She leaned close and gave him a swift kiss on the cheek, thankful once again that he was willing to go against male fashion dictates and forgo a mustache and beard. She wondered if his Shawnee heritage explained why her lips felt no prickly stubble, even at this time of night, or if he had shaved again before coming to visit her. If so, it was one more example of how thoughtful Nate was compared to her deceased husband, John.
“What was that for? Not that I mind.” Nate slipped his arm around her. “But I want to know what I did to deserve that welcome so I can do it again.”
“Oh, I am just glad to see you,” Annie replied. “Last Sunday seems an eternity ago. Go on and tell me about your visit with Mrs. Anderson. Do you still suspect that Mr. Emory hasn’t been entirely forthcoming about his relationship to her?”
“I don’t know. He certainly is very solicitous. Evidently, her father was his best friend. I suppose it’s possible he really sees himself as a sort of paternal figure. Doesn’t mean he didn’t intervene on her behalf, but I really don’t see this as causing much of a scandal.”
“What is Mrs. Anderson like?”
“Young, tearful. Pretty enough, if you like the clinging vine sort of female.” Nate smiled and tightened his arm around her. Annie leaned away from him and playfully boxed his ear.
He laughed. “She brought her son with her. Jack, a fine fellow of four. Came right up to me and shook my hand like a little man. Mrs. Anderson’s mother takes care of him while she is at work, and I must say he seemed very comfortable with Emory. Climbed right up in his lap while we were talking. Not that this necessarily means anything.”
“Did Mrs. Anderson tell you about her hiring? Isn’t that what you wanted to find out?”
“Yes, and I wanted to see what kind of witness she would make if this came to a formal hearing or even a trial. She was very vague. Couldn’t quite remember who had told her there was an opening. She did say she wrote Mr. Swett, the Girls' High Principal, about her interest in the job. I understand it was Mr. Hoffmann, the Vice Principal, plus the senior English instructor, Miss Thorndike, who were responsible for the decision to hire her. When I asked if they had mentioned her lack of the appropriate teaching certificate, she said she couldn’t remember.”
“Did she have any idea of who might have written the anonymous letter?”
“She says not. Says she can’t imagine anybody being ‘so mean.’ That’s why I hope to talk to Mrs. Hewitt, see if she has a different perspective.”
Annie nodded. “I caught her before she went into dinner and asked her to come to us in the parlor when she was finished, and she didn’t demur.”
Annie had spoken with Barbara on Monday evening about Nate’s case and his wish to speak with her. At first, Jamie’s mother had visibly recoiled, her hands flying up defensively, and she responded that she wouldn’t feel comfortable talking about her fellow teachers. Annie understood this attitude, particularly if one were the kind of person who valued one's own privacy, and Barbara Hewitt was an intensely private person. She never talked about her past, where she grew up, her marriage, or what happened to her husband. Annie respected that reticence since she seldom spoke about the painful aspects of her own personal history to anyone. Especially not about the disaster of her marriage to John or the miscarriage. She had never told a single soul about that, not even her closest friends, not even Nate.
However, as Madam Sibyl, Annie had learned to read a person’s thoughts from their physical reactions, and, in her opinion, Barbara Hewitt wasn’t just uncomfortable with the idea of "gossiping" about her colleagues; she was frightened by Nate’s request, and Annie wondered why. Then Barbara Hewitt changed her mind and said she would be willing to speak with Nate. She explained that she had been thinking about how she would feel if she found herself in Mrs. Anderson’s position. Annie wondered what information she would be able to contribute but was glad she felt comfortable enough to talk.
Nate shifted and removed his arm from around her, and she realized there were sounds coming from the hallway. Supper must be over. She stood up and went over to the open door and saw Miss Minnie and Miss Millie being ushered out of the dining room by Herman Stein, Annie’s most distinguished boarder and a successful west coast merchant. He nodded to her in passing but continued to shepherd the two elderly seamstresses up the stairs, Miss Minnie talking steadily, her sister silent as usual.
