1871

by Peter J Spalding

  At Terrace Row, Lillian was fighting with her father. Archibald Andrist was a stuffy walrus-mustached man who didn’t appreciate hearing stories from the neighbors. He yelled and screamed about the way he raised his daughter. Lillian yelled back at first, then threw up her hands and stormed off. She heard the wind bluster as she stomped up the stairs, yanked down a trap door, and entered her attic. The space was crammed full of boxes, with a small window offering the only available light. Lillian headed for a box in the room’s southeast corner. Lightning flashed through the window, and Lillian’s face seemed to harden. She saw a small toy about twenty feet away, and a slew of memories came flooding into her head. Then the thunderclap broke her train of thought; she looked around quickly, grabbed the things she needed, and headed back downstairs.

  The storm continued for the better part of the day. By the time it was over, its rainfall totaled an inch and a half. That made it one of the rainiest days of the year— but it as it turned out, it was the last major rain of the summer. From that point on, Chicago was left almost perfectly dry.

  THE SIDEWALKS WERE STILL WET WHEN THE FOURTH OF JULY CELEBRATIONS BEGAN. Crowds assembled in Courthouse Square, where politicians grinned and sermonized and greeted their constituents. Baseball fans headed to Lake Park, where Chicago’s White Stockings played the Forest Citys of Rockford. Society ladies headed north to Evanston, where the Tribune promised that “all the beauty, intelligence, brilliancy, wealth, respectability, learning, muscle, toilette, fashion, and genius of the State” would attend. Firecrackers were audible all over the city; they started in the morning and continued until night.

  But there was very little cheer in the Clifton House that day. Doctor Smith stepped into the hallway, where Robert and Mary were waiting. “Excuse me,” he said as he took Robert aside.

  “What is it?” Robert asked.

  Smith bit his lip until Mary was out of earshot. “I’m so sorry,” he finally said, “but I have bad news.”

  Robert frowned. “What?”

  “The edema used to be confined to his left lung,” Smith replied. “Now it is in both, and his heart can no longer keep pace. We will do what we can, but... I don’t know what will happen.”

  “Wait,” Robert said. “Do you mean to say that my brother is dying?”

  “I don’t know,” Smith replied. “It’s possible, but I cannot truly say.”

  “But— but that cannot be true. He was perfectly healthy—”

  “I know,” Smith replied. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.” He looked over at Mary, who was looking in his direction. “Shall I break the news to your mother?”

  Robert closed his eyes and tried to imagine how Mary would react. “No,” he said. “No, I should be the one.” He took a deep breath. “I just shan’t know how to do it.”

  Smith nodded. “Very well then,” he said.

  “But there must be something more to be done. What if, for example, we brought in more doctors to assist?”

  “He’s already being seen by the best in Chicago,” Smith replied. “You must understand... it’s not up to any of us anymore. Your brother is quite literally in the hands of God.”

  Robert didn’t know how to react. He chewed his lip for a moment, then nodded. “I understand,” he replied.

  CONSTRUCTION EQUIPMENT LAY SCATTERED ACROSS LINCOLN PARK. The remnants of the old City Cemetery were being removed and replaced with fine landscaping. Deacon Bross bragged that the area would soon be as beautiful as New York’s Central Park. The naysayers, of course, were hardly so sure; they wanted the land to be developed for profit.

  Simon and Tommy were among the many who headed there for the Fourth. They walked past picnicking families, roughhousing children, and various patriotic displays. Off toward the north, a lightning strike had touched off a prairie fire, and the smoke could be seen billowing into the air. Simon tried to ignore it as he went looking for Lillian.

  He found her at the old Milliman tract, where dozens of graves had now been carted away. A pile of headstones lay against a tree trunk, while giant holes pockmarked the landscape. At first, Simon thought it was no place for a child; but to his relief, Tommy didn’t seem to mind.

  Lillian bent down when she saw the boy. She seemed to give off a warmth that Simon had never noticed before. “Why, you must be Tommy!” she said. “I have something fo’ you.”

