Page 69 of If Looks Could Kill
She has never been able to love the man in the barn, but at least she thought she had turned his fate over to his Maker. If she could not bless him, at least, if she didn’t think about him, there was little cause to curse him.
The heave of a mighty sob overwhelms her. She chokes down wave after wave of crying as her tears begin to flow.
What have I become? Her own heart assails her. A vengeful monster. A fiend. The very devil himself.
Pearl’s gaze falls once more upon the book in her lap. Try again, she tells herself. Find some other message. She thumbs her way forward and lands by chance upon the twenty-third chapter of Matthew:
Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of hell?
Tabitha—The Frying Pan(Sunday, December 2, 1888)
New York City is never truly dark, and certainly never quiet. The dull roar of Broadway was only a block away from Lafayette Place, but here, on this one-block street, late on a Sunday night, the city’s commotion felt muted. Buffered. The occasional door opened and shut, and the occasional dog barked, but otherwise, we seemed entirely alone.
I thrust Mike’s coat at him before he could even say a word. “I can’t believe you waited,” I told him. “You must be frozen stiff.”
“I went and had a coffee,” he said. “Are you safe?” He looked me up and down. “What happened here?” He pointed toward the side of my forehead, where a painful goose-egg had sprung up.
I touched it gingerly. “I was, er, thrown against a wall.”
Mike glanced up at the house angrily.
“Not here,” I added quickly. “Above the Lion’s Den.”
He muttered something about scoundrels who’ve no right to be called men, and buttoned his coat up to the chin. “Are your friends all right?”
Would they ever be all right again, was the question. “Sleeping now.” Close enough.
I chafed my hands together while Mike blew into his cupped fingers.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted.
He watched me thoughtfully. “How do you mean?”
“I need to go warn Emma and Carrie about Mother Rosie’s men,” I told him, “but I don’t know if they’re still at base camp or back at our flat by now. It wouldn’t be safe to be seen on the Bowery.” Before Mike could volunteer, I added, “You shouldn’t go either. Everyone knows you. They’ll have noticed you running away with me.” I caught myself. “With us.”
Everywhere I looked, it got worse and worse. No place to hide. The terror and grief I’d been holding at bay finally found me. My legs began to tremble. I clamped my knees together.
“Miss Tabitha,” he said softly, “I’m so sorry.” His face wavered through a film of tears.
“Why did you come with us, Mike?” I asked him.
He only watched me. I blinked away tears, but they kept coming.
“You’re in so much danger,” I said. “Mother Rosie. Those men.”
“It’s an ugly business,” he agreed. “They’re a bad lot.”
I scrubbed my face with my sleeve. “What if something were to happen to you?”
“I’ll manage,” he said, “though I thank you for your concern.”
I wouldn’t be reassured. “This is all my fault.”
His brow furrowed. “I fail to see how,” he said. “You didn’t force me to come along.”
“Just your sense of decency,” I insisted.
“Fine,” he said. “I wasforcedto come. By my sense ofdecency.”
