The Strange Case of Baby H

by Kathryn Reiss

  “And we know the rest,” said Mother. She reached over and patted Hattie’s hand comfortingly. “It seems you saved the baby’s life.”

  Clara glanced over at Mother sharply. “After endangering her in the first place!”

  Hattie looked down at Mother’s hand resting on hers. “I’m afraid—”

  “Who wouldn’t have been afraid, dear?”

  Clara cleared her throat. “I suspect there’s more to the story, Mother.”

  “The Borden brothers, right?” demanded Edgar.

  “I’m afraid so,” said Hattie. “When Herman and Sid saw the posters that said the Forrests were searching for me and the baby, they were livid. They realized that even though the Plumsteads’ house had collapsed and burned, somehow the Forrests were still alive. No doubt the Forrests rushed home to Oakland on the first possible ferry after the quake struck, only to find their baby girl missing. The housekeeper over in Oakland had seen me heading for the ferry before the quake, so she must have reported that to the parents, and they hurried back to San Francisco. When the Borden brothers read the posters, they decided to get their kidnapping plan back on track.

  “They found me and Denny in the park and told us to get the baby back. When I refused, they beat us up. So I came here—and I tried, you know I tried! But you sent me away, and I couldn’t blame you, really. And then Sid and Herman sent me and Denny here at night. We were supposed to break in and snatch Helen … But that didn’t work, either.”

  Clara winced, remembering the dull thud of the heavy iron poker on Denny’s arm and his howl of pain. But she had kept Helen safe that night, without even knowing the danger awaiting her.

  “Wait a minute,” Clara interrupted. “Why didn’t you and Denny just run off together, leaving the baby with us? That way, when we saw the poster, we’d be the ones to take her back to her parents in Oakland. The two of you would be safely gone to Alaska, and the baby would be safe with us!”

  “You still don’t understand,” Hattie protested. “The baby isn’t safe with you. She’ll never be safe here. Sid and Herman beat us both up something terrible when we came back without the baby—Denny worse than me—he’s still unconscious! I hated to leave him, but I had to try to save Helen. Sid and Herman have vowed to capture Helen themselves. Sid wrote that note asking you to meet him at the Japanese Tea Garden and made me slip it under the door. But you didn’t go—I’m glad you didn’t!—and they’ll be truly furious now.”

  “Oh, dear Mr. Midgard and Mr. Stokes,” murmured Mother. “I’m so desperately sorry if we’ve sent them into trouble!”

  “Sid and Herman will kill me if they find me here,” moaned Hattie. “But I had to come. I wanted to take Helen to the police while the Bordens were waiting at the tea garden. Her parents must be frantic, and I must try to right the wrongs I’ve done. If anything happens to Helen, it will be on my conscience forever!”

  “On yours and mine,” declared Mother. She kissed Baby Helen’s bristly head. “I thought it was Providence who brought this baby to us. The Lord working in mysterious ways, you know.”

  Father reached over and patted Mother’s shoulder awkwardly. Clara was surprised and pleased to see this; it had been a very long time since her parents had touched each other. Since before the accident, she guessed.

  “But you understand far too well,” he said in his deep voice, “about losing a child.”

  “Oh, I do,” she whispered.

  And with a sweep of memory Clara was back in time to those two stormy days after the shipwreck when they didn’t know whether Father and Gideon would be found … whether father and son had been smashed on the rocks along with the steamship or whether they had somehow made it to shore along with the several crewmen who had been pulled from the wreckage … Clara remembered how time seemed to stand still while she and Mother didn’t know, how every breath hurt and there was a terrible ache inside her instead of a heartbeat.

  This was how Roseanna and Lucas Forrest felt now. All the wealth in the world wouldn’t shield them from the pain of losing their baby girl, and Mother understood this.

  “So of course Helen must be returned,” Mother said resolutely. “We had best go for the police right now.” She stood up with the baby in her arms. “This minute.”

  Clara pushed back her chair. “I’m coming with you,” she said.

  “Me too!” said Edgar, his eyes shining with excitement.

