Victoria Thompson: Murder On Mulberry Bend

He really was a fine figure of a man, and his clothes were tailored to accentuate his lean figure and height. He smiled as he reached her and removed his silk top hat. “Good morning, Mrs. Brandt,” he said. “You look lovely this morning, as usual.”

“Thank you,” she replied, wondering how many times he’d said this meaningless phrase to women who looked far from lovely.

“I’ve been thinking about your plan to take the El and then walk over to Mulberry Street, but I really don’t see any reason why we can’t go in my carriage. You have this bundle, after all, and – ”

“I really think we should arrive unannounced, Mr. Dennis,” she reminded him. “Your carriage would attract a crowd, and believe me, we’d make very slow progress surrounded by hundreds of curious children.” Besides, she thought, I want you to walk through the neighborhood and see for yourself “How the Other Half Lives,” as the reporter Jacob Riis had tried to do for the entire city in his book by that name.

“But I’m not sure it will be entirely safe,” he protested. “While you’re under my protection – ”

“I don’t need your protection, Richard,” she said kindly. “I travel the city every day without it. But if you prefer, you can go in your carriage, and I will meet you there.”

“Certainly not!” He was outraged at the very suggestion. “I will, of course, do whatever you think is best.” He glanced uncertainly at the driver, who was watching for a signal. After a slight hesitation, he waved the man on. Then he turned back to Sarah with a strained smile. “Allow me to take your… your package.” Plainly, he thought it odd she’d chosen to carry such a thing as a bundle of clothing on a public street, but he was too gentlemanly to mention it.

Sarah surrendered her burden, then took the arm he offered her.

“I’m afraid you will have to instruct me,” he said, looking uneasily at the tracks that ran over their heads. “I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve never ridden on the Elevated.”

“I’m sure you’ll find it a superior method of transportation,” Sarah assured him, and led him to the covered stairway that would take them to the station, two stories above the street.

“The stations have always reminded me of the chalets in Switzerland,” he remarked as they climbed the stairs amid the crowd of other travelers.

“Many other people have noticed the same thing,” Sarah said. “I’m sure they were designed to be as attractive as possible.”

“It’s a pity the trains themselves can’t be more attractive.”

He was right. The trains rattling overhead sent a shower of dirt and debris down on the streets – and pedestrians – below, and the noise rattled the windows, making everyday life a strain on the four avenues where the trains ran. On the other hand, they were the only means of speedy and reliable transportation in the city.

They waited only a few minutes for a train to arrive. Dennis quickly figured out how to pay the fare, and they settled into their seats. Fortunately, Sunday morning was not a busy time for the trains, so the car wasn’t even quite full. During busier times of the day, Sarah had seen the conductors cram the cars so tightly that passengers could hardly move before allowing the train to leave the station.

Dennis had settled her bundle on his lap. “What have you brought?”

“Some clothing I no longer need. I thought perhaps someone at the mission might be able to use it.”

He frowned. “I hadn’t thought. You’re right, of course. I should have my man check my own wardrobe and see to it.”

Sarah figured his “man” probably appropriated all of Richard’s castoffs for himself, but she didn’t say so. The train was pulling out of the station, and Dennis glanced around a little apprehensively. She had to admit the crowd was of a much lower social class than Dennis would be accustomed to, although no one appeared to be truly disreputable. Then the train cleared the station, and Dennis was distracted by something else entirely.

“Good heavens!” he cried before catching himself. Lowering his voice, he leaned closer to Sarah and whispered, “You can see right into those people’s rooms!”

The train tracks had been built over the sidewalks on either side of Sixth Avenue, within a few feet of the tenement buildings that lined the street and on the same level as the third-floor windows. If the train had stopped, the passengers were close enough to reach out and shake hands with the residents of those third-floor flats.

“Sometimes I’ll catch a glimpse of someone and try to imagine a life for them,” Sarah said. “It helps pass the time.”

“But… but…” He was speechless with horror. Finally, he managed, “They have no privacy!”

“That’s why the rent for those flats is lower than for those on other floors. Many people gratefully sacrifice their privacy for the economy.”

Plainly, he could not imagine such a thing.

The train picked up speed, but it would be stopping again soon, so it never went very fast. The people at home on this Sunday morning presented a tableau to the train passengers.

“Shocking,” Dennis murmured, unable to turn his gaze from the passing scenes.

“The poor endure much more shocking indignities every day,” Sarah said. “I’m sure your wife understood this and wanted to help.”

Dennis only shook his head in amazement. This trip was supposed to help him understand his wife better. Sarah began to wonder if he would be able to absorb all the lessons he would learn today.

They left the train at Bleeker Street, the next stop. Dennis protested that his carriage could have come this far, at least, and saved them this much of the journey. Sarah ignored him and led the way out of the station and down the steps to the street.

Sunday morning on Bleeker Street was little different than any other day, except perhaps to be busier. Because the men who would normally be at work the other six days of the week were home, their voices and bodies were added to the bustle and the din. The cobbled street was clogged with the carts of the street vendors who were hawking their wares.

“Don’t those people have any regard for the Sabbath?” Dennis asked, nodding toward a cart loaded with shoes of every size and description.

“They’re Jews,” Sarah said. “Their Sabbath was yesterday.”

Although the air was still cool, the sky had cleared after an early morning shower, and many of the windows in the tenement buildings were open so women could lean out and talk to their neighbors. Never mind that the neighbor with whom they were conversing lived on the other side of the street. Shouted conversations in several languages went on over their heads as children, still barefoot even in the chill of October, darted in every direction, heedless of their elders or their right of way. Some of the children played a game of stick ball in the street, using piles of horse manure for bases. Others chased each other in tag, while still others jumped rope or played hop-scotch on a pattern scratched into the sidewalk.

Young men clustered on comers, passing a bottle while they ogled young girls who passed in pairs or small groups, dressed in their Sunday finery and pretending to ignore them. Old men squatted on stoops and complained to each other in their native tongues. Old women bartered with the vendors, scolding and screeching incomprehensibly.

At night these streets were deserted and the buildings were packed with humanity crammed into every comer to find rest. During the day, the life could not be contained, and it spilled out into the streets and onto the fire escapes, exploding with an energy that made the very air electric.

Could Dennis feel it? She glanced up at him, but he simply looked bewildered and anxious. He was probably worried someone would pick his pocket.