Next came Esther Stein, the older boarder who was Annie’s closest confidante. She was listening to an animated Jamie, and they turned towards the back stairs that went down to the kitchen. Annie silently blessed Esther, a woman with numerous grandchildren of her own, for taking the boy under her wing after supper. Barbara may have asked the older woman to accompany her son down to the kitchen so he could let Dandy out.
Esther and Jamie were closely followed by Laura and Mr. Harvey, the quiet dry goods clerk who shared a room with David Chapman. Finally came Barbara, who was looking distracted by Chapman's usual attentiveness. When Laura and Barbara saw Annie standing in the hallway, they both broke away from their escorts and came towards her. Nate, standing in the parlor doorway, stepped forward, bowed politely to Mrs. Hewitt, and shook her hand.
Annie had already ascertained that Barbara would prefer to speak to Nate alone, so her responsibility was to make sure they weren’t disturbed. Seeing Laura approach, she said, “Could you keep me company for a spell? Your brother has some business with Mrs. Hewitt, and I would like to give them some privacy. Can you spare a minute to sit with me in the hall? I don’t know how long they will be, so I would like to stay close at hand.” Annie pointed to the bench next to the hall coat stand.
“What does Nate need with Barbara?” Laura asked as they sat down. “I hope he isn’t being an annoying older brother, checking up on me?”
“Good heavens, no!” Annie laughed. “It is about a case he is working on. He might want to talk to you about it as well, since it seems that someone is sending anonymous letters spreading malicious rumors about teachers. Have you heard anything of this nature at Clement?”
“I haven’t heard a thing like that. How disturbing.” Laura frowned. “On the other hand, that doesn’t mean anything. Truth is, I haven’t had a chance to talk much with the other teachers beyond greetings when we meet in the hallways. Last week, Jamie’s teacher was kind enough to sit and talk with me at lunch, but I confess we mostly talked about Jamie! And this week, after I agreed to supervise Kitty Blaine, the Normal class student I told you about, I spent my lunch hour with her, talking about my lesson plan for the day.”
“Oh yes, how is that going?” Annie asked.
“I really don’t know. Miss Blaine is very quiet, and I’m not sure what to make of her. It’s just been two days. The only time I have gotten her to say more than a few words was when I asked her about her language studies. Apparently, she is learning German from Hattie’s intended, Mr. Russell. She got very excited for a moment when talking about that. Since she is only observing my class this week and next, she sits quietly in the back of the room. I guess if you are a student at Clement Grammar you are used to having practice teachers, because none of the students batted an eye when I introduced her. I am the one who feels self-conscious.”
“I would hate having someone observe me when I work as Madam Sibyl, potentially criticizing my every move,” said Annie, “but you probably went through it when you did your practice teaching at San Jose, right?”
“Yes, and I was very nervous then as well. We rotated through all the different grades, from first to eight. Miss Titus, one of my pedagogy professors, was very kind and gave me good marks, but I never felt comfortable, with the younger children in particular.”
Annie nodded encouragingly and said, “Did you have many very young children in your school at Cupertino Creek?”
Laura gave a little shudder. “Five of them under the age of seven. It was awful! Only one of them knew the alphabet, and none of them could sit still for more than ten minutes at a time. I woul
d just get one settled, copying letters and numbers on a slate, and another one would have gotten up and wandered away. I finally figured out I had to pair each of them with an older student whose job was to keep them at their tasks. When the weather was nice, I would send one of the more proficient readers outdoors with the group of them to read aloud. That worked better.”
Annie chuckled. “Oh my, I don’t know how you did it.”
“I am not sure how I did it either. Not well, I can assure you. That was one of the reasons I jumped at the offer to teach at Clement. I was certainly more successful with the children at Cupertino Creek who were in the middle grades, and I am starting to enjoy my seventh graders.”
