Francis stared at her thin face, the bangles on her arm, and her sunken eyes. One would have to come from a terrible place to imagine living in a shack at an amusement park as an improvement. But then Little Hell was such a place. He slid his hand toward hers, waiting to see if she would remove her own. When she did not, he gently rested his atop it.

“I’m sorry” was all he could think to say.

“I’m sorry they’re holding a man who’s innocent.”

“You don’t know that, Gina.”

“I do. I can see evil in men, and this man had none.”

“You told me your husband was an evil man,” said Francis. “Did you see that?”

“No. Not at first. That’s how I learned to see it. After.” She withdrew her hand from his, as unhappy mutterings came from outside. “I have to return to work.”

She stooped to retrieve something from beneath the table and handed Francis his billy club. “Thank you for lending me this, Mr. Bacon. I don’t need it anymore. I have an aunt in Indiana, I’m going to ask her to wire me the money so that we can go and stay with her.”

“But why?” His voice rose plaintively as she stood.

“Because I want to. This is not a safe place for us. It never has been.”

Chapter 87

Chapter 87

PIN SAT IN the streetcar, hugging the paper bag to her chest. She didn’t know which stop was closest to the hospital, but a woman in a freshly pressed and starched nurse’s uniform had boarded at Montrose. Pin kept an eye on her as they rattled on. When the woman stood, Pin followed her to the rear door, waited for the streetcar to jolt to a stop, then hopped out, following the nurse as she crossed the street.

An ice cart rumbled past, its horse shying at a roll of thunder. The mottled sky looked like a shiner, sickly green and purple. A few yards ahead of her the nurse dodged horse apples in the road. Pin had to run to keep up. By the time she saw the hospital, vast as a castle, she was sweaty and out of breath.

St. Joseph’s covered an entire city block, five stories high with corner turrets. An ugly castle. Pin watched the nurse hurry up the steps to the portico, where she greeted two other white-clad women and disappeared inside.

Pin looked down at her shabby knickerbockers and shirt. What if they didn’t let her in the hospital? Henry had said he worked at St. Joseph’s, but she didn’t know where. There must be hundreds of people in there, nurses and doctors and patients. Her hand slid into her pocket to touch the photograph. A doll wearing a girl’s clothes. A dead girl’s clothes. Her sister was dead.