I was on the far side of Hillyard when I started back. I’d carefully avoided Hennessey’s Confectionary, but now it was on Market on the block right in front of me. Rather than risk running into Mr. Stanfield, Mrs. Hennessey, or Carrie, I turned and walked west one block to the next street, Haven. On the corner I stopped. The Hillyard Jail and Marshal’s Office was right in front of me. It was an old wooden building, but smoke rose from the chimney and I saw movement behind the window. I looked over my shoulder, trying to decide whether it was safer to risk running into the Marshal or Mr. Stanfield or Mrs. Hennessey or Carrie.
To my surprise, I saw a pack of boys running up behind me, waving their arms and shouting. At first I thought they were calling for me, but then I heard snatches of their words.
“Baseball—tracks—body! Dead body! Marshal Mitchell, Marshal Mitchell, we found a dead body!”
They ran past me to the door of the marshal’s office. They thundered in, and I scurried past, certain the Marshal had his hands too full to notice me passing by with my little package of new underwear. I couldn’t resist peeking in as I passed the window and saw the marshal listening to the boys, one of whom was Guy Dunn.
Chapter Eight
“THEY FOUND THE man beside the railroad tracks north of town,” Fred said as he passed the mashed potatoes my way. “They hadn’t identified him yet when I left the drug store. They’re fairly certain he’s not from around here, though.”
I spooned potatoes onto my plate and handed the bowl hesitantly to my right. Cora reached around Jane and put some potatoes on the toddler’s plate.”
“No!” Jane shrieked, kicking the underside of the table with shoes as hard as rocks. “No want ‘tatoes! No want potatoes!”
“Did you hear that?” Cora asked us with a proud smile. “She said potatoes, clear as day.”
“I heard he’s that incorporation man,” Grace said.
I nearly dropped the gravy boat. “Incorporation man?”
“A fancy lawyer the railroad sent out,” Grace said. “He’s disappeared. He was scheduled up for some meeting today with some of the incorporation leaders, and he never showed up.”
I absently ladled gravy onto my potatoes and passed the boat on.
“They say he wore a fine suit,” Ida Mae said, bringing a basket of freshly baked rolls in from the kitchen. She might not enjoy cooking, but she was good at it. “It’s bound to be him. Too bad about his face, though. Identifying him won’t be easy with his face a bloody mess like that.”
“Ida Mae, please.” Fred shuddered.
Ida Mae laughed. “What’s the matter, Fred? Make you queasy in your gut, does it? Don’t be such a woman. You don’t see any of us ladies going all pernickity.”
Actually, I wasn’t feeling very hungry anymore, and I noticed that silent Trissie Lombard, sitting across from me, had put her fork down as well.
“How did he die?” I asked. “Did a train hit him?”
“I heard he was shot,” Fred said.
“Well, if it is that incorporation main,” Grace said between mouthfuls, “I’m not surprised he got himself shot. Somebody should have warned him before he got here. He could’ve at least watched his back.”
Ida Mae chuckled. “From what I hear, he didn’t get it in the back, Grace.”
“Warned him about what?” I asked.
“About the way this town feels about incorporation,” Grace said. “This is a railroad town. Most of the folks here make their livings from the railroad, like me, and the railroad don’t want incorporation. They’ll pull out, and we’ll all lose our jobs. This fellow comes from back east, pushing for incorporation. I’m not surprised he got himself shot.”
“But he supported incorporation,” I said. “He was working on a compromise.”
Everyone but Jane stopped eating and stared at me.
“How do you know that, Mabel?” Grace asked.
“Yes, how do you know so much about it?” Ida Mae asked. “You just got here.”
I wished I’d kept my mouth shut, but there was no hiding it now. “I met Mr. Stanfield on the train,” I said. “He explained it to me.”
“You knew him?” Grace asked. “What kind of suit was he wearing?”
“The marshal might want to talk to you,” Ida Mae said. “They might even need you to help identify him.”
“Oh no,” I said, horrified. It seemed very hard that everyone was talking about Mr. Stanfield as if he were nothing more than a character in a dime novel. He was my friend. He gave me twenty dollars. He peeled my orange for me.