  “Oh, no,” said Mother. “You two will stay here. Clara especially. Am I to lose first Gideon, then Helen—and you, too?” She put her hands on her hips. “Oh, no. You will stay home and stay safe—”

  “I won’t be safe if the Borden brothers come here looking for Helen, Mother!”

  Father cleared his throat. Clara looked at him in irritation, sure he would say, as he always said, Mother knows best.

  But he spoke to his wife. “Alice,” he said firmly, “I think you shall remain here.”

  Mother’s voice was sharp. “Frederick! The telephones are out of order, and we must get the baby to the police now.”

  Father shook his head. “In this confusion? Alice, I forbid it. The whole city is afire, people are homeless and injured, everything lies in ruins—and you think the police will be sitting at the station to take care of this baby?”

  Mother’s expression was determined. “I simply must keep this child safe, and that is my final word on the matter.”

  Father stared at her, then slumped into his chair in defeat. It hadn’t been much of a fight, really, Clara thought. But it was more spunk than he’d shown in two years. Before the accident there would have been no question. When Father put his foot down, his word was law. He had been captain of his ship, head of his household, and final authority over his children … until off they’d sailed, with Mother’s prayers for safe passage ringing in their ears.

  At least Father tried, Clara told herself. But it wasn’t enough. It never was with Mother, anymore. Gideon’s death hung between them—and it always, always will.

  Mother handed the baby to Hattie and reached for her shawl on the peg by the back door. “We shall leave right now,” she said. “Clara, you and Edgar shall serve the lodgers their dinner.”

  Clara clenched her hands into fists. She felt like screaming at her mother, but she held herself in check.

  “Wait. You ought to return this with the baby.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew the silver rattle.

  Mother stowed the rattle in her own pocket, then sailed out the door with Hattie following.

  Baby Helen’s head bobbed on Hattie’s shoulder and her wide brown gaze looked back at Clara. Good-bye, the baby seemed to be saying. Pray for safe passage.

  CHAPTER 11

  KIDNAPPED!

  Clara and Edgar looked anxiously at each other until Father cleared his throat. “Alice is a determined woman,” he said. “But I should have put my foot down.”

  “Shall I go after them, Father?” asked Clara.

  He considered her. “Yes, do that. Run as fast as you can, and tell Mother I insist that she return. We will hide the baby here until morning. Surely Mr. Stokes and Mr. Midgard will have returned by then to help guard her. It is madness to go out into these conditions at night.”

  “I’ll run like the wind!” Clara jumped to her feet as Mr. Granger and the Wheeler sisters appeared in the kitchen looking for their dinner. “Coming, Edgar?”

  “You bet!”

  “Hurry, children. But if they won’t stop, I want you to return. Don’t linger in the streets. Do you understand?”

  Clara nodded. “Yes, Father.”

  “I will keep your supper warm, children.”

  “Now where are those young ones off to?” wondered Mr. Granger.

  Clara left Father to answer. She and Edgar were out the door and running down the street. The air was cooler than it had been and the sky was thick with bits of ash swirling in the wind. Clara coughed as she ran. Mother and Hattie must have turned the corner already; there was no sign
of them.

  “Come on,” cried Clara. “They can’t have gotten far.” She ran around the corner with Edgar at her heels. She’d thought the wound on her foot had healed, but running made it ache again. She tried to ignore it as she leaped over piles of rubble and darted around people and their makeshift shelters at the sides of the roads.

  It would be about ten blocks to the police station. But maybe Clara would find a policeman along the way. Where could Mother and Hattie be? Surely they couldn’t have come much farther than this so quickly?

  “Wrong way, young’uns,” a man told them as he pushed past on the next block. “You want to head for the park. Everything’s gone up ahead. Everything’s in ruins!”

  “They must be taking the side streets,” Clara said to Edgar when, after another block, they still had not found Mother and Hattie.

  “Zigzagging through the streets to throw the kidnappers off,” he added, a note of excitement in his voice.

