by Laini Giles
“But look at all the money she’ll have to be bored with. I’d not mind at all being bored like that. Ta-ta, Libbie!” Phoebe called as she sashayed the rest of the way down Cayuga Street, leaving Libbie fuming in front of the library.
Libbie was lucky that when she returned home, she did it to an empty house. Several pieces of china bric-a-brac met violent ends when she hurled them across the room in her fury. A collection of porcelain shards littered the corner of her room.
Juliana couldn’t help but notice her mistress’s deep despair and wondered what could be the cause, until the servants’ grapevine also came alive with stories that the master’s daughter would not be marrying Mr. LaBarr. No one could imagine why. But Juliana had a sneaking suspicion. After all, she washed the young mistress’s linens.
Out of desperation, Libbie met with Tom the next day, and they agreed to run off to Cortland to complete the deed the day after the big church picnic. They could obtain the license and be married on Monday. Tom told her he would head to Newfield in the morning, enjoy himself at the picnic, and then drive by the front of Platt & Colt’s and pick her up. She would have packed a bag, and then they would be off to Cortland. By Monday, they would be man and wife.
Before they separated at the corner, she leaned back into the flivver and her face hardened. “Don’t you say a word to anyone about this.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Newfield, New York
September 1916
“Tom! Tom! Over here!”
Della waved to her brother as her husband Raymond carried over a basket full of tasty treats. She had spent the entire previous day preparing potato salad, tomato salad, roast chicken, and coffee cakes. Raymond and several other townsmen of the Newfield congregation started setting up the long tables in the shade where the ladies could place the food. They had decided weeks ago on this pleasant grove of sumac close to Pony Hollow, close to Newfield. Nearby, a burbling stream emptied into the Cayuga Inlet and then into Cayuga Lake. All in all, it was a perfect location and a bright, balmy day for a picnic. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. A light breeze blew through the leaves of the trees and ruffled the cloths beneath the food. The faint “bok bok” sound from the bushes signaled chipmunks defending their nests. The delicate scents of native asters, goldenrod, and wild grapes provided a pleasing backdrop for the festivities, as did the accompanying hum of bees.
Across the grove, other helpful parishioners set more tables with gingham fabric and put out mismatched china plates from the villagers’ kitchens. A huge metal tub held gallons and gallons of fresh lemonade.
Hi’s sisters, Alice and Lucy Gordon, had been busy, too. Despite their reduced circumstances, they had still contributed the bounty from their strawberry patch, serving it with fresh cream from the cows that had not yet been sold. Their mother, Mary Gordon, although still mourning the recent loss of her husband, carried an apple pie to one of the tables and accepted the further consolation of the townspeople. Tom watched her with the greatest of respect. Aunt Mary was one of the strongest, most wonderful women he knew. When she set the pie down, he enfolded her in a huge hug, and she nestled under his arm with her head on his chest. He could feel some of her exhaustion ebb, and he felt better knowing he could relieve her of some of her sadness.
Reverend Bliss, Newfield’s newest clergyman who had taken Reverend Savercool’s spot at the church, strolled about, greeting the congregants and meeting friends and relatives from out of town who were joining them for the day.
Della’s chickens joined with a large side of beef and a huge suckling pig, both of which someone had butchered for the occasion. In addition, there were shucked peas, loaves of fresh bread with apple butter, and another huge tub of cider. Thomas counted twenty pies, from strawberry to rhubarb, and ten alone that were apple.
Hi greeted him in a bear hug. Tom could tell Hi was trying to hold himself together for the sake of his mother and sisters, but they were all having a hard time seeing everyone for the last time before they left. Tom would have given anything to be able to help them.
“How’s the car running?” Hiram asked.
