“Oh yes,” the housekeeper said with a wide, greasy grin. “Charming man, delightful.” Her mouth gnashed up and down with every word as if she were chewing instead of speaking.
“Will you tell me more about the Hare Home while Susanna visits her niece and nephews? It seems like a cause in need of philanthropy. Perhaps I can speak to the ladies in our church about possible contributions.” Mrs. Hanby was so gentle that the wary look on Mrs. Grismer’s face melted away, to be replaced by something even less pleasant—avarice.
“That would be just fine, Mrs. Hanby. Let’s go to my sitting room where you might be more comfortable. Miss Hanby, you remember where the children are?” Susanna suspected the housekeeper didn’t wish to exert herself to walk up the stairs.
“Yes, Mrs. Grismer.” Susanna would not wait for a further invitation. Pressing the large handbag against her side, she smelled the salty piquancy of the ham her aunt had cut into slices and wrapped in waxed paper. Thank goodness Aunt Ann had thought of a way to keep the delicious odor contained. Susanna couldn’t be sure the ham would reach the children unless she personally saw them eat it.
The girls were at their pitiful needlework, though two or three of them sat together on a cot, speaking in hushed voices. They started and looked up with white faces when she entered.
“It’s only I, Miss Hanby,” she called softly. The room smelled of urine—poor girls. One of the smaller ones had probably lost control in the night—she knew how it happened with little children. She hoped the child had not been too harshly punished.
“Aunt Susanna!” Clara said, and jumped up. She stayed in place, though, as if frightened to leave her spot without permission. What had this woman been threatening to the children?
Walking over to them through the cavernous room, she embraced Clara. “Hello, my sweet girl,” she said. “I have something for you.” Clara knew better than to say anything about their last meeting.
“Where are Wesley and Daniel?” Susanna asked. “Out at work?”
“Wesley is at work. Daniel is too ill.” Clara’s face looked very gaunt. She pointed to a slight form slumped on a cot by the wall, yards away.
Susanna’s stomach turned over and she grabbed Clara’s hand. “Let’s go see him.”
When they reached his side, she saw that his skin had an unnatural grayish color and his eyes were closed. She couldn’t see any motion but heard the faint rattle of breath in his chest. She hated to wake him, but he must eat while he could.
She knelt down next to his cot and laid her hand on his frail shoulders, glad to at least feel the slight rise and fall of his back. “Danny,” she whispered. His eyelashes fluttered, dark against his pallid skin, and he looked up at her with Rachel’s eyes. “Auntie,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
Her eyes stung—stop!—the children were troubled enough as it was. She looked down and dug one of the ham bundles out of her bag. “Danny, you must sit up and eat, hurry.” She reverted to his baby name in the surge of concern. He did not correct her—that worried her even more.
She helped him up and placed the wrapped ham in his lap, then handed a piece to Clara. “Try to eat it so the others don’t see,” she whispered. Her guilt threatened to swamp her. All thirty of the girls here needed this food badly, from their bloodless look. But she did not have enough. Perhaps her aunt would be able to convince Mrs. Grismer to allow the church to give them all a meal.
Clara turned her back to the other girls so they wouldn’t see. She wolfed down the ham in shreds and gulps, not at all like the ladylike niece Susanna had known at the farm. “What about Wesley?” she asked when she had finished her piece. “And the other children?”
“I can leave you the rest of this for Wesley—and most importantly, for Danny. He must have meat to recover. I’m sorry we couldn’t bring more, but we feared your housekeeper would take it from us.” She wished she could have packed the whole ham in her handbag, but that simply would not have made it past Mrs. Grismer’s vigilant eye.
Clara nodded. “Thank you.” She leaned her head into Susanna’s shoulder. “Can we leave here soon?”
She took a deep breath. “As soon as I can possibly arrange it.” She wrapped one arm around each of the children while Danny continued to eat, picking at it with the impaired appetite of the consumptive. No, she shouldn’t say that—it was not consumption, surely. He had coughed even on the farm, and he had never been around a consumptive, nor did his siblings appear affected.
