Finding Ever After: four fairytale-ish novellas

by Pepper Basham

  11

  At breakfast, her father and Thomas were silent. Too silent. Deadly silent. Esther had several ideas of how to extinguish herself from the burning intensity of their plans, but she wanted to play her cards right. Before yesterday, she hadn’t considered a course that incriminated her fiancé. Then, bolstered by a life-altering kiss, a forced goodbye, and armed with chess strategies tucked into a book of fairytales, she could do anything.

  “Hello.” Esther helped herself to muffins and sausage from the sideboard, her eyes resting on the untidy papers spilling out of Thomas’s briefcase. She sensed him following her visual direction so pasted a smile. “I suppose I have another long day of packing.”

  “Esther,” her father said “Has anyone been following you to your rehearsals?”

  “Other than Titus Fang?” Esther looked innocently at Thomas.

  “Any reporters? Has anyone been round the house when you are not here?”

  “I am never here alone, father. Why? Does this have something to do with Thomas’s name in the newspaper yesterday?” She knew they underestimated her. She was as superfluous to them as one of the baubles in her ears.

  “You saw that?” Thomas swerved to her.

  “Yes. It is my business if I am to be married to a man involved in illegal activity.”

  “Has anyone talked to you about our business, Esther?”

  “Father, the only people currently in my circle as I prepare to be whisked away to Rutherford are you and Thomas, Mr. Ricci the pianist, Widow Barclay and Mrs. Mayweather. Why would any one of those people care about your business?” A question, she recalled, avoided a direct lie.

  Thomas looked as if he were mentally fanning through the names in the small roster she had given him.

  Esther felt a heart jump. She needed him to leave, preferably with her father and leave the case behind.

  “Morland cannot have made this up on his own!” Thomas threw his napkin on the table. “Someone has fed the Herald information.”

  “Calm down, son. One article reads like a theory or speculation. If there was evidence… but there isn’t.”

  Not yet. Esther thought, sipping her tea.

  “I cannot have my family’s name associated with this garbage. We are not doing anything that other people are not. We are functioning as a respectable business. We only use our barges to assure a little pleasure on the side of it. We make a minimal cut of a little bit of an extracurricular activity. What is wrong with that?” Thomas stabbed Esther a look.

  “I’m guessing that’s a rhetorical question.” Esther muttered into her tea cup.

  “We are in business together.” Her father reassured. “Our fine family name will be upheld alongside yours. As soon as you marry Esther…”

  “Yes!” Thomas leaped to his feet. “Esther! We will marry.”

  Esther felt the room swim. “But we’re to settle into Rutherford and marry next month!”

  “An elopement! A scandal! Anything to draw attention from these nonsensical rumours.”

  “Excellent.” Her father assessed her. “Esther, go put something suitable on. We’ll need someone to smuggle photographs from the ceremony. It is your wedding day! Now, about a minister.”

  “Stop!” Esther slammed her hand on the table. “I am getting married today?”

  “Why ever not, Esther? It was going to happen in a few weeks. Do you truly care when?”

  Esther chewed her lip to bleeding point. Some part of her –some kernel of hope nestling deep down always thought that the tide would change and her fate would shift. She had to be calm. Collected. She had to have faith. She still had a few moves to play, a few pieces on the board. She had plotted out a possible strategy given Nic’s moves the night before, but a true player had to be willing to flexibly change their plan when an unexpected opponent appeared on the board.

  “Father, Thomas.” Esther regulated her voice. “If I am to marry today, there are still preparations I would like to make. A few feminine indulgences. It might seem silly to you but a girl dreams of her wedding day.”

  Father and Thomas, clearly relieved at the reason for her hesitation, sighed with laughter and relief.

  “Of course, Esther. Surely, sir, we can give your daughter a few hours for her feminine whims?”

  “Father, there is priest named Francisco in the North End. At St. Stephen’s. Mother used to raise money there for his Charity Bazaars.” She was improvising and hoped it worked. “I am thinking he would be amenable to performing a last minute ceremony. I would like for you to try and procure him. In mother’s memory.”