“It is interesting to hear your perspective. You weren’t here in December, but the newly elected Board of Education voted to lower the primary school teachers’ salaries a great deal. There was quite a public outcry, teachers writing letters to the editor, holding a large protest meeting, saying that they would have to leave teaching rather than take these ‘starvation wages.’ Did your friend Hattie tell you about it?”
“No, but that explains one of the comments that Mrs. DuBois, Clement’s principal, made when she was interviewing me. She said that she was glad I had been able to step into Hattie’s position at the last minute because there had been a terrible scramble to get all the positions filled in the lower grades in the week before Christmas.”
“That would make sense,” Annie replied. “I just looked it up in my back copies of the Chronicle. Prior to the Board vote, a teacher with the highest level certificate and ten years experience was making $70 a month in the primary grades. Now they can make no more than half that amount. I wouldn’t be surprised if many of them looked for jobs outside the city that paid better.”
“What could the Board be thinking?” Laura exclaimed. “You couldn’t pay me enough to teach a whole class of five- or six-year-olds! Hot sticky fingers pulling at you, unexplained fits of giggles, endless fights over who touched whom first, and tears when you try to give them the least discipline.” Laura shuddered again and continued, sounding defensive to Annie. “I know that sounds terrible since taking care of small children is something that a woman is supposed to do naturally.”
Annie laughed and said, “I never understood that attitude, but it’s very common. The newspaper said that one of the Board members justified lower salaries for the primary grades because taking care of the youngest children didn’t require any special training or experience to do well.”
“Poppycock!” Laura ducked her head and whispered, “Don’t tell Nate I used that term. I know it isn’t ladylike. But since I learned it from him, he will feel all guilty and give me a scold.” She then laughed.
Annie promised not to tell Nate but pondered what Laura had said about taking care of young children. She’d had very little exposure to children in her life. She had no siblings, and her mother taught her at home until she was twelve and her mother died. Then her father tutored her on shipboard as they traveled back east. Her first experience with school was at age fourteen when she started the Academy, but that was with girls her own age. Lately, however, Annie found herself thinking more and more about what it would be like to be a mother. What she would be like as a mother.
Laura looked at her quizzically, and Annie realized she had been silent too long. Thinking she might learn more about what had upset Laura last fall, she said, “So you didn’t like the babies in your class. What about the older students? I always wondered how hard it would be to teach someone who wasn’t that much younger than you are. Did you…”
The front bell pealed, followed by a loud pounding on the door. Annie stood up and spontaneously put her arm around Laura, who had given a startled cry. Kathleen was probably down in the kitchen starting on the dishes, so as another thunderous series of raps rattled the front door, Annie wavered. Should she open it? She didn’t want to leave Laura, whose nerves were obviously still in a state. Nate appeared, Barbara right behind him, and he said, “Shall I?”
“Yes, do. I don’t know who it could be at this hour.” Annie retreated with Laura a bit further back down the hall.
Nate undid the bolt and opened the door on a man, a stranger to Annie. He looked to be in his fifties with a small gray mustache. He was neatly dressed in a subdued brown wool suit, but his cheeks were red, and he was clearly out of breath. He immediately took off his derby when he saw there were ladies present and bobbed his head politely, saying, “Please sir, ladies. I am sorry t’bother you, but it’s a matter of some urgency. Is there a Miss Laura Dawson residing here? My name is McNaughton, and I have a message for her.”
Nate looked back at Laura. When she shook her head in bewilderment, he turned to the man and said, “Sir, I’m Miss Dawson’s brother. You may convey your message to me.”
“Yes, sir, I understand. It is Miss Hattie Wilks, sir, that boards with me and the missus. We’ve never had such a thing happen, respectable house we run. Miss Hattie fell some time this evening, dunno when. It were something terrible to see her all broken on the landing, blood everywhere. Hector, my son, got a cab, and he and my missus took her off to St. Mary’s. But before they left, the lassie roused a little. She grabbed my hand and told me to get a message to Miss Laura Dawson at Mrs. Fuller’s boarding house on O’Farrell Street. The local copper directed me here. Now, sir, I think if your sister wants to see her, she’d best come straight away. I saw too much death in the war, and the poor girl had that look they get, you know. When they are about to meet their maker.”