The picture of her cousin Ben leaped into her mind, the handsome young man and brilliant musician whose cold-susceptible lungs had taken him too soon to the grave. And then Ben’s brother Cyrus had died of a similar weakness the next year.
She would not accept the same fate for Danny—he was only a little boy. But a chill passed over her neck even in the stifling heat. She would never forget Aunt Ann’s face, wracked with loss as she stood over her son Ben’s simple coffin. His wife, Kate, had left town rather than live with the painful reminders of Ben’s presence. The next year Susanna hadn’t attended Cyrus’s funeral, and she was almost glad her aunt and uncle had preferred it that way—she could not imagine their agony at the second loss, so soon. God had gifted the Hanbys with many things, but not strong chests. And Danny was weaker than any of his cousins had ever been.
She hated the smell of rot and mildew in here—it could not be healthful.
“Can you put these in your pocket?” she whispered to Clara, holding out the other three pieces of ham.
“She might see it.” Clara stared at the paper bundles. “I have seen her check pockets before. Here”—she took the brown bundles and tucked them in Danny’s over-large trouser pockets—“if he lies down on them, I don’t think she will find them. She never pays anyone any mind when they are sick.”
A tinder flash of temper made Susanna press her lips together to restrain an indignant comment. It would do no good to make the children even more conscious of their plight. “Is Wesley still healthy?”
“He’s hungry, but he’s not ill.” Clara’s eyes were huge in her young face as she attempted to sound comforting.
That was even harder on Susanna’s composure. She clutched her skirt and rose. “I must go, before Aunt Ann finishes her talk with Mrs. Grismer.” She bent down and kissed first Clara’s cheek, then Daniel’s. “Daniel, be sure to hide that right away if anyone comes in.”
“Yes, Auntie.” He turned to the wall and lay down on his side to conceal the ham, pulling off a sliver and putting it in his mouth. He looked almost too tired to chew.
“Watch out for one another. We will come back for you.” Susanna turned away, barely holding herself together, like a cracked egg that somehow manages to keep its shape.
“Good-bye, Auntie,” Clara said. “Thank you.”
She waved and blew them a kiss, then left through the splintered doorway and descended the stairs.
In the parlor she recued her aunt from the litany of Mrs. Grismer’s complaints. They wished the housekeeper good day and promised to return with more sweets.
“But don’t return too soon,” the woman said. “I shouldn’t allow you here, according to the regulations. I’m supposed to report visits like this so they can be stopped.”
“Of course we won’t make a nuisance of ourselves,” Aunt Ann said in a careless tone quite unlike her. “Besides, too much candy would not be good for them. Perhaps we will return in a week’s time? And then I could see if some of the other ladies might make a cake? Mrs. Clark makes a delicious upside-down pear cake that I know the children might enjoy.”
“A week would be acceptable,” the housekeeper said grudgingly. “I suppose I can overlook a visit once a week.”
“Then farewell until next week,” Aunt Ann said. “And thank you for all you do for the children.” She took Susanna’s hand.
When they made it down the steps, Susanna murmured, “She does nothing. Nothing but take what should be theirs.” She began to tremble.
“Yes, yes,�
� her aunt whispered. “But let’s wait to discuss it. We mustn’t talk here.”
And indeed, the gray curtain twitched away from the window as they passed.
When they made it to the streetcar stop, Susanna said in a low voice, “Horrible, hateful woman.”
“Yes.” Her aunt looked grieved.
They were quiet all the way to the Hannah Neil Mission, which was as light and airy and comfortable as before. Jesse was laughing and Annabeth and Della were not as sad as the older ones, though they still asked for Mama. When Susanna finished hugging and holding them and Aunt Ann had given them some of the second bag of candy, they were sent back to their rooms.
“Matron, I must ask you something,” Susanna said to the neat woman with her ever-present ledger. “Did my sister give you any indication at all of where she might be going? I need to see if she is in need of help.” She did not say or even still alive, though the question hovered in her mind.
