Alias Mrs Jones

by Kate McLachlan

  “Stop, Grace. Can’t you tell she’s been crying?” Trissie turned her back on Grace and asked me softly, “Are you all right? Did you and Adelaide have a falling out?”

  “No. I wasn’t anywhere last night. Why would you think that?”

  “Oh ho!” Grace laughed. “Why indeed, when you’re wearing the same outfit you wore at breakfast yesterday, and all rumpled too?”

  “No, you’re mistaken. I wouldn’t. I’m not—”

  “It’s all right, you can tell us. Nobody else is here,” Grace said.

  “Leave her alone,” Trissie said. She put her arm around my shoulder and turned me toward the stairs. “You’ll have the house to yourself now, Nell. Take a nice bath and rest. You’ll feel better.”

  Chapter Twenty

  I GAVE MRS. Hennessey her wanted poster after school the next day.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked after staring at it for a moment.

  “Marshal Mitchell has a book,” I said. “He doesn’t know I took it. I don’t think he even knew it was there. If he did, he didn’t care. He says runaway wives aren’t his business.”

  “How did you know about it?”

  “He had one on me too.”

  She glanced at me with a tiny smile. “Did you take that one too?”

  “Yes. But it doesn’t matter. He already knows about mine.”

  “And he’s not turning you in?”

  “Not yet.”

  Mrs. Hennessey studied her poster again. “Huh. Loving husband my eye.” She opened the stove door and tossed the poster into the flames. We both watched it disintegrate.

  She closed the door and picked up her spoon. We stood in the kitchen while the two girls worked the counter in the front room selling candy to the after school crowd. She stirred a pot of a grainy yellowish liquid that bubbled, while Teddy sat on the floor babbling and playing with mounds of dirty flour.

  “You couldn’t have divorced him,” I said. “Not without his knowing.”

  “I didn’t, of course. I am a bigamist, Mrs. Widow Jones.” Her tone made it clear she had no fear I would tell. She didn’t know all my secrets, but she knew I was no widow. “I would rather Glenn not find out, if you don’t mind.”

  “I won’t tell,” I said. “But I think you should know the marshal’s been sending wires to St. Paul. He’s trying to find out more about Mr. Stanfield.”

  “Why would I care about that? I told you before, Mr. Stanfield was no friend of mine.”

  “I know, but the marshal might uncover your connection with him.”

  “I don’t think that’s likely. We weren’t close. My husband worked for him, that’s all. I was friendly with his wife. Besides, if the marshal doesn’t care about runaway wives, why would he care about a bigamist?”

  I didn’t know if he would, but he would care if she was a murderer. If Mr. Stanfield worked with Mrs. Hennessey’s husband, her first husband that is, then he knew she married Mr. Hennessey without getting a divorce. Marshal Keating might not care about bigamy, but it was still a crime that could land Mrs. Hennessey in a woman’s prison. Worse, it could return her to her first husband. I knew better than most that a woman would kill to avoid that fate.

  But I didn’t answer and only said, “I spoke with Mrs. Elsey the other day.”

  “Mrs. Elsey?”

  “The Dunns’ housekeeper.”

  “I know who she is.”

  “She told me Mr. Dunn loaned you the money to start this store.”

  “She did?” She looked startled. “I didn’t think she knew.”

  “So he did? Why?”

  Mrs. Hennessey looked uneasy. “He’s a good man.”

  “Were you friends with him in St. Paul?”

  “No, not friends, but my husband worked with Mr. Dunn too, and I had met Emily a few times.” She bit her lip and then seemed to decide to share her story. “She’s a bit stiff, but she was always kind to me. She was the only one who seemed to see my bruises and understand what they meant. She took me aside one time and told me she would help me if I ever needed a safe place to get away from Warren. But Carrie was just a baby, and Jennie was on the way. Besides, I still thought Warren would change. I thought I could change him if I were just a better wife. I tried to be. For the next six years, I tried to be good enough, but I never could.”

  I nodded and wondered, if I’d had a child, would I have stayed with Robert?