  Clara didn’t answer. The closer they got to Market Street, the more misery they saw. It looked like the end of the world had come. Ash swirled in the wind. Burned pages from books flew past and crunched under their feet as they walked along. It was hard to tell which buildings and houses had been destroyed by the quake and which by fire—everything around them was leveled to piles of stone and brick, all blackened with soot, some still smoldering. Refugees streamed in all directions, some heading toward Golden Gate Park, some toward the ferries that would take them away from the hell that had been their shining city. And over everything hung an unearthly hush. Clara heard none of the ordinary city sounds—no jangle of tram bells or clatter of carriages. No whistle from deliverymen making their rounds. No call of paperboys: Evening edition, hot off the press! Only silence. A wounded quiet.

  “Maybe we should turn back, do you think?” asked Clara. “What if the police station is gone, too?” She hated to think they had come this far without finding Mother and Hattie and the baby. But the scene around them was so much more terrible than what she’d seen in her own neighborhood, she felt helpless and frightened.

  “There they are!” yelled Edgar suddenly, grabbing Clara’s arm. “Up ahead!”

  Up the block, Clara caught a glimpse of Mother and Hattie just disappearing over the crest of the hill. “Mother!” shouted Clara. “Hattie! Wait for us!” She and Edgar started running.

  The sky darkened, and there was a rumble that at first Clara thought must be another house exploding for the firebreak. Then she realized that the rumbling came from overhead. Thunder! The sound of thunder was rare in San Francisco. Rain usually just fell, unaccompanied by thunder and lightning. “Rain!” Clara shouted.

  “Just what we needed three days ago!” Edgar shouted in reply.

  The rain pattered down in a soothing shower, wetting the ash and clearing the evening air. Up ahead of them, Mother and Hattie had stopped and were waiting. Mother stood with hands on hips. Her scowl looked most forbidding. Hattie, holding the baby wrapped in Mother’s shawl, bent low to shield Helen from the rain.

  “I told you to stay home, young lady,” Mother said as Clara approached. “I will not let you risk your safety, and I will not stand for disobedience!”

  “Wait, Mother, please listen.” Clara put out her hand. “Father sent us. As soon as you left, he told us to run after you. He insists you return—”

  Mother stared at Clara. “He said that?” She hesitated, then shook her head and resumed walking. “We have come so far already. And our first concern must be for this baby.”

  “But, Mother, wait. Father says we’ll hide Helen at our house, and she’ll be safe until things settle down again and we can take her safely and easily—”

  Mother slowed. “He said all that?” Then she snorted. “Longest speech in two years—and I missed it?”

  “He did say all that, ma’am,” Edgar piped up. “Indeed, he seemed terribly anxious.”

  For a moment, Mother’s expression softened. She glanced over at Hattie and Helen. They were a sorry sight, soaked through in the pouring rain. A woman on horseback sloshed past them in the gutter, soiled bundles piled on the horse’s back making her look like a disreputable peddler, though she had probably been a respectable housewife only days before.

  Other people passed them, heading for the park—even a leaky tent would be better than nothing at all … And then Clara saw out of the corner of her eye two people coming the other way—away from the park, as she herself had come: two men approaching silently up the hill, marching side by side together—then, as they reached the crest, splitting up to walk several yards apart. They might have been soldiers patrolling for looters. They might have been everyday citizens out for a walk in the rain. But as they drew closer, Clara saw their faces set in identical expressions of determination. In fact, the faces were perfectly identical altogether, except for the scar scoring the cheek of the man on the left …

  “Run!” she screeched as the men closed in on Hattie and the baby. “It’s the kidnappers!”

  With a shriek, Hattie turned to flee, but the man with the scar spun her around, knocking her to the ground. Edgar launched himself at the man, kicking him hard in the back as he tried to wrest the baby from Hattie’s arms.

  “You’ve betrayed us once too often, Hattie my dear,” Clara heard the man growl. “You’ve been a very bad girl.”

  Baby Helen’s wails rose above the sound of the rain. Mother, held around the middle by the other twin, screamed for the police.

