Senator Abbott’s eyes widened as he shifted his glance from Sir Arthur to Senator Smith. A smile broadened on his face. “Why yes, he was my granddaddy.”
“Did your father serve as well, Senator?” Sir Arthur asked.
“Yes, he did,” Abbott said, glancing over at Senator Smith to see his reaction. Smith was frowning. “He joined the Bethel Regiment at Camp Mangum in ’sixty-two.”
“Your family saw some heavy fighting, Senator,” Sir Arthur said. “And both were at Appomattox.” It wasn’t a question. Sir Arthur had written, with me as his assistant, one of the definitive texts on the battle and surrender at Appomattox.
“Yes, that’s right, sir,” Senator Abbott said, smiling at Senator Smith, who was grumbling beneath his breath.
Sir Arthur and Senator Abbott fell into an easy discussion about the War. Soon Simeon Harper joined them while Senator Smith and Claude Morris took the opportunity to distance themselves from the newly arrived senator from North Carolina. Not knowing if I was expected to take down what the men discussed, I took advantage of a momentary silence to ask.
“Sir?”
“Yes?” Sir Arthur and Senator Abbott said simultaneously. Sir Arthur glanced questioningly at the senator.
“Sorry. A Southern habit, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, Hattie?” Sir Arthur said.
“Do you need my services?” I didn’t want to spell out that I’d been taking down word for word what the senator had said.
“No, not now. Go see if you can find what happened to Browne.”
“Yes, sir.”
Only Sir Arthur wouldn’t hesitate to send a woman alone on a quest wandering through an encampment of unwashed, unemployed, hungry, and most likely lonely men. I was thrilled at the prospect of talking further with Marshal Browne. I had so many questions to ask him, but I had no intention of going alone. I looked about for Walter.
Leaving Sir Arthur, Simeon Harper, and Senator Abbott to themselves, I quickly spied Walter sitting around a campfire with Sarah, Mrs. Smith, and the man I’d been sent to find, Carl Browne. Daniel Clayworth, Sarah’s husband, was in an earnest conversation several yards away. I smiled when I heard him mention baseball and the St. Louis Browns again. Like Daniel, my father too was a fan of the Browns, though they were called the Brown Stockings then.
As I made my way over, I passed Senator Smith and Claude Morris as Chester rejoined them. Where had Chester been? I wondered, realizing I hadn’t seen him for some time.
“What’s he doing here?” Chester hissed as he glared toward the group I had just left. Whom was he referring to, Senator Abbott or Simeon Harper?
“Shut up or you’ll draw attention,” his father said.
“But I swear he’s the one who spread the rumors about me last year. Father, he’s the reason I had to leave town.”
“Yes, and you should’ve stayed out of town, at least until after the election.”
“But it isn’t until November,” Chester said.
“Exactly.”
“Father!”
Suddenly Claude Morris noticed that I was near. “Sir, I don’t think this is the time or place for such a private conversation.”
“Quite so. Thank you, Morris.”
“Yes,” Chester said sarcastically, “thank you, Morris.” Claude Morris frowned but said nothing. “There’s Browne, Father. Let’s get this over with, so we can go home.”
Senator Smith nodded, and the three men started toward my own destination. I stepped quickly with my skirts up, in an attempt to avoid dragging my hem through the mud, horse dung, and other unspeakable filth, and arrived at the campfire moments before they did.
“Was it more pleasant to walk or ride in a canal boat?” Sarah was asking when I sat beside her. “Hattie!” She greeted me before her brother had a chance. “May I formally introduce Marshal Carl Browne? Marshal Browne, this is Miss Hattie Davish, my brother’s fiancée.” I blushed at having my engagement so blatantly announced among strangers.
Good thing Sir Arthur isn’t here, I thought, wondering when I was ever going to get a chance to tell him.
Marshal Browne stood, flourished his sombrero, and bowed. I caught a glimpse of Madam Fox over his shoulder. She was watching us, her eyes focused on Browne. Was that sadness in her face or longing? A moment later, she turned her back and walked away.
“Pleased to formally meet you, Mr. Browne,” I said. “We shook hands when you first arrived.”
