City of God (35 page)

“There’s still nothing like it in New York, though we’re to have
something new. The Association for Improving the Condition of the Poor.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Judging by your tone, you don’t approve of it. I thought you would.”

“It’s more of the same, Nicholas. Rich bankers and businessmen who say they want to help the deserving poor but then find so few of them deserving. And they continue to insist that the reasons for poverty are to be found in the paupers themselves. If they would only—”

“—adopt moral habits and pull themselves up by their bootstraps,” he finished for her. “Their lot would improve. Yes, I know what you mean.”

“And you know it isn’t true, don’t you? It’s the same businessmen and bankers that keep the poor from having any opportunity to make a decent life.”

“My dear Manon, I do believe the Catholics have made you a socialist.”

Her burst of laughter sounded just like the old days. “If you only knew, Nicholas, how far that is from the truth. The Holy Father and the bishops are appalled by socialism. No, it’s simply a matter of following Our Lord’s instruction to feed the hungry and clothe the naked.”

“I’m sure Protestants want to do that as well.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I know they do. It’s which poor and which naked, and how to go about it. That’s where the quarrel lies.”

“Manon, why couldn’t your Sisters of Charity establish such a dispensary as you envision? I remember your telling me how wonderful they were during the cholera epidemic back in ’32. It would seem a natural progression.”

She smiled. “Yes, it would. Nothing of the sort is yet planned, Nicholas, but you have discovered my secret. I intend to pray it into being. Now tell me what you do in your practice, since you abstain from painless surgery. Infected fingers and wheezing coughs and swooning ladies and runny-nosed children?”

“All of that.”

“And it’s to your liking?”

Nick looked sheepish. “You know me too well, Cousin—Sister Manon. Ben Klein and I do see such patients. A great many of them, since we must eat and pay our bills. But there is also the laboratory. It is the challenge that keeps our minds active.”

“Indeed. Nicholas, where on earth do you get cadavers on which to experiment?”

She had lost none of her directness, he liked that. He’d never felt it necessary to understand her religious impulse, that was no business of his. But the lively mind and the clear thinking, he’d have hated to see that disciplined out of her. “There’s less need of cadavers for the work we’re doing now,” he said, being as forthright as she had been. “The interior of a body is no longer the mystery it once was. There’s a large amount of literature on the subject these days. As for Ben and I, what we’re studying is diseased tissue, the flesh around a suppurating boil or an inflamed toe. That’s the sort of thing we cut away any number of times in the ordinary way of seeing patients.” He would not tell her of their other source of human tissue: they had a steady supply of the foreskins of infant males since Ben had been inspired to make private arrangements with the
mohels
, the providers of the Jews’ ritual circumcision. “You know my theory of germs,” he said instead, “and their importance in the spread of disease. I’m learning more about germs every day.”

“And now, with running water just about everywhere in the city, you can truly insist on all the hand washing you recommend.”

“I can. Here too, I hope. You’ve running water now, haven’t you?”

“Spigots in three places in this building and two next door,” Manon said with a touch of wonder. “I caught a glimpse of some of the overhead construction when we arrived. They tell me the aqueduct runs forty miles from the Croton River and finishes at a reservoir in the woods at Eighty-sixth Street.”

“Forty-one miles,” Nick corrected. “And the Eighty-sixth Street reservoir isn’t the end of the chain, it’s only a holding tank. The distribution reservoir’s nearer, though still a fair distance from the city, at Forty-second Street and Fifth Avenue. From there Croton water is fed into a series of underground pipes, and—I can see the glaze of boredom
in your eyes, dear Manon. Suffice to say the town’s finally got running water. It’s even in parts of the Five Points, you’ll be happy to know.”

“I am.”

“And there’s no more Night Watch, you know. They’ve abolished all the marshals as well.”

Manon raised her eyebrows. “How wonderful that New York has become the Garden of Eden and there is no more crime.”

“More crime than ever,” Nick said cheerfully. “But now we have police, though the law says we’re never to have more than eight hundred of them. Everyone calls them coppers, because of their star-shaped badges. Fancy blue uniforms as well. Makes them look like butlers if you ask me.”

“And do they keep the peace?” Manon asked.

“Well enough, as long as there’s not real trouble. It’s still the militia of the Twenty-seventh they call out to break up the riots.”

“Do you know the French expression
Plus ça change?
”

“…plus c’est la même chose
,” Nick said. “The more things change, the more they’re the same. Yes, exactly.” He paused. “I wasn’t sure I should mention it, but I saw your Miss Bellingham not long ago.”

“Whyever not mention it? Where did you see her?”

“I didn’t want to upset you. She was in a tavern.”

“A tavern! Addie Bellingham? I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true. The Crowing Cock on Broome Street. It’s not far from the office and I go there for a bit of supper sometimes.”

“Nicholas, for a woman to go to a tavern. She’s not…I mean, Addie wouldn’t have fallen to the point of…”

He chuckled. “I’m teasing you, dear Manon, which is very bad of me, especially now you’re a nun. She was indeed in the Crowing Cock, but her purpose was entirely moral. Apparently Miss Bellingham is now an active member of the American Tract Society.”

“The people who go about distributing pamphlets with excerpts from the Bible?”

“Exactly. Miss Bellingham and another woman came in and gave everyone a tract, then wished us the blessing of God and left.”

“Do you think she recognized you?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t let on if she did. In any event, I refrained from asking her about a missing diamond. Though the thought crossed my mind.”

Manon glanced at the clock on the wall. Only five minutes of the half-hour visit left. She had been a Sister of Charity for four years—they’d made her wait a year after she became a Catholic before she could officially enter the congregation—and she no longer chafed under such restrictions. “We’ve only a little time left, Nicholas. Tell me about Carolina. You do still see her occasionally?”