  “A lovely thought.” Esther’s father rose and patted her shoulder.

  “Thomas, I would like you and father to give me a few moments alone so that I can collect my thoughts. I will need someone to ring for Mrs. Mayweather and Widow Barclay. They will be able to attend me. I will need to have my dress altered quickly and a suitable hairstylist.”

  “Of course.” Thomas smiled. “Esther, you will not regret this. The sooner we marry, the sooner we can leave the smoke of this wretched city.” He crossed to her and leaned over to brush her cheek. “And once we are settled at Rutherford, we can plan our honeymoon.”

  Esther nodded and smiled. The men so were preoccupied adhering to her simple girlish demands for her wedding that when they left the dining room, they failed to notice Thomas’s briefcase was exposed at the end of the table.

  Esther made quick work of rolling up a few of the most incriminating manifests and tucking them under her morning robe. Then, she crossed to the table in the front hall and dialed the operator. After several moments she was patched through—first to a butler and then to Mrs. Mayweather herself.

  “Mrs. Mayweather. It’s time to use your trump card.”

  Nic looked at the letter a maid named Jane from the Hunnisett household delivered. The envelope was well sealed. Inside, he found the same chess moves he had written her the night before but with verbal explanation beside.

  Darling Nic,

  My fiancé and father are deeply involved in a racketeering business that is seeing the illegal delivery of alcohol through their usual shipments under the Weatherton name. Thomas insists I marry him today, but if we play the moves that you laid out, we might be able to change the course with a careful strategy. I have aligned our players. You, me, Father Francisco, Widow Barclay and Mrs. Mayweather are the key pieces. We will also need to rely on a James Morland at the Boston Herald and a few trustworthy servants.

  As for the carefully played plan?

  Nxe4: with this move we take Thomas out of the game, but also my father. Father Francisco will agree to marry Thomas and myself and we will use this ruse to buy time for you to play F3-E5

  F3-E5: this is your move. Enclosed is evidence that Weatherton Industries is profiting from illegal trade of No.7 5: a type of gin mass-produced in Canada. Take this to a James Morland at the Herald office. It is the evidence he needs to back the claims he released in a previous edition and expose Thomas.

  Rh1 + 28. Kxhl Qh2# For this pin we will rely on information provided by Mrs. Mayweather’s husband. Nic, this solidifies the information I have given you. Mrs. Mayweather’s husband was accidentally given a shipment of gin when he should have been delivered car parts. This play not only holds weight for Thomas but also for my father whose chief role at Weatherton is as a liaison between the industry and its customers and to procure new investors and prospects. If either of them moves in personal defense, they are taken out by their unity in their dishonest business.

  Finally, Rh7 + The last move will assure our checkmate. We will corner Thomas at our “wedding” and expose him. He may be able to bribe a few policemen but Morland’s piece in the Herald will spread and investors and businessmen will soon become wary.

  The ultimate checkmate will be my father and Thomas realizing that I was not a princess to be locked in a tower. And, Nic, I have you to thank for that. From the moment we met you have treated me as a woman with a heart an
d a brain and not just a piece to be played or moved at the whim of a man.

  I am, hopeful (of course)

  And forever yours,

  Esther

  Nic read the letter several times. She was betraying her father. He knew she honoured her father enough to marry a man she did not love. But she had no other choice. He wanted nothing more than to love her so wholly the pain of her impossible decision would be lifted from her shoulders. He thumbed through the documents she sent. He knew little of business but a lot about math, so with no direction he was still able to interpret the vast sums and discrepancies between the legitimate shipping operations and the bottom line fattened by illegal liquor. Nic grabbed his hat and set out in the direction of the Herald offices.

  Esther took her time with her toilette. She had Mrs. Mayweather’s stylist fix her hair in the style that suited her best: antiquated due to the length of her hair but flattered in the sweep of curls and ornamented jewels and flowers highlighting its style.