“I’m sorry, Miss Hanby.” The matron looked her straight in the eyes with kindness. “It is not common for a living mother to abandon her children to the care of the county. I kept no record of it, to try to avoid any legal complications for either your sister or her children.”
Would the county or the state throw Rachel in jail for what she had done? Susanna had not even thought of that, and she did not want to ask. But she could not give up. “Did she say nothing at all? Please,” she begged.
The matron hesitated for a long moment. “She said something about children not living on the boats.”
“That is all?”
“Yes.”
There it was again, the boats. Yet no one had responded to the bill that had been posted in the canal docks’ office—if the boy had in fact posted it. But at least it confirmed what Clara had heard. “Thank you. And please, if you could tell me how long until the children will be sent away?” Her voice caught at the last words.
The matron spoke even more quietly. “July thirtieth.”
The thirtieth! Only three weeks from now! She couldn’t speak and instead headed for the exit, her steps faster and faster.
She heard Aunt Ann murmur behind her as she pushed open the heavy main door and almost tripped down the stairs. At the street level she braced herself on the stone pillar and banister. A passerby regarded her curiously, but she did not care, bent over, wretched and dizzy from her tight lacing, clutching the stone.
A gentle hand on her shoulder and Aunt Ann spoke. “I know it’s beyond what you can bear, child. You must not try to carry this alone.”
The infinite compassion in her aunt’s words made her tears pour out and she had to borrow a handkerchief. Her heart did not want to give up this burden, painful though it was, for she feared if she did, she would lose Rachel and her children. The crushing pain in her chest was all she had to tie her to them until they were together again.
She wiped her face and sniffed. “We should go back and see if Uncle needs us.”
“Yes, let’s go to the courthouse. I remember the directions.” Her aunt did the best she could to hurry, but her walk was slow.
Susanna matched her pace and took comfort in her slight, warm presence next to her. Even if she couldn’t find her sister, she must somehow get the children before the three weeks were up. That way, when she told her parents that Rachel was gone, they would at least have the consolation of their grandchildren. To lose all at once might kill her father, who was frailer than Uncle Will even though he was a few years younger.
Once on High Street, they passed shop after shop, but Susanna was too exhausted from her emotions to be curious. Her aunt did turn to look in several, and no one could help but notice the large signs everywhere: Hardware, Boots and Shoes, Coal, China, even a Ladies’ Ice Cream Parlor. “Oh look,” her aunt said in a pleased tone, peering through one expanse of glass. “So many cut flowers.” She pointed. “Why don’t you go in and look for a few minutes? The courthouse is only a block away—I’ll go see about Will and then come back for you here.”
Susanna glanced listlessly at the gorgeous blooms in the window: carnations, roses, irises. “I should stay with you. What if Uncle—?” She cut herself off.
Aunt Ann wasn’t fooled, but she didn’t seem alarmed. “No, please stay. It will do you good. We have nothing like this in Westerville—a shop where you can see such lovely flowers all gathered together.”
Perhaps Aunt Ann didn’t want her to come along right away. Her aunt might want some time alone with Uncle Will to discuss the events of the hearing. Maybe this was her gentle way of hinting so.
“Very well, I’ll look in the shop,” Susanna said. “Don’t hurry on my behalf.”
Her aunt smiled and took her leave with a gentle press of her gloved hand. Susanna pushed open the door to the flower shop. The moment the heady perfume of mixed blossoms surrounded her, her fatigue lessened. She inhaled deeply.
“Good morning, miss.” A hump-shouldered, weathered woman in an apron came out from the store’s back room, her speech accented like Mr. Giere’s, but much thicker. “May I help you with a selection?”
“I’m just a visitor today.” She became conscious of the tightness of dried tears on her face and the puffy feel of her eyelids when she blinked.
“Be our guest. I am Mrs. Pfeiffer. If you wish to enjoy the flowers and rest for a moment, we have a seat for you.” She indicated a cedar-slatted bench mounted on black iron legs.
