by Jane Steen
“Don’t think of confronting him for me, Martin. I will find a time and place to do it. To be honest, I am putting off the moment.” As soon as I said this, I knew I was admitting a difficult truth to myself. “I feel that I have a duty to bring justice to Jo and Benjamin, to Blackie, even to poor Mr. Ostrander; yet I am afraid to put myself and Sarah into danger by confronting Hiram. And I am afraid of the effect any shock might have on Mama, and besides I keep hoping—for her sake—that Stepfather has some kind of explanation that exonerates him.”
“Such as?” Martin’s expression was incredulous.
“Such as that there is another Hiley Jackson, or—or—or—I don’t know.” I sighed. “I am a coward, Martin. I don’t want it to be true.”
Martin was silent for several minutes, and I listened to the thunder outside. A summer storm was beating hard on the windowpanes, but inside this haven, redolent with the beeswax Tabby used on the furniture, I felt safe and secure.
“I do not think there is another Hiley Jackson, Nell,” he said slowly. “I can tell you something that corroborates Mr. Ostrander’s story.”
THIRTY-THREE
A crash of thunder shook the house, and I stepped into the hallway to listen for Sarah. There were no sounds from upstairs, so I returned to the sitting room and resumed my place opposite Martin, who was trimming the lamp. Once the light had returned to a steady golden glow, he seated himself and spent a minute collecting his thoughts, his hands interlaced under his chin.
“You know, Nell, that sometimes I attend the political meetings held at your stepfather’s store.”
“Yes, I suppose I do.”
“I don’t make a habit of it, as my ambitions do not lie in the political arena. And yet it can be useful to be there on occasion; the most influential men in Victory make useful commercial allies as well as political ones.”
I nodded, willing him to come to the point.
“About two years ago, one meeting ended early with the decision to adjourn to Murphy’s saloon. There are some hard drinkers in that group, and that evening they were in the majority. So I went along; I am not especially fond of liquor, but the conversation had been interesting, and I hoped for a few words with one of the men.”
Martin shifted in his chair as a gust of wind rattled the window casement. “Your stepfather is also not a drinker, I think.”
“He rarely drinks. Like you, he finds it expedient to do so on occasion.”
“Precisely. That was one of those evenings. Hiram partook of several glasses of bourbon. He became very loud and rather boastful.”
Where on earth was this leading? I leaned forward in my chair, the better to catch Martin’s words above the noise of the rain and thunder.
“He said many things that night, but one thing in particular I remember. He talked about the Prairie Haven Poor Farm and what a benefactor he was to the imbeciles who resided there. One of the other men, who was thoroughly drunk, called them ‘useless dribblers’ and made unpleasant remarks about their mental capacities, their appearance, and so on.”
A year earlier, such a remark would have passed over me. Now I felt my lips tighten as I thought of the women I had come to know.
“So Hiram said,” Martin leaned forward, “that some of the women were quite pretty. I do not want to repeat his exact terms, Nell, as they were most vulgar. But he implied that some of the women were worth taking to bed.” His cheeks darkened slightly, but he held my gaze and spoke without hesitation.
“He said something along these lines: ‘There’s a little girl called Jo who’s like a china doll—prettiest blue eyes you ever saw. She adores me, and she’d—’.” He flushed a deeper red and took a deep breath before continuing. “Well, Nell, I don’t want to repeat that part. But he implied that this Jo would welcome him into her arms.”
My disgust must have shown on my face, because Martin reached across the space that separated us and took my hand in his. “I’m sorry, Nell. Hiram did not say anything more specific about Jo, because the conversation took a decidedly vulgar turn and some of the men talked about adjourning to a certain establishment down by the river. I shook a few hands and left, pleading an early start the next day. The truth was, I had become thoroughly tired of the conversation and did not want to be dragged into the proposed activities. I do not consort with the kind of women they planned to visit.”
I was grateful for that, but I did not miss the implication of Martin’s story. It seemed likely that my stepfather had joined in the rest of the evening’s activities. I shuddered.