  She selected a dress in buttercream that cinched in at the waist and flourished over her legs. Her arms, swathed in silk, offered a slight, tasteful highlight of skin while her bodice and skirt were satin finished. Esther selected a few pieces that frosted her wrists and her collarbone from her mother’s ornate collection. The only inheritance left to her.

  “Thank you so much for coming, Mrs. Mayweather.” Esther said, surveying herself in the mirror before turning to her guest. “You have been so kind and I think I am willing to use your play after all.”

  Mrs. Mayweather opened her purse and presented Esther with sheets of paper. “These are records of what my husband received and what he ordered.”

  “And he was willing to give them to me?”

  “They are copies. When I explained to him how you needed to get out of Thomas’s grasp fairly, he was more than willing to help. He is a smart man, Esther. Smart enough to listen to me.”

  She took the stairway carefully on her ice-pick heels. For a half of a moment, she almost felt compassion toward Thomas. He was clearly nervous: a sheen of sweat under his hairline, fingering a button on his bespoke coat. But his eyes softened ever so slightly when he took her in view.

  “Are you ready?” Esther asked tremulously.

  “The car is waiting outside. It will take us to St. Stephen’s. Your father had business at the office and will meet us there.”

  “We can get Father Francisco to stall!” Esther had whispered to Widow Barclay earlier. “Have him insist that he have a short interview with the couple before binding them in holy matrimony!”

  So, the moment the automobile swerved to the corner of cobbled Hanover Street on which sat the early republic styled church that would see them wed, Esther knew she was meeting an ally.

  The Widow had gone ahead in a taxi and stood by one of the broad, white doors. Esther took in the tall columns, spacious windows and neatly aligned pews, her gaze finally settling on a kind-faced gentleman in robes and clerical collar.

  He looked directly at Esther as she took his hand and winked.

  Esther could feel the relief flow through her. He would make it okay.

  “Father.” Thomas pressed through. “We really don’t have a lot of time and as you can see my fiancé is dressed for the occasion. I can pay you handsomely if you can provide a service as quickly as possible. I suppose we just need as much legality as we can today? And see to the certificate later.”

  “You will need witnesses. Two of them.” Father Francisco said.

  “My father is coming, is he not?” Esther asked Thomas.

  “He might be delayed. We don’t have time.”

  “Not time to wait for my own father, Thomas?”

  “Surely, you can spare a few moments, Mr. Weatherton. The Widow has said that she will bear witness but you do need one more. The young lady’s father is a perfect witness and until then I can give you a short session in marital advice. Pray for you in the vestry.”

  Thomas shifted impatiently, and stabbed a look over his shoulder just as a looming figure shadowed the entryway. “Ah! There he is! Our second witness.”

  Esther’s heart stopped. “What is he doing here?” Esther said. “We don’t need that man as a witness.”

  Thomas turned to Fang and listened intently to the message the broad man whispered in his ear.

  Whatever message Fang passed Thomas had a drastic effect.

  “Your father is not coming, Esther, because he has been withheld by the police.” Thomas cursed. Father Francisco soured. Widow Barclay gasped. “Someone took evidence to the Herald and that muckraker Morland ratted us out.” Thomas turned back to Fang. “But my briefcase was in the car. No one had access to it but me.” He cursed, lowered his voice and exchanged several words that didn’t belong within the holy quarters of the sanctuary with his hired man.

  Esther felt the room sway slightly. She had anticipated this. Nic must have made it to the Herald office and Morland must have taken the evidence to the cops. But as much as her conscience was at peace with her decision, her heart still thrummed.

  “My dear.” Father Francisco steadied her elbow with a kind, firm grip. “You are not well. Perhaps you would like to sit a moment.”

  “When we are married, Esther, I can see justice for your father and correct these accusations. But there is little I can do if I am thrown in for questioning with him!”

  “So you’re truly going to let my father take the fall for an enterprise of which you had equal investment?”

