He disappeared, returning to peek around the corner at Mama. “Be ready to warm me supper then warm me bed, Mrs. Biddie. I’ll be back in a trice.”
Mama blushed like a girl. “Francis! Not in front of Bertha.”
He winked and went away chuckling.
Mama busied herself with a sock and darning egg, her red face almost in her lap.
Bertha tried hard not to laugh. She turned away and covered her mouth with both hands.
Behind her, Mama let loose a small titter. They both giggled softly until Mama stood and gathered her sewing. “The man is scandalous,” she announced.
“That he is.”
“I can’t do a thing with him.”
Bertha grinned. “He may be a lost cause.”
Mama beamed back and pinched Bertha’s cheeks. “Yes, but in the most charming fashion.” She cupped Bertha’s chin in her palm. “Don’t forget your wrap, dear. It’s cold out.”
Her papa, small in stature with a giant’s presence, filled the doorway again. “Ready, me girl?”
Bertha pushed past him, planting a kiss above his scruffy beard on the way. “As soon as I fetch my shawl.”
Papa stood by the wagon when Bertha came out, ready to lift her aboard. “Where to, young’un?”
“Brooks House. I need to see that Annie’s all right.”
He nodded. “I’ll take you right to her doorstep. Just let me swing by the livery on the way.”
“Isn’t Mr. Spellings coping any better with losing Miss Carrie?”
Papa looked grim. “He’ll be fine if loneliness and grief don’t kill him. We just need to rally ’round him and keep him in our prayers.”
Bertha sat silent for a moment then cleared her throat and sought his eyes. “I don’t mean to show disrespect, but it’s been awhile since Miss Carrie passed. Shouldn’t he be getting on with it by now?”
Papa studied her with a somber look. “I’m afraid husbands don’t fare well after losing a wife.” He nudged her with his elbow. “If you ever tell I said this, I’ll deny it. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Womenfolk are far and away stronger creatures than men. It’s how the good Lord fashioned you because of all you’re required to endure.”
“Like what? You seem stout enough to endure anything.”
He drew back and made a face. “Can you see me birthing a babe?”
She blushed and grinned. “So you reckon we’re stronger, do you?”
He gave a solemn nod. “Without doubt. You’re the glue that binds us together. Thankfully, Sol’s not yet forty, so youth is on his side. We older men don’t last long after our wives pass. I think over time we forget how to care for ourselves.”
She sat back and pondered his words. She had to admit she knew of many elderly widows but hardly any widowers. She stole a look at Papa, chewing on his mustache while deep in thought, and tried to imagine him alone, fending for himself. They rode the rest of the way in silence, Papa distracted and Bertha fighting tears.
When Mr. Spellings limped out of the livery to greet them, Bertha saw him with new, more compassionate eyes. He waved and lumbered their way, dodging mud holes and scattered piles of manure. Just before he reached them, he took off his battered Stetson and beat it against his leg, sending hay straws flying. “Francis Biddie and little Bertha. To what do I owe such a pleasure?”
Papa raised his derby and let it settle back onto his head. “The pleasure’s ours, Sol. Stopped by to see if we can do anything for you today.”
Mr. Spellings’s cheeks rose in a warm smile. “Can’t think of a thing. I take most of my meals over at Kate Woods’s restaurant, and I hired a girl to see to my wash. Much obliged, though.”
Bertha leaned past Papa. “Are you certain, Mr. Spellings? What about sewing? Do you have any clothing in need of repair?”
He scratched his head. “Now that you mention it, I do have a bag of tattered duds at the house. Some things Carrie never got around to.” Tears clouding his soft brown eyes, he peered up at Bertha. “I’ll bring them by the house, then. If you really don’t mind.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat so she could speak. “I’ll be proud to do it.”
He swiped his eyes with his sleeve and tucked his hat on his head. “Thank you kindly, Bertha.”
Papa propped his boot on the side rail. “How’s business, Sol? This weather must be pinching your purse.”
A look of disgust came over Mr. Spellings’s face. “Nothing to brag on, that’s for sure. Folks don’t much care to ride around in the rain.” He raised one finger. “Except I did rent out a few horses on Saturday to some fellows just off the boat. And a man came in that day inquiring about a rig for Sunday. But when he came back for it yesterday, I decided not to let him have it.”
