by Ann Rinaldi
"I could do that," Myra said.
"Myra," Carol Johnson whispered, "don't be silly. We don't know them!"
"Mind your own affairs," Myra retorted.
Was a tattletale the worst thing one could be? I thought not. There were worse things, far worse, although I couldn't think what at the moment. I ran to Mrs. McQuade and told her that Myra was about to go off with three young men from Maryland.
Myra was already well started on going off with them. Mrs. McQuade had to run and push her way through the crowd. "Hold on there, Myra, you're going in the wrong direction," she said.
Myra turned around, a sneer on her face. "I can take care of myself."
"Not while I am commissioned to do it," Mrs. McQuade answered.
I stood directly behind her to offer what support I could.
Myra glared at me. "You'll pay for this," she threatened.
"If anyone is to pay for anything," Mrs. McQuade said, "it is you, Myra. For disobeying. I told you I did not want my girls talking to strangers. Is there some problem, gentlemen?" She looked at the young men.
"We thought the young lady was alone and were looking to assist her."
"She does not need assistance. She is with my class. I am her teacher." Mrs. McQuade grabbed her arm and started to pull her away.
Myra tried to jerk free but couldn't. "I'm only telling people what I know, Mrs. McQuade. What's the sense in knowing things if you can't tell?"
"You can tell all you want tomorrow, back in the schoolroom. You may write an essay for me. Five hundred words on today's doings. Then perhaps next time I take my class out in public you will mind my words." Mrs. McQuade pulled her along.
"The funeral train is to be eight coaches long," Myra called over her shoulder, "draped in black. And they're taking the coffin of little Willie Lincoln along with that of his father's. They dug it up. Can you imagine that? It's going back to Illinois."
"A thousand words!" Mrs. McQuade said. She grabbed Myra by the ear. It did my heart good to see it. As we walked away, I heard the three young men laughing. Myra looked at me and saw me smirking. "You'll pay for this," she said again.
Somehow I knew I would.
14. Our Enemies Make us Strong
I LIFTED THE KETTLE of hot water off the small stove in Mrs. McQuade's office and poured it into the basin at her feet, to warm up her foot bath water.
"Don't burn yourself, child. You shouldn't be doing this. You'll scald yourself."
"I did a lot more for Mama." I set the kettle back on the stove. "Can I pour you more tea?"
"No, thank you. Get your things together now. Your ride should be here shortly."
Robert was fetching me. Mrs. McQuade would not let any of her girls walk home alone this day.
The funeral procession was over. It was four o'clock. All that could be heard on Washington's debris-laden streets was some muted talk as crowds of people walked by the front of our school on their way home from the proceedings.
The day had been sunny but now was clouded over. It was starting to drizzle. I stood back and eyed Mrs. McQuade as she soaked her feet in the basin of water.
"Such a day! I'd have forgone it if not for the honor," my teacher said. It was humor. She'd told us this was what a man once said when he'd been tarred and feathered and ridden on a rail out of town in the American Revolution.
"Mrs. McQuade, can I ask you a question?"
"Ask away. As long as it hasn't anything to do with Abraham Lincoln. I loved the man as much as anyone, but if I hear any more conjecture about the number of coaches on the funeral train or why a Negro regiment was allowed to take the lead in the funeral procession, I shall die."
"It isn't about Lincoln."
"Good."
"It's about body snatching."
She had been fanning her face with a handkerchief. She stopped fanning. "Body snatching. A good subject. An excellent subject. Worthy of consideration."
"Is it against the law?"
"Of course."
"Why do people do it?"
"To make money. They sell the bodies to medical schools, where they are used for experimentation."
"But why do the medical schools need to buy bodies from such people?"
She smiled. "Excellent question. I am so glad when my girls ask thought-provoking questions. For one simple reason: Not enough states have passed laws saying that the bodies of criminals sentenced to death should be delivered to surgeons for study."
I felt a shudder pass through me. "Have any states done this?"
