“Hertha, I know my mother didn’t give you the warmest reception before, but if she got to know you all, I think she’d fit in great,” she said. “She’s an amazing inventor. I’m sure she’d have incredible ideas to add to your Marvelous Moto-Mover.”
“The motor coach is not going to be finished for the Fair, Molly,” Hertha said gently. “We have more important things to focus on now.”
Molly was about to ask what could possibly be more important when it hit her. “Oh, Edison,” she said. And her mood deflated once more.
Emmett put his hand on her shoulder. “But we have help now, Molly. This is a good thing.”
“If what Emmett told us is even remotely true,” Hertha said, “then everything must be put aside until we know Edison’s plot is foiled and the fairgoers will be safe.”
“Well, what are we sitting around talking for, then?” said Molly. She downed the rest of her coffee in one slug. “Let’s stop Edison!”
“Please, Molly, give us some credit,” said Hertha. “We’ve been working on it. We only stopped our planning session because you woke up.” She motioned toward a table where empty teacups surrounded open notebooks, newspapers, maps, and pencils.
“I think better with a wrench in my hand,” Margaret Knight said from beneath the motor coach.
But Molly was perplexed. “What’s to figure out?” she asked. “Go to the police! Emmett and I couldn’t risk it, but surely you—”
“We did,” said Mary. “It’s not so easy to convince a grumpy desk sergeant that one of the most beloved men in America is a dangerous criminal. Not without evidence.”
“Or a mustache,” Mrs. Cochrane said without looking up from her book.
“But what about Alexander Graham Bell?” Molly asked, exasperated. “Did you tell them that the Green Onions have him? We don’t even know if he’s still alive. Don’t they at least want to find out if he’s okay?”
“Oh, your constables were definitely interested in Mr. Bell,” Hertha said. “But not to rescue him—to arrest him.”
“What?” Molly was flabbergasted.
“Edison wasn’t kidding, Molly,” Emmett said, shuffling through news articles. “He’s put a load of work into framing Mr. Bell. Not only did the police find traces of dynamite among the wreckage of Bell’s lab, but also a set of instructions—signed with Mr. Bell’s personal stamp—outlining a plan to have his robots attack the Fair. And yes, the papers are calling them robots.”
“Those are new papers?” Molly said. “How long was I out?”
“Nearly a full day,” Sarah said. “It was almost this time last night when you were knocked out. If you’d stayed asleep any longer, we were about to bring you to a hospital, arrest warrant or not.” She handed Molly a copy of the Sun with the headline ALEXANDER GRAHAM BELL: FUGITIVE! “That’s from this morning,” Sarah added as she rushed to the workshop door and opened it, giving Molly a glimpse of the twilight outside. “We should check the evening edition for developments.”
While Hertha nodded to Sarah, Molly scanned the Sun’s front page in confusion. “But—but—if they believe Bell’s guilty,” Molly stammered, “does that mean they’re releasing my mother?”
“Sadly, no,” said Hertha. “They still believe Cass was an accomplice who betrayed her boss in an attempt to save herself. They’re looking for you and Emmett too.”
“Just us?” Molly asked. “But what about the three men in masks?”
“The police think they’ve already got them,” Emmett said through gritted teeth. Molly had never seen him look so bitter. “An ‘anonymous report’ led police to discover masks in the apartment of three Chinese immigrants. Those poor men barely speak English. They couldn’t defend themselves. They might not have even understood what they were being accused of!”
Edison was flat-out evil. He had to be stopped. And if the authorities weren’t going to do it, Molly would. “So, it’s on us,” she said. “Same situation as yesterday. Except now there are more of us. We need evidence, so let’s go get some evidence! The Fair is only a few days away. Stop fussing around in notebooks and finish that vehicle of yours so we can ride it to Menlo Park and raid Edison’s main lab.”
“The motor coach is days away from completion, Molly,” Mary said.
“Emmett and I can help,” Molly said.