Papa frowned. “Didn’t like the color of his money?”
“Never saw his money. Didn’t want no part of it, whatever the shade. Something about him I didn’t trust.”
Papa propped his arm on his knee and leaned closer. “Local fellow?”
Mr. Spellings shook his head. “Out of Boston, I think. Staying a few days over to Brooks House.”
A sensation of dread wriggled fingers in Bertha’s belly. “Excuse me, sir. I don’t mean to interrupt, but what did he look like?”
Mr. Spellings took off his hat again, as if he couldn’t think with it on. “What’d he look like? Well, let me see.” He rubbed the top of his head as though he was trying to coax the memory back. “Sort of a fancy dresser, with a high-blown manner. Tall but not too thin. Had an overlarge mouth, if I remember right. A surly mouth, at that.”
Her stomach lurched. Abe Monroe. “Did he say why he needed the rig?”
“Claimed he wanted to take a lady around town.” He widened his eyes and curled his top lip. “In this weather, if you can believe it. I asked him to put up collateral, and he offered very little. Didn’t like it a whit when I insisted he’d have to do better.”
Papa smiled. “What’d he say to that?”
Mr. Spellings mimicked a haughty voice. “He said, ‘I guess, then, that we can walk,’ and took off down Polk Street.”
She scooted forward on the seat. “Was the woman with him, sir?”
“No, darlin’, she weren’t. I asked who his lady was, thinking she might vouch for him. He told me I wouldn’t know her, and anyway he left her over at Kate Woods’s place.”
For some reason the news unsettled her. If Abe knew Saturday evening that he planned to take Annie around town on Sunday, why didn’t Annie know about it on Saturday night?
What was it she’d said? She hoped Abe would be sick from drinking and rest in bed all day. Obviously, Annie had no idea Abe planned to take her anywhere on Sunday. Why hadn’t he mentioned it?
Bertha scarcely heard the rest of Papa and Mr. Spellings’s discussion. She squirmed like a netted fish until Papa finished his business. When they finally said good-bye and pulled out of the muddy yard in front of the livery, a mixture of relief and worry weakened her knees.
“Can’t we go faster, Papa?”
“What’s the hurry, love?”
“Nothing really. Just anxious, I guess.” She bit her lower lip. “There is one thing I haven’t yet mentioned.”
He swiveled to face her. “Well, mention it.”
“I won’t be able to see Annie if her companion is there.”
Papa scowled. “What are you saying?”
“Just that we’ll have to make sure he’s nowhere around the hotel.”
His eyes popped. “And why is that?”
She bit her knuckle and searched for the right words. “Abe won’t allow Annie to see me. He doesn’t let her have friends.”
He swung his head back and forth. “You can forget it, then. Sneaking behind a man’s back was never my style, and I won’t start now. We’ll walk up and knock on the door like proper guests or not at all.”
Fear crawled up her spine. “You don’t understand, Papa. We can’t. Abe Monr
oe is mean to the core.”
His hand shot up. “Stop right there. What sort of person speaks ill of a friend’s spouse? It’s not how we raised you, Bertha.” A crop of blotches sprouted on his cheeks. “What were you thinking, coming between a man and his wife?”
Bertha looked away, her face on fire. “Annie’s not his wife.”
Papa cleared his throat. When she glanced at him, he appeared as red as she felt. “I don’t like it, Bertha Maye.”
She swallowed hard and peered into his face. “I don’t either, Papa. But I told you some of Annie’s story. Can’t you see? She needs my help.”
He looked straight ahead again, his face grim. His mustache twitched as he chewed one side of his bottom lip then the other. “You know it’s a mighty heavy burden you’ve shouldered. Are you certain it’s your load to bear?”
Her heartbeat quickened. “It’s cost me dearly. I need to see it through.”
He released a heavy breath, gave a curt nod, and spurred on the horse. They rode up Vale Street in silence, Papa’s Irish temper still seething beside her.
When they pulled up to Brooks House, Bertha started to climb down. “Wait here. I won’t be long.”
Papa latched onto her arm. “There’ll be none of that.”
