“Why Walter George, don’t you look handsome.”
Lucinda stood before him, looking like an angel. She was dressed in a dark green frock that made her skin look luminescent.
“It’s Pforzmann. Walter George Pforzmann.”
Lucinda giggled. It sounded like bells. “Can I still call you Walter?”
Walter started to answer, but nothing came out.
“But please come in, no matter what your name is. I cannot risk leaving such a fine looking man at my door lest you’re spotted by others.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
Lucinda blushed. It shot up from her neck. “No, Walter. I would never do that. I mean it. You look wonderful. And you should never, ever grow back that beard.”
Walter mumbled a thank you, although without the beard, he felt as if he stepped out from behind cover while men were shooting at him. Lucinda stepped aside and, finally, Walter walked into the flat.
Lucinda was still staying in the spare rooms of the rectory until Harry could be certain she was not in danger. Part of the bargain they had made with Wilkie after TR had left the room was that, when it was all over, Lucinda would be protected. Wilkie had readily agreed and he would have no reason not to keep his word. They had no real choice anyway.
The table was set for two, with two long candles burning in the center. Walter looked at the tablecloth, linen napkins, and china place settings and wondered if he could really live this way for the rest of his life.
Why not?
Lucinda gestured to a decanter. “Reverend Jennison ordinarily only keeps wine in here, but I persuaded him to let me borrow some of his whiskey. He only agreed because I told him you were good at keeping secrets.”
“Thank you, Lucinda. I’d love one.”
“You certainly look like you could use it. Am I that scary?”
“No. Well, sort of. Not your fault. I . . .”
He was still mumbling when she handed him a hefty glassful, which he downed in one gulp. Quite decent rye.
“Lucinda,” he began, “I don’t know how you feel about me, but . . .”
“Walter George . . . Pforzmann, that is simply not true. You know precisely how I feel about you. I have been in love with you since we met. Are your really saying you didn’t know?”
“I suspected, but . . . can I have another drink, please.”
She shook her head. “Not a chance. Not until we’ve talked a bit.”
Despite himself, Walter almost laughed. “Are you making rules for me already?”
“Someone has to.”
“All right. I suppose I prefer it be you. I’d like to tell you why I came tonight.”
Walter didn’t go on. “All right, Walter. Why?”
“I wanted you to know who I am.”
“I know who you are, Walter. At least in the ways that matter. But please. Go ahead.”
Walter took a deep breath and spit it out. “You know I was raised in an orphanage. Run by the sisters. In New York. I was left there just after I was born, with a slip of paper that had my name but nothing else. I’m not even certain what my birthday is, only that I’m thirty-five years old.
“The sisters were all right, I suppose. Or could have been. They tried to show that they cared for us, but they seemed more interested in making sure we were going to be good Catholics. One of them, she was young, took a liking to me because I learned to read early and liked books. I owe her a lot, I suppose, but I can’t remember her name.”
“You can’t remember someone who helped you?”
Walter scowled. “I don’t remember any of them.”
“All right, Walter. Go on.”
“I was always big for my age, so I sort of protected other boys when the older ones got after them. But no one could protect them from Father Timothy.” He stopped and breathed heavily. “Lucinda, please, just one more drink.”
She nodded and refilled his glass. Walter downed it.
“They all knew, of course. All the sisters, all the boys. He’d pick his favorites and call them into his rooms at night. We all knew the next morning what had happened. But no one could do anything. The boys were afraid of being thrown out on the streets, and the sisters knew the bishop would always take a priest’s side over a nun’s. Each of us waited, knowing eventually it would be our turn.”
Walter looked down and spoke to the table. “Then it happened to me. One night, when I was twelve, he came into the room where we slept and told me to come with him. I knew what it meant, but I went. When I was walking, my legs felt stiff, as if my knees wouldn’t bend. When we got to his room, he closed the door, and then stood with his back to it. Then . . . right away . . . he started to . . . was going to . . .” Walter looked up. Lucinda drew back when she saw the fury on his face. “There was a bottle of wine on the table he was going to make me drink. But I grabbed it and swung it him. I was so tall that I was able to hit him square across the cheek. He didn’t fall, but his eyes went wide, like he couldn’t believe what was happening. But suddenly, I felt free. The bottle hadn’t broken, so I hit him again. Wine had poured out and was all over my clothes. When I hit him a third time, the bottle broke and glass was everywhere. Finally, he went down . . . like he was shot . . . and didn’t move.
“I stared at him for a couple of seconds . . . lying there. It was like I’d just woken up after a dream. I ran back to where we slept and grabbed my hat . . . funny, I didn’t want to leave without my hat. Dumb hat too. I didn’t take anything else, but there was really nothing else to take. I came out again and ran down the hall. The sisters had come out and were standing there, watching me. They didn’t know what to say . . . they could hardly discipline me, since they knew what Father Timothy was up to. The doors were locked, so I screamed for someone to open them up. I must have looked like a wild animal. The Mother Superior’s hands were shaking . . . she was terrified. But she managed to unlock a side door and I ran out. To this day, I don’t know if that priest lived or died.”
