My Peculiar Family

by Les Rosenthal

  August, 1898

  Months had passed and Calvin had managed to keep his identity intact. He continued to comply with the man who knew too much about his former back-alley existence. He paid the man the extortion money in exchange for his silence. All the while, Calvin Crownshield held his elite status among the Brahmins. His membership in The Club had continued to secure his reputation within the posh neighborhood of Beacon Hill, and if the rumors were true, his father-in-law’s construction company was a shoe-in for future development projects in the city.

  Things had indeed taken a fortunate turn for Calvin and he was able to make good on his promises to his father-in-law. He had been earning his own wealth, his family life was great, and his place within Beacon Hill society had been firmly secured. There was only one problem; the man who demanded money in exchange for his silence. He could afford to part with the one-seventy-five a month, however, he didn’t like the idea of being strong-armed by a man who didn’t even have the courtesy of telling Calvin how he knew him or how he was privy to the information he had. He simply arrived each month on the first Monday, sat down to drink his egg cream and walked away with an envelope of cash. Calvin felt that this needed to stop, immediately.

  After much deliberation, Calvin arrived at the conclusion that the mystery man should indeed die, and the secrets he held over Calvin’s head, would die along with him. His reputation was at stake. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. But how to seamlessly accomplish this was a difficult task. That late evening, while lying awake in bed, an anxious Calvin went over every possible scenario in his mind as to how he could eliminate the man who’d been robbing him. He knew he could easily poison the man’s monthly egg cream, but with what was the question. Calvin, under Abigail’s grandfather’s tutelage, he learned how to heal people, not kill them. He quietly crept out of bed and made his way down to his study in search of a book on various poisons.

  He couldn’t use just any type of poison. It needed to be something that was effective, odorless, and flavorless, couldn’t be traced and most importantly, a poison that wouldn’t take immediate effect. It had to be something with an incubation period, so the man would die elsewhere, not in Calvin’s presence. Calvin flipped enthusiastically through the pages of his medical books which he hoped would uncover the perfect method of poisoning.

  Belladonna was very deadly, but it would take approximately ten of the berries to take effect. He didn’t know how to get the man to eat ten berries the next time he arrived for his money. Dimethylmercury would be lethal, but unfortunately the effects would take months to take effect. Calvin didn’t have months to wait. Every day that this man lived was a chance for him to reveal the truth about Calvin. He proceeded to read through his book.

  Cyanide and arsenic were the best choices for insuring the man’s death, but these were traceable and Calvin couldn’t take the risk of it leading back to him. Finally, he landed on the page for aconite, one of the deadliest poisons which left no trace of the substance in the body. More importantly, it didn’t take immediate effect. It could take up to four to six hours for the effects to take hold of the victim. That would allow the man to ingest the poison, leave Calvin’s shop and eventually die elsewhere.

  Aconite would cause asphyxia and arrhythmic heart function, and eventually suffocation, with no apparent reason for the occurrence; the victim would simply die. This was the answer to Calvin’s problem. The following day, Calvin went about preparing the poison with a batch of Blue Monkshood Root that he had on hand for the treatment of gout, along with a proprietary blend of various other ingredients. He was careful not to touch it with his bare hands, as he could risk poisoning himself. Calvin carefully packaged the poisonous concoction. He placed it in the inside pocket of his coat, locked up the store for the evening and headed home.

  It was the evening before the meeting with the mysterious man, and once again, Calvin felt anxious. He was eager to serve the man his final egg cream, and end the relationship between them, once and for all. Perfect timing was on Calvin’s side as well, as his Abigail and Oliver were set to take a trip by rail the following day to visit her parents.

  While sitting in his darkened study, Calvin continued to ponder his plan for the following day. While deep in thought, he had poured himself a third glass of scotch when the family servant, Miss Genevieve, knocked and entered the study. “Excuse me, sir” she said, “I heard you were awake, and thought you might like a cup of hot tea before bed.”

