Now and then a motorcar or horse-drawn carriage moved leisurely along the roadway, breaking the serenity of the silence. Nannies in black dresses and white frilly aprons passed us pushing huge prams, and young women in modest costumes and hats towed children along by the hand. I guessed these were governesses. Most of them had stern expressions, and I noticed Lily staring up at them.

“Let’s go back,” I said to her. “It’s almost time for lunch.”

Without looking up, she slipped her hand into mine as we walked. My heart skipped with delight. Her small gesture meant more to me than if she’d suddenly uttered a thousand words.

On Sunday, Mrs. Donahue insisted I must take the day off.

“But what will I do?” I said, suddenly nervous.

She looked at me in confusion, then nodded her head.

“Ah, sure, I wasn’t thinking, Nora. You’re a stranger to the city. Ye have been no farther than the end of the street and back.” She reached for her coat. “No matter. I’m on me way to Mass at St Patrick’s. I’ll be taking ye with me. Then I can show ye a few places, and next time ye can go by yourself.”

Before I knew it, Mrs. Donahue was marching me down the avenue, her arm linked in mine, prattling away in the early May sunshine. I was too busy looking all around to reply to her. I stared at the people on the street: families with children dressed up as adults and jaunty young men in a hurry. There were gentlewomen in coats with fur collars on the arm of men with top hats and walking sticks. They nodded at us without smiles. They reminded me of the first-class passengers on the Titanic, and I brushed the memory away. It was bad enough I had constant nightmares about the sinking. I didn’t want such memories ruining my days as well.

When we arrived at St Patrick’s Cathedral, a crowd of people were rushing up the steps as the bells pealed. I stopped and stared up at the enormous, beautiful stone building with its stained-glass windows. I had never seen the likes of it. Mrs. Donahue smiled at me. “Lovely, isn’t it?” she said.

We followed the crowd in, blessed ourselves with holy water and knelt in a pew near the back of the church. I didn’t know where to look first. The main altar was covered in red carpet and gold candlesticks gleamed among vases of beautiful white flowers. There were side altars too, each one honoring a saint with a statue and flickering candles. The smell of flowers and candle wax and polished wood filled my senses, along with the sounds of feet clattering on the stone floor. I said a quick prayer and stood up just as a blast of organ music filled the building.