Dr. David Newton, had performed many such operations on feet even more deformed than Brian’s. If anyone could repair Brian’s foot, he had done it.

Sarah turned her attention back to Brian. “Look what I brought you,” she said, speaking to the boy even though she knew he had no idea what she was saying. She reached into her purse and pulled out a small wooden trolley car with wheels that really turned.

His face lit up, and he snatched the toy out of Sarah’s hand, simultaneously sliding off her lap so he could try out his new toy. His cast clunked on the bare wood floor, but he hardly noticed. Apparently, he wasn’t feeling much pain anymore. Sarah watched him pushing the car across the floor, trying out the wheels. Seeing his happiness and energy, she felt a familiar ache deep inside of her.

She and her husband Tom had wanted children. Sarah had wanted a house full of them, but they had never been blessed. Then Tom had died and with him all hope that she would ever hold a child of her own. She wasn’t old, of course, and if she remarried, there was still a chance… but she wasn’t planning to remarry. What man could take Tom’s place? So she would spend the rest of her life delivering other women’s babies instead. That wouldn’t fill the empty ache in her heart, but it would help.

“Is Francis coming home?” Mrs. Malloy asked out of the blue.

Sarah wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I suppose he will. I really have no idea.”

“You ain’t planning to meet him here?” She seemed surprised.

“No, I told you, I just wanted to see Brian.”

Mrs. Malloy sniffed. “I guess you see enough of Francis other places.”

Now Sarah understood the purpose of the questions. “Actually, I haven’t seen him since the day of Brian’s operation,” she assured the old woman.

“Then when did he ask you to come by and check on the boy?” Mrs. Malloy asked triumphantly.