  Thomas reeled. “How did you…”

  “You make a horrible criminal, Thomas.”

  Thomas took one vehement stride to her and pierced her with anger-filled eyes. Father Francisco straightened his shoulders. The priest’s stance waylaid Thomas slightly, for he froze in place.

  “You knew? Esther, did you betray your own family? Your father?”

  Esther disengaged from Father Francisco and retrieved her purse. “I knew you would never just leave me, Thomas. That you would trap me in Rutherford.” She took out the documents Mrs. Mayweather had given her. “I had to act quickly and I had to have something to bargain with.” She held up the papers. “You may be able to evade the law. As you say everyone is dealing with liquor, but you hate a mar on your precious family’s reputation. All you have, Thomas, is your name. It was so important to you that you keep it that you aligned yourself with my father to bolster that reputation. You were willing to marry me to secure it. But there are businessmen in Boston who don’t take kindly to being played. Who don’t want anything to do with your scheme and are somehow involved anyway.” She unfolded the paper and showed him. “My father made a grievous error in his dealings. I thought he oversaw these things.”

  Thomas snatched the paper from her, face whitening at the letter head and the colossal mistake involving one of the most trusted business names in the country. “No.” Thomas’s voice rumbled.

  “Mr. Mayweather is going to be gracious enough to look past this mistake as he doesn’t want his company name involved in any way, shape or form. The evidence that the Herald now has is incriminating enough.”

  “What did you do?” Thomas growled.

  “I took a few sheets from an open briefcase.” Thomas lunged at her but Father Francisco intervened. Clearly not wanting to bowl over a priest, Thomas clenched his fists and seethed. “Why would you do this?”

  “Because you are a bully and a criminal, Thomas and because I am willing to do a lot for my father, for my family and my mother’s legacy. But, not this. I have to be true to myself. And that is why I am giving you this ultimatum: you set me free. You break this engagement and you leave me alone.”

  “Why would I do that? I need this now more than ever as a distraction to the media.”

  “Because Mr. Mayweather is a good man and he and his wife are willing to take the colossal mistake my father made to every news source in the country.”

  “You’re bribing me?”

  “I’m giving you an option. You�
��re already in trouble, Thomas.”

  Thomas was exasperated and turned his head over his shoulder in hopes that Fang would have something to offer. The man didn’t. Desperate, he settled on Widow Barclay a moment. Esther enjoyed the look of smug, self-satisfaction on the Widow’s face.

  “You want to go back to him. That pianist.”

  Esther’s face flushed. “Why do you care where I go, Thomas? I want nothing more to do with you or my father. You don’t love me.”

  “You gave your word.” He lunged for Esther again and this time didn’t let Father Francisco intervene, strong handling the priest aside before he could get a hold.

  “Widow Barclay, call the police!” At the priest’s request, Widow Barclay moved in the direction but was stalled by Fang. Esther panicked on the woman’s behalf before noting how swiftly she procured a knitting needle from the bag looped over her shoulder and stabbed it into Fang’s thigh. Thomas almost loosened his hold with surprise. Using Fang’s own surprise and momentary distraction to her advantage, the widow grabbed a hymn book from the neighbouring pulpit and knocked Fang out with it.

  Further enraged, Thomas grabbed Esther’s hair and pulled, the pins digging in with his harsh motions. “You will not be beautiful for him, then.” He reached into his pocket and retracted a knife. Father Francisco gave Esther a pleading look before reading the slight movement of her eyes in the direction of the open door. He dashed down the aisle in pursuit of help outside while Widow Barclay, feeling helpless, stood over Fang with the hymn book lest he rouse.

  “You’re not going to hurt me truly, Thomas.” Esther wavered.

  Thomas ripped out several pins while keeping a tight grip on the back of Esther’s neck. She was queasy at the flash of pocketknife raised over her neck and looked helplessly at Widow Barclay who shuddered. But just as the blade came down, a silver swath in her peripheral vision, it did not touch her skin, rather her hair.