“Wonderful,” said Cassandra. “Because whatever game we’ve been playing, I don’t like it.”
On her tiptoes, Molly looked around for Nellie Bly. She spotted the young reporter signing papers amid a group of black-suited men, and beckoned her over. Nellie finished signing, shoved the documents angrily at the men, and jogged over to Molly.
“What is it?” Nellie asked.
“Are you ready to write the biggest story of your career?” Molly asked.
“Well, having just signed away my ability to do so without getting tossed in prison . . .”
“No, listen,” said Molly. “You may not be able to write about Rector, but there’s an even better story that’s just waiting to be broken—about corruption at the Inventors’ Guild. And that topic isn’t covered by any secrecy agreements.”
Nellie pulled out her notepad. “Go on.”
“Where do I even start?” Molly said. “With the Guild covering up the failed expedition that killed twelve people and stranded Captain Lee for years? Or how about the secret backroom deals President Arthur made with Bell and Edison allowing them to send expeditions to Antarctica after he’d declared it illegal for other explorers to do so?”
“Ooh, and don’t forget how the Guild bribed the World’s Fair Planning and Preparatory Committee to reserve all of Inventors’ Alley for its members,” Cassandra added.
“This is . . . wow,” Nellie said, writing feverishly. “The news bear strikes again!”
“Oh, we’re just getting started,” said Molly. “I can tell you about hidden labs, spying, stealing ideas from one another, the Guild’s secret Club in Washington, DC, where they blow all their government funding on fancy napkins and gold unicorns . . .”
Emmett ran up and leaned against Molly, doubled over and panting.
“Oh, hey, Emmett,” Molly said. “We’re helping Nellie write a scandalous exposé to sink the Inventors’ Guild!”
“That’s great,” he said, catching his breath.
“Son, are you okay?” his father asked. “Did you find that machine? It didn’t squash anybody, did it?”
Emmett nodded. “I found it. I found the Mind-Melter. And the good news is that, no, nobody was hurt. It landed off in the woods back toward the bunker.”
Molly winced. “What’s the bad news?”
“Oh, sorry—there is no bad news!” Emmett said cheerily. “Just more good news. Because I also found this inside of it . . .” He opened his coat to reveal what he’d been hiding:
The Mind-Melter’s former power supply, a bowling-ball-sized hunk of Ambrosium.
28
And the Winner Is . . .
New York City, November 4, 1884
“EXCUSE ME, EXCUSE me!” Molly nudged her way through the crowd of eager, hungry customers jamming Pepper’s Pickles. She squeezed over to the wall across from the counter, which she’d been decorating, day by day, with front-page articles from the New York World.
DECEPTION, TREACHERY & ABUSE OF POWER
AT THE INVENTORS’ GUILD
A STARTLING EXPOSÉ
BY NELLIE BLY
TIES TO GUILD CORRUPTION SPELL TROUBLE
FOR PRESIDENT ARTHUR
CAN HIS SIDEBURNS SAVE HIM?
BY NELLIE BLY
PUBLIC OUTCRY LEADS GOV. CLEVELAND TO
SHUT DOWN INVENTORS’ GUILD
FAMED NYC HEADQUARTERS TO
GO UP FOR AUCTION
BY NELLIE BLY
Molly pasted her latest favorite at the end of the line.
MIRED IN SCANDAL, EDISON ENDS
BID FOR PRESIDENCY
INVENTOR’S NAME TO BE REMOVED FROM BALLOT
BY NELLIE BLY
“Our friend has certainly had a busy couple of weeks,” Cassandra said, tossing an unsealed jar of Hungarian Half-Sours to a customer and splashing brine across the first several people in line. “And it’s all thanks to you, you know.”
“Oh, pshaw,” Molly said with overplayed modesty.
Emmett worked his way through the packed shop to restock tins of salt on the shelf next to her. “Seriously, though, Molly,” he said under his breath. “Does it bother you that your name isn’t in any of those articles?”
