The Mangle

by S. L. Stoner

  He stood behind a bush, watching the boarding house and soon saw the back door open and Rachel slip outside. She was across the covered porch and heading down the rickety wooden staircase within seconds. He noticed that she hadn’t even changed clothes. She must care a great deal for Rebecca.

  He hadn’t seen his own sisters since before he was expelled. Too ashamed to face them. His family’s pride was boundless when he entered the religious life. These days, he was thinking about that seminary entirely too much. He could see Father Thomas looking at him with those sad old eyes and sorrowfully shaking his head. But the old man never lectured, being such a firm believer as he was in the presence of the “God Within”—a spiritual judge who answered a listening man’s every moral question.

  He clapped his hands over his ears, and then felt silly. “Shut the hell up, Sinclair. You’ve made your bed. Just lie in it and shut up,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

  Rachel reached the bottom of the ravine and began angling southward . She was right on course for the park. Sinclair started tracking her from the top of the bank. Once he was sure no one was following her, he sped ahead.

  Fifteen minutes later she was in the park, running toward the solitary blue spruce. She picked up the rock, tossed it aside and unfolded the note he’d placed there. From his vantage point across the street from the park, he confirmed that her ragpicker guardian was nowhere in sight. She read the note and then raised her head to scan the park, obviously looking for its author.

  Ducking behind a dust bin, he waited a few moments before rising up to peek across its top. He saw her run down Hawthorne toward the river. He’d written that she had to walk all the way to the North End. Told her he’d be watching her the whole time. That wasn’t true of course. He’d be taking the trolley and arrive there long before she did.

  It was dark when she showed up outside Stella Block’s whorehouse. Sinclair was sitting in the saloon across the street drinking a beer and gazing out the window when she rounded the corner and mounted the single step. The door opened promptly at her knock and she quickly stepped inside. Sinclair heaved a sigh. He’d finally fulfilled his mission for Farley.

  A few minutes later Stella stepped out onto her tiny stoop and quickly ducked back inside. Handing his empty mug to the barman, he put on his bowler and headed out into the street. As he crossed it, he tried to ignore the dread settling around his heart.

  The warped whorehouse door opened promptly at his soft knock. Stella gave him a gap-toothed grin and held out her hand. As agreed, he dropped a twenty dollar Liberty gold piece onto her palm. Her fingers snapped shut like a crocodile’s jaws. “It was easy as jack rolling a drunk,” she told him. “Once I unlocked the door and she got a gander at her sister she was inside and across the room faster than poop through a chicken. Snapped that padlock shut and Billy Bob’s your uncle—two birds in one room.”

  Her shrill cackle grated on his ears.

  A bench stood in the hallway outside the offices housing what he’d come to think of as the “outraged ladies societies”. Sage gratefully settled down to wait for the office to open at 9:00 a.m. His pocket watch said that was thirty-five minutes away. He was exhausted. He hadn’t slept in the hours after Eich and Mae climbed to Mozart’s third floor last night to tell him that Rachel was missing.

  “I just don’t understand it,” Mae said. “Herman was outside the whole time. Someone must have climbed up the back while Fong’s cousin was following me.” Annoyance twisted her face. “Which he didn’t have to do, I might add. I don’t know why you insisted I needed protection.”

  This was the closest he’d seen his mother to panic, so Sage didn’t take offense. “Ma, you know we weren’t sure why the two of you were being followed. Maybe if you’d been alone you’d have been the one taken.” He’d reached out and squeezed her hand where it lay on the table, He received a squeeze and apologetic smile in return. “Did anything in the room look like it was upset, like there’d been a struggle?”

  Mae shook her head. “Nope, everything was neat as a pin, just like we’d left it. And, nobody in the house heard any noise. Sage, I just don’t understand. If they’d used some kind of knockout drops how the heck could they get her down those rickety stairs out back, let alone carry her across that gully? It’s steep and covered with shrubs and brambles.”