Martin released my hand and leaned back in his chair. “It is a distasteful story, and I am sorry to have told it. But it undoubtedly suggests that Hiram was the Hiley, or the Ly-lee, that Jo identified as the man she had been with. I am really very sorry, Nell.”
We were quiet for a while, listening to the sound of the rain. The thunder had headed south and was now just a muted grumbling in the distance.
I had been letting the days slip by in comfort, giving myself time for the excitement of my escape to die down, but I could not put off the confrontation with my stepfather for much longer. I said so to Martin.
“Your stepfather is currently in Chicago, I hear,” was his response. “You will not see him for another two weeks.”
I felt both disappointed and relieved. “So my mother will be alone with Bet.”
“I believe that to be the case. There is no visitor at your house that I know of.”
“Martin, I have been longing to see Mama. Would it be possible to drive me to my home tomorrow, after it is dark?”
“That will be very late, Nell.”
“My mother keeps late hours; lying in bed makes her feel short of breath. And Martin, my new dress is finished,” I smiled gratefully at him, “and Sarah is well dressed and bonny. We will make our appearance in glowing health and can at least put my mother’s mind to rest on that point.”
“Very well.”
“And I will stay there until Stepfather returns, Martin. As long as you promise to visit every day.” Coward as I was, I felt better knowing that I could enjoy my old friend’s pleasant, undemanding company while I nerved myself up for the confrontation with Hiram.
Martin smiled, his beaky nose throwing a shadow over his face. “Of course; and I will be your protector should the need arise.” I smiled with relief; he had understood me. But his next remark made me sit up straighter.
“I would like to be there when you talk to your stepfather—”
“No!” I did not really know why I objected, but Martin’s next remark was to the point.
“Listen to me, Nell. I would like to be there, but I do not think it wise.”
I let the silence stretch out between us, knowing what he meant. Martin was deathly afraid of his own temper; becoming like his father was his deepest fear. If Hiram admitted his guilt to Martin’s face… but I also knew that would never happen. Around Martin, Hiram would be guarded. Alone, I believed I could extract a confession, simply because Hiram was so arrogant that he would believe that I, a mere woman in his household, had no power to raise the world against him.
“I will be your protector,” Martin said slowly, “at a distance. Nell, we must find some way to make it clear to Hiram that I know what you know and that I am watching out for you. And I will watch my own back very, very carefully,” he said in answer to my unspoken anxiety. “I am not Jo or Blackie. We only have the slimmest evidence against Hiram, and I am not sure whether we could ever bring him to real justice. But perhaps with the two of us ranged against him, he will at least harm nobody else.”
Martin was silent for several minutes, apparently thinking things over. And then he smiled.
“I will miss your companionship of an evening, Nell. But your mother awaits you, and you are right: it is time for you to go home.”
THIRTY-FOUR
My heart beat very fast as Martin handed me down from the gig, balancing Sarah expert
ly on his left arm. Sarah crowed and grasped Martin’s prominent nose, causing us both to laugh. We were about a hundred yards from my house.
I was smartly attired and so was Sarah, who did not seem to mind at all that she was expected to stay awake so late in the evening. The few clothes I now owned were in a carpetbag that Martin swung down from the gig.
“Are you sure that you do not want me to come with you?”
“Martin, you are very kind, but it is extremely late.”
Martin sighed. “I will call tomorrow, then. Do not think that I will neglect you, Nell.” He swept me into a tight hug with his free hand, and then handed Sarah to me. Leaning in, he kissed Sarah gently on the forehead, and then I felt his lips brush my own cheek. He smelled of soap and clean linen.
Martin handed me the carpetbag, which I took in my right hand. With Sarah’s little hand clutching at my new dress, I threw one last look back at Martin, standing by his gig, and then turned my face toward my mother’s house.
I did not wish to pull on the front doorbell as if I were a visitor. I lifted the latch on the gate leading to the rear of the house and felt my way carefully along the uneven stones of the path to the kitchen door. Sarah waved her arms vigorously and made “wa-wa-wa-wa” sounds.