“And I’d repeat that pleasure again and again, charming lady,” he said, smiling. As he sat back down, slapping his hat back on his head, he returned to the conversation I’d interrupted. “This revolutionary spirit of ’seventy-six is making the moneylenders tremble now. Congress takes two years to vote on anything, if left to itself. Twenty-millions of people are hungry and cannot wait two years to eat.”
Several men around the fire nodded in approval. Chester groaned. The rest of us, wisely, remained silent. It was dangerous talk this man spouted.
“When is Mr. Coxey going to arrive?” Senator Smith asked.
“He’s not. He and his daughter, Mamie, our Goddess of Peace, are spending the night in the city.”
“What?” Senator Smith said. “The man personally invited us knowing he wasn’t even going to be here?”
“The Great Unknown always camped with us,” a man behind me mumbled.
The one-time leader of the Commonweal of Christ and friend of Carl Browne, the Great Unknown had been cast out of the group for contesting Browne’s authority. A grand episode of tension and betrayal, it was one among many dramas reported in the newspapers that drove the appeal of the marchers’ journey. I personally had sided with Marshal Browne, he being one of the founders of the march, but I missed the entertainment and mystery the Great Unknown provided.
“Pinkerton spy,” Browne spat, referring to the Great Unknown.
“Do you think you’ll gain what you seek tomorrow, Marshal Browne?” Sarah said.
“We are here like Grant before Richmond, and intend to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer and all winter,” Browne said, smiling again.
“You are no Grant,” Chester mumbled.
“Well, it’s been nice to meet you, Mr. Browne, but it’s time we were leaving,” Mrs. Smith said, smiling as she stood. Walter, Sarah, and I rose as well at this pronouncement. I kept my disappointment from my face. I’d read about this man and his marchers for months and this was to be my opportunity to ask him the questions I’d longed to know. I’d even jotted down a list, just in case.
1. What was the real name of the Great Unknown?
2. Was Lottie Fox the veiled lady, as Simeon Harper claimed?
3. Did he or Coxey have any connection to or control over the other “armies” descending on Washington from California and other parts of the country?
4. How did he come up with the idea that he and Coxey had strong traces of the spirits of both Andrew Jackson and Jesus Christ?
5. Did he or Coxey come up with the name “the Commonweal of Christ”?
6. Why did he dress like Buffalo Bill?
“I’m disappointed but yes, my wife is right,” the senator conceded. “It’s been interesting, Browne.”
“Peace on earth. Good will toward men, but death to interest on bonds,” Browne said, reaching over and rumpling Spencer’s fur. The dog panted with delight. Senator Smith and Chester both scowled, turned their backs, and stomped away. Claude Morris scrambled to catch up.
The rest of us made our good-byes to Carl Browne and headed toward the waiting excursion wagon. With my arm in Walter’s, we followed at a more leisurely pace, several yards behind Sarah and Mrs. Smith, clutching Spencer. Despite the sting of disappointment, I was relieved to be leaving the noise and filth of the camp. I glanced over toward Daniel Clayworth. He was no longer speaking to the man he had been a moment ago. Instead he was being addressed by a man with his back to me. The man stood too close, forcing Daniel to step back several times.
&
nbsp; “Who is Daniel talking to?” I asked Walter. “Do you think he’ll mind leaving with the rest of us?”
“I don’t know who that is—one of his constituents, most likely. I’m sure he won’t mind.”
Daniel was a congressman for Missouri. Most of the marchers were from Ohio and Pennsylvania. According to the newspaper accounts, several other groups or “armies” from all over the country were approaching Washington in hopes of joining Coxey and his men at the Capitol: Fry’s Army from Los Angeles, Kelley’s men from San Francisco reported to be held up in Iowa, two different groups marching from Boston, among others. And with the devastation of the economy leaving no part of the country unscathed, it wasn’t surprising. Men from every corner wanted to answer Coxey’s call. It was possible, then, that a man from Missouri could’ve joined somewhere along the way.
The man placed his hand on Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel violently shrugged it off and turned on his heel. The man turned to watch Daniel’s retreat.