Lucinda had not moved, but managed to say, “Oh Walter, I’m so sorry.”
He nodded, but then went on. It was all going to come out now. Finally. “So then, I was just another orphan living on the streets. But I was big, strong, and mean. I got into a lot of fights at first, but the other kids learned not to tussle with me. One time, one of them tried to rob me while I sleeping. We were in an alley. I woke up and grabbed him around the throat, but he stabbed me with a penknife. For some reason, it didn’t hurt. I held him with one hand and hit him with the other until he stopped moving. I was bleeding, but the wound wasn’t very deep, so I was able to keep pressure on it until morning. A local pharmacist . . . a nice old man . . . stitched me up. After that, word got around that you couldn’t kill Walter, even with a knife.
“I missed reading, so one day, I wandered into a library. Started pulling things from the shelves to read. A lot of history and science. Started coming back every day. One of the librarians noticed me and gave me other things to read. Wonderful books. A lot of philosophy, men I had never even heard of before. After a few months, she offered to let me stay with her, but I couldn’t. I didn’t trust anybody that much and by then I couldn’t bear to sleep inside. I always wanted a way to escape from wherever I was.
“Then, when I was fifteen . . . but I looked a lot older . . . I joined the army. Volunteered to go west. Where I met Harry. He was a sergeant. Helped me learn to ride a horse. Never had to in the streets. We were sent to the Dakotas. I had a flair for soldiering and soon I was a sergeant myself, always a stripe short of Harry though.
“You know the rest. I was there for eight years. I loved and hated the army. I loved the . . . well, I guess you could call it family. I hated what we were doing though. Every year, we squeezed more and more land out of the Indians. We made treaties and broke them, killed people who wanted nothing more than to stay on the land they’d been promised. Harry felt the same way. It was little more than theft and murder. Harry heard about this division of the Tr
easury Department that officially went after counterfeiters, but also helped investigate bank robberies and a bunch of other crimes. It seemed like a better way to live, so we joined up.”
Walter slumped in his chair. He was more exhausted than if he’d been awake for two days on the plains. He was soaked in sweat and felt dizzy. He grasped the sides of the table because he thought he might fall off the chair.
After a few seconds, Lucinda put her hand on his arm. “You’ve never told anyone before, have you? Not even Harry.”
Walter managed to shake his head.
“Thank you then, Walter, for your trust.” She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the forehead.
He looked up. “I’ve never been able to . . . trust . . . anyone . . . to . . .”
She smiled and he was filled with . . . what?
Peace.
“You can trust me.”
“I know.”
They spent another two hours together. Walter managed to eat a slice of perfectly cooked roast, and had only one more shot of rye. They talked some, but not too much. Mostly they were just with each other, two souls adrift, each of whom had found an island in the other. When Walter left, she kissed him lightly on the cheek and they knew, if he came through this, they would be together.
42
Thursday, September 19, 1901
My God, what have you done to yourself. You look like a kid.” Then he realized. “You did it for L . . . my sister.”
“Yes, Harry. Brilliant deduction.”
“Are you . . .”
“Yes, Harry. Now how’s about we figure out how we’re going to get Hawkesworth and stay alive.”
Wilkie hadn’t sent them in totally blind. Hawkesworth, according to Wilkie’s sources, was living in his country estate in Lake Forest, although his reasons for leaving his more palatial Prairie Avenue home were unclear. Wilkie had also obtained an architect’s plan of the house and grounds, although how he had done it was equally unclear.
The question, of course, was how many men Hawkesworth would have guarding the house. Even if he believed no one was on to him, he would certainly have some. However many it was, they would need to be neutralized before Walter and Harry could get to Hawkesworth himself. Wilkie had reported that Hawkesworth’s wife was visiting relatives in Minnesota, a convenient state of affairs that made it more likely he was on his guard.
Or that it was a trap.
In any case, they would have to go in at night, between two and four in the morning. That was the window when those left on guard would be most bored and drowsy. Any earlier and they might still be alert; any later, they’d have perked up, waiting for their shift to be over.
In order to make this work, Walter and Harry would need to devise a plan that anticipated what Hawkesworth’s guards would do. There were two scenarios—if it was a trap or if it wasn’t. In the first case, they’d probably leave a lure, either a guard easily visible backed up by one that wasn’t, or an open ground floor window or a door that was ajar. If it were not, security would be less visible but no less present.
Looking at the map of the grounds, the obvious avenue of approach was the back of the house, to come in off the lakefront. Although there was a two-hundred-foot expanse of lawn, there were hedges and a good deal of tree cover to shield them from view. The front had a high wall, but once inside, there was an equal distance of lawn to be negotiated with only a few large trees for cover.
Which was why they decided to climb the wall and approach from the front. The back might seem safer, but it was actually much more dangerous. Everything that might provide cover for them could also provide cover to their enemies.
The front provided them distinct advantages. It was mid-month, so only a sliver of moon would be visible, and they chose a day where the sky would have broken clouds. Harry and Walter, big as they were, knew how to move and use shadows to approach undetected at night across open terrain. And they were also expert at detecting movement and so what little light there was would allow them to pick up on anyone trying to gain position on them.