“I got two hands too, Molly Pepper,” Jasper chipped in. “And probably no more job at the factory, seeing as I been here all day and not there. I bet Balthazar Birdhouse has already claimed my coat hook.”
“And my mother!” Molly added eagerly. “Let’s go get her! We can—we can break her out of the asylum!”
She saw none of the enthusiasm she hoped to see on the women’s faces, only pity.
“Come on, people,” she said, clapping her hands. “We all know she’s not supposed to be locked in there, so let’s—”
The door opened and Sarah burst back in. “Sorry to interrupt, but things just got more complicated.” She handed the evening paper to Hertha. “According to this, Alexander Graham Bell just kidnapped a bunch of other inventors: George Eastman, Nikola Tesla, Levi Strauss, and Thomas Edison. He left a note threatening to kill them if the police don’t call off their manhunt.”
Everyone in the room stopped to ponder this new development. Even Margaret slid out from under the motor coach.
“Well, we know Edison wasn’t really kidnapped,” Emmett finally said.
“Yes, but the others,” Hertha said. “Are they victims? Or co-conspirators?”
“Levi Strauss? He makes pants!” Molly cried. “Look, this cinches it. We have to act now! If your motor buggy’s not ready, we’ve got Jasper’s ashcart.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Jasper said. “I think Prancey-Pie’s still traumatized from her ordeal.”
“And you, young lady, are not going anywhere, anyway,” said Mrs. Cochrane from her throne across the room. “In fact, you should be back in bed until we’re certain you’re in good health.”
“That’s ridiculous! I feel fine!” Molly snapped. The last part was a lie—her head was pounding and her gut was churning. But the suggestion infuriated her. “It’s my mother whose life is at stake!”
“There are many more lives at stake than just hers,” Mary said, sounding almost apologetic. “Don’t worry, Molly. We’re more than capable of working out a plan. And once we’ve dealt with the most immediate crisis, we’ll do what we can for your mother, I promise.”
“I know more about what’s going on here than any of you,” Molly shouted. “You can’t just send me to my room! I’m not your prisoner! Or am I?” A surge of dizziness swept over her and she stumbled. Jasper leapt forward to catch her.
Hertha stood up, took Molly’s hand, and led her back to the small office room. “I understand you want to help, Molly, but I’m afraid I agree with Josephine. You suffered a severe blow in that building collapse. You may have a concussion. Rest here, get the sleep you need, and trust us. By the time you’re up and ready to help, we’ll be able to tell you exactly what to do.” She pulled the lever that transformed the desk back into a bed, and sat Molly down on it.
Molly wanted to fight it, but her gut was clenching with spasms of nausea. She looked through the doorway to Emmett, her eyes pleading for him to help. He knelt beside the bed as Molly’s head hit the pillow.
“I’m not going to argue against making sure you’re healthy,” he said.
“My mother—”
“You can’t help your mother if you’re unwell,” Emmett said.
She stared at him silently, not wanting to admit he was right.
“You may not trust them,” Emmett whispered. “But please trust me.” Hertha led him back out and shut the door, leaving Molly alone in the dark to wonder whether or not she could do what her friend requested of her. She knew Emmett would never knowingly betray her. Knowingly.
Molly began to ponder where the Mothers of Invention hid their escape tunnel.
31
&n
bsp; Hero’s Tribute
WHEN THE DOOR cracked open the following morning, Molly assumed it was Emmett sneaking in to her, but she soon figured out it was Jasper.
“Are you decent, Molly Pepper?” the ashman whispered. He had his eyes closed and bumped his head into a bedpost.
“Yes.” She’d been sleeping in her dress. “What’s going on?”
Jasper quietly shut the door and fumbled for the pull-chain on the electric light overhead. “I know it’s early and I don’t like bein’ the bearer of bad news,” he said. “But I figured this ain’t ancient Rome and you ain’t gonna kill the messenger, especially when that messenger is sneaking information to a girl who’s supposed to be recoverin’ from a—”
“Jasper, what?”