  As the man with the scar twisted around to punch Edgar, Clara saw her chance. She darted forward and snatched the baby, then started running back down the hill at top speed.

  Her skirts swirled around her and the wind slapped rain against her face. Don’t let me fall, don’t let me fall, Clara prayed, hugging Helen to her chest.

  Her feet pounded the cracked paving stones. Her heel throbbed with her heartbeat. She headed back toward the streets where the homeless had erected their blanket tents. The kidnappers would not attack with witnesses all around, would they?

  She rounded the corner, slowing down as much as she dared so that she would not slip on the slick stones. Hush, hush, she whispered to the baby. The baby’s cries were a siren in the dusk, announcing their presence. She listened for the sound of footsteps behind her, but heard nothing.

  She’d made it! She’d taken the baby and escaped!

  Panting now from exertion, Clara slowed her pace. How many more blocks till she would be home? Too many—she’d better start zigzagging through the streets to make it harder for the men to track her. Somehow she would get home—she had to!—and somehow they’d hide this baby until the police could be summoned. Surely Mother and Hattie and Edgar would follow. Oh, please, don’t let the kidnappers hurt them …

  The rainy street was deserted except for Clara and Baby Helen. And—except for the motorcar chugging down the hill behind them.

  Almost home, almost home …

  The motorcar stopped. Two figures jumped out. Police? Soldiers? Clara peered through the rain in a panic and realized that almost home was not good enough.

  The men closed in on her. She fought like a mother seal protecting her pup: bellowing for help, lashing out with her whole body, bending tight to hold little Helen, who howled in terror.

  The rain slashed down. “Let go, brat!” snarled a voice in her ear as iron-strong arms pried the baby from her grip.

  Clara struggled to hang on to Helen. When she lost the struggle, she clawed at her attackers’ faces. “I’ve seen you!” she screamed at them. “I know your faces! I’ll turn you over to the police and you’ll be sorry!”

  The man who had Helen cursed. “You hear her, Sid?”

  “Just take ’em both,” the other man growled over the wailing and the rain. “Just get ’em in the auto and go!”

  Something coarse and heavy was slapped around Clara’s head, something pulled tight, nearly cutting off light and breath. She felt herself being lifted, tossed like a bag of coal into th
e air … Then a brutal blow, and pain exploding behind her ears …

  And darkness.

  CHAPTER 12

  ON THE ROCKS

  She was struggling to swim. The dark figure below her was tangled in seaweed. She battled the water, her body stiff and slow …

  Clara awoke slowly, head groggy, mouth dry and stuffed with something fuzzy. Her body felt heavy, cold and wet. She lay on a gritty surface, roughness under her cheek. She opened her eyes, wincing at the pain that stabbed behind them. She reached up to tug off the strip of cloth that gagged her. It was fabric she recognized as having come from her own skirt. She could see the cornflower pattern in the moonlight.

  Yes, it was night. Clara could see now that she was lying on a slab of rock. Darkness surrounded her. She could hear the sound of rain but, strangely, it was not falling on her. She looked up into blackness. There was no sky overhead—just inky rock. She seemed to be inside a sort of cave. She closed her eyes slowly, trying to remember.

  She had lost the baby. She had been taken by the kidnappers and left—where? She sniffed. The night air smelled like salt.

  Over the patter of the rain she could hear a sound that frightened her almost as much as the kidnappers had because it was so unexpected: the sound of waves breaking on rocks below her.

  Moving slowly to keep the dizziness at bay, she inched forward and peered over the edge of the cave. Her head pounded from the blow that had knocked her unconscious, but the sick feeling in her stomach came from the sight before her.

  Waves surged among sharp rocks only a few feet below the edge of the cave. She craned her neck around the cave opening, gasping at the pain in her head. To her right, more rock, and the dark rise of hills in the distance. To her left … Clara blinked. Incredibly, she knew this place. She could see the dome of the Sutro Baths.

  Clara shivered. The kidnappers had stashed her in a cave in an outcropping of rocks very near Seal Rocks, where Father’s steamship had wrecked. Where Gideon had died.