I started in surprise. It was Billy, the man I’d met at the carp ponds this morning. Was that sadness or regret on his face? I watched him shake his head ruefully before walking in the opposite direction.
“Sarah, we’re leaving,” Daniel said. His face was red and he was obviously flustered.
“We’re all leaving anyway,” Sarah said, trying to soothe her husband, as she pointed to the Smiths already waiting at the excursion wagon. He nodded curtly.
Walter looked at me, having seen the recognition on my face. The question on his face was obvious. Who was the man who had flustered Daniel so?
“Besides Jasper Neely, he was the other man I met after the carriage accident at the carp pond,” I whispered to Walter. “He was the one who attempted to rescue the drowning woman.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“Like Mr. Neely, he’s a Coxeyite.” I glanced about for Jasper Neely, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“But what could he have said to upset Daniel so?” Walter whispered back. I shook my head. I had no idea. As we approached, Sir Arthur and Simeon Harper joined us.
“Abbott gone back then?” Senator Smith asked.
“No,” Sir Arthur said. “I believe he went over there.” He pointed in the general direction of the tents. We all looked and spied Senator Abbott by the painted tent, standing in a group that included Jasper Neely, who was holding a white rag to his nose.
“Senator Abbott had some interesting things to say about you, Chester,” Simeon Harper said, smirking. “I might have to follow up on some of them.”
“You misbegotten . . .” Chester said, before he lunged for the journalist.
Harper tried to dodge the blow, but Chester’s fist connected with Simeon Harper’s cheek. Harper’s head jerked to the side, staggering the journalist back a few steps. Sir Arthur and Claude Morris each grabbed one of Chester’s arms and pulled the furious man back away from Harper.
“Chester!” Mrs. Smith said, placing herself in front of her son. “Again? What is wrong with you?” Spencer, pushing against Mrs. Smith’s restraining embrace, growled and barked at Chester.
“Shut that stupid dog up or I will,” Senator Smith said, pushing Mrs. Smith out of the way to get to his son. “If this gets into the papers—”
“Don’t worry, it will,” Harper said, interrupting Senator Smith. He accepted the handkerchief Sir Arthur offered and held it to his cheek.
“We will speak of this later, Harper,” Senator Smith said. “But you . . .” He glared at his son. “If you cost me the election, I’ll . . .” He was too enraged to finish. “Get in the wagon.” Chester opened his mouth to object but thought better of it. Without another word, he climbed sullenly to the back of the excursion wagon.
“I must apologize for my son, Sir Arthur,” Mrs. Smith said, her perpetual smile fading. She avoided looking at the journalist. “I do hope your visit to the camp wasn’t marred by this.”
“I am offended that my friend was treated so poorly, yes, but that is no reflection on you, dear lady. After you.” Mrs. Smith, carrying her agitated puppy, climbed into the carriage next to her son. Spencer growled quietly until her stroking of his fur calmed him.
“Simeon?” Sir Arthur said, gesturing toward the excursion wagon. Chester glared at the journalist, daring him to join us. “There is room.”
“Thank you, but I’m staying here tonight,” the journalist said. “Want to be there when they march out tomorrow. So I’ll say good evening to you ladies.” He tipped his brown crusher and attempted a smile. Instead he winced at the pain of it. “Sir Arthur.”
“Looking forward to your account then, Harper,” Sir Arthur said.
“Which reminds me.” Harper pulled a folded part of a broadsheet newspaper from his vest pocket. “I brought this for you.” He handed it to me.
I unfolded the newsprint, a copy of the Evening Star so recently printed, ink came off on my gloves. It read:
TRAGEDY AND MYSTERY
DEATH DROWNING AND DISGRACE IN THE
SHADOW OF THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT
Early this morning, the body of Annie Wilcox, a prostitute working in this city, was found after drowning in a carp pond in the Washington Monument parklands. Witnesses, two members of Coxey’s Commonweal of Christ and the secretary of a reputable historical scholar visiting this city, claim Miss Wilcox and an unknown well-dressed man fell into the pond after their carriage was upset. The unidentified man was seen fleeing the scene. Who could this man be? A banker, a lawyer, a congressman?
I stopped reading and handed it Walter, who had been trying to read over my shoulder.
