Excerpt
The People v. Nellie Finley was a tragic and sympathetic case to say the least, and it would be certain to attract its share of sensational newspaper attention. With all the papers in this city, the dailies scoured the town for something salacious to write about—the more scandalous, the better. Morning, afternoon, and evening editions had the newsboys blanketing the city all hours of the day and into the night with whatever would sell papers. A down-and-out mother jumping off a bridge and killing her own baby would have their tongues hanging out. Publicity was not necessarily a bad thing for a girl in Nellie’s position. Chicago was home to a powerful reform movement led by some of its most respected citizens, notably Jane Addams.
Conor was reluctant to even interview a potential client in such a serious case, but Brendan twisted his arm—not for himself but for this young Irish girl he came to know through his work with Hull House. In any case, Conor thought there would be no harm in talking with the girl as a favor to Father Brendan White, Patron Saint of Lost Souls. Maybe he could at least match the girl with a suitable defense lawyer. He already knew several highly skilled criminal lawyers in the city.
The social worker was prepared and waiting for his visit. They adjourned to a small office off the foyer of the three-story building. Following introductions, the social worker, Miss Potter, laid the ground rules. Conor was expecting a stern schoolmarm type with hair in a bun and a scowl on her lips, but Miss Potter was quite un-social-worker-like in both manner and appearance, evidenced by a full view of her ankles in black stockings below a scandalously short, mid-calf skirt.
Nearly all women, he knew, opted for some form of Edwardian pompadour hairstyle piled and rolled high atop the head, sometimes even with a hidden hair pad to increase the volume. Slim and around twenty-one, Miss Potter was the notable exception. Her hair was short in the extreme, efficient, falling straight down over her ears and curling gently forward in a crescent pattern toward the cheeks. Her voice was soft but confident. Conor pegged the woman as a suffragette.
She placed a file in front of Conor on the desk. “Mr. Dolan, this is a rather unusual situation for us as we don’t normally admit criminal court defendants, especially not those charged with serious crimes. Still, this is an exceptional case. We won’t presume, of course, to become involved in Miss Finley’s defense but will be willing to assist so far as we’re able should you desire. We’re always pressed for resources, but we do have a dedicated reserve of professionals to call on. We’ve put together Nellie’s history as best we could through records and interviews. Nellie doesn’t talk much herself. Everything will be available to you should you decide to represent her. You may examine the file in this room now, of course.”
Conor cradled his homburg in the stark, wooden chair. “Thank you, Miss Potter, but I would appreciate anything you could tell me about the girl herself to begin with.”
You got facts out of a file, but sometimes impressions and opinions could be equally important. He had learned that much in his brief career. Miss Potter, after all, was a trained observer and social worker, not just some do-gooder handing out meals on a street corner.
“We prefer to call our residents by their names, Mr. Dolan; however, I understand you’re unfamiliar with our particular quirks here.” Her voice was mellow and friendly. She seemed like a nice person, and he was comfortable in her presence. He sensed his question weighed on her. “Of course, Miss Potter,” he said.
The social worker stood and walked over to the window facing Halsted Street. In the background, the street outside teemed with life, commerce, the prancing of working horses, and the clatter of streetcars. A heavyset woman was passing on the sidewalk with a cart of groceries and a small child in tow.
“They don’t all end up like Nellie,” Miss Potter said wistfully. “They’re by and large industrious, hardy people determined to thrive in their adopted country, but…sometimes it all goes wrong for one reason or another, mostly through no fault of their own. I think that was Nellie. She never found help until it was too late, and that, unfortunately, is a common pattern.
“Something terrible happened to that girl, something so horrific that she couldn’t live with it and wanted to save her child from the same fate.” Then Miss Potter seemed to snap back into business mode, turning back to the desk. “I know you’re here to help, so I’ll tell you what little we know. We know she came alone to New York from Queenstown in steerage in 1900. The only identification she carried was her Immigrant Inspection Card. She came here out of shame to make a new life. I get the sense that the human predators from the Levee never got their claws into her. But someone did, Mr. Dolan. Someone certainly did. That’s who I’d be looking for.”