"I believe some have. But too few. And anyway, even with such laws there are not enough cadavers for medical schools. So we have body snatching. But why such a question, Emily? What brought it about?"
I shrugged. "Today when Myra told that man how they dug up the body of Willie Lincoln to take back to Illinois some of the girls started talking about body snatching," I lied.
"What they did with Willie Lincoln isn't the same thing."
"I know."
"Perhaps we should have a discussion on it in our Wednesday-morning group. What do you think?"
"No," I said quickly. "I think that with the president's funeral enough of a pall has been cast over us. Some of the girls are getting morbid. I think we need something happier for a discussion."
"I suppose you are right," she said. But she was giving me that quizzical sidelong glance, like she did when she knew a girl wasn't being entirely truthful. "Don't be affected by things Myra says, Emily," she told me. "The girl likes to hear herself talk."
"Yes, ma'am." I gathered up my things. "I hear a carriage out front. I must go."
"Perhaps you would like to do a paper of your own on the subject of body snatching, since your curiosity has been aroused. I will give you extra marks for it."
"No, ma'am." I shook my head.
"Very well, the decision is yours. Go along now. And lock the door on the way out."
It was a long walk to the front of the house, past empty classrooms, parlors, the library. My footsteps echoed. Then I came to the front foyer.
"Hello, Emily."
I near jumped out of my skin. "Myra, what are you doing here?" She was in the shadows of the foyer.
Her smile was knowing. "Waiting for my father. Why didn't you tell her how the question of body snatching came up? And why you don't want it in a Wednesday Discussion Group? And why you don't wish to do a paper for extra marks?"
"It isn't nice to eavesdrop."
"It's less nice to lie. I could suggest, in front of the whole class, that we do body snatching as a subject for the Wednesday Discussion Group. The other girls would love it. You'd be outnumbered. Shall I?"
I recognized a threat when I heard one. "What do you want of me, Myra?"
"It's very simple. Get me in to see what's in that shed your uncle has behind his house."
I couldn't believe it. "What?"
"You heard me. My father has been looking his place over. He says if only he could get into that shed he would have a story. Only he can't trespass. And he hasn't enough evidence on your uncle to warrant going in on his own."
"I'm sorry for your father, then."
"I'm sorrier for you if you don't. Because I shall bring up the discussion of body snatching to Mrs. McQuade, then. And tell her, and the whole class, the reason why."
"She wouldn't stand for such."
"No, but they'd all know my father is investigating your uncle. Do you want that?"
"No, but neither do I want you poking about my uncle's shed."
"Am I to take that as an admission that he is engaged in body snatching, then?"
I was trapped. "He isn't engaged in body snatching," I said.
"Then why not do as I wish?"
"Because I can't just ask my uncle to let you in there. He has his laboratory in there. Important things."
"I'm not asking him to let me in. He'd clear out any evidence first."
"What are you asking, then?"
"Sneak me in."
> "So you can spy for your father."
"I'll not be spying if there's nothing to spy on."
Was there no way out of this dreadful dilemma? Would this hateful girl never get out of my life? Why hadn't I let her run off earlier today with those three men from Baltimore? Maybe then her father would have been so busy investigating her disappearance he'd have had no time to investigate Uncle Valentine. What would be worse? To call her bluff? And let her tell the class of her father's investigation? She could prove nothing.
But it would cast suspicion on my uncle. And he had given me a home. I didn't need the girls in my class gossiping about my uncle. You have to defend the honor of your kin, don't you?
Then I heard my daddy's voice. "Don't enter into difficult arrangements to save the moment, Miss Muffet," he'd said. "Remember the miller's daughter."
But what if they're going to cut your head off in the morning? I thought. What if all you want to do is live through the next day without losing your head?
Surely with one more day in your favor you can figure out what to do. And for the first time, standing there, I understood why the miller's daughter had given in to Rumpelstiltskin. With one more day to bargain, you could think of something, surely.
