The Deepest Waters, A Novel

by Walsh, Dan

“All my customers, that’s all they talkin’ about these last two days.”

  “Well, I’m from the ship that rescued them.”

  “You don’t say. Now that’s a wonderful thing.”

  “Thank you. See there was this lady, a fine Christian woman. And she left a note on board, the last words her husband wrote to her. I’m tryin’ to get this note to her, but I don’t know where she live. Well, where her family live.”

  “What’s the name?”

  “Foster. Her name is Laura Foster.”

  Obadiah thought a moment. “Ain’t never heard of no Laura Foster, but a Mr. Foster’s one of my best customers. Has some big company just down the road a ways. He get his shoes shined ’bout every other day.”

  “Really? You know where he live?”

  “Not right where, but I can get you close. If it’s the same one. I’ve heard Mr. Foster talk about a place called Gramercy Park. Never been to his home, mind you. But I been by that neighborhood a time or two. Big fancy homes, bigger’n you ever seen.”

  “Sounds about right. Had a feelin’ they be plenty rich.”

  “The Fosters been good to our people too. He say his wife hiring runaway slaves to work at their house, get their rich friends to do the same. At church, we got people who can help. That is, if you lookin’ to get away. You a slave, right?”

  Micah nodded.

  “I could get you to meet up with some folks who happy to help. Do it all the time.”

  “You a slave?” Micah asked.

  “Me? No, sir, I’m a free man. I start the day when I want, and I end the day when I want. I get money for what I do, and I keeps all of it. Don’t have to give any of it to no white man. You could be free if you want.”

  Oh Lord, Micah thought. He almost said out loud, “Get behind me, Satan,” like one of them old preachers, but he knew it wouldn’t make any sense. “Thank you, but I best be on my way. You know how I can get to this . . . Grammasee Park?”

  “Just keep headin’ the way you goin’. Got a long way to go from here, but with the sun goin’ down, shouldn’t be too hot. Gotta stay on this street here all the way till it come to this big square, call it Union Square. Just a few blocks away then. Ask any colored folk you see there. They probably know just where the Fosters live.”

  Micah smiled. God already helping him. Both finding Mrs. Foster and saying no to the devil.

  The ride south on Broadway to the Metropolitan Hotel was two miles. Allison talked almost the entire time. Joel hardly said a thing. He wasn’t lost in thought. For the first time in a long time, he had no thoughts at all. The logical, rational world that had been so large and so clear just one day ago had shrunk to the confines of this little box, the ornamental walls of this carriage.

  Here there existed only the excited, nervous chatter of his sister. And the task of convincing this woman he had never met to come home and stay with a family that just one day ago would have renounced her outright before she’d opened her mouth to say hello.

  “There it is, Joel. We’re almost there. It’s so beautiful at night.”

  Allison was sticking her head out the window like a child. Joel tapped on the little door to alert the driver.

  “Yes, Mr. Foster.”

  “After you drop us off at the main entrance, there’s a section for guest carriages around the corner. You can wait for us there. Honestly, I have no idea how long this will take, but I suspect no more than fifteen to twenty minutes.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  They pulled up and went inside. It wasn’t a bad place at all, Joel thought. A bit overrated from what he’d read in the papers. He stepped up to the counter, Allison right behind him. “My good man, my name is Joel Foster. I believe we have a relation, one of the Vandervere survivors, a Mrs. Laura Foster, staying at your establishment. Would you be so kind to tell her that her brother-in-law and sister-in-law are here and wish to speak with her?”

  “Is she expecting you, sir?”

  “No, she is not. We’ve just learned she is here a few hours ago. We’d like to . . . to welcome her, see if there’s anything we can do for her.”

  “Very good, Mr. Foster.” He looked down at his register, then at the wall behind him. “We do have a Mrs. Laura Foster staying here, and I believe she is up in her room. We can send someone up with a message. Would you like to wait in one of our receiving rooms?” He pointed to the interior of the hotel. “See that large fireplace? There is a nice room just beyond it on the left. If you’d like, you could wait in there.”