“Thank you,” Susanna replied.
The woman hobbled out of sight with a swirl of the shop curtain.
Susanna wandered from one bucket to another. Here was a deep purple iris with its lambent yellow streak, there a white cloud of carnations overflowing their container. They must do a great deal of business to stock so many lovely flowers. For once she did not think about leaf patterns, or sorting and labeling into categories. She simply soaked in the beauty and comfort of the soft masses of color. This was how Rachel loved the flowers—as heaven’s gift to the senses.
Wood lilies by the window attracted a beam of sunlight that made their orange petals glow. Susanna crossed to them. They were Rachel’s favorite, and the same ones George had trampled in the dirt of her garden. These flowers were perfect, their petals extended to curved points, the subtle ring of yellow in the center dotted with warm brown flecks. Susanna grazed the brown stamen with her fingertip and rubbed the dark pollen between her thumb and forefinger. Such miraculous design—it never lost its wonder for her. She leaned down, closed her eyes, and inhaled the scent, until she almost believed that she stood in her sister’s garden, with Rachel an arm’s-length away.
Fourteen
JOHANN STRODE DOWN HIGH STREET, SATCHEL IN one hand, police report in the other. Two murders, a body floating in the Scioto River. Gruesome, but nothing to catch the attention of the jaded New York populace, he was sure. The only story with any bite to it was the Westerville bombing. He would follow it closely now. And his father could spare him for a few days, since Heinrich was capable of managing the lager deliveries. Johann would balance the accounts and check everything upon his return.
Up ahead, the courthouse emitted a stream of people. Had all the Westerville folk stayed so long after the hearing? Apparently so, for there was the Reverend Robertson shaking another man’s hand. No doubt they had many thanks to give to those who had posted their bond.
He passed the shoe shop and then the florist, where a ray of sunlight streaked under the awning and lit up the window in a blaze of purple and orange.
To his surprise, there in the window was the familiar face he had seen not long ago, the one that had preoccupied him in perplexing ways for the last two weeks. Miss Susanna Hanby. She leaned over some large blossoms, eyes closed, an expression of deep longing on her face such as he had never seen before on any woman. The faint marks under her closed eyes made it seem she had been weeping, but her loveliness struck him more than her sadness. The daylight streamed around her and spiraled in rings of gold down the curls of her brown hair. Her
yellow dress and the orange blooms before her made her appear to be the source of the sunlight rather than its object. Her face was luminous in its keen desire for whatever lingered in her mind, her lips unconsciously parted in her reverie.
Why did he feel so drawn to her intensity?
There was nothing school-girlish about Miss Hanby, nothing silly like Lotte’s infatuated singing. Maybe he should go speak with her.
He should not—she disliked him and everything he represented.
But she was intriguing, and besides, he needed to maintain his Westerville connections to get the most information for his article. He took his hat off, placed his hand on the door handle, and pushed, letting himself in with a ring of the shop bell.
She looked up, startled, and straightened her posture. Her face was more open and vulnerable than he had seen it before, as if he had caught her off guard and she did not know quite what to do about it.
An old lady scuttled out of the back—he knew Mrs. Pfeiffer, she lived a few streets away from the Gieres. She gave him a gaptoothed smile. “May I help you, sir?”
So she was going to be coy and pretend she didn’t recognize him. “Not just yet, thank you.”
She nodded and hobbled back behind the curtain with a knowing look.
He turned back to Susanna. Now what should he say? Perhaps he should have considered that before. “Your uncle was released on bond.”
“Praise heaven.” Relief softened her face but did not dispel the longing that remained in her green eyes like a distant echo of whatever had caused it.
“Was your errand successful?”
“Not completely.” Her lashes veiled her eyes.
He should make a peace offering, something to show her he was not the uncaring devil she thought. “May I assist you in some way? I know the city quite well and I can help you find anything you might need here in Columbus.”
Her faint smile bore a hint of rue, but he did not seem to be her target, for once. “I’m afraid you can be of no assistance, Mr. Giere.”
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