by Deeanne Gist
“Live over there in the men’s cottage, investigate the crime, and help out around Hull House.”
“For how long?”
“Until Derry’s trial is over.”
“I see.” She brushed something off her skirt. “Where are you off to now?”
“The playground.”
She looked up. “The playground?”
He held up a key he’d been given by Miss Addams. “A photographer is supposed to come out today and take pictures of where the crime took place. I wanted to inspect it first.”
“Do you need any help?”
“No.”
She clasped her hands. “May I come anyway?”
“Why?”
She took her time answering. “In case you have any questions?”
“You want to lick that calf over?”
A hint of a smile touched her lips. “The truth is, I’d like to help. I feel so . . . powerless. And guilty. May I? Please?”
He wanted to say no and he wanted to say yes. Instead, he said neither. “Suit yourself.”
Then he headed to Polk Street leaving her to follow or not.
TENEMENT APARTMENT, WEST SIDE CHICAGO35
“The Molinaris’ apartment was noisy, crowded, and chaotic. Children of all sizes and ages came and went.”
CHAPTER
40
Billy shadowed him to the playground, trying not to notice the sight he made in his jacket, denims, boots, and hat. She’d never had an opportunity to walk behind him before. He was usually extremely solicitous, keeping her beside him or before him. She had to confess, he looked rather nice from this angle.
But pleasant as it was, it wasn’t just the view that had her in danger of succumbing to tender feelings. It was the fact that he’d gone after Derry.
Last night she’d spoken out of hurt and anger and fear. She’d purposely made jabs about his Rangers. But he wasn’t one to be manipulated. He only did what he thought best. And he’d evidently thought going after Derry was best.
His parting comment from last night rang in her ears. She had been the pot calling the kettle black. If the existence of all doctors hung in the balance, would she have chosen Derry over them?
It was an impossible comparison, for nothing would ever jeopardize the existence of doctors. But still, if they were at risk, she couldn’t imagine being made to choose. Yet Hunter had chosen. And he’d sacrificed his job, his income, his room, and his board to do so. Most of all, he’d sacrificed his reputation. In the end, he had nothing to show for it. And no matter how hard she tried to resist, she couldn’t quell the new level of admiration, respect, and love for him building inside her.
The sun splashed warmth onto her skin as she watched him squat in different parts of the playground, staring at the dirt as if it held hieroglyphics only he could decipher. He moved from spot to spot, ending at the place where Miss Weibel had fallen. He looked at it from every angle, the dirt still stained with remnants of blood.
She supposed some would find his detachment callous or insensitive. But she understood what it meant to put personal feelings aside in order to do your job, no matter how unpleasant the task. If she’d thought about who she’d been treating or what Miss Weibel had endured, Billy never would have been able to check for signs of life or try to stem the flow of blood seeping from the gunshot and knife wounds. Empathy was not an emotion she could indulge in and still maintain her equilibrium.
Certainly, she mourned the loss of Miss Weibel. Very much. But when she had a job to do, she had to consider the details of her friend’s murder as clinical. Not horrific actions taken toward a lovely, engaging young woman.
She drew a deep breath. She and Hunter were very much alike. More than she’d realized.
A breeze nudged the swings, drawing her attention. She pictured him pushing her. Riding double. Gathering her to him and kissing her until she wished she could throw caution to the wind and consummate their love.
Pulling her gaze away from the swings, she returned it to him. But he was no longer looking at the dirt. He was looking at her. Remembering, same as she.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked.
He held her gaze. “I thought I had.”
She swallowed. He wasn’t talking about the hieroglyphics.
Just a few steps. Just a few steps and she’d be in his arms. But then, what? Texas? Women patients only? She needed to keep from impulsively reacting to his most recent actions. There was no hurry. No hurry to do anything rash.
“So what’s next?” She tried to project a sense of normalcy in her tone.
“You tell me.” He was having none of it. He wanted to talk. About them. About her. About her decision.
But she wasn’t ready. It was too soon. She was too confused. “I don’t know what’s next, Hunter. I simply don’t know.”
He looked off to the side. “Well then, I guess the next thing for me is to visit the families of each boy. See what I can find out there.”
She nodded. “When are you going to do that?”
“I’ll start tonight, as soon as they get off work.”
She waited for him to invite her, but no offer was forthcoming. “May I tag along?”
“Why?”
“Because the people around here know me. Trust me. They might tell me things they wouldn’t tell you.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “If you want. I’m starting with Derry’s family. I plan to head over there around seven.”
She wrapped her arms around her torso. “What are you going to do until then?”
“Read about chivalry.” Tugging his hat, he opened the gate and waited for her to pass through. “Good afternoon, Dr. Tate.”
With such a clear dismissal, she didn’t ask any more questions or linger as he locked the gate, but headed toward Hull House without him. She couldn’t help but wonder, though, if she presented as favorable a view as he had.
The Molinaris’ apartment was noisy, crowded, and chaotic. Children of all sizes and ages came and went. Alcee crawled on the floor, her curved spine making her movements slow and awkward. Finally, she parked herself by the stove, where flies buzzed about a plate of cheese, oil, and bread. When the other children helped themselves, Alcee partook of the crumbs that fell.