“Fine. I can’t thank you enough for it, Hi.” Tom so wished he could tell Hi how useful the car had been for making love to the girl of his dreams. But now that she was beginning to show her fangs, he wondered what wedded life would be like. He would have to work hard to keep her living in even tame squalor, compared to what she was used to. But he would continue to advance and succeed, he was convinced of it. As of Monday night, he would be a married man, and their life together would begin.
“Everything okay?” Hi asked.
“Good,” Tom said. He so wished he could tell Hi more. He wanted to let him know about the upcoming marriage, the soon-to-be-born child he just knew would be a son, and how his life was going. But he dared not yet. After the nuptials, he could tell the world of his good fortune. The boys caught up for a few minutes, then Tom went to greet Jimmy. It was only a formality, since he was still angry at Jimmy for his behavior at Uncle Zeke’s wake.
Jimmy stood with several of his siblings, watching an impromptu baseball game that had sprung up. As Tom neared, they shook hands.
“Tommy! How the heck are you?” Jimmy stepped back a bit so they could speak alone, without the Devenport sisters listening in.
Tom crossed his arms over his chest and watched one of the Ayers boys strike a batter out. “Good. You? Great day for a picnic, isn’t it?”
“Sure is. Didja have some of Aunt Mary’s apple pie? Best in the county, I’d wager.”
“I did. She sure knows her way around a pie plate,” Tom chuckled.
“Will you be down again before they leave, do you think?” Jimmy asked Tom, looking over his shoulder at Aunt Mary. He rubbed his boot in the dirt.
“I don’t know,” Tom said. “I’m going to try. I have a lot going on right now.”
“With your rich little amour?” Jimmy said.
“Jimmy, why does everything with you have to be ugly and mean lately?”
“Maybe because I’m sick of seeing you get everything that I have coming to me, that’s why.”
“What the hell are you talking about? When have I ever gotten everything? My parents are dead, I’m just scraping by at the clock factory, and my best friend is moving away. How is that everything?”
“Well,” Jimmy said, “for one, you’re driving that fine Model T, and you’ve got the prettiest girl in Ithaca on your arm. I’d say that’s a good start.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Oh yeah? How is it?” Jimmy said. “I coulda used that flivver too, you know.”
“Did you have any money saved for one?”
“Of course not. You know we’re broke.”
“Well see, that’s where we’re different. I had some savings that I paid Hi for that car. He didn’t just give it to me. What? No answer? Maybe if you put some money into an account at the bank instead of heading to Mulligan’s Tavern on Friday night or to Miss Rosie’s every weekend, you might have had enough to purchase that flivver. But you didn’t. Hi wanted it to go to someone he cared for, but he also needed some money for it.”
“She’ll never have you, you know. Not for good,” Jimmy said. He snorted.
“Wrong again, Jimmy. She’s as good as mine. You’ll find out just how wrong you are next week.”
“What’s next week?”
“You’ll see. Gotta go see my sister now.” Tom clapped Jimmy on the shoulders and gave him a slight push so Jimmy would know who was in charge. Then he went to visit with Della.
“Hello, dear,” he said, greeting her with a hug. “How are you?”
“Hi, Tom,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’ve missed you. How handsome you look.” She smiled up at him and gave him an affectionate squeeze.
The twins were near a group of older women who could keep a better eye on them while Della was busy helping to serve food. So she called them over.
“Frances, Dorothy, come here and see your Uncle Tom.”
The cherubic tots waddled back to where their mother stood with Tom. He leaned down to greet them with a big hug. They wore matching lace pinafores, with large pink bows in their pale, silky hair.
Tom clutched them both to him, thinking that in nine months, he would have his own baby to hold and cuddle. While he was convinced it would be a boy, his nieces were the most lovable creatures he’d ever seen. How could he keep such important news from his sister? How could he not tell her of his marriage until after the fact? He hoped she wouldn’t be too angry at him for eloping. But it couldn’t be helped. Libbie had told him not to tell anyone. He would keep that promise.