He handed Molly a newspaper—a fresh one, still warm from the printing press.
BELL KILLED!
HERO EDISON SLAYS “MAD SCIENTIST,”
SAVES LIVES OF FELLOW INVENTORS
The article told of how one by one, four prominent Guildsmen had been rendered unconscious by an unknown gas, only to wake up prisoners of Alexander Graham Bell, bound and gagged on a boat in New York Harbor.
* * *
Who knows how many more of our revered inventors would have been stolen from us, had the brave Mr. Edison not managed to free himself and fight back.
“Edison was spectacular,” said George Eastman. “He slipped out of his ropes and climbed up on deck to confront that hooligan Bell.”
“Through the hatch, we see them struggle,” confirmed Nikola Tesla. “I see not where the Edison get his knife from—he must grab it from the Bell. But soon the knife go in and, splash, the Bell go into the sea.”
“Kidnapping is a rough and tumble ordeal,” added Levi Strauss. “Thank heavens I was wearing a pair of my new Levi’s dungarees, the pants that are ready for whatever life throws your way.”
* * *
“This makes no sense,” Molly said.
“I know,” Jasper replied. “Why’s he so excited about the pants? The pants didn’t do anything.”
“No, all of it,” Molly said. She couldn’t believe her actions had brought about the death of an innocent man—a man who’d sacrificed himself to save her. She put down the paper, so it wouldn’t rustle in her trembling hands. “Why did Edison fake this kidnapping? If he was going to kill Bell, why didn’t he just do it at Bandit’s Roost and get it over with?”
“If the man’s as full of himself as you and Emmett say, maybe he did it for the adoration.” said Jasper. “That’s the kind of thing Balthazar Birdhouse would do.” He picked up the article and read the end of it to Molly. “‘And thus, thanks to the courage of one man, any threat of danger at Friday’s opening of the World’s Fair is over. The State of New York and the World’s Fair Committee will formally show their appreciation to the heroic Edison with a special medal of valor. Governor Grover Cleveland and former president Ulysses S. Grant will personally present the award to the daring inventor in a ceremony at noon today in Union Square.’”
“He wanted witnesses,” Molly said with quiet horror. “Not just witnesses to Bell’s death, but to his own heroism. With the public thinking Bell was still out there plotting, people would be scared to go to the Fair. Edison not only solved that problem, but he’s made it so that even more people will show up for his lighting ceremony. They’ll all want to bask in the glorious glow of the heroic Thomas Edison!” It was hard for Molly to imagine how things could get any worse. “Has Emmett seen this yet?”
Jasper shook his head. “He’s still sleeping. He was up real late with those inventors talking plans and such. They’re all still out too, I think. Except maybe that one under the Marvelous Moto-Mover. I can’t see if her eyes are closed or not.”
“It’s going to destroy Emmett to find out about Bell,” Molly said, trying to quell her own sorrows.
“I’m just glad I didn’t read this story before seein’ with my own pretty eyes that you and Emmett were really safe and sound,” Jasper said. “Or I’d be a blubbering mess right now.”
Molly grabbed the paper again. “What do you mean, Jasper?”
“Oh, did you miss this part?” He pointed to a paragraph toward the end of the article and read, “‘With tears in his eyes, Mr. Edison told police how Bell murdered the two poor children he’d had working for him.’ See? So I’m talkin’ to a ghost right now. With Bell dead and those Chinese fellas in jail, you and Emmett were the only two alleged fugitives left. Edison probably figures if you’re dead in real life, why not write you out of his fake story too.”
“The whole world will think we’re dead,” Molly muttered. She grabbed a bedpost to steady herself.
“On the bright side, the cops won’t be bugging you anymore.” He awkwardly patted her head.
“Jasper, you don’t understand,” Molly said. “The whole world will think we’re dead. That includes my mother. She doesn’t even know Bell’s been framed. She’ll think he actually murdered me! If she believes that, I don’t know what she’ll do. . . .” She slid out of bed and strapped her boots on. “I need you to sneak me out of here.”