  Eich shifted in his seat, the rippling of his forehead signaling his distress. He’d lost the woman he’d been guarding. “I’ve been considering the events of this evening,” he said slowly. “No one came to the boarding house after Miss Levy, except for a messenger boy who did not enter the building. It was only when Mae came running out that I had any indication Rachel was gone.”

  The three of them looked at each other. “Do you suppose he brought Rachel a note? One that made her sneak out of her own free will?” asked Sage.

  Mae started to protest but Herman interrupted, “That is exactly what must have happened. That messenger must have brought her a note which compelled her to sneak out the back.”

  Then Mae saw it too. “Of course! They must have lured her away. Told her they’d take her to her sister but that she had to come alone. Go out through the back. That means they had to know Fong’s man was following me,” she said.

  “Now they have both of them. But maybe that’s okay. Two women should be easier to track and find than just one,” Sage said thoughtfully.

  “Especially, two women who look exactly alike. Though, we don’t know what’s been happening to Rebecca. She may look different now,” Mae said.

  Sage was nodding and then froze in mid nod. “What do you mean they ‘look exactly alike’?” he asked.

  Mae looked at him. “Why, identical twins always look alike,” she said with a touch of asperity.

  “What!” Sage roared. “Rachel and Rebecca are identical twins? Good Lord, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I thought you knew. Really, Sage. You needn’t get so het up.” Mae sputtered, taken aback by Sage’s reaction.

  Sage put his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. He spoke quietly to the table between his two elbows. “If I had known they were twins I would have agreed with you and Eich that she was kidnapped because of the labor dispute.” Sage looked up. “I would have focused all our resources on Farley and his operatives, on everyone connected with the laundry. I would have immediately believed that someone seized Rebecca by mistake, thinking he was snatching Rachel instead.” There was no anger in his words, only regret.

  Sage stood up and began pulling his John Miner outfit from the closet. “I’ll head down to the North End. See if anyone’s seen a woman matching Rachel’s description. There are so many more men than women down there that a respectable woman stands out. I’ll visit Solomon and talk to Fong. They’ll get their fellows out tonight, to find out whether anyone has seen Rachel in the last four hours or so. After that, I’ll find Farley’s operatives and stick to them. Maybe they’ll lead me to her. Even if the white slavers didn’t kidnap the two, they may have them now. And, if the women are imprisoned in the North End somewhere, the whorehouses are still our best bet.”

  He laid a hand on his mother’s shoulder, his face earnest. “Ma, please promise me that you’ll go back to the boarding house and stay there. That you’ll let Herman watch over you?”

  Surprisingly, she agreed saying, “Well, I can’t go places in the North End like you can. Besides I’ve got things to take care of tomorrow. The women’s spirits will drop once they know Rachel is missing. I’ve got to spend the day meeting up with some of them..”

  For once, he thought she was being truthful and didn’t intend to sneak around doing her own detecting.

  He’d carried out his plans but failed to discover the Levy women’s location. Fong’s and Solomon’s men had fanned out through the North End. There was one slim lead. One of Solomon’s men was sure that a man working in a saloon kitchen had seen Rachel. The fellow was outside, smoking a cigarette, when he glimpsed a respectable-lookin
g, dark haired woman, hurrying past the alley opening. She’d stuck in his mind because it was unusual to see someone like her in the North End so late in the evening.

  Once again, this sighting of a dark-haired woman occurred close by the rail yards. So, on this very thin reed, all his hopes rested. And it was why he was waiting on the hard bench to talk to the Hygiene Society’s leader. He had a plan to find the Levy women and was fairly confident that Mary Harris would agree to help.

  “Caroline, this is what Rachel wanted,” Mae insisted. The two women were meeting over coffee near the young woman’s boarding house. Mae had waited outside the Catholic Church for Sunday services to end. When Caroline left the church Mae stepped to her side and led her to the café.