  He smiled, held up his glass and replied “No thank you, Genevieve. That will be all.”

  Calvin sipped his scotch and smiled to himself in the darkened study. It was a foolproof plan, as the man arrived like clockwork on the first Monday of every month. He’d take his seat at the soda counter, drink his egg cream, take the envelope of money and he’d be on his way. Only this time, he wouldn’t be coming back on the first Monday of next month, or any month at all.

  Before retiring for the night, Calvin quietly walked into the kitchen, with his package of poison. He wanted the poison to be pre-mixed in the eggs to avoid any suspicion or accidents at the shop. He took a small mason jar and poured 6 egg yolks inside of it. He then carefully sprinkled a healthy pinch of the aconite into the jar and stirred the mixture together. He closed the jar and placed it in the front door ice box, as not to mix it up with the one in the kitchen. He walked up to the bedroom and slipped into his bed next to his wife. Abigail stirred and asked if everything was all right. He responded by saying “Everything is fine, my love.”

  The next morning, Calvin readied himself for his workday, and his wife and son gathered their things in preparation for their trip to Pennsylvania. Miss Genevieve put away the breakfast plates from the table and assisted Abigail with their belongings so they’d be ready in time for their carriage ride to the train station.

  Calvin too, gathered his belongings for the day and went to the ice box to get his egg mixture. He reached for the mason jar, then placed it inside his attaché travel bag. He hugged and kissed his family before he left. Oliver pulled on his father’s coat to get his attention. “Yes, son, what is it?”

  Oliver looked up at his father and smiled, saying “I love you daddy. I’ll bring you back a present.”

  This touched Calvin’s heart. He loved his son so much, and knew that what he was about to do that day was for the greater good; to protect his family from losing their good fortune. “I love you too, son”, he replied “I’ll have a present for you, too, when you come home.” He gave Oliver a big hug, and kissed his wife once more, reminding her of how much he loved her, too.

  Later that day, in the middle of the afternoon, the mystery man walked into the shop as he did every month. When Calvin was finished with a customer, he walked over to the man, said “Hello, sir. What can I get for you today?”

  The man looked at Calvin and replied. “The usual, sir. I think you know what that is.”

  Calvin, feeling slightly anxious, looked at the man and said “Absolutely, it’s coming right up.” He wasted no time in preparing the drink. Calvin heated the saucepan, and began adding the ingredients, mixing seltzer water, cream, cinnamon and sugar together. He glanced up for a second at the man and reached for the mason jar of the poisonous egg yolk mix in the refrigerator below. Carefully, he opened the jar and added the final ingredient to the beverage.

  He whisked the mixture together over low heat until the beverage became light and frothy. Calvin poured it into a tall glass and slid it in front of the man. “Here you are, sir. I hope it’s to your liking as usual.” Calvin stepped away from the man as he drank the egg cream, but before he could get too far, he said to Calvin, “Hey, come back here.”

  Calvin stopped dead in his tracks. He thought for sure the man knew something was amiss with his drink. He turned around to face him and asked, “Is there something else, sir?”

  The man looked at Calvin in a confused manner and said “Yes, there is. Haven’t you forgotten something?”

  Distrac
ted by the fact that he had just fatally poisoned the man, Calvin realized that he had failed to hand him the envelope containing the money. If Calvin slipped up any further, he might have made the man suspicious, and his entire plan would have backfired. He needed to remain calm from there on out. He pulled the envelope out from beneath the counter and slid it inconspicuously over to the man in front of him. “I’m sorry about that”, he whispered.

  Calvin walked away to stock some shelves, but he discreetly watched the man finish the drink. “Bottoms up” was all Calvin could think. The man’s hesitation had rattled Calvin’s nerves, but with every sip the man took, he knew his plan had worked. Finally, the man chugged down the remainder of the beverage, placed the glass down on the counter then made his way to the front door. “Until next time”, declared the man, “best to you and your family.” He smiled at Calvin and left.