"All right," I said. "Give me a day or two to figure out how I can do it."
She hesitated. "How do I know you won't go to him? And give him a chance to get rid of any evidence?"
We had been whispering. Now I whispered savagely. "Do you think I could go to my uncle and ask him to let you in there? He's a busy and important man. I've never been in there. I don't even know how to get in. And I have to figure it out. That will just have to do for you, Myra. Or you can tell the class about your father's investigation."
"You think I won't?"
"I know you would," I said wearily. "But somehow I think what you want more right now is to get into that shed. To please your daddy."
I pushed past her and went to the front door. I was stalling for time.
What if there is evidence of body snatching in that shed? I asked myself, going down the front steps. What will I do then? I was comfortable in Uncle Valentine's house. For the first time in a long time I didn't have to worry about where my next meal was coming from. Or even cook it. I could go to school without any worries. I could study and dream of the future without wondering if I'd have a home next month.
Didn't I have a right to feel such? I was only fourteen.
But I knew better. I wasn't my father's daughter for nothing. I had become too comfortable. I had put my luxury before right and wrong.
I hadn't wanted to face the nagging doubts and suspicions in my mind. And they'd been there all along. Hadn't Addie hinted to me? I had to get into that shed. For my own sanity. It was something I'd known all along I'd have to do if I wanted to live in peace with myself. Myra was just pushing me to do it a little sooner, that was all.
It all got back to something my daddy had once told me. "Our enemies make us strong, Miss Muffet, not our friends. Our friends will lie to us, tell us what we need to hear. Forgive us. We must keep a few good enemies on hand, always, to keep us sharp and teach us never to do anything that needs forgiveness."
Well, I'd gotten that right, anyway. I had Myra Mott. She qualified as a few good enemies all on her own.
"Hello," Robert said. He was waiting for me with the carriage. "I thought you'd never come out. We're late. I was about to turn into a pumpkin."
I looked at him. Somehow the reference to the fairy tale made me look on him kindly. "What are we late for?"
"Your uncle is having company for supper. He wants you there on time."
"Who?"
"Me." He grinned insolently. "And then he has an appointment for the theater. I'm afraid you're stuck with me for the rest of the evening."
"Why?"
"He is expecting a shipment, and I'm to be there to receive it."
My head started to swim with the wonderfulness of it. So, I thought, my fairy godmother has not deserted me.
"I'm afraid the evening will be long and dreary with this rain," Robert was saying. "Do you play chess?"
"A little."
"Well, how was the funeral procession? Gory enough for you young ladies?"
"Yes. Speaking of which, Robert, I need a favor."
"Ah, I knew you were being nice for a reason. What's your pleasure?"
"I'm doing a paper for extra grades at school. I want to surprise Uncle Valentine with an A-plus in science. It would help, ever so much, if I could get into his shed in back, so I could see his laboratory and write all about the equipment a doctor uses."
He gave me a down-turned smile. "Why don't you ask your uncle to let you in?"
"I told you. I want it to be a surprise. Do you think that after we play chess this evening, you could take me in there?"
He was thoughtful for a moment. "A paper, you say?"
"Yes. Mrs. McQuade said she wants to see more initiative on the part of her girls. She says that science is all around us, if we open our eyes and pay attention. She suggested we try our backyards and come up with a topic." I was warming to it, proud of my lying. "Well, I looked in my backyard and I saw Uncle Valentine's shed. And so that's when it came to me. Of course, I might not understand everything he's got out there. But you could explain it to me. If you would, I mean. Would you, Robert?"
I'm starting to sound like a Southern belle, I thought, the one thing Daddy wanted me never to be. But it was for a good cause. Wasn't it?
"I don't see any harm in it," Robert said. He said it casually, not realizing what he'd done for me.