“Oh, Molly Pepper, I don’t know about that.”
She put her hands on the ashman’s brawny shoulders and stared into his eyes. “Back in my pickle shop, I have a chest full of books that my father gave me before he died. They are my most prized possessions. If you help me now, they’re yours.” She sat back on the bed and pulled all four corners of the blanket up over herself. “Now lug me outta here like a bag of laundry and if anybody sees you, tell them I threw up on myself and you’re dumping my dirty clothes.”
In the darkness of her makeshift sack, she waited, hoping Emmett would understand, that he would forgive her, that they could still be friends when this was all over. But she didn’t have the time to argue with him, to convince him they had to confront Edison directly, publicly. If she accused Edison right there in Union Square, in front of a crowd of fans and reporters, if she proved him a liar by revealing herself to be the very girl he claimed to have seen murdered, if she pulled out the “Dear MacDougal” letter and demanded a handwriting sample from Edison for comparison—for once, he’d be the one trapped. And even if it didn’t work, the news would get out that she was still alive. And maybe that news would reach her mother.
Eventually, she heard Jasper sigh and felt herself lifted into the air.
32
A Face in the Crowd
AS BOTH A former president and commanding general of the United States Army, Ulysses S. Grant had given many important speeches in his time, but Molly wondered if the man had any clue of the importance of his words that day—if he had any idea he was doing the dirty work of a homicidal madman.
“It is my great pleasure to officially announce that the 1883 World’s Fair will open its gates to the public this Friday!” he declared into a megaphone, setting off a cascade of cheers from the hundreds packed around the wooden platform in Union Square. Molly watched from across the street, having climbed a tree in order to see over all the big, flamboyant hats in the crowd.
“And you have my assurance, as well as that of the noble and learned men beside me, that this will be the safest fair to have ever been held in this or any other nation, since the dawn of . . . fairs.” There was another round of cheers, presumably for the former president’s sentiment, and not his phrasing. Molly huffed with frustration, unable to spot Edison among the cluster of dark suits, pale skin, and facial hair crammed on the platform. She couldn’t make her move until she was certain he was there.
“And while we on the planning committee would love to take credit,” Grant said, “there’s one man we need to thank more than anyone—the hero who saved this fair from the diabolical machinations of his own colleague. Ladies and gentlemen, the Wizard of Menlo Park and a true American treasure, Mr. Thomas Edison!”
Finally. Molly swung down from her tree as Edison hopped up from behind the platform, did a little tap dance, and got a gold medal
placed around his neck by Governor Cleveland. Molly squeezed in among the hooting, clapping fools celebrating a man who wanted to kill them. But no one would be applauding Edison once she got to that stage and proved him a liar.
“Hello, New York!” Edison crowed through the big white cone. “Thanks for coming out today. You people are the best.” Molly wanted to gag. “In fact, I love you all so much, I’m going to hit you with a little surprise. I was going to save this for the Fair, but then I said to myself, ‘New York has had a rough week. These folks deserve a little magic today.’”
The crowd went wild as Edison tossed aside the big, clunky megaphone and rolled out a blocky machine with several knobs and dials on top. His death machine! Molly gasped. He’s going to use it now! Molly covered her ears as a loud squealing sound filled the air. And then . . .
“HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW?”
Edison’s voice boomed, loud enough to be clearly heard not only throughout the park, but probably for several blocks beyond.
Molly looked up. Edison was speaking into a small circular device that was wired to the machine he’d brought out. But his voice was far louder than it had been through the megaphone—an effect, presumably, of the machine.
“This little baby is my latest innovation,” Edison said. “I call it the Vocal Empowernator, a sort of sonic amplifier, if you will.”
Molly was relieved, until she saw a tall man with a prominent, jutting snaggletooth walk up behind Edison and whisper something in his ear. It was Tusk! Edison covered his speaking device with his hand, while the henchman pointed to Molly.
A Dastardly Plot Page 16