“I’m sorry,” Trissie said softly, speaking for the first time that night. The quiet sympathy in her eyes nearly made me cry.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Ida Mae said, “that lady doctor stopped by to see you today. She wanted to look at your arm.”
“Dr. Keating?” I felt sharp disappointment at missing her visit, and my feelings of being ill-used grew stronger. At the same moment, Jane finally had her way with the potatoes, flinging the entire plate into the air to land with a crash on the table. A large glop of potatoes and gravy landed on the front of my new white blouse. It was too much. My eyes filled with tears. “Excuse me.” I tossed my napkin and fled up the stairs to my room.
I cried a bit, but even as I did so I was aware of a thread of happiness that I had such marvelous privacy to be able to cry alone and unobserved in my own home. By the time I dried my tears, I could hear bathwater running and shrieks coming from the bathroom down the hall. Cora and Jane were taking their Saturday night baths. Grace and Trissie must have been listening too, because as soon as Cora and Jane left the bathroom, they entered it and spent some time taking their baths too. I heard Trissie laughing for the first time and wondered what was so humorous about bathing with Grace. It hardly seemed fair that four women and a child had to share one bathroom on the second floor while Fred had one all to himself on the third.
I was still waiting for Grace and Trissie to come out of the bathroom when I heard a soft knock on my door. I opened it, and Cora stood there, still damp from her bath. She smiled shyly. “Hello Mabel. Jane’s asleep. She always falls asleep right after a bath. I wondered if you’d like to step over and visit for a moment and see my room while you wait for the bathroom. It’s so nice having another lady my age in the house.”
“Oh.” I was surprised, but I shouldn’t have been. Cora seemed to me barely older than Fannie, but she was twenty years old, and she thought I was too. “Certainly, I’d like to see it.” I closed my door and walked down the hall to her room. She only had one room for the two of them, but it was large, and she had decorated it so that it appeared more like a parlor than a bedroom. Two pictures hung from every wall. Colorful antimacassars adorned the backs of the chairs, and swathes of silk draped over the two little tables. On top of them she’d arranged exotic plaster animals in amusing tableau. One corner of the room was a makeshift nursery with a crib, where Jane slept, beside a tiny rocking chair and assorted toys. I was charmed that she was able to transform the bare room, such as mine, into a home.
“This is lovely, Cora. How long have you lived here?”
“Almost two months. My husband set me up here. He sends us money every month for the rent.”
“That must be hard on you, being left here alone.”
“We miss him terribly. We’re very much in love, you know. Tell me Mabel, do you have a beau?”
That startled a laugh out of me. “Heavens no.”
She blinked. “But why? You’re young, and you’re not bad to look at. Don’t you have a man back home?”
I considered inventing a sweet-ums of my own, someone like Floyd, but I couldn’t do it. “I’m a schoolteacher,” I said. “It’s not a job for a married woman.”
She giggled. “If you were married, you wouldn’t have to be a schoolteacher, silly.”
“Perhaps I’d rather be a schoolteacher.”
Cora laughed out loud at that.
“What’s so funny here?”
Grace asked. She and Trissie had finally emerged from the bathroom, and they joined us at Cora’s doorway. They were damp and still smiling from whatever had amused them so in the bath. “Your turn for the bath, Mabel. You’ll want to get in quick. It’s getting late.”
“Mabel says she doesn’t want a beau,” Cora said. “She’d rather be a schoolteacher.”
“Is that so?” Grace asked. She tilted her head as if she found me curious.
I shrugged. “I don’t start until Monday, but I think I’ll enjoy it.”
“I think you’ll make a fine schoolteacher,” Trissie said softly.
“Thank you. Please excuse me. I’m going to take Grace’s advice and have my bath now. Good night.”
THE GRIM NEWS was confirmed next morning by the newspaper—the dead man was Mr. Talbot Stanfield of St. Paul, Minnesota. The cause of his death was a shotgun blast to the head, but enough of his face had apparently remained to make identification possible. Murder was strongly suspected. Aside from the bare facts of the case, though, Mr. Stanfield was not discussed at the breakfast table. It was Sunday, and the talk was of church.