  Calvin breathed a large sigh of relief and walked over to the front of his shop, watching the man jaunt across the street. The man seemed satisfied that he had blackmailed a hard working gentleman such as Calvin. Well, he wouldn’t be doing that any longer. Whoever he was and how he’d gotten his information was irrelevant as far as Calvin was concerned. He would soon be taking his information with him to the grave. As he watched the man walk further up the road, Calvin couldn’t help but let out a sinister laugh as he said “Yes, until next time, indeed.”

  That evening, as Calvin came home after his long and emotional day, he placed his belongings down and went about changing his clothes for the evening. He was in an empty house, with the exception of Miss Genevieve, who was preparing a meal in the kitchen for Calvin. “Hello Genevieve, how are you this evening?” he’d asked.

  “Oh, I’m just fine, sir. How are you?” she’d asked.

  “I’m doing very well, thank you.”

  Calvin sat at the dinner table and enjoyed a cup of tea while his dinner was being prepared. “Did Mrs. Crowninshield and my boy get out on time this morning?”

  “Oh yes, they did”, Miss Genevieve replied. “It was a challenge getting Oliver ready in time because he was so excited to ride the train.”

  Calvin laughed, “Yes, he certainly was. I admire the boy’s enthusiasm. Did he have enough to eat before he left here?”

  She smiled at her employer and replied “Oh yes, both he and Mrs. Crowninshield had quite a filling breakfast before they left.”

  “Thank you, Genevieve”, he replied, “I don’t know how we’d survive without you.” Calvin smiled and drank his tea, satisfied that his true identity would remain a secret, and his future of wealth and comfort would remain intact.

  February, 1899

  As a Pennsylvania bound train travelled through a dense fog and flurry of snow, a well-dressed gentleman read the newspaper. The headline read “Boston Man Convicted of Murder by Poisoning.” The story reported that “the Crowninshield’s marriage was full of mistrust, jealousy, money problems and infidelity according to a family insider.” The story went on to say that “when Abigail Crowninshield threatened to publicly reveal her husband, Calvin, as a fraud; he took swift action by fatally poisoning both her and their nine-year-old son, Oliver. According to a witness account, Calvin Crowninshield poisoned his family’s breakfast.”

  The gentleman closed his newspaper and placed it down on the floor. He picked up a bottle of champagne and two glasses. “Shall we toast?” he gestured to the lady seated next to him. He handed the woman a glass and the two of them raised their champagne, cheerfully clinking and laughing joyously.

  “Here’s to swift justice”, declared the man.

  “Here’s to gullible fools”, she replied.

  “And to egg creams” he said.

  She laughed, “And for you, to never having to wear that filthy derby hat, ever again.”

  “And for you, to never having to make another family’s breakfast, ever again.”

  “And above all” he said, “to getting revenge on the man who stabbed my father years ago. He might’ve thought he could graduate from a life of crime to the lap of luxury, but not if I had anything to say about it.”

  “You needn’t say any more about it to anyone, ever again, my dear.”

  The man smiled and said, “How right you are, Miss Genevieve. How right you are, indeed.”

  Solomon’s Mirror

  The story of

  Levi, the Reverend

  Robert Mayette

  With the dust spiraling in miniature hurricanes, Angela Harkins ran her fingers across the Reverend Levi Hooper’s shelved books. He hated her delays, all her little fidgets after even the simplest questions. “No,” she said. “Never. And I’d like this to be the last time you ask me.”

  Levi sat down in his simple pine chair, groaning in tandem with its protest. “This... this resistance is just pure foolishness. What is so revolting about the idea of becoming his wife? Isn’t Rodolph… what, handsome?”

  “Yes, he’s that.”

  “And wealthy, too, yes?”

  She picked up his copy of Pilgrim’s Progress, thumbing through it, stopping at the illustrations he knew so well. “Yes, everyone knows that, don’t they?”