  “That would be fine.” Joel stepped back as the man began to write a note.

  “Please, sir,” said Allison, “tell her we can’t wait to see her.”

  “Come, Allison,” Joel said.

  50

  Laura was just about to change into her nightclothes but stood for a moment looking at herself in the mirror. She remembered on evenings she would see John, how nervous she’d get on her last look in the mirror. Is this the right dress? Will he like it? Do the shoes match? What hat should I wear? Am I pretty enough? Now she must return once again to dressing without any purpose or anticipation.

  At least she felt clean. And she had a warm bed, a real bed to sleep in tonight.

  A knock at the door. Who could it be? Had Melissa left something in her room? She looked around as she walked to the door. “Who is it?”

  “A message for you, ma’am, from the front desk. I’ll just slip it under the door. Sorry to bother you.”

  She reached down to pick it up.

  Mrs. Foster,

  Two relatives of yours are waiting downstairs to see you. Your brother-in-law and sister-in-law. They wish to welcome you and offer their assistance. I’ve directed them to wait in the receiving room just beyond the grand fireplace on the left as you come down the stairs.

  Charles

  The front desk

  Her hands began to tremble. How was this possible? This had to be a mistake. She looked down at the note. It was addressed to her. But how could anyone in John’s family be downstairs? She wasn’t ready to see them; she didn’t want to see anyone.

  What if she just ignored the note? If she waited long enough they would go away. At first, they might think her rude, but then they would likely consider she must be tired from such a trying day and had already gone to sleep. No, that wouldn’t work. They’d go to the front desk. The messenger would confirm that she spoke to him through the door.

  She sat in an upholstered chair and sighed. She would have to go down. But she wasn’t ready. What would she say? She didn’t have the energy for polite pretenses.

  John hadn’t told them about her.

  He was afraid to.

  Why must she face this now? But she must.

  She took another look at herself in the mirror, which didn’t help. She picked up the new shawl she’d bought and wrapped it around her shoulders. She reached for the knob and took one more look at the note.

  They wish to welcome you and offer their assistance.

  This was promising. They wanted to welcome her. And the second part . . . she could simply say, “No, thank you, I have everything I need,” and make the visit short and polite.

  She locked the door behind her and started the painful journey down the flight of stairs. On the way up she’d wondered why a hotel would put the nicest rooms up so high. It was more like a punishment than a luxury. She supposed it was because of the view. Little good it did her at night.

  She finally made it down to the lobby and was surprised to still see so many people walking about. She looked up at a large clock on the far wall and realized it was only 8:00 p.m. Across the lobby was the big fireplace, beyond that . . . the room.

  Go, she thought. Just walk right in and get it over with.

  She turned the corner, and there they were, sitting on the edge of two matching rose-colored chairs. A finely dressed man instantly rose to his feet and looked at her. She was stunned at the resemblance. Clearly, John’s brother. Her heart was
immediately warmed by the visual reminder. He took a step toward her, but the young woman—must be Allison—leapt from her chair and rushed past him. She was blonde, pretty, full of smiles.

  “Laura, you must be Laura.” She seemed ready to embrace Laura, as though they were long-lost friends, but stopped short, as if held back by a sudden impression of etiquette. She held out her hand politely. “I am Allison, John’s sister. I could not be happier to meet you.”

  Laura didn’t see as much of a visual resemblance in her but felt John’s warmth in her tone and countenance. “Allison, nice to meet you too. John has spoken of you often.”

  “He has?” Quickly tears formed in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said as she pulled away and sat back in her seat.

  “My name is Joel. I’m John’s older brother.” They shook hands. “Not sure how much John spoke of me. I suppose the fewer words the better.”

  Laura simply smiled and said, “Nice to meet you, Joel.”