Molly shook her head. “It can’t be. I knew that full well when I pushed Nellie to write about the Guild. I mean, sure, it would have been nice to be as famous as she is right now—and technically speaking, we deserve it—but seeing the impact her stories have had already . . . Yeah, sure, it bothers me. I haven’t become a different person suddenly! But—at the same time, I am ecstatically happy that the truth is finally out there. Some of it, anyway. To be honest, I’m mostly shocked that she got her exposé published in the World. It was her editor there who turned her in to the Feds last year when she first tried to write about you-know-who.”
Emmett shrugged. “I guess the World’s new publisher—I think his name is Mr. Pulitzer?—is more open to muckraking stories like the ones Nellie writes.”
There was a commotion as someone squeezed in through the packed doorway. “Make way! Pickle seller coming through!” Jasper Bloom called out as he sidled into the room. The customers all cheered. “Hello, pickle lovers of New York! I have returned! I am sorry to have been absent for such a lengthy length of time, but, as you all know—you’d better know—today is Election Day. I had to do my civic duty and cast my vote for president. But apparently, everybody else in the city decided to do so at the exact same time—”
“Not everybody else,” Cassandra said pointedly.
“Someday,” Molly said to her.
“—because the only lines longer than the ones here are the lines down at the ballot boxes. I tried to tell them folks that I had pickle people waiting on me back here, but they made me stand in line just like everyone else. Balthazar Birdhouse wouldn’t’ve waited, I can tell you that much. He’d’ve run screaming if he saw lines like that. The man’s got no patience. Not that it would’ve mattered—Balthazar Birdhouse only votes for himself anyways. Every election, he writes his own name in. Doesn’t matter if it’s for president or dogcatcher, he thinks he’s the one for the job. And speaking of jobs . . . Mrs. Pepper! Thank you for taking my place while I was out being a good citizen, but I’m ready to slip behind that counter again, so you can go take it easy.”
“Oh, it was no problem, Mr. Bloom,” Cassandra said, absentmindedly noshing on a pickle she had pulled for a customer. “Honestly, I think Robot could have handled the task by himself.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Pepper,” Robot said with a tip of his dashing gray fedora. “But as the newest, least experienced employee of Pepper’s Pickles, I am happy to remain Mr. Bloom’s apprentice until I have mastered all the skills necessary for this position.” He leaned over the counter, lowering his big-eyed metallic face toward that of a small child waiting with his mother on the other side. “What can I get for you, human youth?”
The boy squealed with delight. “The toy man’s talking to me!”
“I am not a toy,” Robot said cheerily. “Nor a man. But you are tiny and presumably uneducated, so call me what you wish. I like children. And dogs. Isn’t that right, Dr. Stinkums?”
The scruffy pooch did not respond. He was too busy stealing pickles from a customer’s bag.
“How the heck did that dog get in the store?” Molly gasped.
“Never mind that—how did he get to New York?” Emmett asked, gaping. “I thought we’d lost him again when we left DC!”
“I am not surprised he found his way to us,” said Robot. “Dr. Stinkums is a genius, after all.”
Molly crouched down and scratched the pooch’s matted fur. She couldn’t help but wonder if the Ambrosium he’d ingested had finally turned Dr. Stinkums into the genius Robot always thought him to be. Was it her imagination, or could she actually see a spark of intelligence in those big brown eyes? The mutt looked her in the eye and nodded his head, as if he could read her mind. Then he coughed up the pickle he had apparently tried to swallow whole
. And tried to swallow it whole again.
“I think Dr. Stinkums should be my apprentice, just as I am Mr. Bloom’s apprentice,” said Robot.
Emmett laughed. “The only problem is that Dr. Stinkums doesn’t live in New York,” he said. “He belongs back in Ohio with Orla. And Luddie. We should probably take him back there.”
“Ah, I see what’s going on, Emmmmmett,” Molly said with a playful smirk. “You’re looking for an excuse to go see Orla again.”
“What?” Emmett protested. “You think I want to— That’s not— I mean—”
Molly laughed.
Over at the counter, a woman asked for some dill pickles and Robot thrust his hand directly into a brine-filled jar to retrieve some. “Won’t you rust?” the woman asked.
Robot knocked on his chest, which glowed with a faint orange light. “Aluminum,” he said proudly. “I cannot rust. I can, however, do this.” And he began juggling the pickles to raucous applause from the customers.
