The Babe Ruth Deception

by David O. Stewart

  Eliza had stared at him for the longest time. Then she sagged and looked down in a way he couldn’t remember seeing before. “Okay,” she said. “You’re right.” Even with that decided, he still didn’t sleep much, keyed up at the prospect of seeing Violet, wondering if Eliza really meant what she had said.

  After the street was quiet for another minute, he nodded to her. They stepped out onto the street.

  The front door wasn’t locked. The floorboards creaked as they walked back to 1B, in the back on the left. After knocking, Fraser recognized Violet’s uneven gait, the pop of the cane on the floor. When the door swung open, she stood in the blue kimono that Eliza had bought her for the hospital. She froze, eyes wide. She seemed ready to bolt. Eliza rushed in and hugged her hard, saying Violet’s name over and over. Violet didn’t return the embrace. Eliza smoothed Violet’s hair out of her face and leaned back. “We’ve been so worried,” she said.

  “Mother,” Violet said sharply. “I don’t have time for this. I have a trip to get ready for.” A steamer trunk stood open in the main room. Clothes draped the furniture but couldn’t conceal upholstery that was split at the seams, wooden surfaces marked with scars and divots.

  “We just want to see you, to talk with you,” Fraser said. “A trip where?”

  Eliza stepped in front of him. “We’ll help you pack, if that helps, dear. But you can’t just go off without a word.” Violet backed two steps into the room, still not looking at her mother. “I won’t say anything like I did the other day,” Eliza went on. “I was surprised then. I shouldn’t have been angry. That was stupid of me. And wrong.” Eliza stepped into the room and sat uncertainly on a chair. “We love you and want nothing but good for you. That’s all we’ve ever wanted.”

  Violet was quiet for seconds more, then turned to her mother.

  Eliza tried again. “I can see you’re well. You’re taking care of yourself.” Eliza steeled herself for the next part. “I can see that you and Joshua are happy.” At this, Violet also sat, perching on the edge of the divan. Eliza reached over and took her hand. “Can you tell us what you’re planning? Where are you and Joshua going?”

  The younger woman took a careful breath, then said, “I’m taking a train to Montreal, where Joshua will join me in a few days.” They waited. “He’s going separately by car to Saratoga—he’s got business there, he’s been setting it up for a while. Then we’ll go on to London.”

  “London!” Panic passed through Eliza. Fraser, standing behind her, gripped her shoulder.

  “Why London?” he asked.

  Violet leaned back in her seat, but her eyes were still wary. “Joshua’s business . . . , well, you know what he does. He says he can get into the legitimate end of it in Europe. There he can be an exporter, not take so many risks. We may end up in France, he’s not sure. But he says we can live, you know, like normal people there. Live openly, as man and wife.” Eliza sucked in her breath. “No, we’re not married yet, but we will be. It won’t be like here. He says that during the war, it was better over there.”

  “Violet,” Fraser said. “Violet.”

  She shook her head and set her jaw. “We’ve gone over and over it. We could marry here. It’d be legal here in New York, not like some states, but he doesn’t want to deal with the clerk’s office, with all of the issues, everything that would come up if we did it here. And we can’t live here, not together, not the way people would be about it. I never really knew how people are. How it is to be colored.”

  “Violet,” he said. “When is the baby due?”

  Eliza twisted to look at him. “What?”

  When Violet didn’t answer, he gave her a small smile. “Honey, I’m an old country doctor. Let us help.”

  Violet’s face crumpled for a moment, then swiftly recomposed. “How can you be sure? I haven’t been. Sure, that is.”

  “I wasn’t entirely until just now.”

  She covered her face with her hands. Eliza knelt next to her chair, her head pressed against Violet’s. In whispers, she repeated her daughter’s name. Fraser cleared a place near them on the couch. He sat heavily.

  After a minute, Eliza moved back to the chair, still gripping Violet’s hands. “Does he know?”

  Violet shook her head and took a stuttering breath. “I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t want that to be why, why he chooses me. I’m such a burden.”

  “You must tell him.”