While he was snuggling the girls, little Frances took a hold of his cap and tossed it to the ground, giggling as she did so. Pretending to anger, he comically chased the little girl as her squeals echoed across the picnic grounds. Della watched as her brother showed his silly side, and Dorothy clapped her chubby hands in delight.
Tom continued to get reacquainted with the townspeople; he was approached by Reverend Bliss.
“Thomas, my son! How are you? It’s good to see you again. And not for such a solemn occasion.” They had seen each other for Uncle Zeke’s funeral, but Tom could not remember much about that awful day.
“I’m very well, Reverend. And yourself?”
“Marvelous. The Lord has blessed us with a stupendous day for this picnic, has he not?”
“He has indeed,” Tom said, smiling.
The reverend carried a cup of cider. Reaching into his cassock, he pulled forth a small flask, which he used to accent the natural sweetness of the fruit. Tom watched as he uncapped, poured, and recapped the small flask all in a deft one-handed fashion.
“Reverend, is that accepted for the clergy?” he asked.
“Tom, haven’t you heard the old saying? Anytime you see four Episcopal ministers, there’s always a fifth?” He let out a hearty guffaw, slapping Tom on the back. “This is the day that the Lord hath made!” he proclaimed. “Let us rejoice and be glad in it!”
Tom wondered how many cups of cider the reverend had already enjoyed. He seemed pretty glad already. Wishing him a good day, Tom moved on among the villagers.
When the festivities had been going on for several hours and the parishioners sat on the grass chatting and napping, someone called out, “Hey, everyone! It’s time for a photograph!”
The picnic-goers gathered in the shade of a golden poplar tree where Mr. Ayers, the photographer, had set up his tripod and camera.
On that afternoon of September seventeenth, 1916, the parishioners of the Newfield Methodist Episcopal Church were captured in a historical photograph, preserved for posterity, to be included in several local history books. In it, Thomas Estabrook kneeled on the bottom row and smiled, thinking of his twin nieces.
Ithaca, New York
August 1986
Pulling up outside his building, Frank grinned as he spotted the Karmann Ghia parked in one of the visitor spaces out back. It was becoming natural to see it there. Natural and very nice.
When he rounded the corner by the obnoxious privet hedge, he saw Linda sitting on the back step, enjoying the breeze. She was flipping through a People magazine and nursing a wine cooler.
“Hello, sailor,” she said. “Have I got a find for you.” She patted a paper on the pavement under her purse.
“Well, I have Italian takeout from Joe’s for us. How’s about you show me over dinner?” He gave the takeout bag a little shake.
“What are we waiting for? Let’s mangia.”
She followed him up to his place, where they shared a kiss while Linda plated their lasagna.
“I cannot wait another minute to show you this. Sit down. You need a deck, by the way. It’s gorgeous outside.”
“What is it?”
She handed him the subject of her excitement as she savored a bite of pasta.
“I decided to do a little more follow-up on our friend, Mr. Estabrook.”
“Linda, my God. What’s the date on this?”
“October thirtieth. We didn’t look far enough ahead, but it’s not our fault. It’s hard knowing if there’s anything else to find for old stories like this. I wondered if there’d been any other trace of him. Now we know.”
“Suspect in Disappearance Sought in Erie
Mr. Thomas Estabrook, who was courting Miss Elizabeth Morgan before her recent disappearance, was previously reported to have left town. His landlady and employer were adamant that he had not been seen in weeks and shared everything they knew with police, as did his sister and brother-in-law.
In the last week, it has come to light that Mr. Arthur Cabot, clerk at the Ithaca train depot, remembered Mr. Estabrook buying a ticket the morning after Miss Morgan’s disappearance. Mr. Harry Oliver, the clerk on duty the previous evening, remembered Mr. Estabrook trying to buy a ticket to New York, but due to a derailment on the eastern line, his attempt was unsuccessful. Mr. Cabot, who took over after a shift change, recalled that the man bought a ticket as far as Erie, Pennsylvania. A clerk at the Erie depot remembered seeing Mr. Estabrook, but police were unsuccessful in finding any more information about him in that city.”