  He backed up to the chair. “Please . . . Laura, may I call you Laura?”

  “Please do.”

  “You must be tired. Please have a seat.” Across from the two rose-colored chairs were two additional chairs, similar but beige. Between them, a white oval table with a glass top. Joel sat in the rose chair after she sat in the beige one.

  Laura looked over at Allison, the poor thing. She seemed to be regaining her composure. Joel looked at her, reached over, and patted her wrist. “My sister and I are here, really sent from our mother—”

  “But we would have come eagerly on our own,” Allison added.

  “Yes. And we, well, we just learned about you a few hours ago.”

  “We didn’t know John was married,” Allison said.

  “Please accept our apologies,” said Joel. “Had we known, we would have welcomed you at the dock. I was actually there this morning, when the steamship company gave the news . . . well, that’s not important.”

  “Please, it’s all right,” said Laura. “I understand. I’m not sure I was ready to meet anyone this morning. I had just read this note from John that said he hadn’t told you about us.” Laura fought back a rush of tears.

  “We know about the note,” said Allison.

  “Well, we haven’t read it,” Joel said. “We were told something about it by a young man who came by our home. His name is Tom. I forget his last name.”

  Now it made sense, Laura thought. When Tom had returned this afternoon, he seemed rather nervous. Laura had just assumed it was because he had been unable to locate John’s note.

  Perhaps seeing her expression change, Joel said, “Please don’t think ill of him. He was greatly conflicted about coming to see us. He even said he wouldn’t mention it to you, in case . . . in case we decided not to respond.”

  “But as soon as our mother heard the news,” said Allison, “she instantly asked us to come and meet you. You simply must come and stay with us. She desperately wants to meet you.”

  This was totally unexpected. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “Please say you’ll come. We have so much to talk about.”

  Laura had no energy for conversation; all she wanted was to sleep.

  “We won’t talk tonight,” Joel said. “But we would like to invite you to stay in our family home.”

  “When?” Laura asked.

  “Tonight, if possible,” said Joel.

  Laura hesitated, and Allison leaned forward. “Say you’ll come, Laura. If John loved you, then I want to know you.”

  Laura was relieved at the warmth of their words and the strength of their desire to see her, but she could hardly imagine finding the reserves to leave now, at this moment. “My things are upstairs,” she said.

  “I could get them for you,” said Allison. “I’m sure you must be exhausted. But I don’t mind going up the stairs. I’ve just been sitting around all day.”

  Laura loved listening to Allison talk. She reminded her so much of John, and she was so eager to please. Laura just didn’t have the heart to tell her no. “Okay, then. I’ll come.”

  “Thank you,” Allison said, leaping out of her seat. She bent down and gave Laura a hug.

  Laura stood up and handed her the key.

  “Do you have any luggage?” Joel asked. “I could send a bellhop up to get them.”

  “No luggage,” said Laura. Just then she remembered . . . all her wedding gifts. This was a moment she had so looked forward to: meeting Allison, showing her all the presents, spending time talking over each one. She could fight the tears no more. She sat back down, covering her face.

  “I’m so sorry,” Allison said, bending down beside her.

  They cried together a few moments. Joel stood patiently, not saying a word.

  After, she stood. “I’m sorry,” she said to Joel.

  “No apologies needed.”

  “As I said, I don’t have any luggage. But there are two shopping bags on the bed.” She leaned toward Allison and said quietly, “There is also a black pouch full of gold on the dresser by the mirror.”

  “Allison,” Joel said, stepping closer, “please be discreet. Keep the pouch out of sight on your way back down. You never know who might be watching.”

  “I’ll be careful,” she said.

  51

  Micah was plum wore out with all this walking. He was feeling his age all up in his hips, his back, even down in his knees. Long time ago, he remembered walking this far for days on end, never had any trouble. But there it was, finally. The Foster mansion. Just like that shoe-shinin’ fellow Obadiah said, someone at Union Square set him straight to it.