  “I never forgot what Emily said, though. I knew she and Mr. Dunn had moved to Hillyard, so when I finally ran away, this is where I came. I always thought Emily must have experienced the same thing you and I have, but when I met Mr. Dunn I knew I was wrong. He’s different. He’s not the sort who would harm a woman.”

  I nodded again. With some men, you just knew. “I didn’t realize the Dunns knew Mr. Stanfield too.”

  “Did they?”

  “Well, if your husband worked with both Mr. Stanfield and Mr. Dunn, wouldn’t they have known each other?”

  Mrs. Hennessey lifted the spoon and let the amber goo drip back into the pot. “I never thought of that.”

  “Strange that they never said anything about him.”

  We exchanged an uneasy look. Why wouldn’t the Dunns have acknowledged knowing Mr. Stanfield unless they had something to hide?

  “Wait,” I said. “Now that I think of it, they couldn’t have known him. Mr. Stanfield got off the train through the same door I did, and Mr. Dunn was right there on the platform waiting. Surely they would have recognized each other if they’d met before.”

  “Well, it was ten years ago or more the Dunns moved here. People change.” She grabbed oven mittens, lifted the pot from the stove, and set it on the table. “All I know is they were kind to me when I arrived. I don’t think Emily was happy to see me, to tell the truth, but I was very ill, and my girls were still so little. She couldn’t turn me out, though I think she was tempted to. Then Mr. Dunn walked in, and he was so nice. He sent for the doctor and told me I could stay as long as I needed to. Mrs. Elsey looked after the girls until I was well again, and then they loaned me the money for the store. They only asked that I not let on to people that we knew each other back in St. Paul.”

  “What a strange thing to ask.”

  “Not so strange. I’d left my husband, after all, and taken the girls with me. That’s a crime, you know. They wouldn’t want to be caught giving me a lending hand. You won’t tell, will you?”

  “Of course not.”

  ON WEDNESDAY THE seventh graders filed out of the classroom, and I gathered my books to follow them. When I turned to leave, I saw Guy hovering by the door.

  “Guy?” I moved toward him.

  “Hello Mrs. Jones,” he said, as if we hadn’t just spent the last hour together.

  “Do you need something?”

  “No.” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his coat. “I just thought you’d want to know, we got a letter from Fannie. She’s married.”

  “Really? Who did they find to marry them?”

  “I don’t know. Dad says they could probably get the marriage annulled, but Mother said not to bother.”

  “Where are they? Did the letter say?”

  “It came from Seattle, but Mother says they could be anywhere by now. Mother doesn’t really want her to come back now.” Guy watched me carefully. “I think I know why.”

  “You do?”

  He bit his lip and his cheeks turned pink. “I think she’s going to have a baby. That’s what Mother said. That means I’ll be an uncle.”

  “Congratulations, if it’s true. Is that what the letter said?”

  “No.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “But what good is it being an uncle if I don’t even get to see the baby? Here’s the letter. You can read it if you want.”

  I took the envelope. I shouldn’t read it. It was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Dunn and was not Guy’s to share, but I couldn’t resist. I opened the envelope and read.

  March 4, 1902

  De
ar Mother and Dad,

  I suppose you will be relieved to know that Will and I are married. Don’t blame me for disgracing the family, it’s not as bad as it could have been. No, I’m not having a baby, not yet anyway, that’s not why Will and I ran away. If you know why I ran away (and I think you do!) you should be relieved and grateful, not angry with me. I just wish you had been more honest with me. I know how to keep a secret.

  Does what you did have anything to do with my real father? Yes, Dad, I know you’re not my real father. I’ve known for years, but I love you anyway. Why didn’t you tell me?

  Will and I are not quite settled yet, but when we are I’ll send our address and you can write to me. Tell Guy I love him.

  Love, Your Daughter,

  Mrs. William Sims

  I read the letter twice, then folded it and gave it back to Guy. “The letter says she’s not having a baby.”

  “I know, but Mother says she’s lying.” His eyes were wide and solemn. “Do you think Dad is my real father?”

