New York - The Novel

must have been unpleasant. And even out on the porch after supper, it began to feel rather oppressive.
    After a short while, Gretchen went inside for a few minutes.
    “I’m going for a walk to look at the sea,” Theodore announced, taking out a cigar.
    “I’ll come too,” said Mary.
    It was quiet on the beach.
    “I’m sorry Gretchen came,” said Mary.
    Theodore nodded. “Yes.”
    “Are you staying a few more days?”
    “I’d like to,” he said. “Though I have work at the studio.”
    “Oh,” said Mary.
    They stared out over the water. Banks of clouds were gathering now, promising rain, and relief.
    “We’ll see what tomorrow brings,” said Theodore.
    That night, Gretchen and Mary went to bed as usual. Gretchen didn’t say anything about Theodore. Just after dark Mary thought she was going to cry. She was glad that, moments before, the rain had begun to fall outside the window, masking all sounds.
    It was the middle of the night when she awoke, and realized that Gretchen wasn’t there. She waited a while. Not a sound. Then she got out of bed and went to the window. The rain had stopped, and the stars were visible again. Looking out, she saw nothing at first. Then she made out a pale shape, moving about on the little patch of grass. It was Gretchen, in her nightdress, pacing up and down in front of a bank of reeds.
    Mary did not want to call to her in case it woke the household. She stole quietly out of the room, down the stairs and outside.
    “What are you doing?” Mary whispered. “You’ll get soaked.”
    “I can’t sleep,” Gretchen said. “I’m worried.”
    “Why?”
    “The children. Those fires in the city.”
    “They said it wasn’t serious.”
    “They don’t know. You can’t even see the city from here.”
    Mary felt her heart sink, but she only paused a moment or two.
    “Do you want to go back, just to make sure?”
    “That’s what I was wondering.”
    “We’ll take the ferry in the morning,” said Mary. “We can always come out again if everything’s all right.”
    “Yes.”
    “Come back to bed now, or you’ll catch a chill.”

    The first ferry was not due until mid-morning, but they were all three at the Point waiting for it—Theodore had insisted on accompanying them. The ferry was late. They waited an hour. Then another. Then someone arrived and said the ferry wasn’t coming, so they went back to the inn, to see if anyone there had any news.
    “The ferry’s been attacked, set on fire they think,” the owner of the inn told them. “We just had a man here who rode over with the papers from Brooklyn. There’s all kinds of trouble in the city. Fires everywhere. They’ve sent to President Lincoln for troops.”
    “Can we send a wire to the city?” Theodore asked.
    “’Fraid not. All the telegraph lines are down. Destroyed. You’re safer here.”
    “I have to get to the city,” said Gretchen. “My children are there.”
    “I can get a cart to take you to Brooklyn,” said the owner of the inn, “though it may not do you any good.”
    He did a little better than that. Within half an hour they were in a swift two-wheeled pony trap. By mid-afternoon, they were crossing Brooklyn Heights, from where they saw the city, spread out before them.
    There were fires everywhere. Smoke was rising from a dozen areas. Only the Financial District appeared to be unscathed, for a gunboat was lying in the East River exactly opposite the end of Wall Street. The rest of the city might enter the fires of Hell, but the men of Wall Street would make sure that the money houses were safe. When they got down to the ferry, the news was even worse.
    “Half the black neighborhoods are burned down,” the man in charge of the ferry told them. “God knows how many niggers are getting killed. There are barricades all over the East Side. They’re after the rich folks too. None of the merchants dare walk in the street—even Brooks Brothers has been sacked.”
    “I want to go across,” said Gretchen.
    “If anyone’s going, I’d better,” said Theodore. “You two should stay here.”
    “I’m going to my children,” Gretchen answered firmly.
    “And I’m going with you,” echoed Mary.
    “Well, nobody’s going to take you,” the ferryman told them. “They’ve half destroyed the ferry ships already, and they’re cutting off the railroads too. The rioters are armed. It’s war over there.”
    They went up and down the waterfront. Nobody would take them. As evening