  “What?” Tommy asked.

  Lillian reached into her handbag, pulled out a toy horse, and handed it to Tommy. “This used to be mine,” she said. “Now I wish you to have it.”

  Tommy squinted, and his little brow wrinkled in thought. The horse was made mostly of canvas and straw. Its mane was made of yarn, and its eyes were made of beads. A number of the seams had weakened, allowing blades of straw to poke through the skin.

  “What do you think?” Lillian asked. “Do you like it?”

  Tommy looked up and gave an exaggerated nod.

  “What do you say?” Simon asked him.

  “Thank you,” Tommy said.

  Lillian smiled. “You’ welcome,” she replied.

  “I play with it,” Tommy said as he headed back toward the crowd.

  Simon jumped after him. “Wait!” he said as he grabbed his nephew’s hand. “It’s dangerous. Come with me.”

  Lillian leaned over to speak in Simon’s ear. “I hope you don’t consider it fo’ward of me,” she said, “but you did mention a lack of toys at you’ home.”

  Simon looked at her. “Thank you,” he said.

  They found an open area in which Tommy could play. Simon let go of him, and Tommy immediately started running with the toy. He held it near the ground and bucked it back and forth in an imitation gallop.

  Simon turned to Lillian. “Where did you acquire that?” he asked.

  “My mothe’ gave it to me when I was a little girl,” Lillian said. “I kept it stowed away, and frankly I had fo’gotten I owned it until now.” She took a deep breath. “And more impo’tantly... I have something for you too.”

  “Oh?” Simon asked. “Dare I inquire—”

  “Well, if I’m to help you find J.J., you must trust me, correct?” Lillian said. “You have always wished to know why I care about all this, and whe’e my loyalty lies... so here it is.”

  “You have my ear,” he replied.

  “In all honesty, I ha’dly know how to begin... but I was bo’n in a village named Biddeford, Maine. My childhood was quite miserable, as my mothe’ was a seamstress who succumbed to dysentery when I was fifteen. Afte’ward, my fathe’ found that he could not only ply the trade, but make a significant profit outside of New England. He came to Chicago in 1861; he sold unifo’ms to the Union troops and made a windfall in the process.

  “I had chosen to remain behind, since I didn’t approve of my fathe’s profiteering ways. But his newfound wealth did buy me an education, so I studied for a time in Ipswich, Massachusetts. In the beginning I felt strangely fo’tunate, but that feeling did not last. One Sunday, my friends and I went to Boston, and we inadvertently found ou’selves in the most wretched of its slums. I was shocked to see such pove’ty beside such storied wealth and privilege. I could not fo’get what had lifted me out of that life— namely war and bloodshed and the commerce that it entailed. I could not help but think: ‘the’e but for the grace of God go I.’ I soon found myself leaving Ipswich; some said that I was thrown out, but the truth was that it was more of a mutual goodbye. Without a husband to suppo’t me, I had to live with my father, and in Chicago I involved myself in the causes that mean so much to me— such as women’s suffrage, and helping the poor, and the like.”

  Simon nodded. “And rooting out corruption,” he said.

  “It’s all related,” Lillian replied. “Corruption breeds pove’ty, you see, and it feeds off of it too. The uneducated are often vulnerable to every huckster and cha’latan who may come along. Politicians often exploit that fact fo’ themselves— they know that men sell votes when they have nothing else to sell
, and when circumstances make them so desperate fo’ means. And when wronged, the wretched cannot turn to anyone. Witness which cities have the most deep-seated graft— they all have a high concentration of poor.”

  Simon didn’t know how to respond. He sensed that there was more to it than Lillian let on. “But what is truly bothering you?” he asked. “From what I have seen, your explanation remains incomplete.”

  “What do you mean?” Lillian said.

  “You’re clearly bothered by something, and you’d make things a great deal easier for me if you’d but tell me what it is,” he replied. “Did Bross say something to your father? Is that what this is about?”