  I looked at him. He was small for his age, where Fannie was tall, but both had the blond hair and blue eyes of their mother. Neither had the darker eyes and complexion of Mr. Dunn. “I don’t know, Guy, but I’m certain that he loves you very much.”

  He nodded glumly.

  I WALKED HOME the back way, avoiding downtown. It was still light out, and the air had warmed and melted the most recent snow, though the road remained damp and muddy. I walked with my head down to avoid stepping in puddles and pondered Fannie’s letter. I regretted more than ever that I hadn’t let her talk to me before she left town. I had a feeling she held the missing piece of a puzzle.

  I didn’t hear the wheels behind me until the bicycle stopped so close beside me that water spattered from the tires and landed on the hem of my last clean skirt.

  “Goodness gracious, Adelaide! You startled me. Why didn’t you ring your bell?”

  “I did.” Adelaide laughed. “You were so lost in thought you didn’t hear me.” Her cheeks were pink and her eyes sparkled from exertion. She stepped off the bicycle and pulled her skirt clear of it. “I’ll walk with you, all right?”

  “Certainly.”

  “I hope you’ve recovered from Sunday. You looked so tired, poor thing. You were practically sleeping as you walked.”

  “I’m fine now. A good night’s sleep cures all.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. So what were you thinking of so deeply when I rode up?”

  “The Dunns. Guy told me they heard from Fannie. She and Will are married.”

  “Excellent news!”

  “Do you really think so? She’s not quite fifteen.”

  “Yes, they’re young, but he’s a good boy. I’ve seen worse matches made by people much older. So have you, Nell.”

  I bowed my head in acknowledgment.

  “Say, do you ride?” she asked.

  “A bicycle? No. I did try it once when I was younger, but I never quite got it going.”

  “I’ll teach you later this spring, after you get your cast off.”

  I looked up. Riding a bicycle in the spring with Adelaide sounded delightful. “I’d like that.”

  She smiled at me. Her lips were red, her cheeks pink, and her face open and engaging. I eyed the gap between her two front teeth and decided I liked it. I looked away before my stare grew too long.

  “I saw that you had another salon last Friday night,” I said.

  “You saw?”

  “Yes, I was on the trolley. I saw the lights upstairs. Grace mentioned it too.”

  “Oh, Grace,” she said as if she understood what I was getting at. “Listen, don’t pay any heed to what Grace says. She got a wild notion about you at the start, and she won’t change her mind about it no matter what I tell her.”

  “What do you tell her?”

  Her answer came slowly. “Ah, I tell her that you’re not the sort of lady who, ah, only enjoys the company of other ladies. Isn’t that right?”

  I dropped my eyes and studied the handlebar of her bicycle.

  “Nell? Is that right?”

  “I think so,” I said.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but apparently didn’t know what to say. She stood frozen for a moment with her mouth open in a half smile, staring at me.

  “But I’m not sure,” I said, and her mouth closed again. “I think I need...”

  “What, Nell?” We resumed walking. “What do you need?”

  “I think I need to think about it some more.”

  She sighed. We’d reached the boarding house, and Adelaide mounted her bicycle and rode away, ringing her bell goodbye until she turned the corner.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  FOR THE REST of the week, two questions consumed my thoughts. What did Mr. and Mrs. Dunn do that caused Fannie to run away, and why did Adelaide think I wasn’t the sort of lady to enjoy her salons?

  I couldn’t help wondering if the Dunns had something to do with Mr. Stanfield’s death. Mr. Dunn very likely knew him in St. Paul, or at least worked in the same circles, but he said nothing about it when Stanfield died. Fannie had a secret she wanted to tell me, but I wouldn’t listen, and it wasn’t the one I’d thought. She was not pregnant. The secret had something to do with her parents, and the fact that Mr. Dunn was not her real father. Perhaps Mr. Stanfield was her real father, and Guy’s too?

  Perhaps Mrs. Dunn was a runaway wife too! She could have run away with Fannie and Guy when they were young, and Mr. Stanfield, their real father, showed up and discovered them. They say a mother will kill to protect her children. Did Mrs. Dunn kill Mr. Stanfield to prevent him from taking back his children?

