“I’m not married.”

“You got to find a man with character enough to take pride in an educated wife,” Althea said. “That’s what Mama always told me.” She looked at her mother and grinned. “And that’s what I did.”

“Althea taught school before her boys come along,” Mrs. Reason told Sophie.

The baby began to fuss and Mary sat up against the pillows and gestured for her.

“You have a beautiful daughter,” Sophie said. And to Mrs. Reason: “I need to think about getting back to the ferry.”

“Come look at my garden first,” she said. “The weather is just too beautiful to stay inside all day. While we’re doing that I’ll ask Mr. Reason to bring the carriage around.”

•   •   •

“THERE’S NOT MUCH to see yet.” Mrs. Reason opened the gate into a large kitchen garden and then closed it behind them. “But I wanted a few minutes alone with you.”

Sophie said, “I so much appreciate your hospitality and warm welcome.” She spoke the truth, but the words sounded overly formal to her own ear. Mrs. Reason seemed not to notice, her attention turned inward. Sophie wondered if she had something more serious and personal to ask and began to compose her face into the expression that was meant to tell a woman that she was listening closely, and hearing.

“Have you ever thought about leaving Manhattan?”

Before Sophie could even begin to answer, she went on. “I realize it’s been your home since the war and you have a practice there, but just imagine. Imagine what you could do for Weeksville. And I can promise you this, nobody will ever begrudge you your title or the respect you’re owed.”

In her surprise Sophie startled. “How did you know that?” And then, more quietly, “Of course you know.”

Mrs. Reason was a woman of color who had lived in the north since before the War between the States. She had been here during the draft riots, and that was likely not the worst she had seen.

She said, “Is that why you and Mr. Reason settled here? To be among your own people?”

“That was a good part of it,” Mrs. Reason said. “Weeksville is a little bit like home, like New Orleans. We are left mostly to ourselves and there’s not much need to trade with white folk. We’ve got pretty much everything we need: lawyers, music teachers, tailors, a cobbler, carpenters and masons, nurses and midwives, too. It’s our place. It could be your place.”

She stood abruptly at the sound of a carriage. “I know I’ve given you a lot to think about. Will you do that?”

Sophie thought of home, of Aunt Quinlan’s sweet face and of Anna’s, curious and laughing and fierce by turns. She thought of the garden there and of Cap, the summer day he had caught her up against the pergola trellis, heavy with sweet jasmine, sugar in the air itself, and kissed her. The surprise of it. The soft touch of his mouth and the rough prickle of his cheek, the tripling pulse at the base of his throat, and how right and good it had been.

“I love my family,” she told Mrs. Reason. “That’s where I belong. For the time being, at least.”

•   •   •

THE JOURNEY BACK to the ferry was far too short for Sophie to hesitate about what she had to say, and so she told Mr. Reason about Comstock’s determination to prosecute female physicians associated with Dr. Garrison.

“By extension this is a threat to you,” she said. “Because I recommended your services to Dr. Garrison. He is not above entrapment and spying to lay his hands on a target. You must be alert.”

When he glanced at her Mr. Reason’s expression was calm, without even a hint of surprise.

“It’s good of you to come so far to tell me about this. But do you really think there’s a threat?”

“Yes,” Sophie said. “I’m sorry to say, I think there’s a threat. He has ruined businessmen for the challenge of it, and sent good doctors to prison. He takes satisfaction in such things. I had to come tell you in person because he monitors the mails.”

After a moment he said, “There’s no way you would know this, but I retired shortly after we met, the day of my accident. My eldest grandson took over the business. You didn’t meet Sam today; he spent this last week in Savannah. Should be home tomorrow.”

“Well,” Sophie said, oddly deflated. “Could you possibly tell him about all this?”

“Or you could come out to dinner next Sunday, tell him yourself.”

She grinned at him. “I can try to do that. But in the meantime—”

“Of course,” Mr. Reason said. “And let me promise you one more thing. If you need help of any kind, send word. You can send a message to the law offices of Levi Jackson; he’ll see it gets to me. There’s a whole world of help over here in Weeksville. Will you remember that?”

Sophie wondered how such a thing could be forgotten.

•   •   •

IN THE CAB that took her from the ferry to Waverly Place, Sophie dozed, slipping in and out of quicksilver dreams. She was in Brooklyn and New Orleans, in Mrs. Campbell’s austere kitchen, in the lecture hall where she had realized that yes, she wanted to be, she would be a doctor. She was a doctor. Tomorrow she would spend most of her day at the Foundling Hospital, where the nursing sisters took in infants who were too sick to save, and others that Sophie would treat. Some she would send on, to orphan asylums or back to their families. She could close her eyes and see many of those faces. They came to her in all colors. They came to her for help.

7

JACK MEZZANOTTE FOUND a bench in Washington Square Park and sat down to wait until three o’clock, when he could knock on Anna Savard’s door without looking like a smitten schoolboy. The sun was warm on his face and he was bone tired, but he was not so short on sleep that he would shock the neighborhood by dozing in public. A patrolman was sure to pass by and then he’d never hear the end of it.

Two nursery maids came to a stop to talk, both of them rocking their carriages to keep their charges quiet while they sent quick sidelong glances in his direction. Jack picked up his newspaper and hid behind it. There was a surplus of spinsters in the city, the long-term effects of the war still in evidence. So many young women without hope of families of their own. They made him think of his sisters, which in turn made him sad.

Thinking about Anna Savard, by comparison, didn’t make him sad. He certainly spent too much time thinking about her. An educated woman of strong opinions, self-sufficient. The nursemaids—pretty, educated to the point that they could read and write, keep track of household accounts, do needlework and mending, with families and reputations good enough to gain employment looking after the children of the wealthiest families—they were more likely to marry than Anna or Sophie Savard. Or than his own sisters.

With that thought he caught sight of Anna headed his way. She had turned into the park from Fifth Avenue, walking quickly so that her skirts swirled around the toes of her boots and the edge of her cape—a deep evergreen color—kicked up with every step. Jack wondered if she was wearing split skirts today, as she had the first time he saw her in that church basement, locking horns with Sister Ignatia. He wondered if the hair she had coiled at the back of her head would curl once released from its pins.

She didn’t see him sitting there and would have passed without taking any note.

“Pardon me, Dr. Savard.”

She turned on point, alert, her frown shifting to surprise. “Detective Sergeant Mezzanotte. What are you doing here?”

He gestured to the bench. “Sitting. In the sunshine.”

She looked up at the clock in the university tower. Her walk had put high color into her cheeks and at the very tip of her nose.

Jack said, “It’s about half past two. You aren’t late.” And at her puzzled expression. “We have an appointment at three; did you forget?”

He waited until she took a seat on the very edge of the bench and folded her hands in her lap. She wore gloves embroidered with ivy.

“Is that your work?” He gestured to her gloves.

She frowned, not understanding him.

“The embroidery.”

“No. You’re interested in embroidery?”

“Only because I see so much of it. Both my sisters embroider, for various churches and for some well-to-do ladies who have less time or inclination.”

She lifted a shoulder, almost apologetically. “The only kind of sewing I do is very different. You have two sisters?”

“And five brothers. And you?”

“I had an older brother, but he died when I was young. Now I have Sophie. And Cap.”

She looked away into the depths of the park. Her eyes were the color of tarnished copper, tawny browns shot through with green.

“I’m sorry about your friend Mr. Verhoeven,” Jack said.

There was a small silence. “Thank you,” she said finally. And: “You have news about the Russo boys?”

“No,” Jack said. “But there is someone to interview who might be of help. If you care to join me.”