  “I don’t know Mae. It’s too active a role for me to take. I’m already worried that my working at the union hall has compromised my integrity. If I become a leader, my objectivity will be questioned in the future. We can’t risk that. We’ll lose everything we’ve worked for.” Caroline stared glumly into her coffee. Clearly she was unhappy about turning Mae down.

  Mae was stumped. She understood the dilemma. Just like her, Caroline had a long range mission. Too much exposure would jeopardize Caroline’s mission just like it would jeopardize her own. “Is there someone you could consult?”

  Caroline fingered the cross at her neck. “I suppose I could ask my priest, Father O’Hara, at St. Mary’s. Also, I better ask the women at the Consumers League.”

  “They both know about your work?” Mae queried..

  “Oh, yes. Father O’Hara is an old family friend from Minnesota. He’s the reason I am in Portland. He asked my sister to come here to teach at St. Mary’s Academy. My folks wouldn’t let her come unless I accompanied her. He’s watching over the two of us.” She smiled. “Says his job is to comply with my father’s orders and ensure that we do not stray near the ‘trough of temptation.’ And, as for the Consumers League, they’re the ones sponsoring our work.”

  Mae reached across the table and laid her hand upon the young woman’s. “Caroline, I understand the dilemma. Believe me, I do. But the laundry women respect you, look up to you. Rachel’s disappearance will frighten them and they’ll lose heart unless you step in. Please explain that to Father O’Hara and the Consumers League people.”

  “I understand and I will go talk to them today. I can let you know, first thing tomorrow morning,” she said before flashing a quick smile. “Who knows, maybe Rachel will turn up this evening or tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, maybe she will,” Mae echoed, though to her own ears, she didn’t sound hopeful.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Cobb and Farley sat at a small table in the corner of the Reception Saloon, one of the better establishments serving liquor late Sunday night. The light from the dangling electric bulbs shone on the white ceramic floor tiles and made the brass spittoons glitter.

  “At last. Farley, I was beginning to think that man of yours would never deliver,” Cobb smiled as he lifted his glass in a silent toast to his companion.

  “Well part of it was our fault. We didn’t know the Levy women were identical twins. Once we realized he’d taken the wrong sister he kept at it but, after the first snatch, Rachel Levy had three people guarding her around the clock.”

  “How is that Sinclair fellow performing these days?”

  “He’s made the necessary arrangements. He’s had to pay extra to the whorehouse madam because she kept the two gals longer than expected. And, he’s forked over a bit more money to the captain who agreed to delay his departure by five days, thank god. That means those two women will be headed downriver within the next thirty-six hours.” Farley’s expression turned thoughtful as he poured himself another shot of whiskey from the bottle on the table. “I don’t think I’ll use Sinclair again, though.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, like I told you, he’s been working as a panderer in Chicago’s white slave trade. He came with very high recommendations. Everyone said he’s the best when it comes to snatching gals with a minimum of fuss. But, I dunno. He acted hesitant when it came to the Levy women. It’s taken too much of my time to keep him on track,” Farley said.

  “What is he, a secret union sympathizer?”

  Farley shook his head emphatically. “Nope, I’m sure he’s not. I checked on that before I hired him. But, I’ve been wondering. Maybe his background has become the problem.” Farley fell silent.

  “What do you mean man? How can pandering make it hard for him to grab those two women. You’re not making sense.” Cobb frowned and his lips twisted with irritation.

  Holding up a hand, Farley said, “Wait a moment, Thaddeus. Like I told you before, his problem could be those years he spent in the seminary. I suspect it’s those early teachings that are causing the problem. Regardless, I doubt that I’ll hire him again. Once the gals have shipped out, he’ll be on the next train back to Chicago.”

  This time it was Cobb who shook his head in the negative. “Sorry, old man, that won’t work. I’m going to need him once the laundry gets up and running next week. Someone’s got to play foreman until I can hire a genuine foreman who knows the business,” Cobb said.“Do you still have him trying to discover who’s selling a laundry to the unions?” Cobb asked.