Oh, no! Mr. Harper wasn’t supposed to mention me, let alone Sir Arthur. I glanced over at Sir Arthur, having last words with Harper before we left. What will he think when he sees this?
Walter handed the article back. “That’s the last time I’d trust him.” I agreed.
But before I could confront him, Simeon Harper sauntered away as the rest of us piled into the wagon without speaking or looking at Chester, who with arms folded tightly against his chest stared unblinking toward the camp. I followed his gaze to where Senator Abbott and Jasper Neely were still talking. Simeon Harper soon joined them. Whether he knew he was at the root of what had happened or not, Senator Abbott, upon noticing that our wagon was moving, smiled broadly and waved.
“He’s the devil,” Chester muttered under his breath. Although I didn’t know whom he meant, the journalist or the politician, I knew which one I’d choose.
“Shush now,” Mrs. Smith said, as if speaking to her dog. “You’re not such an angel yourself.”
As we pulled away, I noticed Madam Fox and Carl Browne join the little group. And then, to my surprise, Billy, the man who had upset Daniel Clayworth, strolled over to the group and was greeted heartily by Carl Browne.
Who is this Billy? I wondered. Champion of fallen women, expert swimmer, marcher in Coxey’s Army, someone to upset Congressman Clayworth, owner of threadbare clothes and an expensive watch. Dare I ask Sarah or Daniel to learn more?
As the driver swatted the horses and the excursion wagon pulled away, I watched the discussion in the small, friendly group grow animated. Despite the confrontations, the accusations, the cursing, and the declarations I had heard today, I’d bet (and I’m not a betting person) a month’s wages that we were missing the most significant conversation of the day.
CHAPTER 13
“Sir, may I have a word?”
The return trip from Brightwood Riding Park had been solemn and silent. No one had spoken for the entire trip back. When we arrived, Chester and Senator Smith disembarked from the excursion wagon and went into the house without saying a single word. Claude Morris, unsure what protocol to follow, tipped his hat and then scurried in behind his employer. Mrs. Smith and Sir Arthur, equally embarrassed by their discourtesy, properly bid Walter, Sarah, and Daniel Clayworth good night. I longed for Walter to kiss me good night, but without Sir Arthur’s knowledge of our engagement, I knew it wa
s inappropriate. As it was, when Walter kissed my hand, Sir Arthur’s eyebrows raised. Was that disapproval or surprise I saw in his eyes? Sir Arthur, Mrs. Smith, and I had watched as Walter and the Clayworths climbed into the Victoria they had waiting and drove away before heading into the house. I had to speak to Sir Arthur about Walter and me. So again I took the opportunity to ask.
“Not tonight, Hattie,” Sir Arthur said. “We’ll discuss the index you copied today in the morning.”
“Of course,” I said. But not of course. In the excitement of the day, I hadn’t told Sir Arthur I’d been unable to copy the index for him. I hadn’t told him the Treasury had been closed. I hadn’t even told him about the accident I had witnessed. I hadn’t shown him the newspaper article mentioning both of us.
What’s wrong with me? I wondered. The thought of being so distracted and unprofessional bothered me. Granted, getting engaged one day and witnessing a drowning two days later was far from routine.
“Buck up, Davish. You have a job to do,” I chided myself out loud as I climbed the stairs to my room. I would explain everything to Sir Arthur in the morning.
“What’s that, you say?”
I turned to see Claude Morris coming up the stairs behind me. Mrs. Smith was kind enough to give me a second-floor room. The only drawback was its relatively close proximity to Claude Morris’s room. He always seemed to manage to be coming or going at the same time as me.
“Nothing, Mr. Morris. I was simply reminding myself of something.”
“Talking to yourself, Miss Davish? You’d better not let Sir Arthur catch you doing that. Sure sign of a deranged mind.”
I’d met patients in the State Lunatic Asylum last year in St. Joe. Many of them had muttered to themselves. I had forgotten to tell Sir Arthur about the Treasury, but I certainly wasn’t deranged.
“As always, your advice is unnecessary, Mr. Morris,” I said, trying to be polite but not truly succeeding.
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