They decided to scale the wall at the north corner, where a large hemlock would the block view from the house of anyone coming over the wall. From there, the ground was open until, about halfway to the house, a sprawling elm tree provided cover. But if they kept the elm between them and the building, no one would see them from the front porch.
They were satisfied with the plan, but what did that mean? No saying was more idiotic than “going according to plan.” Nothing ever did.
Lake Forest was not exactly a place where you could ride a horse, or even worse, take a motor car, arrive after midnight outside an estate, and not expect to draw attention. So Harry and Walter rented a carriage that they tied up in the woods at the south end of town just after ten o’clock. From there, they walked, keeping out of sight until they arrived in another woods—Lake Forest was not called that for nothing—about a quarter mile from Anthony Hawkesworth’s country getaway. And there they waited.
There is a feeling before going into battle, a unique combination of quiet and frenzy, where the senses seem to report everything as if through a thick filter of water. Nothing from the outside really penetrates as the seconds tick away. The first time this happens, the person waiting is convinced he will be incapable of movement when the moment arrives, frozen in place, and when motion is possible, it will be so stiff and ponderous that it will result in quick and certain death.
For Walter and Harry, who had been through this more times than they could count, waiting for an assault to begin was simply time that needed to pass. They both knew how unlikely they were to succeed at what they’d been asked to do, and wondered what TR and Wilkie would do to get Hawkesworth if they failed. Or if they would do anything at all.
Finally, it was time. Within minutes, Harry and Walter were at the foot of the seven-foot-high brick wall. Walter cupped his hands and boosted Harry up so that Harry could get a good handhold on the top. As thick as Harry was, that was how strong. He pulled himself up almost effortlessly, swung over the top, and dropped to the other side. Seconds later, the rope that had been wrapped around his waist came sailing over. Walter pulled on it to make certain Harry was bracing it on the other side, then used it to get high enough to pull himself up. When he dropped over, not fifteen seconds had passed and there had not been a sound.
The hemlock was as sprawling as the plans showed and the elm halfway up the lawn even wider. They checked for movement along the wall and then toward the house. There was none, nor did it seem as if a guard had been stationed outside the front door.
They made it to the elm easily, always keeping the huge tree between them and the house, and then checked around, more carefully this time. If it were a trap, this was the time someone would be slipping in behind them, but no birds flew, and no rabbits or squirrels scurried. Nothing but crickets.
The front of the house appeared normal for a rich man’s estate in the middle of the night. One light was on in the middle of the porch—it appeared to be electric—and it cast shadows of the furniture on the veranda. Although dim, there was sufficient light to make movement across the lawn visible to anyone stationed at a window. There was a soft glow from inside the house, indicating lights in the hallways, and what seemed to be a light on back porch.
Their object was a small, ground-level window on their side of the house that led into the storage area of the basement. From the plans, it seemed that Harry would fit easily and it was just large enough for Walter to squeeze through. If they could get there and then inside undetected, they would have made it through the first great peril of their attack.
The only way to minimize the chance of being seen was to hug the ground and creep up slowly, never rising up enough to cast a telltale shadow on the grass. The last time they’d done that was in the Dakotas, sneaking up on a renegade Sioux encampment. Renegades—that’s what the officers called them, at least.
But however honed, the skill was invaluable. H
e and Harry went wide to avoid the light at the front door, and moved slowly, never enough to flick an image to someone’s peripheral vision, but sufficient to get them to the house in the least possible time. The window was just where it was supposed to be and they were relieved to find that it was locked. An unlocked window was almost a guarantee that there would be a welcoming committee inside. It was still possible, of course, but less so.
The next problem was getting the four-pane window open without making noise, and for that Walter had brought a wheeled glass cutter. Ordinarily, the blade would squeak when it scored the surface of the glass, but applying a thin film of oil would muffle the sound. The window was hinged and would open in. Walter traced a hole large enough for his hand to go through a pane near where the lock would be on the inside, then placed a suction cup over the hole.
Then came the tricky part. He had to pop the piece through but hold on to the rod on the suction cup so that the glass wouldn’t make any noise. He’d done this once or twice in Chicago, getting into houses that were dangerous to enter in the normal way. But it demanded a deft touch, and even a couple of practice sessions didn’t make it a sure thing.
Walter nodded to Harry, who used a balled up glove to pop at the glass lightly, just under where the suction cup was attached. The cut piece broke free at the instant Walter pulled at it, and it made just the barest click on the way out. They waited for a few seconds, but there was no sound other than the crickets.
Walter reached through the hole, pulled the handle on the lock, and opened the window. He and Harry slithered through and dropped to the floor of the storeroom. Walter closed and latched the window behind them. Someone looking at the window from either inside or out would have to be very close to see the hole in the glass in the dark.
The room was quiet enough to hear breathing and it was only theirs. Almost no room is totally dark, although this one was close. They waited until their eyes got used to what minimal light there was, then made their way across the floor, feeling with their hands and feet for boxes, stored furniture, and whatever else lay in their path to the door opposite the window.
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