  “Ah, then you imply a haughtiness in him - is it that what causes you to turn away?”

  “No.” She turned a page. “Some of these are really grotesque. Did you ever stop to look at these?”

  “Not when someone’s trying to talk to me.”

  “Yes, that would be rude. Must be some special horned thing in here for that.” She closed the book. “No, his feet are firmly on the ground. Certainly a very humble man.”

  The Reverend cleared his throat. “You shouldn’t fear that he’s lacking in fortitude or resolve, though. None of that nonsense that these younger folk associate with humility today.”

  She shelved the book, turned back to face him. She looked older now than she’d seemed that morning, when she ate eggs and bacon across from him at breakfast that the maid had prepared for them both. She’d been practically absent when he’d talked about deserters coming out of the woods now that the war was over, how cruel it was to first declare freedom for all but toss the most scarred into chains. Her face lit up with charity, though, when he told her about his meetings on creating a new hospital for amputees. Now, at midday, her spark was gone again. “I think nothing of the sort,” she said. “Rodolph’s of strong character. In fact - did I tell you this? I don’t think I told you this - he was at Roger’s Inn and three sailors from one of those Cuba-bound slavers got saucy with the girls. Well, Rodolph would have none of that. Fought them off -- though one had a knife -- sent them all running back to the docks.”

  The Reverend tried to hide a light from flickering in his eyes. “And… and this was a...”

  “A very good trait, of course. Very manly.”

  He ran his thumb along his crooked smile, haloing his bushy white chin-beard. “So, when you, a woman nearing - let’s be honest - the end of marrying age hears that this handsome, wealthy, humble,” - the air seemed to split three times as he named them on pinky, ring and index fingers - “and - your word - manly fellow wants to marry you, your first, most-rational, most-blessed instinct is to answer…” He rolled forward arms and open palms.

  “No.”

  His beard engulfed his smile. “Damn you!” He stood, his fist thundering down on the desk next to him, the room shaking with a force far beyond that of a seventy-year-old man. Plummeting off the bookcase behind her, a clamshell shattered against the pine floor, its shards going everywhere. He sliced her with sharpened eyes, studying for what could cause such stupidity to the best offer she’d had, would ever have. But after a moment, his shoulders softened, and he felt drained and dream-like. He pulled his cloak around him. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

  She was breathing shallowly. “Don’t be.”

  He lowered himself back into his chair. It wasn’t the first when his thoughts slipped past the barriers of his self, shaping the world around him. He silenced the idea, k
ept to his purpose. “Tell me what answer I can give him. He’ll be here soon, looking for me to give him his sign. I’ll not let him humiliate himself in a doomed proposal.”

  “No. No, Rodolph deserves respect.”

  “And nothing more, apparently.” He spotted a piece of the shell that had landed near his feet, and he cupped it in his hand like a wounded animal. “Then what is it he lacks? And don’t tell me that humor nonsense. No one need marry a jester.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “I don’t think he’s the kind of man that my mother would have loved.”

  “What?” said the Reverend, almost through a sigh. He turned to see her - her, Angela, plain. Fair, and very plain. He rose, walked to the window, promised himself of his charge. “But you never knew her. How could you be certain?”

  “It’s only a feeling. You knew her, though. You could tell me. You used to talk about her often, up until I was about eleven or so. It’s been over a dozen years since you’ve even mentioned her.”

  His heart crackled with waking dream: Thalia, and he, and a moment of indiscretion. And then he had a parishioner on his hands that would soon have a child in the open if she hadn’t accepted his idea to board in Boston until the signs passed and the infant was safely in an orphanage of good character. Thalia returned to Gloucester then, they both wiser and more careful. They’d fooled them all, and continued to until her death, all except for that one boy who caught them in an orchard once and had to be paid to forget. Fortunately, the young have no patience for memory.