The door to the kitchen was latched, and I could see the glow of a lamp inside. Bet would have sent Marie to bed by now, but she never retired until my mother did. I knocked gently on the kitchen door.
I thought I heard a faint exclamation of “Mother of God!” inside, and the scraping of a chair on the floor. The door opened a crack, and a familiar voice said, “Who’s there?”
“It is Nell, dear Bet. Do let me in.”
The door was flung back instantly, and Bet stood there holding a small lamp in her hand. Her bushy hair was beginning to come down from its topknot, and her chocolate-colored eyes were as round as pennies. I could not stop my face from breaking into a fond smile.
“Miss Nell, and in the middle of the night!” She had the good sense to drop her voice to a near-whisper. “Get you inside now.” She grabbed the carpetbag, ushered me in, and shut the door.
Sarah uttered a crow of greeting to the oil lamp, then balled her right fist and began to chew on it with enthusiasm, fixing her blue-green eyes on Bet.
The air whistled through the gap in Bet’s bottom teeth as she held up the lamp and gazed on my child. Then her face broke into a smile as if despite herself, and she chucked Sarah under the chin with a rough hand. Sarah immediately took her fist out of her mouth and deftly landed the spittle-coated article on Bet’s fingers.
I could not help laughing, and Bet joined in. She turned and led the way into the kitchen, where she stared at Sarah again by the light of the much larger lamp that stood on the table by her armchair. Untying the strings of Sarah’s little bonnet, she lifted it off her head. A huge grin spread over her rounded cheeks.
“Look at that hair now,” she said, holding out her arms toward Sarah, who turned quite willingly into them. She balanced Sarah expertly on one arm and stroked the tuft of copper-red curls fondly. “The very color of the old master’s. Mr. Lillington would have doted on that head, and no mistake.”
She looked at me as I stood removing my own hat. “And you’re no less bonny than you were when you left, just a mite thinner. We all thought you were gone off across the lakes to Canada, only Mrs. Jackson, she just wouldn’t worry about you. Kept saying she was sure you were safe, and here you are!”
“I am quite well, Bet, and longing to see Mama again. Is it true that my stepfather’s gone to Chicago?”
Bet sniffed. “Yes, he’s off again on political business. It’ll be a few days before he returns.” She looked at me sharply. “Is it that you’re intent on seeing him or intent on not seeing him?” Her eyes were full of questions.
“I need to talk with him, Bet. I am certain that I can convince him to let me keep Sarah.” I saw an expression flit across Bet’s open face that was compounded of relief and puzzlement. She was clearly wondering how I proposed to achieve this feat, but by the way she was looking at Sarah, I somehow didn’t think she was going to try to persuade me that giving up my baby would be the best course of action.
A small bell rang in the corner of the kitchen with a silvery tinkle, and Bet handed Sarah—reluctantly, I thought—back to me.
“Mrs. Jackson will be wanting some more of the good lemonade I made yesterday.” She headed toward the pantry and returned with a jug dripping water from where it had been immersed in a large bowl to keep cool. “I will take her a glass, and I will break the news of your arrival.” She looked at me carefully, clearly taking in the details of my dress. “You’d not have been that well dressed at the Poor Farm, I’m thinking?”
I was aware that I looked very elegant. I had studied the fashion-plates in Godey’s Lady’s Book carefully and drawn on Martin’s expert advice, and the result was most pleasing.
Setting Sarah carefully down in the corner of Bet’s armchair, I turned to the small mirror by the hearth, unpinning my hat. “Mr. Rutherford has been kind enough to give me shelter and provide the necessary articles of clothing.” I felt embarrassed to admit that I had been staying with a bachelor but eager to reassure Bet that it had only been Martin.