Crossing the room, Billy broke off some cheese and bread, then handed it to the child. Mrs. Molinari sat unaware at the kitchen table. In a horrid state of intoxication, she ripped a bite of wine-soaked bread from a loaf she held, then stuffed it into her mouth. Billy didn’t know if this was a regular state of affairs or if her inebriation was due to grief.
The woman’s shoulders hunched, her eyes drooped, and her face appeared to be that of a person in her sixties. Yet Billy felt sure the woman was no more than forty.
Tearing off another piece of bread, she offered it to Billy, wine dripping across the table.
“Oh, no. Thank you. But, tell me, have you had some cheese yet? Would you like me to slice some onto a plate for you?”
“It’s for the bambini.”
“Yes, well, you need to have something other than wine and bread. And I saw there was still some left.”
“You don’t like thiz wine? I have different.” Scraping her chair back, she wove to a cupboard, then plopped two new bottles onto the table. “How ’bout one o’ these?”
Billy glanced at Hunter, but he was watching the other activity in the room. Taking note of who came. Who went. Asking a few questions about where they worked and how Derry spent his evenings. If they’d had any contact with Kruse and his friends. If Derry had ever made mention of the gang.
Holding up her hands, Billy shook her head. “No, really. Thank you, but I don’t care for any. And as a doctor, I have to be frank, Mrs. Molinari. Drinking will only make things worse, not better.”
Squinting her eyes, the woman studied Billy, then waved her finger in the air. “Just a moment, per favore.” She stumbled out of the room, then came back with a small glass of amber liquid.
Pushing it toward Billy, the woman gave her a wink. “See, I have brought you the true American drink.”
Billy lifted the glass to her nose, then quickly set it down. Whiskey. Good heavens.
Mr. Molinari walked in, a sack across his back like an Italian version of Santa Claus. Unlike his wife, he was full of life and quick to smile. Did he not know of Derry’s circumstance? Or was it that he simply didn’t care?
He gave Billy a nod. “Ciao, medico.”
Turning to Hunter, he held out his dirt-encrusted hand. Hunter didn’t so much as hesitate, grasping it in a firm shake. The two of them struck up a conversation as the man dumped out his treasure of rags, cigar stumps, bones, and other filthy scraps he’d gathered in the alleyways and garbage boxes.
Billy recalled Derry saying his father was a ragpicker. It was one of the lowest jobs for the unskilled laborers. She didn’t understand why these Italians, who had such an aptitude for farming, didn’t leave Chicago and go south where they could till the soil, gather fruit, and plant olive groves.
But they did not. And so they were employed in the filthiest of jobs, from excavation to rag picking.
“Derry works hard,” the man said. “Brings home good money. He would never do what they say he did.” He lowered his dark brows. “They took him because he is italiano, not because he is guilty.”
“Has he ever mentioned Fredrick Kruse and the other boys who were arrested?”
“Many times.” He nodded. “He keeps a close watch on them to make sure they leave the medico alone.”
“The medico?” Hunter asked.
Mr. Molinari indicated Billy with his head. “The doctor. Dr. Tate.”
Billy sucked in a breath.
“They’ve been bothering Dr. Tate?” Though his tone was casual, Billy saw the tensing of his muscles.
“No, they usually stay out of sight.” Mr. Molinari began to separate the items he’d dumped out. “Except the one time Derry had to use his slingshot so the medico could get away.”
Hunter looked at her. Lifting her hands, she shrugged.
“When was that?” Reaching over, Hunter began to help the man sort.
She cringed. She’d have to take him to Hull House and clean his hands with ammonia the moment they left.
“Before there were polizia on the playground, Dr. Tate tried to run Kruse off.” He gave Hunter a knowing look. “But, of course, he refused. So my Derry went to the Abertellis’, opened a window, and pop-pop-pop-pop.” He imitated shooting rocks with a slingshot.
They stayed for another thirty minutes, then thanked Mr. Molinari for his time.
The man sighed, showing the first bit of remorse she’d seen. “If my boy swings, Nefan will have to get some extra jobs. We need the money Derry brings home every Saturday.”
She gave no visible response to his callous remark and complete disregard for Derry’s well-being, though she did glance to see Mrs. Molinari’s reaction. But the woman lay slumped on the table snoring.
As soon as they were outside, she pointed in the direction of Hull House. “That way. We need to clean your hands. Don’t touch any of your orifices.”
He did as he was told. “For such a friendly fellow, his only concern for his son seemed to be monetary.”
“I got the same impression. Very disheartening. But at least he was sober.”
He nodded. “The slingshot episode must have been the time you kicked Kruse in the shin.”
“Yes. I had no idea. But I do remember something happened, I just didn’t pay attention because I was concentrating on getting away.”
“I wonder if Kruse knew it was Derry and if he knew Derry had been watching him.”
She bit her lip. “I hope not.”
Crossing the street, she saw him start to reach for her elbow. She jumped away. “No touching until your hands are clean.”
“Sorry.”
“Are you going to talk to the other families as well?” she asked.