  Violet looked helpless. Fraser sat forward, his forearms on his knees. “Violet, why are you leaving in such a hurry? There’s something else, isn’t there?”

  “Oh, Daddy, I don’t know. Joshua says it’s nothing, but maybe it isn’t.” She looked down. “The police may be looking for him.”

  He looked surprised. “For bootlegging? It’s not that easy to get arrested for that.”

  “It’s about the bombing, the one I was in. Somehow they may suspect him of being involved.”

  “That’s crazy,” Eliza said. “He was hurt, too. He saved you.”

  “He and his partner, Cecil,” Violet said, “they were in some radical groups, after they came back from France. Not any more. He swears to that. And that they had nothing to do with the bombing. He couldn’t have. I know him.” She looked intently at each parent, then cast her eyes down again. “But, you know, the investigation’s been going on so long and they’ve never found out who was behind it. And he was there. Somehow they may know that.”

  “They’re looking for him?” Fraser asked.

  Violet nodded. “He just heard.”

  “So,” he said pensively, “the cops think maybe he just blew himself up a little bit, by mistake.” He shrugged. “I suppose that could happen with a bomber who didn’t know his business.”

  “He says he’s the perfect pigeon for the police—a Negro, a radical past, a bootlegger, with army training. He thinks we need to go right away. He says he won’t ever let anyone put him in prison again. I think he means that.”

  The silence was thick. Fraser thought back to the Cadillac. It was wrong for a police car, much too nice. And the man with the trim beard didn’t strike him like a cop. No need to talk about all that now. Not with Violet’s condition, not with how edgy she was already. “So,” Fraser said, “you’re planning to sail to London from Montreal. Why not from here?”

  “Joshua’s business in Saratoga, it’s partway there. Also, he says it’ll be easier for him to get across the border into Canada and then leave through Montreal. He’s afraid the police might be watching for him at the shipping lines here in New York.”

  Fraser nodded. “That makes sense. He’s been making careful plans, I can see that. But have you really thought about this? He’s got so many problems, Violet. And the government has ways to bring people back from foreign countries if they want to.”

  “You don’t have to do all this, not by yourself,” Eliza said, nodding at the clothes littering the room. “We can help with these things, with legal problems and lawyers, with the baby. We want to help.”

  “No, Mother, I have to do this. We chose these problems because we chose each other.” She looked off for a moment. “Yes, I’m afraid, too. Of course I am. I know you both think I’m just being some empty-headed girl, carried away by a forbidden love, but I’m not.”

  Fraser had leaned back on the divan. He fingered a seam on the armrest. He was bursting to speak out, to explain the plain logic: Violet needed to forget this whole adventure; being with Joshua could never bring her what she wanted from life. Her life would shrink. She would end up hating the man who shrank it. But Eliza had said those things and had failed. And now he would lose not only Violet, but her baby. Plain logic could drive Violet to more dangerous mistakes.

  “Thank you,” Violet said, looking from Eliza to Fraser and back. “Thank you for not being angry.”

  “Violet,” Fraser said without rising. “We have to think about these things. For your welfare, and for the baby. Please hear me out.” Eliza’s eyes were full of warn
ing, but he went on. “We can’t know for sure, but Joshua’s business in Saratoga, right in the middle of racing season—that makes me nervous. I know Joshua’s a capable young man, but that town’s full of all the big-time gamblers now, hoodlums from everywhere. And we know his business can be, well, a rough one. He doesn’t want you there now, which I entirely agree with, but his business there may well be risky.”

  “You think he’s in danger?”

  “I don’t know. But his business has danger, that’s why he’s trying to change it.” He sat forward with his elbows on his knees. “I just don’t think you want to be waiting alone in Montreal for him, not knowing when he’ll get there. It would be lonely, hard. And I don’t think you should be traveling with him when there’s any risk, any risk at all, that the police might swoop down on him. Not in your condition. You have to think of that, of more than just yourself, or even the two of you. What about your mother and you going to London straight from here? Then Joshua can join you there from Montreal. The police won’t be looking for you. Not yet, anyway. You can travel without fear.”