  She sighed. “I know not if he said something directly, or if my fathe’ heard it from someone else,” she replied. “But my fathe’ did learn of you, if that is what you mean to ask.”

  “Well,” he said, “perhaps I should speak to him. I know you don’t wish for me to meet him, but it couldn’t possibly do any harm, and it would certainly allow me to apologize.”

  “What apologies have you to make?” Lillian asked. “You did nothing wrong, and neithe’ did I. My fathe’ knows that I make my own decisions, and I live my own life.”

  Simon shrugged. “That you most certainly do.”

  “In any event,” Lillian said, “I would like to start searching for you’ brother as quickly as we can. In the meantime, I have brought you the reco’ds of the Milliman-Judd transaction.” She reached into her carriage and handed him a thick stack of papers. “You may do with this what you will.”

  Simon looked at the papers and chewed his lip. “Is there any mention of my home in there?” he asked.

  “Well,” Lillian said, “you’ll have to read them to find out.”

  ROBERT WANTED HIS MOTHER TO GET HER MIND OFF OF THINGS, so he forced her to go spend a night on the town. Mary’s cousin Elizabeth Grimsley Brown came to meet her, and together they went to the city’s best stores.

  Mary seemed to work out her fears as she shopped. She bought riding boots for Tad, on the assumption that he would soon be out and about; and she bought baby clothes for Mamie, with the hope that Mary Harlan would return before the child outgrew them. Then she bought things for Robert, and she bought things for herself, and she bought things that no one needed but that she couldn’t resist.

  When Mary returned to the Clifton House, she had several bags full of goods. Robert blanched when he saw her; he knew that his mother was an extravagant spender, and he had already spent a great deal of time trying to get her out of debt.

  “What is all this?” Robert asked.

  “These are necessities for your home,” Mary said. “You still have no drawing room curtains, and I do not wish further holidays to come without those windows being suitably draped.”

  “Mother—”

  “Where is my little Taddie?” she asked as she hurried toward his room.

  “He is doing better,” Robert said. “The drier weather seems to be helping him a bit. But you must listen—”

  Mary burst into Tad’s room and smothered him with kisses, going on and on about Tad’s “great affliction.”

  Tad didn’t want to hear it, so he did his best to push his mother away. “Enough, Mother,” he said as he gave off another cough.

  Robert looked at Elizabeth Brown, who gave a resigned shrug. Elizabeth— or “Lizzie,” as the family called her— was one of the few people who could make Mary see reason. Lizzie was a stern preacher’s wife, with a no-nonsense expression and her hair in a bun.

  Lizzie leaned over to Robert. “I must go,” she whispered. “I will help you return the merchandise when the time comes.”

  “Thank you,” Robert said, and he saw her out the door. When he returned, his mother was waiting for him.

  “Robert,” Mary said, “Lizzie tells me that Scammon has offered you a position in his firm.”

  Robert was in no mood to be discussing his work. “I have had a standing job offer for months,” he said. “What has that to do with anything?”

  “Well, why haven’t you accepted? It is such a prestigious firm, and you could earn so much there—”

  “For heaven’s sakes, let us not resume that discussion. Suffice it to say that if I didn’t have my own firm, then I could not stay beside my brother in his hour of need.”

  “But Tad has been ill many times before, and he has always rallied,” Mary said. “What we truly need are the funds to leave the Clifton House altogether.”

  Robert sighed. “May we discuss something else?” he asked.

  Mary noticed that Robert was holding an envelope. The address was in his wife’s handwriting, postmarked from Washington. “Is that—”

  “Mamie finally took her first steps.”

  “Oh, how extraordinary!” Mary said as she gave her son a hug.

  “I suppose,” Robert said. “But I lament that I wasn’t there to see it.”

  “Oh, you must show your brother! Go on, go on.” Mary shooed him into Tad’s room.

  Robert blinked, then entered the room and closed the door behind him. Tad was resting as peacefully as he could, but he was still unable to lie down.

  “What was that commotion?” Tad asked.