  But Mr. Stanfield was married and had two daughters of his own, one older than Fannie and the other younger. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be Fannie and Guy’s father, of course. I was college educated enough to understand that. But if he was married to someone else when they were conceived, he would have no right to take them away from Mrs. Dunn, so why would she kill him? He could have lied about being married, but why would he lie to me, a stranger on a train? He had no idea I would be getting off the train in Hillyard. I didn’t know it myself.

  Besides, Mr. Stanfield struck me as a good and decent man, and the Dunns were kind and good people. The story I created in my mind was a better fit for Mrs. Hennessey than Mrs. Dunn. It was a better fit for me.

  I wrestled with the puzzle all week, but I could make nothing of it. I created bizarre stories to explain Fannie’s letter, grew frustrated, and let my mind wander to the other question that pestered me.

  Why did Adelaide think I did not enjoy her salon? I enjoyed it very much.

  Oh, I knew what she meant. She thought I was not the sort of woman to enter into a romantic friendship with another woman.

  When she almost kissed me and I turned away, it must have convinced her of that. But that was when I was playing Mabel. I was Nell now, myself at last, and I was troubled beyond measure at the thought of Adelaide paying directed attention, the sort of attention she sometimes gave me, to another woman. Caroline, for instance. And when I bought the colorful skirt and elaborate hat at the Crescent department store, it was Adelaide I had envisioned seeing me in them, not a man.

  Not that I had ever dressed to please a man, or been jealous of a man’s attentions either, now that I thought of it. I’d attempted to please Robert because I was obligated to do so, not because I wanted to. On the few occasions when he paid heed to other women, I felt only relief because his attentions were not directed at me. Looking back, I realized that even in college, when men from nearby schools joined our occasional teas or dances, I gave little thought to pleasing them with my dress or dance. I thought only of my female schoolmates, and one or two in particular. I had never been as forward as I’d been with Adelaide, tucking my feet beneath her to keep them warm. My behavior that night embarrassed me, but not enough to stop me from wanting to do it again.

  It was Friday evening, and I was certain Adelaide had anoth
er salon planned that night. Grace and Trissie had mentioned vague plans. They did not invite me to go with them, and when I knocked on their door after dinner, they did not answer. I’d missed them. I despaired, but only briefly. It was dark outside, but the weather was fair, and the walk to Adelaide’s home was less than a mile. I would go. Adelaide would be surprised, but she would welcome me, and she would understand then that I was indeed the sort of woman to enjoy her salons.

  I dressed with care. My peacock hat was trampled in Newport, but it wouldn’t have done for an evening salon anyway. I dressed in the best clothes I had, pinched my cheeks, and gnawed on my lips to make them red. I slipped out of the house and made my way through the dark to Adelaide’s salon.

  I crept around to the back door, put my hand on the knob, and froze. Did I have the nerve? What if I was unwelcome? Perhaps what I thought was romantic interest was really just Adelaide’s normal friendliness, which she would show to any of her patients. She might look at me with horror if I showed up at her door, like she had the last time I’d arrived unannounced. I couldn’t bear that.

  I still stood undecided with my hand on the knob when I heard quiet steps and the rustle of clothing approach from the side of the house. More guests. I scurried off the stoop and dropped into the cellar alcove just as they rounded the corner. I squatted on my heels. I was in the shadows where they could not see me, if they had any reason to look my way. I turned my head away nonetheless, like a small child, hoping that if I couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see me either.

  Curiosity overcame me. I had to know who else would be attending Adelaide’s salon. I turned my head back and looked.

  Mr. and Mrs. Dunn!

  I sucked in a breath. It was silent, but Mrs. Dunn turned her head in my direction as if she had heard me. She did not meet my eyes, but looked vaguely above me, then back at the door. I relaxed. She hadn’t seen me. But why were they there? Was someone sick? Guy? They must be coming to fetch the doctor, though I could not fathom why they didn’t ring at the front door or why Mrs. Dunn didn’t remain with him at home. They didn’t knock at all. Mr. Dunn opened the door and they slipped quietly inside.