“I go to St. Peter’s Lutheran,” Ida Mae said. “It’s not too far from here. It’s a pretty walk.”
“I go to St. Patrick’s,” Fred said. “I’m Catholic, you know. You’re welcome to join me, Mabel. Are you Catholic by chance?”
“Course she’s not,” Grace announced. “Come to Hillyard Methodist with me and Trissie, Mabel. Those friends of yours go there. The Dunns.”
Growing up I had attended church most Sundays, of course, with my mother and father. After Mother died, I went less frequently. Sometimes I attended with Papa, sometimes alone, and sometimes not at all.
Robert was a God-fearing man. I pictured him even now, seated at His right side, wearing golden wings and a smug smile, waiting for judgment to be made upon me. Robert knew his Bible inside and out and could quote passages to fit any occasion. Even with his fist in the air, poised to strike, he could spout scriptures that made me seem the sinner, he the redeemer. We had attended church together every Sunday. Sometimes we would both stay afterward to socialize. Sometimes only Robert stayed. No one ever noticed that the days I left quickly, speaking to nobody, were the days I wore the heavy veil, even in summer. Or if they noticed, they didn’t care.
“I won’t be going to church,” I said. Surprised looks greeted my announcement, but I ignored them. Robert was dead. No one could make me go to church.
“What will you do then, Mabel?” Cora asked.
I had some idea of finding Dr. Keating to see if she could rewrap my arm, but I didn’t like to say so. “I have some lessons to prepare,” I said.
“Oh, Mabel!” Cora clasped her hands on her breast as if praying and looked at me with a pleading expression. “Since you’ll be here anyway, would you watch Jane for me? I’d love to go to church, but it’s so hard to take Jane with me. I haven’t been in so long. Would you? Please?”
I looked at Cora’s soft, anxious face. She was so young. I glanced from her to little Jane, who was in the process of spitting out a morsel of ham with an outraged grimace.
“She won’t be any trouble, I promise you. She’ll probably sleep the whole time. You’ll still get all your lessons done. Please?”
Jane had slept like a lamb the evening before. How hard could it be? “I’d be happy to,” I said.
By noon I had to laugh at how I’d been conned. Jane did not sleep. We made paper flowers and finger puppets. I sang songs and told stories. We played hide and seek and hide the thimble. We pretended to be tigers and elephants. Finally, when I was worn out from playing, we stood at the window of their room and played “watch for Mama.”
But Mama did not come.
We saw Fred return and heard his footsteps go upstairs. We saw Trissie and Grace walk up the steps and heard Grace’s booming voice discuss the sermon with herself. A few moments later, we heard them leave again. It was one o’clock, and I had been watching Jane since ten-thirty. How long did Cora plan to stay at church?
A few minutes later, Ida Mae walked up the street with four other women, none of them Cora. I realized I didn’t even know which church Cora had gone to.
“Come with me, Jane,” I said. “Let’s go talk to Mrs. Higgins.”
I carried Jane downstairs and hesitated. No one was in the dining room, but I could hear voices coming from behind the door to Ida Mae’s private rooms. I heard a door open at the other end of the house, and the chattering voices sounded louder. I walked through the silent dining room into the kitchen and saw Ida Mae setting cups on a tray.
“Mishigans!” Jane shouted.
“Oh, hello there, Mabel. Cora not back yet?”
“No. I wondered, does she go to your church?”
“She was there all right,” Ida Mae said, “but she left right after the service. An hour ago at least. Poor thing. She hardly ever gets a minute to herself. It’s not easy taking care of a little one all alone.”
“She told me her husband sends her money every month. Where is he?”
“He’s down in South America somewhere working on that canal they’re cutting.”
“Panama?”
“That’s it. I met him before he left. He’s a good boy. They just got married too young.” Ida Mae pinched some tea leaves, crumbled them into the china teapot, and poured boiling water from the kettle over them. “That was Cora’s doing, of course. She thought it would be romantic to run off and get married.” Ida Mae’s voice left no doubt as to her feelings about such nonsense.