  “Yes. Sinclair’s making friends among the other laundry foremen. So far neither he, nor my two operatives who are working as drivers, have discovered the name of the laundry. Whoever is planning to sell is keeping it very hush-hush.”

  “What about the strikebreakers? When are they arriving?”

  “They’ll be in town no later than Wednesday, three days from now. We’ll use them to guard the laundries on Thursday and Friday when your applicants arrive for their interviews. The union women are going to see the ad and people going for interviews. Things might get rowdy on the picket line.”

  Cobb took a careful swallow of his whiskey before flashing Farley a humorless smile. “Just make sure your men behave if they see any reporters or photographers around. Otherwise, when things get rowdy, we’ll just blame the women. Who’s to prove different? The Gazette will make sure it’s our story that’s being told, not the women’s.”

  “My men know how to act around a picket line. They’ve had lots of practice. Like I said, they’re professionals. Is there anything else that needs doing?” Farley asked.

  “Nope. We’re all set except for finding out who is trying to sell his laundry to the unions. I expect our fellows will learn the answer to that in the next few days. Once we take care of that, we’ll be sitting pretty. Those women won’t know what hit them.”

  It was a quiet Sunday night because, the working poor who lived in the North End’s cheap rooms needed to rest up for the week ahead. Those without employment would have already spent whatever spare change they’d scrounged. That left them with nothing better to do than settle down into a sleeping spot and be grateful for the warm, dry weather.

  In the relative quiet Sage heard them approaching from two blocks away. Portland’s Midnight Missionaries were on parade, their mostly female voices raised in a robust hymn as they strode forward, their torches held aloft like those of avenging angels. It presented quite a spectacle, even for a North End familiar with noisy Salvation Army bands and carousing sailors. He smiled. Damn lucky that Mary Harris and her friends so earnestly desired to rescue “wanton women” from those “Siamese twins of evil: liquor and lust.”

  While puzzling over how to sneak into the two whorehouses Lucinda had identified, Sage remembered the jail matron mentioning that the women of the Society for Social Hygiene were planning to launch a new tactic in their campaign to rescue Portland’s fallen women. The tactic was one commonly employed by the Society’s Chicago branch. It entailed singing hymns and sermonizing outside whorehouses, usually around midnight. Hence, in Chicago they were known by the nickname, “The Midnight Missionaries.”

  That information led him to visit Mary Harris. Upon hearing of his situati
on, she’d agreed to organize just such a mission. She was eager to help free innocent captives from a rail yard whorehouse. That led to him being stationed here, waiting for an opportunity to search the two houses while their inhabitants were distracted by the missionaries’ rowdy crusade on their doorsteps.

  About twenty-five crusaders halted in front of the first whorehouse. There were a few men in the parade but many more had gathered along the street to heckle. All fell silent as a wood fruit box was set down and mounted by a man wearing minister’s garb. Turning toward the house, he began loudly exhorting the women inside. They immediately raised the windows to lean out above the street, their vividly painted faces expressing a mix of ridicule and shame.

  “Oh Lord, we beseech thee to show mercy on those who are trapped within this house of perdition. Open the hearts of those waging their lives in sin, pestilence and degradation. Show them the light, let them know that they are loved and that we shall welcome them. Open their hearts, let them see the glorious salvation that is theirs. Oh women who are lost, step out of that house, out of a life spawned from the devil’s cold, dead heart. Come out, you practitioners of wantonness even as your soul thirsts for God’s love and forgiveness. Hear dear sisters, the voice of Lord God! Come out, I beg you. Come out and be embraced by God’s love!”

  Sage doubted very much that the preacher’s words would convert many of the women whose faces now showed at every window. But, the ruckus had done the trick. He was sure everyone inside was now at the front windows. He ran down the narrow space between the whorehouse and its neighbor, trying to avoid the broken glass and rusty tin cans. Lockjaw was a damned ugly way to die.