Frustrated, she plopped back. “Sorry, I forgot. Hurry, please.”
“I ain’t referring to helping you down.” He pointed at the door, his face crimson and mottled like a ripe red plum. “I mean there’ll be none of you going inside there alone.”
She heaved a sigh. “Papa, listen. I’ll inquire at the desk first. I promise not to go near her room until I’m sure he’s gone out.”
“I’m going with you, Bertha. To the lobby, at least, until I’m satisfied you’ll be safe.”
“Papa–”
“Else we leave here right now!”
Bertha winced and drew back. Papa never raised his voice to her. Defeated, she nodded. “Very well, then. Let’s go. But please. . . let me do the talking.”
After looking around the grounds in front, they passed through the doors of Brooks House and checked the lobby and parlor and then the dining room out back. Feeling like a player in one of Annie’s Broadway shows for all their skulking about, Bertha gingerly approached the desk.
Thomas, Dr. Turner’s porter, leaned over the registry, his lanky elbows planted on each side. He glanced up as they drew near, his face lighting up at the sight of Bertha’s papa.
“Well, well, well. Mr. Biddie, suh. How you? You catched any mo’ dem big old catfish?”
At the mention of his favorite subject, Papa’s bright face matched Thomas’s glow. “I ain’t been fishing any more since that day. Too much work around the house.”
“What? Too busy to fish? Mr. Biddie, that’s way too busy.” He chuckled then pursed his lips, the picture of innocence. “Well, dat’s a shame, ain’t it? I reckon since you ain’t using yo’ secret catfish bait, ain’t no reason you cain’t tell me what goes in it.”
Papa jabbed his finger in Thomas’s face. “A worthy attempt, laddie. You’ll not be gettin’ it out of me that easy.”
They laughed together; then Papa leaned in toward the desk. “Doc Turner around?”
“Naw, suh. Went home fer a spell. He be back over here directly.” He pointed at the well-appointed parlor. “You folks mighty welcome to wait.”
Bertha stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Maybe you can help us. Do you happen to know if the gentleman staying in number four is in his room?”
Thomas started around the edge of the desk. “No, ma’am, Miss Bertha, but I’ll be glad to find out.”
Papa clutched his arm. “Let’s not do that, son. We don’t necessarily want to see him, just wanted to know if he’s home.”
Thomas gave Papa a blank stare. “Yes, suh, Mr. Biddie. But it won’t trouble me none to go see if he’s in there.”
Footsteps in the hallway sent Bertha’s heart rumbling like loose boulders. She jerked around to find Jennie Simpson limping into the foyer. Jennie stopped to stare, probably because none of the Biddies ever came inside the hotel.
“Well, I swear, if it ain’t little Miss Bertha. Afternoon to you, as well, Mr. Biddie, suh.”
Bertha hurried to her. “Afternoon, Jennie. Tell me, have you been cleaning the rooms?”
Her long lashes fluttered, and she pointed at her ankle. “No, ma’am, I ain’t s’posed to.”
For the first time, Bertha saw it was swathed in white cloth.
Smiling, Jennie turned her foot back and forth so Bertha could get a better look.
“Mercy, what happened?”
“Twisted it. Near to broke. Wouldn’t be standing here now ’cepting I be about to starve to death upstairs.” She glared at Thomas. “A body could lay up and die for all they care around here.”
Thomas made a tent with his brows. “How you gon’ starve when you find your way down those stairs in time for every meal served in this place? If you ask me, you’re fit enough to work if you’re fit enough to trot around huntin’ up food all the time.” He nodded at her feet, his lips curled in a smirk. “ ’Sides, I just seen you limp out here on the wrong foot. Better not let old Doc see you do that.”
She planted her knuckles on her hips. “Shush your mouth. Why you gon’ lie on me like that?”
Bertha ducked in front of her scowling face and pointed down the hall. “Do you know if Miss Annie Monroe’s, um, husband is in the room with her?”
It seemed a dreadful struggle, but Jennie pulled her attention from Thomas to Bertha’s question. “Who?” Then her frown became a slow grin. “Oh, I know. You mean Miss Bessie’s man.”
“Miss Bessie. Yes, that’s right.”
“He ain’t here. And she ain’t neither.”