Frank hugged Linda, unable to believe the lead. “Erie, here we come!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Erie, Pennsylvania
August 1986
Their elation over the good news from Erie did not last long. With Maude’s condition uncertain, Frank hemmed and hawed. Then he ended up pulling stakeout duty for another drug operation in Enfield. That made his decision for him.
Her curiosity in high gear, Linda couldn’t wait. She threw a couple days’ change of clothes in a duffel bag, hopped in the Karmann Ghia, and headed to Erie. She promised to report back to Frank. She found a volunteer at the Erie County Historical Society and met with him regarding local cemeteries, the courthouse, and trying to find local records.
The library had a few lists of burials that had been compiled from local graveyards, but none of them contained the name Estabrook. None of the historic city directories included a listing for him, either. A visit to the local courthouse for any death or marriage records in the area also yielded nothing, since Pennsylvania didn’t allow access to the records. She even checked at the library for newspaper articles not long after Libbie’s disappearance to see if the Ithaca story had made the news there after the local police had put two and two together.
A small mention in the November third edition re-energized her search:
“Ithaca Man Sought Here
Mr. Thomas Estabrook, late of Ithaca, N.Y., has been sought by police there in connection with the disappearance of Miss Elizabeth Morgan, daughter of a local Ithaca attorney. According to a clerk at the railroad depot in Ithaca, Estabrook left the area late on the night of September 16 and has not been seen since. His ticket destination was Erie, but no other information is available. Mr. Estabrook has dark hair and brown eyes and, at the time of his departure, was wearing a brown jacket and trousers, and a black bowler and brogues. Anyone with information about the case is asked to contact the local authorities, who can relay information to the Ithaca police.”
Although Linda stayed in Erie for a week, and managed to search microfilm from October through December, no other sightings occurred there. Exhausted, she dozed at the reader. She called Frank with the news but made sure to let him know she could find no other information. They agreed she should head for home.
As the Crown Victoria climbed along the steep incline to the east of the lake, Frank downshifted, aiming for one of the lakeside parks. He didn’t even care where they were headed; he just wa
nted to spend some time alone with his daughter. They needed this moment together, and he had planned ahead, hoping he could get her to open up to him.
Sullen at being pulled away from an afternoon at the mall with her friends, Shannon sat grimacing at the Stones tape Frank had in the deck. Appropriately, “Time Waits for No One” was playing, as he hoped to give voice to something important.
Frank observed Shannon’s style of the week. This time, her hair was dyed black, with a jaunty Greek fisherman’s cap over it. He wasn’t sure what to make of the shirt—a white one with soldiers on the front that stated “Meat Is Murder” in bold green letters. Must be some new band she was into. And she wore skinny little black jeans that worked their way down to a pair of fake Doc Marten boots. He knew they were fake because he had seen the prices for the real ones, and if Allison had ever asked him for that much money for a pair of shoes for their daughter, he would have hung up on her.
“Dad, why are you taking me on a picnic?” she asked. “This is so dorky, I can’t even believe it.”
“Your old man can’t just want to spend some time with you?”
“Yeah, but why here? Why now?”
“Why not? What better time is there?”
She sighed in that dramatic way only teenagers can truly master.
Frank hung a left into one of the picnic areas overlooking the lake. The panorama was stunning. It was a pretty day, but for some reason, the crowds weren’t as bad at this bunch of tables. They’d have plenty of privacy in case she felt like making a scene. It happened so often these days. He hoped for the best, though. Pulling to a stop, he grabbed the blanket he’d thrown in the back seat, then popped the trunk.
Shannon shut her car door and waited for him as he retrieved the goodies from the back. Then together, they walked to one of the concrete slab tables, where Shannon spread the blanket and unpacked the basket.