“When do you think she’ll be back?” I asked.
“Couldn’t say. Next time you’ll know better, I guess.” She lifted the tray. “Come in here a minute, Mabel. Some people here I want you to meet.”
I followed Ida Mae into her quarters.
“This is the girl I was telling you about,” Ida Mae said to the women sitting in her living room. “Mabel, this is Mrs. Noonan, Mrs. Reed, Miss Franklin, and Mrs. Steele. Ladies, this is Miss Chumley, a new schoolteacher just arrived in town.”
The names rattled out too quickly for me to match them with the faces except for Miss Franklin, the youngest of the group. She was tall and thin with a droopiness about her that made me think she would feel better if only she would eat something. The other three women had achieved various stages of plumpness but otherwise varied only in the color of their hair, which ranged from brown to black (certainly dyed) to a comfortable gray. The dyed woman startled me by reaching her arms out toward me.
“Oh! There’s Jane. Come here, baby. Come to Nana.”
Jane went to her readily enough, but the brunette scoffed. “You’re not her Nana. Don’t confuse her like that.”
“So Cora got you to watch her, did she?” asked the gray-haired woman. “You want to watch that, Miss Chumley. She’ll take advantage of you.”
“Sit down, Mabel. Have some tea with us.”
I sat on the couch beside Miss Franklin. It was a deep couch.
My feet did not quite touch the ground, but Miss Franklin seemed comfortable enough. Ida Mae handed me a cup.
“She doesn’t have a Nana of her own, poor little baby.” The dyed woman cuddled Jane. “She won’t be confused, will you lovey?” She stroked Jane’s hair while Jane’s grimy hands fondled the pleats on the woman’s pristine blouse.
“How do you feel about the women’s vote, Miss Chumley?” Miss Franklin asked.
“This is my suffragist group,” Ida Mae explained. “Did you have the vote in North Dakota?”
I knew that women could not vote in New York, but I had no idea about North Dakota. I was grateful when the gray haired woman said, “Of course not, Ida Mae. You know no state east of Utah has given women the vote.”
“I know that,” Ida Mae said. “I just couldn’t remember if North Dakota was east or west of it. We had the vote in Idaho. I got used to it. I should have thought about that before I moved over here. I would have stayed there.”
“N
o, don’t say that, Ida Mae,” the brunette said. “We need you here in Washington. We never would have got organized like we are here without you.”
“Well, that’s so,” Ida Mae said. “I guess it’s my lot in life.”
“Ida Mae has been invited to speak at the Washington Equal Suffrage Association Convention,” the brunette told me proudly. “She’s contributed more new members than any town except for Seattle.”
The front door chimed.
“Are you expecting someone else?” Miss Franklin asked.
“No.” Ida Mae rose and went to the front door. A moment later she returned with Dr. Keating a step behind her. “Look who’s finally decided to join us.”
“Dr. Keating!” All four women beamed, and Jane and the dyed woman clapped.
“This is wonderful,” the brunette said. “We always like to welcome new members, but a lady doctor...well, that says something, I think. People will take us more seriously with you as a member.”
Dr. Keating smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Noonan.” She wore a man’s short overcoat and no hat. She pulled off a pair of leather gloves and said, “I don’t know what I’m a member of, though. I just stopped by to see Miss Chumley.”
The four women looked at me with varying degrees of surprise.
“You can spare us a few minutes, Adelaide,” Ida Mae said. “This is my suffragist group. You do want the vote, don’t you?”
“Yes, please sit down, Dr. Keating,” Miss Franklin said. “Let me pour you some tea.”
“I guess I can sit for a moment, and of course I want the vote.” Dr. Keating removed her coat and unbuckled her medical bag from her waist. There were no more chairs, so Miss Franklin scooted one way and I the other to make room between us on the couch. Dr. Keating draped the coat over the back of the couch, set the bag on the floor, and sat. Her weight caused the couch to sag and me to lean sideways into her. I pushed myself upright again. Dr. Keating shot me a grin and said, “It’s good to see you looking so well, Miss Chumley.”
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