  Robert told him what had happened, then handed him a photograph that had come with the letter. Tad’s eyes lit up as he took the picture in his hands. The picture showed Mamie, as pretty as ever, in a lacy little dress. “How adorable,” he said.

  Robert cracked a smile. “Isn’t she?” he said. “She’s wearing a dress that Mother sent from France.” Robert looked into Tad’s eyes; as pale as Tad was, he seemed to be doing well, and Robert hoped and prayed that he would soon be on the mend.

  “You have such a precious daughter,” Tad said, then let off another cough.

  “I know,” Robert said. “She gets it from her mother.”

  “I cannot wait to see them both again,” Tad replied. “We must spend more time together, all of us, just as Mother and I have spent so much time together of late.”

  “That would necessitate traveling halfway around the world,” Robert said, “just as you and Mother did.”

  Tad wheezed a few times, then nodded his head. “We should,” he replied. “If you could marvel at some of the things we have seen... the medieval cities, the soaring cathedrals, and the breathtaking Alpine landscape, the likes of which we have only read about in tales....”

  “I’m sure,” Robert said.

  “I must show you Pompeii,” Tad said. “It is such a haunting, peculiar sight... everything made of wood is gone, and yet it still has an air of being oddly alive. It takes no great effort of the imagination to revive it all... where you may imagine yourself in the midst of the burgeoning empire... where the streets are filled with people, where busy merchants call out from all sides... and to think that those unsuspecting Pompeians were so long oblivious to their own impending doom.” Then his voice trailed off, and his chest heaved with exertion.

  Robert didn’t want to think about doom at that moment. He wanted to think only about the adventures his brother had had. “I wish I could have been there with you,” Robert said. “Seeing the world must be an indescribable thrill.”

  Tad swallowed. “I wish to see more,” he said, “to live among the Indians, perhaps, and see the California coast....”

  Robert nodded. Their father had wanted to see all of that too. Abraham Lincoln had dreamt of taking a cross-country journey on the Transcontinental Railroad, but he hadn’t lived long enough to see the project completed.

  “Buck up,” Tad said, then let off another wheeze. “I shan’t see you gloomy on my account, understand?”

  “All right,” Robert said after a momentary pause. “I understand.”

  WHEN SIMON AND LILLIAN BEGAN SEARCHING FOR J.J., Simon had few expectations, if any. But he certainly didn’t expect events to transpire the way they did. His first surprise came when he showed Lillian a picture of his brother, and to his astonishment, she recognized him at
once.

  “I saw this boy months ago,” she said. “I didn’t realize this was you’ brother, yet now I can certainly see it—”

  “What?” Simon asked. “Now wait just a moment. How—”

  “I will not soon fo’get the young gambler in Conley’s Patch,” she said. “We must go there at once.”

  “No, absolutely not,” he replied. “First you must tell me what’s going on, for call me a dolt, but I still don’t understand. And Conley’s Patch is a hellhole— I’m not going down there.”

  “Oh, why on Earth not?” Lillian snapped. “Being exposed to the poor is impo’tant. It’s not at all as dangerous as people make it out to be, but even if it were, I still have the gun that I confiscated that day.”

  Simon rolled his eyes. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

  “Do you wish to find him o’ not?” Lillian asked.

  Simon groaned and scratched the back of his neck. He didn’t want to think of what J.J. might have done there. Simon found himself staring at the papers that Lillian had given him. He was about to say something when he heard a knock at the door.

  Simon sighed and got up. “Excuse me,” he said. He headed for the foyer, leaving Lillian by herself.

  Lillian was mulling over her thoughts, trying to decide what to say and do next, when she heard Simon let out a yell. It sounded like a combination of joy and anger, the likes of which she hadn’t heard before.

  “The idiot!” he said. “The idiot!”

  “What happened?” Lillian asked.

  “I don’t believe this,” Simon replied, “and neither will you.” And he showed her the telegram he had just received:

  Glorious news JJ found arrived home today particulars later

  E. Caldwell

  “Why, that’s wonde’ful!” Lillian said as she felt a wave of relief.