Chapter Eleven
Later Wednesday evening, January 14, 1880
"The new chapel on First Street, in the rear of St. Mary's Hospital, erected by the Sisters of Mercy connected with the Hospital, was dedicated at 3 o'clock yesterday afternoon." ––San Francisco Hospital, 1879
Hattie looked so small lying on the hospital bed. And so pale. Laura leaned over and stroked her cheek, cold and smooth as marble.
“Sister, shouldn’t she have more blankets?” Laura looked at the Sister of Mercy who stood quietly in the corner, wimple and collar glowing white against the black garments that could be barely distinguished from the dark shadows at the edges of the room.
“I am sorry, Miss. The attending physician said that because of her broken bones, we should limit the weight of her coverings in order to lessen her pain,” the Sister replied quietly, her hands folded into the wide sleeves of her habit.
Laura had noticed the splint on Hattie’s right arm when she first came into the room, but now she saw that the contours of the light blanket laying over her suggested there was some sort of splint over both of her legs. She sat down, pulling the chair closer so she could take Hattie’s left hand in her own, rubbing it to try to create some warmth. She had been forced to leave Nate and Annie in the hallway, the sister insisting that only one person could be in the room with the patient at a time.
“Poor darling,” she whispered. “You took a bad tumble, but the good doctors have patched you up.” Hattie didn’t open her eyes, and Laura saw that every breath her friend took was slow and labored.
A cry rent the silence from somewhere down the hall, and Laura glanced towards the door, seeing the swift passage of another nun, black veil and skirts making a soft swishing noise. She shivered. She’d never been in a hospital before, and every story she’d read about them as houses of death came flooding back. She barely remembered the ride across the city, but from the moment that Nate and Annie led her through the front doors of the imposing St. Mary’s Hospital, she had felt oppressed.
The rows of gas fixtures throughout the building vestibule and corridors filled the air with their distinctive odor and soft hiss yet failed to illuminate the high ceilings or the three flights of wide stairs they trudged up to reach Hattie’s floor. The sister had escorted them down a corridor that seemed to stretch for miles. They passed room after room, where Laura caught glimpses of other black-robed nuns leaning over beds, doing goodness knows what. And t
he smells. Even in this room, the familiar odor of gas lighting, mixed with a strong astringent scent, failed to mask a smell more associated with butcher shops. Laura felt in the grip of some gothic nightmare as she listened to the sound of Hattie’s breathing in counterpoint to the click, click, click of the sister’s rosary.
Hattie moaned, and her eyes fluttered open and then shut.
Laura leaned closer, squeezing her friend’s hand, and whispered, “Hattie dear, it’s me, Laura. How are you feeling? Is there anything I can do for you?”
Hattie continued to breathe slowly and with increased difficulty.
Laura turned and said, “Sister, what is wrong? Why isn’t she conscious?” She pointed to a small brown glass bottle sitting on the bedside table. “Has she been given some medicine for pain; is that why she doesn’t wake up?” Laura recalled the deep sleepiness she’d felt when her mother gave her laudanum the time she broke her arm, but she didn’t remember having any difficulty breathing.
When the sister didn’t respond, the words of McNaughton, the boarding house owner, crept into her head. She said more sharply, “Sister, please answer me. She’s going to be all right, isn’t she? There isn’t anything wrong besides the broken bones, is there? The man who found her told us there was blood. Did she cut herself?” She reached over and ran her hand over Hattie’s hair, searching for a sign of a bandage, vaguely remembering that scalp wounds bled freely. Finding nothing, she went back to stroking Hattie’s cheek, saying through her tears, “Dearest, can you hear me? I am right beside you. I won’t let anything happen to you. But can’t you give me a sign? Let me know you are all right.”
Bloody Lessons: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery Page 8