“I am. But not tonight.”
“May I go with you when you do?”
“If you’re here and not at work, then I have no objection.”
They walked in silence for several minutes, then approached the entrance to Hull House.
“Hunter?”
“Hmmm?”
“Thank you. Thank you for doing this.”
“It’s what I do.”
And this time, she’d seen for herself just how good he was at this Ranger business. Scurrying ahead of him, she opened the door, cautioning him again not to touch anything.
TENEMENTS, WEST SIDE CHICAGO36
“Throughout the following week Hunter visited the homes of all the accused.”
CHAPTER
41
Throughout the following week Hunter visited the homes of all the accused. He kept his badge out of sight and made sure to wait until Billy could accompany him. He found her presence gave the parents a sense of security that loosened their tongues. The families hadn’t been hard to track down. The papers had filled their columns with the names of the boys along with exclamations of shock that teeners would commit such a violent crime.
No one seemed to comprehend that children aged more rapidly in the slums. The boys might have been adolescents in a chronological sense, but they’d put in a decade of man labor by the time they’d reached puberty.
The mother of eighteen-year-old Rody Lonborg stood in her kitchen, her belly swelled with child, her body unwashed, and her children swarming about her. “I have fourteen little ones and no life outside this apartment. How could I know where my boy was going? What he was doing?”
Her husband came in late every night and left early every morning, spending his days earning food and shelter for his growing family. He hadn’t asked his son where he went during his free time. Only, “How much money on Saturday?”
Olsen Shiblawski had turned seventeen the day he’d been arrested. His mother sobbed as she bent over a washtub, scrubbing the family’s clothing. “He was a good boy at home. I always asked where he was going at night. He’d say ‘by the fence’ over there or ‘at the corner’ of some street. I thought that’s where he was.”
Fredrick Kruse was the only one who’d reached twenty. At some point along the way, he’d made his eighteen-year-old brother a partner in his escapades. Their father stared at Hunter with cold brown eyes. “I don’t care what they do with them. They can hang them, shoot them, or cut them to pieces. It is nothing to me.”
Billy shook her head. “You don’t mean that.”
He shrugged. “Neither of those boys ever brought home a penny.”
Sitting in the drawing room at Hull House, Hunter spread out his notes. All the boys had pleaded guilty except for Derry. Hunter hoped the boy stuck to that like hair in a biscuit. For he knew of plenty of jailers who’d beat, kick, sandbag, and bully the inmates until they received the guilty plea they were looking for.
Curled up in a chair, Billy folded the newspaper she’d been reading. “They’re making quite an issue about the age of the boys—particularly Derry—and whether or not they should be kept in jail at all, much less with the men.”
Over the past month he’d tried to occupy his mind with other things, but whether they were together or apart, his thoughts always circled ’round to Billy. Quiet moments like these were the toughest. Usually the house was full of activity, dispelling any chance for intimacy. But it was Chicago Day at the fair. Miss Addams and the other residents had joined hundreds of thousands of people in Jackson Park for a day of floats, concerts, parades, and fireworks honoring the twenty-second anniversary of the great Chicago fire.
He tossed down his pencil. “With half the world passing through town, maybe the city will speed up the process and set a court date. Did it say anything else?”
She handed him the paper. “The other boys are implicating Derry. I think we need to find him a lawyer.”
“I’d thought the same thing.” He unfolded the newspaper. “But the courts have already appoi
nted a young untried attorney to serve as counsel.”
“But he didn’t want the case. I’m worried he won’t put forth much effort.”
Hunter scanned the article. “The problem is, the boys are being tried together. To hire an attorney for Derry would require hiring an attorney for all of them.”
“I still want to find someone. I’ll pay the lawyer’s fee.”
He looked up. “Lawyers cost a lot of money, Billy. It would eat up the cushion you need to start your practice.”
“Well then, I guess I’ll just have to go back to working in hospitals.”
Lowering the paper, he searched her eyes. “It’ll take years to save up that money again.”
She picked at her fingernails. “You think a lawyer will cost that much?”
“About five hundred dollars. For a good one anyway.”
Her shoulders drooped. “I don’t have that kind of money.”
He didn’t either.
“I know.” Her eyes brightened. “Maybe I could find a woman lawyer. I bet she’d do it for a reasonable amount.”
“Don’t joke, Billy. Derry’s life is in the balance. We can’t take the chance of offending the jury over something like that. I have no doubt a woman could do the job. It’s not her I’m worried about. It’s the prejudices of the men on the jury that concern me.”
“You think Derry’s chances are worse with a woman lawyer than with this appointed one who’ll put forth no effort?”
“I do. I talked to him as soon as I found out who he was. This will be the biggest case he’s ever been assigned. I suggested he use the opportunity to show what he can do.”
“Do you think he will?”
“I sure hope so.”
She sighed. “And you’re sure a lawyer would cost that much?”
“I’m sure.” He’d had the same concerns she did, but it didn’t take long to find out no one wanted the case. Not without charging an exorbitant fee.
Fingering another piece of paper, she passed it to him. “I’ve been called as a witness for the prosecution.”