  “Yes, honey,” Eliza said. “That would spare you the trip to Montreal also. That’s such a long ride, switching into a hotel, all of that. And I can be there to help with everything. Joshua can’t object to that. He can go to Montreal as he planned and follow us over.”

  “How will he know where we’ve gone? I have no way to contact him in Saratoga. He could end up in Montreal thinking I had run out on him.”

  “I’ll go to Saratoga and let him know,” Fraser said. “It won’t be hard to find a young man who dresses as well as he does.” He could see her indecision. “Violet, I can’t say we understand all of this. But no matter how much we may be afraid for you, this isn’t a scheme to separate you two. We only want to look after you. Joshua should be glad about it.”

  Her small, sad smile nearly split him in two. She sniffled and nodded. “We were going to be married on the ship. By the captain.”

  Eliza, her eyes red and glassy, hugged her daughter. “I know that sounds romantic, Violet, but we would be so sad not to be there for your wedding.”

  Violet pulled back as her tears fell. She nodded and said quietly, “Yes. I know.”

  “Right,” Eliza said briskly, straightening up. “Let’s get you packed and get your trunk over to the Ansonia. We can make the arrangements from there, get the money and the tickets.”

  “Joshua’s left me money.”

  “Good,” Fraser said. “There can never be too much of that. Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll start getting this all sorted out?”

  Violet stood deliberately, then walked, unevenly but steadily, into the next room. She closed the door behind her.

  Fraser and Eliza looked at each other. “Look at these clothes of hers,” Eliza said, spinning a half circle on her heel, “they’re all brand new. She took almost nothing with her from the Ansonia. He’s throwing money at her.”

  “Yes, well, I suppose he loves her.”

  Eliza looked at him. “Oh, Jamie.”

  He couldn’t answer any of the questions that lay within those changeable eyes, now as dark as he had ever seen them. “Not now, Eliza. I can’t, we can’t . . . we can’t lose her.” He made himself think of the practical questions. “You can leave your business like this? It could be months.”

  “How can you even ask?”

  “All right. I’ll go to the bank in the morning, arrange for drafts you can take.”

  “Yes.” She put her hand on him. “Jamie. What will he be? The baby?” She could see he didn’t understand. “Will he be colored? Or white? Something in between?”

  “I don’t think you can tell.” He held her with both hands. “I don’t know much genetics. Except that he’ll be Violet’s baby, and our grandchild.”

  “Yes.” She moved her lips without speaking, then managed, “I know she’s a sensible girl, underneath all this. We have to believe that. My God, she’s going to be a mother. She’s a child herself.” She looked up at him. “We just have to swallow Joshua, this whole business. So we will.” She looked around again. “What else? What else?”

  “We’ll go over it all when we’re back home. We’ll think more clearly there. I’ll have to arrange to go to Saratoga and find Joshua. Maybe I can be of use somehow. Anyway, I’ll wire you whenever there’s news. Maybe I’ll follow you over to England.” Eliza was chewing her lip. “What?”

  “You should get his father to go with you to Saratoga.” When Fraser didn’t answer, she added, “This is no time to be resentful, Jamie. You’re the one who’s forever saying that Speed Cook’s a useful man in a tight spot. Well, Joshua’s in a tight spot.”

  Chapter 19

  Out of town cars lined the back street where Fraser’s rooming house rose in semirespectable shabbiness. The cool morning tingled with the possibilities of Saratoga’s high season. The resort promised mild breezes, mineral baths, luxury lodging, and posh dining, plus sporting from racing to gambling to golf to the more intimate type. Pleasure seekers from New York and Boston and Philadelphia, fleeing the August heat, clogged local roads and incoming trains.

  Fraser headed for the massive Grand Union Hotel, which filled nearly a square block of the small town. He and Eliza once came to the summer mecca during August racing season. She had hated the crowds and ostentatious displays of wealth. He wasn’t sure why Saratoga’s crowds and crass wealth offended her more than those at Broadway theaters, but they had dropped Saratoga in favor of ocean-side cottages on Long Island. After spending his first thirty-five years in Ohio, Fraser could never get enough of the seashore.