Molly smiled. She’d always said Robot was meant to be an entertainer.
With all the cheering for Robot’s circus act, Molly almost missed the entrance of Hertha and the Mothers of Invention, and Captain Lee right behind them. Hertha stood tall and raised her hand above the crowd to point toward the cordoned-off rear area of the store. Cassandra nodded.
“You have the helm, Mr. Bloom,” she said to Jasper before joining the children, Captain Lee, and the MOI in the living space behind the privacy screen.
“All right, Robot,” said Jasper. “Let’s sell some pickles. And don’t be afraid to throw in some stories about old Balthazar Birdhouse—these folks really seem to like getting educated about that fella.”
“I have never met the man,” said Robot.
“And you should pray you never do!” said Jasper.
In the back, Cassandra greeted Hertha, Sarah, Josephine, Mary, and Margaret with a warm smile. “Well, look at this,” she said. “You’re all here. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“We’re celebrating!” Sarah said gleefully.
Hertha raised her hand and dangled a jingly set of keys. “Guess who just pooled their funds and became the new tenants of the building formerly known as Inventors’ Guild Hall?”
Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “If you say it’s anyone other than you, those keys will have been cruelly misleading.”
“It is us!” said Mary.
“I can’t wait to clean the place up and finally make it presentable,” added Josephine. “If we were to melt down all that gold, we’d probably have enough to buy the theater next door as well.”
Molly and Emmett hugged each other, giddy with happiness for their incredibly worthy friends. “Finally,” Molly said. “We’ll finally have a Guild that’s all women!”
“Oh, no, dear, we’re not that petty,” Hertha said. “This new enterprise of ours will have quite a different goal from that of the old Inventors’ Guild. We plan to dole out resources, workspace, and mentoring to promising inventors who may not have had access to such things in the past. We’re looking to give a boost to craftspeople whose enormous potential has been stifled by lack of opportunity.”
Cassandra grinned contentedly, but said nothing.
Margaret nudged Hertha. “You might want to tell her who you’re talking about.”
“Oh, quite.” Hertha pulled a shiny bronze key from the ring and held it out to Cassandra. “No one as brilliant as you should be stuck in the back of a pickle shop. This is the key to your new workshop. If you want it.”
Cassandra glanced over to Molly, who nodded so hard she was afraid her head might fly off. Cassandra took the key.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Pepper!” Emmett said. “You’re finally going to have the kind of space and tools you need. I can’t wait to see what you come up with now. You deserve this.”
“Oh, I have more keys here, young man,” Hertha said. She pulled another from the ring and placed it in Emmett’s hand. “I did say we wanted the most promising inventors . . .”
Emmett stared at the key as if it were the Star of Ceylon. But then he looked up at his father. “Papa, do you think—”
“Of course you’re taking it!” Captain Lee beamed. “There’s an apartment attached to that workshop. To both of them!” He nodded to Cassandra and Molly.
“You mean we get to live in the Guild Hall?” Molly asked. She grabbed Emmett’s hands. “And be neighbors?” She was practically levitating with joy.
The captain nodded. “And these incredible women are going to build me a new ship,” he said. “A speedy, futuristic one even faster and grander than Bell’s AquaZephyr. I’m finally going to be a real captain again!”
“That’s . . . that’s wonderful,” Emmett said. He seemed torn. “You’ve really missed being at sea, haven’t you?”
“Put your worries back in your pocket,” his father said. “I’m not going to ask you to come with me. And I won’t be gone for long. Just short voyages here and there. I could, however, use some new navigation equipment. Or a communication device for talking to family back on shore. Maybe some kind of machine that makes sea rations taste better. You wouldn’t happen to know any inventors who might be interested in working on these projects for me, would you?”
Emmett embraced his father.
Molly couldn’t stop smiling. After everything they’d been through, all the mistakes she’d made, all the times she’d thought she’d lost everything, now she was suddenly looking at so many new beginnings, so many second chances. Maybe some of her bad decisions hadn’t been so bad after all.
