Page 13 of If Looks Could Kill
Pearl looked like her head was about to explode. “Oh,I’mthe one who judges?”
“Absolutely,” I cried. “Precious lot of good it will do him for us to encourage him to read his Bible when he can’t even read at all.”
Pearl ignored this. “And spending money on frivolous, sensational newspapers…”
“Oh, please,” I said. “If my penny buys that urchin his dinner, I’m glad of it.”
“And if he gambles it away at craps?”
All those boys, shooting dice rather than buying themselves supper. I couldn’t understand it. They’d rather play their game together than eat.
“What he does with his penny, I can’t control,” I said. “But I bought the paper.”
“Not for charity,” she said. “You wanted to read the news.”
“So what if I did?”
“Evening, ladies.”
I wasn’t about to break my gaze first to see who it was. Then my brain gave me a good kick in the shins, and I looked up in horror to see Mike, the barkeep we’d met last week at O’Flynn’s, regarding us with deep amusement. Of course he was. There was the tavern, right across the street. He tipped his cap, bowed, and with a musical “Top o’ the evening to you,” he continued on his way, leaving me writhing in mortification.
Not for a king’s ransom would I let Pearl catch me blushing. Or turning to watch Mike’s back and shoulders disappear around the corner.
The corner.
The street sign on the corner.
Spring Street.
I froze.
“What’s the matter now?” Pearl said, throwing up her hands. “Lovestruck by your Irish bartender?”
“Pearl,” I whispered.
“What?”She came grudgingly closer to hear me over the noise of traffic.
“That girl in the window,” I said. “She was the girl. On the street. A week ago.”
She scowled. “What are you talking about?”
“The one who couldn’t affordThe War Cry.” I knew I was right. “The one who needed directions to Spring Street.” I pointed to the sign.
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you sure? She didn’t look anything like—”
“Look past the rouge and kohl powder,” I said. “Picture her hair in pigtail braids. It’s her.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “If you’re right…”
“I know I’m right,” I said. “I’m good with faces.”
Pearl’s own face paled. “Then I gave her directions, all right,” she said bitterly. “Straight into the jaws of hell.”
Tabitha—What-Ifs(Saturday, September 15, 1888)
Pearl turned and started striding back down the Bowery toward our base camp. “You know what this means, don’t you?” she said. “It means this is your fault.”
Of all the injustices this girl had heaped upon me, this was a new low. I ran after her and tugged at her sleeve. “What in God’s name can you possibly mean?”