“Mr. Rutherford, was it?” Bet plunked the jug down on the table and darted toward Sarah, who was preparing to roll toward the edge of the chair. Setting a freckled hand firmly on my baby’s squirming body, she turned a relieved face to me. “I believe your Mama suspected as much. Why else would she be so little worried about you, and not a word from you all this time? Ah, but he’s a good man, Mr. Rutherford. No brother could be more fond of you.” She lifted Sarah up, set her firmly in my arms, and whisked a glass from the cupboard. Setting jug and glass on a tray, she prepared to go upstairs but hesitated at the doorway.
“I need to warn you, Miss Nell. I am worried about Mrs. Jackson. I think her health’s turning for the worse. I hear her coughing a great deal at night, and sometimes there’s pink on her handkerchiefs.”
“Did you consult the doctor?”
“Of course, Miss, but he says the same thing always: light exercise, rest, and no excitement. He says there’s fluid on her lungs because her heart is weak, poor lady. And she won’t let your stepfather send for a better physician from Chicago, neither. She says it’s not like they could take her heart out and put in a new one, so why fuss?”
Shaking her head, she headed for the stairs to my mother’s room. I suddenly wanted to push past her and run straight to Mama; why had I waited so long to see her? Feeling worry gnaw at the pit of my stomach, I followed Bet into the hallway.
THIRTY-FIVE
Bet returned in a matter of moments and motioned for me to go up. I took the stairs two at a time in a most unladylike manner, while Sarah squealed in delight at the sudden movement. Mama’s door was an inch or two open, and I pushed it gently.
My mother was sitting propped up on a chaise, swathed in a loose gown. She did not look very changed: a little puffier in the face, perhaps, and maybe there were a few more streaks of gray in her pale blonde hair. But she was smiling sweetly, an expectant and somehow satisfied look in her eyes. Her gaze shifted immediately to Sarah, and her smile grew more tender.
I was across the room in four strides, flung myself on my knees, and buried my face in my mother’s neck. I felt a lump rise in my throat as she stroked my hair and had to bite my lip to keep myself from bawling like a child. Sarah squawked loudly right next to my ear, and I jumped and laughed despite the tears in my eyes.
“I see my granddaughter is beautiful,” said my mother fondly. “Put her in my lap, Nell dear, and let me take a look at her.”
I stepped back to watch my mother and daughter take the measure of each other. Sarah sat up surprisingly straight, lifted her head to look at the new face, and gazed solemnly at her grandmother for a few moments before yawning and rubbing her face with her tiny left hand. In the lamplight, her eyes glow
ed a pale jade green.
Mama looked up at me quickly and then back down at my baby again but said nothing. Sarah yawned even wider than before, exposing her two teeth, and grizzled a little. Cuddling Sarah against her shoulder, Mama gazed at me reflectively for a moment. I waited, feeling sure what her next question would be, but it did not come. Instead, she smiled cheerfully and spoke in a much brisker tone.
“And you, Nell. You look positively prosperous. Where did you get that lovely dress? Surely not at the Poor Farm?”
“I think you know it was Martin, Mama. He has been a true friend to us. I did not want to turn up on your doorstep in my Poor Farm dress.”
“I have worried so much about how you were faring in that place.” Mama’s brow furrowed. “Hiram kept reassuring me that you were well treated, and I received two most elegant letters from Mrs. Lombardi—but to think of my own daughter, brought up in every comfort, living in such a place …” Her voice trailed off, and she coughed a little, turning her head away from Sarah.
I carried a delicate chair over to my mother and seated myself near her. “You know, Mama, it was strange at first to be in such a place, but in many ways Stepfather made a good decision. I was able to be useful and was respected there. And Mrs. Lombardi is a good, intelligent, and pious woman.”
“That much was evident from her letters. But the other women… the imbeciles, the women of ill repute …”
“Some of the women have rough manners, but that is the fault of their upbringing, Mama. And I made a friend you would call an imbecile who is as well mannered and refined as many of the people we see around us every day. The women are unfortunate rather than vicious, for the most part. Most of them just want to be loved, and they respond to kindness with great devotion.”