  It was quite the place. Like someone took a plantation house down South and put it smack-dab in the middle of this big city.

  Sure could use a glass of water.

  As he got closer, he saw this fancy-dressed old fellow, older than he was anyway, peek his head out the front door. Then he walked down these fancy winding steps to the sidewalk. Held his hand over his eyes to block the light from a nearby lamppost as he looked down the street. He looked right at Micah but didn’t see him. He turned around, did the same thing the other way.

  “Excuse me, suh,” said Micah. Man didn’t seem to hear him, so he said it again a bit louder. Old man turned around, looked Micah over. Had a nice face but didn’t smile.

  “Can I help you?” he said.

  “I hope so,” said Micah. “This be the Foster place?”

  “It is, but I’m quite sure the family has all the help it needs at the moment.”

  “I’m not here lookin’ for work, suh. I actually come bringing somethin’ for Mrs. Foster. I mean, Mrs. Laura Foster.”

  The old man’s face lit up bright. “You do? What might that be, may I ask?”

  “Is she here?” Micah asked.

  “Not at the moment. I was just looking for the carriage she might be riding in just now. So what is it that you have for Mrs. Foster?”

  “I have a note.” Micah pulled it out of his pocket. He had worked it real hard, trying to smooth out all the wrinkles. “She leave it on the ship. That’s where I come from. Thought it was mighty important, and the cap’n agreed she should have it. Even let me come all this way just to make sure she get it.”

  “May I see it?”

  “Yessuh.”

  The man held it, then stepped back to see it better in the light. “My goodness,” he said. “It’s from John.”

  “Yessuh. Mrs. Foster’s husband. Cap’n say it be the last words he say to her.” Then Micah saw something strange. The man’s eyes got all teary. Just then, the front door swung open.

  “Beryl, are they here?”

  Micah looked up and saw this woman in a fancy dress looking down at them both.

  “Is the carriage here? Who is this?” she asked, looking right at him.

  The man, Beryl, blinked his tears away. “No, Mrs. Foster. It’s not here yet. But this man just walked up to me, said he was from the ship that brought John’s wife here.”

  “Wh
at?” she said loudly.

  “I’m holding in my hand,” said Beryl, “a most remarkable thing. A note written by John to his wife, Laura, just before they parted at sea. These are his last words.”

  Micah saw the tears come back to his eyes. The woman looked like she gonna fall straight down them steps.

  Both men ran up to catch her. They helped her back inside. In a moment, she was standing again. Beryl helped her to a big chair nearby. Then he walked back and closed the door. Micah had never been inside such a place before. He couldn’t keep his eyes from roaming all about.

  “A note from John?” she asked.

  It looked to Micah like all the wind was suddenly out of her sails. Beryl handed the note to her. Micah stood by just off to the side.

  She looked right at Micah. “Thank you so much for bringing this. How did you get here?”

  “I walked, ma’am.”

  “You must be exhausted. Beryl, would you please get him a large glass of water?”

  “Right away, Mrs. Foster.”

  She held the note so she could read it better by the lamp. Micah wasn’t sure what he should do. Felt like he should excuse himself, let her read in peace. But she wasn’t paying attention to him.

  She began talking out loud, as if John were in the room. “How hard this must have been for you!” Then Mrs. Foster pulled out a white handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. She turned to Micah and said, “Look how much he loved her.”

  Now Micah saw that white cloth catching lots of tears, and felt even more unsure of himself.

  As she continued to read she said loudly, “Oh no. I’m so sorry. But you were right.” She dropped the note then, and it fell to the rug. John’s mother put her head down into her hands and cried all the more.

  Beryl walked in, not seeming the least distressed. He handed Micah the water, walked over and picked up the note, set it on a little table beside her. Then stood back. He looked up at Micah as she cried. Micah saw all kinds of care in his eyes. He could tell this man was a servant, though not a slave. But he been here a long time, like he almost a part of the family.