“Well, Molls,” her mother said. Cassandra put an arm around her daughter and together they surveyed their ecstatically happy friends. “Looks like Emmett’s going to have his hands full for a while, so I’m going to be in the market for a new lab assistant . . . or perhaps an old one?”
Molly smiled at her. “Thanks, Mother,” she said. “But you should have the MOI find you someone who really wants—and deserves—the job.”
“But what will you do, Molls? I can’t imagine you’ll be happy assisting Jasper at the pickle counter.”
“No, I think that job belongs to Robot,” Molly said. “But don’t worry about me. I’ve got plenty to do.” She picked up her pencil and notepad. “After all, this world’s not going to change itself.”
Epilogue
Found
Washington, DC, March 4, 1933
THE ATMOSPHERE OUTSIDE the US Capitol building was jubilant as a record-breaking crowd gathered to witness the inauguration of President Roosevelt. Molly flipped up her coat collar to protect herself from the brisk wind as she stood in the bleachers, looking for her old friend. It had been a while since they’d seen each other, but the moment she laid eyes on Emmett, inching down the row of seats toward her, she felt at home. When he reached her, Emmett tucked in his scarf and leaned back to take a good look at her.
“You’ve got more gray hair than last time,” he said with a grin.
“And you’ve got less hair in general!”
The two hugged each other, laughing.
“How’s Orla?” Molly asked.
“Oh, she’s great. Asks about you all the time. Luddie?”
“Good, good. We should all get together soon.”
“Yeah, maybe at Jasper’s. His place is certainly big enough. Yeah, that would be really nice.” He let out a misty puff of breath as he took in his surroundings—the capitol dome rising majestically in one direction, the antenna-less Washington Monument looming in the other. “This is the first time I’ve been back, you know.”
“Since when? Wait, you mean the day of you-know-who’s final gambit?” Molly asked, squinting at him. “Not since then? Really?”
“We non-muckrakers don’t have need to spend as much time in the nation’s capital as you,” Emmett said. “Though I’ve read enough of your stories to feel like I’ve been here.”
She grinned. “Yeah, I suppose I’ve gotten a few good ones in over the years. Thoug
h honestly, none as surprising as when we found out Balthazar Birdhouse was a real person.”
Emmett laughed. “Well, thanks for suggesting we meet up for the inauguration,” he said. “If there was ever a good reason to come back to DC . . .”
He caught Molly staring up at the peak of the Washington Monument. “Hard to believe it’s been almost fifty years,” he said.
“Is it weird to think of those as good times?” Molly said. A tear welled up in the corner of her eye. She dabbed it with a glove, telling herself it was just the cold. “Ah, I know it shouldn’t still bother me after all this time, but it does. You think anyone will ever get to learn what really happened that day? Or at the World’s Fair? Or in Antarctica?”
Emmett raised an eyebrow. “You know, your name has been in the papers since then.”
“But that’s me writing about stuff other people have done.”
“Exactly,” said Emmett. “Things those other people shouldn’t have been doing, which you uncovered and told the rest of the world about.”
“I know, I know,” Molly replied in a self-mocking singsong. She raised her chin to let the bright sun warm her face. The history books may have skipped over her, but she would never have traded the life she’d lived. And was still living. She was only sixty-two, after all. Her story was far from over. “Sometimes I just wonder how much of a difference we really made.”
Emmett smiled at her. “You’re never going to be satisfied, are you, Molly Pepper?”
She chuckled. “Heh. When you’re satisfied, you stop trying.”
“Well, who knows,” said Emmett. “Maybe Roosevelt will finally free us from those confidentiality contracts. I’ve heard that—”
The band on the flag-draped stage began playing “Hail to the Chief.”
“Ooh, they’re starting!” Molly said. “This is it.”
The crowd hushed as the president-elect walked onto the stage, to join the chief justice of the Supreme Court, who was waiting to administer the oath of office. Everyone in the bleachers was standing, so Molly lifted herself onto her tiptoes (aging hadn’t made her any taller) and Emmett let her lean on him for a better view. Molly mouthed a quick thank-you to her oldest, dearest friend, then immediately turned back to the action and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She didn’t want to miss a moment of the swearing in of President Eleanor Roosevelt.
The Final Gambit Page 26