He flushed, looked away, then looked straight at her. And knew from her expression, however fleeting, that she had seen his reaction and knew a great deal, probably everything, without his having said a word. “I do. Occasionally. Carolina is as lovely and as charming as ever. But she has much to bear.”

“Samuel.”

“Yes. He is no husband to her and no father to her children.”

She had thought to ask him if there was any woman in his life, any chance he might marry, as she’d been urging him to do for years. Now she did not waste her breath. “She is nonetheless his wife,” she said.

“I know, but—”

Somewhere a bell rang. Manon—Sister Marie Manon, as she truly was now—instantly rose to her feet. “It is time for prayers. I must go. Thank you for coming, dear Cousin Nicholas. I look forward to another visit whenever you are able.” But first she would ask permission to write to her cousin Carolina Devrey and tell her that the woman now known as Sister Marie Manon was once again in New York and Sisters of Charity were entitled to a monthly visit from any member of the family.

January of 1843. As bitter as hard winter could be, Sam Devrey thought, and not just because of the cold. It was looking to be the winter that strangled his dreams.

Years before he’d gone to Maryland to see the
Ann McKim
in her
home port—that was the week when Mei-hua and Ah Chee had bound Mei Lin’s feet—and convinced himself that beautiful as she was and fast as she was, the
Ann McKim
was not the answer to steam he’d thought she might be. She simply could not lade enough to be more than a rich man’s toy, and there was no way, given the specifics of her design, that Sam could see her adapted to carry more. He’d advised Astor against bidding on her when she went on the block after McKim’s death, and it had never worried him that Devrey competitors William Howland and William Aspinwall bought her and brought her to New York. The
Ann McKim
frequently was the first ship back in port with the spring harvest of China tea, but she couldn’t carry enough of it to satisfy the market. Plenty of profit left for the merchant ships that came after her, so no grief there.

Now, however, Howland & Aspinwall had commissioned a new ship to be built at one of the town’s busiest yards. No chance of keeping anything secret in such a place; her keel was stretched out for all to see. A ship as huge as anything crossing the Atlantic, with a sharply pointed bow and a narrow beam, while aft she was as rounded as an apple. Jacob Astor was among those who went to see the incredible vessel his competitors looked close to launching.

So, Samuel, you think maybe we should commission Mr. Parker to make for us also such a ship? My son thinks we should in shipping not now invest more. I am not so sure. What do you think?
William Backhouse Astor, the old man’s second son but his true heir, was busy expanding their real estate empire; the shipping business was an afterthought as far as the younger Astor was concerned.
Shipping remains as profitable as ever, Mr. Astor. You’ve seen our accounts and you know that. But this new ship, the
Rainbow,
is to have masts as tall as a three-story house. She’ll founder in the first decent swell. Head straight for the bottom with all who sail on her.
He should, Sam thought, offer himself to P. T. Barnum as an actor, perform at Barnum’s American Museum. He sounded, even to his own ears, as if he actually believed what he was saying.

But convinced as he was that these new ships were the future, Sam believed something to be not quite right about Howland & Aspinwall’s
Rainbow
. The critics of her design were mostly old-timers who couldn’t see a thing of genius as it materialized under their noses. Still, as the weeks passed and Sam watched her ribs rise and her hull take shape, he knew in his bones that some part of the puzzle was yet missing. The
Rainbow
was nearly perfect, nearly the ship of his dreaming, but not quite.

As for the two Bills, as Messrs. William Howland and William Aspinwall were known, they backed down in the face of persistent criticism.
Ain’t no ship with a pointed nose and a fat ass going to get anywhere on the China run.
The Bills heard the remark once too often, and in that February of 1843 called a temporary halt to the building of the
Rainbow
while they sent to England for the opinion of yet another set of marine architects.

The delay turned out to be little comfort for Sam Devrey. In March A. A. Low & Brothers laid another keel at another yard. Just as long, just as narrow, just as sharp at the bow and broad at the beam, but without the sloping V-shape keel of
Rainbow
and nearly everything else afloat, certainly everything else considered seaworthy for a long and testing ocean journey. The ship of the brothers Low had a flat bottom, and the men who commissioned her had stronger stomachs than Bill Howland and Bill Aspinwall. Hang the criticism, the Lows said, keep building.

“It’s the flat bottom, Danny,” Sam said. “That’s the thing that will make it work.” They met in the all but deserted Thirty-fourth Street yard for a Sunday afternoon consultation, the latest in a long series of such meetings. Danny Parker sat calmly smoking his pipe, while Sam Devrey was as agitated as ever the shipwright had seen him. “She’s to be called the
Houqua
, named for a Canton merchant who has vowed to fill her stem to stern with the first crop of tea that comes down from the hills of Lumking and Mowfoong. Bring it all home while it’s still pristine-fresh and sweet as the day it was picked, before it’s had any chance to mold. What do you imagine that will bring at the Exchange?”

“A fair bit, Mr. Devrey. Quite a fair bit.”

“A hundred thousand, Danny. Good God, it could be a hundred and fifty. What if I were to offer you a twenty percent interest in the first
three cargoes my new ship brought home? Might that influence how much you had to have in ready cash before you started to build?” If he was right, and if Danny took him up on the offer, it meant he’d see no profit for two years, maybe three. But without a new ship, wholly owned by Sam Devrey, the dream was finished. Whatever their owners might think, there was no doubt whatever in Sam’s mind that the
Houqua
, probably even the
Rainbow
, would turn the shipping business on its ear. And while Sam might hold him off now, as soon as the results were in, Astor would make his move. He’d have more money to finance the venture than Low or Howland or Aspinwall. Devrey Shipping would triumph, but it would be forever beyond the grasp of the man who bore the Devrey name.