Disappointment swelled. Bertha hadn’t considered that possibility. “She’s not here?”
“No, miss. Ain’t seen her since they went off together yesterday morning. The mister, he come back all by hisself that afternoon.”
“By himself?”
“Yes’m. When I went to fetch them for dinner”–she shot a vengeful look at a grinning Thomas–“Mr. Abe say he already ate over to Miss Woods’s place. So I asked him, ‘What about Miss Bessie?’ He say he left her at the restaurant, and she gon’ be home that night.” She stopped to draw a breath. “Only this morning at breakfast”–a glare at Thomas–“she weren’t there.”
“Not there?” Bertha felt like a parrot but couldn’t stop repeating.
“No, miss. Mr. Abe be sitting at the table by hisself wearing those two big rings of hers.” She touched a finger to her lips. “Or did I see that on Saturday night? Can’t recollect which time, but I seen it.”
The front door opened behind them, and Bertha whirled. Dr. Turner stood in the foyer hanging his coat. Relieved, she clutched at her collar and drew a ragged breath.
Doc turned with a playful frown. “Does anybody work around here when I’m gone? Francis, don’t give these two any more reason to lollygag, if you don’t mind. They manage quite nicely on their own.” He widened his eyes at his two employees. “I’m back now, so get to work.”
Panic gripped Jennie’s face. “Dr. Turner, what about my leg?”
“I reckon you’ve nursed that excuse plumb to death.” He studied her mournful face then slumped his shoulders. “Very well, get upstairs and rest your leg. But I expect you for light duty tomorrow morning.”
Jennie backed away with a sullen look on her face. “Yes, suh. I’ll make it. . .somehow.”
When Jennie turned to follow Thomas from the room, Bertha was almost positive she favored the wrong foot.
Dr. Turner frowned. “Where you going? I said to get upstairs.”
She whipped around. “I’s hongry. Thomas ain’t tended me no way like he should.”
Before Thomas could protest, Doc nodded at the stairs. “Get on up there. I’ll have him fetch your supper in a bit.”
She cut sulky eyes at Thomas and smiled. “Yes, suh, Doc.”
Laughing, Doc shook Papa’s hand. “What can I do for you, Francis?”
Papa nodded toward Bertha. “Nothing for me. It’s my girl here. She’s worried about her friend. Thought maybe you could tell her where she is.”
He turned. “Your friend Annie?”
Close to tears, she only managed a nod.
“Sorry to say she’s not here. We haven’t seen her since early Sunday morning.”
Papa spoke up in Bertha’s stead. “That’s what Jennie said. Do you have an idea where she might’ve gone?”
“I saw her gentleman friend around two or three o’clock yesterday. The lady wasn’t with him. After dinner I asked if she had returned from wherever she’d been, but she hadn’t. So I asked from where he expected her return. He said he left her across the bayou visiting friends.”
Bertha’s head reeled with the information. Annie had friends across the bayou? She’d never once mentioned it. She found her voice. “When she comes back, will you tell her I’m looking for her?”
“I will.” He tilted his head toward the row of rooms down the hall. “For now, you’d best not let him see you here. It’ll just make more trouble for that poor girl.”
Bertha clutched her papa’s arm. “He’s here? Jennie said he wasn’t.”
“Oh, he’s here all right. Not answering the door is all. Paced his room all through the night, according to the other guests. Came down for breakfast this morning but didn’t eat a bite. Said he was sick last night. Stinking drunk, more like it.” He hooked his thumb toward number four. “Been moping in there all afternoon.” He grinned and winked at Papa. “Just between us, I think she finally wised up and left him.”
Bertha couldn’t get outside of Brooks House fast enough. Even with Papa beside her, the thought of coming face-to-face with Abe Monroe raised the hairs on her neck. In her nearly eighteen years, she’d never had to fear a living soul, but something about Annie’s companion stuck pure terror in her heart.
She thought of the day on the bluff when she first saw Annie’s fear of Abe reflected in those lovely gray eyes. Annie had dreaded Abe’s wrath more than an encounter with the devil himself. Then the night outside the Rosebud, even with Annie’s senses deadened by drink, Bertha had witnessed the depths of her terror.
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