  The Grand Union, its five square towers crowned with triumphant flags, dominated the town. Its sandstone walls were a smart backdrop for the pastel finery of the racing crowd, on display even early in the morning. Fraser was looking for either of the Cooks, father or son—he had learned from Aurelia Cook that Speed was in Saratoga on his own business.

  As a man of science, Fraser had noted with interest that both Cooks were in Saratoga at the same time. It could be a coincidence. That was possible. Speed could be here to deal with Attell and his crowd, that job he was doing for Ruth. But other explanations might apply. Speed might be here on Joshua’s trail himself, or might even be part of his son’s schemes. Fraser didn’t know what to think. The world was moving way too fast for him. He still struggled to understand Violet’s romance, not to mention Joshua’s dangerous business and Speed’s connection with Eliza and Babe Ruth.

  Weaving through morning strollers, Fraser settled into a rocking chair on the hotel’s front porch. The chair, with its traditional Adirondack design, was a good size for him. He pulled yesterday’s newspaper from his jacket pocket, then a pair of reading spectacles from the inside pocket. He pantomimed interest in the paper, turning a page every few minutes. His attention focused on the racing fans and vacationers who passed into, out of, and around the hotel. After forty-five minutes, he noticed the distinctive bulk of Speed Cook approaching from the direction of the racetrack.

  Cook moved nimbly for a large man, his rumpled suit well below Saratoga’s standards for haberdashery. Rather than hail his friend, Fraser followed him into the lobby. Inside, Fraser lingered near a voluble group to the side of the entrance, standing close enough to imply a connection but far enough away to avoid having to speak with them. Approaching the front desk, Cook gave a bellhop a slip of paper, then moved to the other side of the lobby entrance. He was evidently trying to be inconspicuous, a hopeless task here for a colored man of his dimensions. Fraser sidled to a wall, using his open newspaper to shield his face, again feigning interest in yesterday’s headlines.

  A small form emerging from an elevator looked like Abe Attell. When the form made a beeline for Cook, Fraser was certain. It was Attell’s walk, up on the balls of his feet. Like he was keeping balanced in case he had to throw a jab or a quick one-two. The two men spoke briefly, no handshakes or greeting. Attell left while Cook was still speaking. Cook’s
face and posture betrayed no irritation over the rudeness. Fraser followed him out the front door, relieved that his suspicions had been wrong. Cook was here on his own business, not as part of Joshua’s.

  Halfway down the front walk, Fraser called out. Cook spun and grimaced. “I’m in the middle of something. What do you want?”

  “Are you in the middle of something that involves fooling around with Abe Attell?”

  “I asked first.”

  “Where’s Joshua?”

  Cook rolled his eyes. “How the hell do I know?” He turned toward the street.

  “Really? That’s the best you can do?”

  “What, you think he’s up here?” When Fraser nodded, Cook started to look curious. “Really?”

  “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “I’ve got things to do,” Cook objected.

  “You’ll be glad you did. And sorry if you don’t.” Fraser nodded down the road to the racetrack.

  They skipped the small talk, both preferring silence. When they reached the end of the town and turned onto the Avenue of the Pines, other foot traffic disappeared. They reached a lush-looking golf course. Graceful elms leaned softly over the roadway.

  Fraser told him about Joshua and Violet. He left nothing out. Cook didn’t interrupt but repeatedly looked over, his eyes searching Fraser’s face.

  When Fraser finished, they stopped and faced each other. “So, you’re telling me”—Cook ticked off the points on the fingers of one hand—“that the cops are after Joshua for a bombing that nearly blew him to kingdom come, that Joshua and Violet are moving to Europe to get married, that they’re having a baby, and that Joshua’s here in Saratoga on some mystery mission that you’re afraid may get him killed. And maybe some angry bootleggers are after him, on top of that. That about it?” Fraser nodded. “Well, I surely appreciate the news, but what the hell do you want from me? Did you simply want to see the look on my face when I heard all this?”