Read Murder on Lexington Avenue for Free Online Page B

afraid of, but they don’t want them anywhere near somebody who uses signs.”
    Frank had known about the differences of opinion between those who taught speechreading and those who taught signing, but he didn’t know it ran quite so deep. “Who told you all this?”
    “Nobody in particular,” she said indignantly. “The teachers just talk. They think it’s important for me to know things, so I can take better care of Brian.”
    Frank looked at his mother as if he’d never seen her before. He’d known her all his life, of course, but she’d always just been his mother, someone who cooked and cleaned and sewed and gossiped with the neighbors. When Kathleen had died, and he’d needed someone to take care of Brian, she’d stepped in, but she’d just kept on doing the same things she’d always done.
    Until now.
    Now she was someone who was advising him on a murder case.
    “What are you looking at?” she snapped, annoyed at him again.
    “Nothing,” he said, rising from his chair and helping Brian scramble down from his. After a moment, he asked, “What do you think a father would do if he found out his daughter who can speech- read and talk was being courted by a deaf man who used signs?”
    “He wouldn’t like it one bit,” she said without the slightest hesitation.
    “Would he forbid them to marry?”
    “He’d forbid them to even see each other again.”
    “And what about your Mr. Oldham? What would he do?”
    “He’s not my Mr. Oldham!” she informed him indignantly.
    “What would he do?”
    She sniffed. “The same thing you’d do. Don’t think he’s any different from any other man, just because he’s deaf.”
    Frank sighed as he let Brian lead him back into the front room, where his toys awaited. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

    S ARAH BRANDT SAT ON HER BACK PORCH, WATCHING HER daughter, Catherine, and Catherine’s nursemaid, Maeve, as they pulled weeds from the flower bed they had planted in the spring. Maeve was carefully explaining to Catherine which of the sprouts were weeds and which were flowers, so she didn’t pull the wrong ones.
    Sarah smiled, savoring the warm Sunday afternoon sunshine and the sweet domesticity of the moment. They’d all been to church that morning—a rare opportunity, since Sarah’s job as a midwife often kept her away from home. Now that Sunday dinner was over, they had nothing to do but enjoy the beautiful day.
    The back gate opened, and they all looked up to see Sarah’s neighbor Mrs. Ellsworth entering. She was carrying a napkin-covered plate, and the girls hurried to greet her. Maeve took the plate from her and offered her some lemonade, which she gratefully accepted. After a few minutes, when Mrs. Ellsworth had been served and everyone had sampled the cookies she had brought, the girls went back to their gardening, leaving the two women sitting in the shade of the porch, sipping their lemonade.
    “You spoil us, Mrs. Ellsworth,” Sarah said, holding up the cookie she was about to eat.
    “Who else do I have to spoil?” her neighbor replied. An elderly widow who kept house for her grown son, Nelson, she used to spend her days sweeping her front stoop in order to know what everyone on Bank Street was doing. Now she spent her days helping Sarah and Maeve take care of the child Sarah had found at the Prodigal Son Mission. Mrs. Ellsworth’s gaze drifted to where Catherine was enthusiastically pulling weeds. “She’s doing so well.”
    “Sometimes I can’t believe it myself,” Sarah confirmed. “When I first brought her home, I was afraid she might never speak again.” When Catherine had been found abandoned on the doorstep of the Mission a year earlier, she had been mute and, with one exception, hadn’t spoken a word until she’d been living with Sarah for several weeks.
    “Does she ever say anything about her past?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked.
    “Not to me, but I haven’t really asked if she remembers anything. The doctors I consulted said