I could breathe again. There was no evidence in the shed. If there were, Robert wouldn't have agreed. Not unless he was planning on slipping away from me sometime this night to remove the evidence. But he'd not be able to. I'd watch him tonight, every minute. I wouldn't let him out of my sight. Then at some future date, I'd slip Miss Sly Boots into the shed. And watch her disappointment. She'd have to go to her father and tell him he was wrong.
She'd be so angry, she'd stamp her foot and go right through the floor like Rumpelstiltskin.
15. The Inside of the Shed
SO FAR I HAD managed to do very well. Robert hadn't been out of my sight once and we were at dinner. I watched Maude take away the soup dishes, wondering if I could manage as well for the rest of the evening.
"Do you like the fish, Emily?" Uncle Valentine asked.
"Yes. I love the stuffing Maude made. But I'm afraid I ate too much turtle soup."
"Eat the fish. Fish is good for you. It's brain food," Uncle Valentine said.
Robert winked at me. "Eat the fish and you can swim better," he said. "Do you swim, Emily?"
"Yes."
"Where did you learn?"
"In Maryland. We had a creek."
"Who taught you?"
"Johnny Surratt," I said.
"Oh." Robert scowled. I knew what he was thinking. Did everything in my life go full circle and get back to Johnny Surratt? "I hear he's still in Canada. There's a twenty-five-thousand-dollar price on his head."
I picked nervously at the fish. I hadn't thought about Johnny all day. I felt disloyal to him. All I could think of was if I'd really get into the shed this night.
The table was set beautifully. Night-blooming cereus, their white petals down because it wasn't dark yet, were in a bowl as the centerpiece. Candles glowed. Even though the house was equipped with gaslight, Uncle Valentine preferred candles. There was, in addition to the fish, roasted potatoes, green beans, pickled preserves, cheddar and Gloucester cheeses, a chicken pie. And a whipped syllabub.
Where Mrs. McQuade had her Wednesday Morning Discussion Group, Uncle Valentine had his Thursday Evening Dinners. I hadn't lived with him long enough to experience the range of guests, but I had lived with him long enough to know he hated eating alone. Tonight it was just Robert. What with the Lincoln funeral, everyone was exhausted.
"I heard that Booth was arrested in Toronto," Robert
said.
Toronto? I looked up quickly. If they'd caught Booth in Toronto, did that mean they'd also catch Johnny? Then I realized Robert was joking.
"I heard he was arrested in Massachusetts. And Pennsylvania. And Chicago," Uncle Valentine said.
"How can you make sport about it?" I asked him.
"It's becoming quite the thing to come up with new and absurd stories about where John Wilkes Booth was last seen," Robert said.
"It's no joke to any handsome man with a black mustache," Uncle Valentine said. "The paper said today that dozens of them have been seized and rushed off to jail." He sighed. "The funeral is over here in Washington, but I don't think the country will ever recover from this blow. Ever. In the North, mobs are attacking anyone who has the hint of being a Southern sympathizer, tarring and feathering them, beating them. I'm not sure it was a good idea allowing the funeral train to go on this long journey through so many states."
"The people would have it no other way," Robert reminded him. "I heard they are lining the tracks, thousands of them, all the way to Baltimore. Singing."
Just then came the sound of a wagon coming in the gate. Uncle Valentine and Robert exchanged glances. "Too early," Uncle Valentine said. "The fool."
Robert got up and went to the window. "It's only the ice wagon," he said.
Another shipment of ice? I thought. Maude had ordered enough ice all week to make an igloo. Then Uncle Valentine started talking again. He said he'd heard that John Wilkes Booth had been seen on a train wearing women's clothing, with burnt cork on his face to make him appear as a Negro.
The ice wagon rumbled into the yard. I heard Maude go out the kitchen door to greet the driver. Uncle Valentine offered me some of Maude's fresh beaten biscuits. I did like beaten biscuits. And Maude's were lighter than any I'd ever eaten. But if Robert went outside to greet the iceman, I was going with him. I didn't know what excuse I'd give, but I'd find one.