by S. L. Stoner
Millie must have realized the same thing because her tone became more business-like. “I have a lot of experience with problems like yours,” she told him. “I work with an organization called the Boys and Girls Aid Society. I spoke with them about the three of you and they would like you to stay with them.”
Her voice earnest, she continued, “I’ll be honest with you. At first, you three will stay in the same room until they are sure you haven’t caught your mother’s TB. After that, you will sleep in dormitories, Carrie Lynne with the girls, you with the boys and Emma Jane with the infants.”
That last bit wrinkled Terry’s brow but he said nothing and Millie hurried on, “There’s a playground where you can play together, you can visit Emma Jane at any time, and, of course, you will eat together.” She paused, allowing that all to sink in.
It would be an exaggeration to say that Terry’s reaction was positive but he didn’t seem to be objecting. He looked down into Carrie Lynne’s wide-eyed stare and then up at Millie. “Anything else?” he asked.
She hesitated, knowing the next condition might be the biggest stumbling block. “You and Carrie Lynne would have to go to school during the day. And, you would not be allowed to work nights because that is against the law.”
Terry’s head reared back. He opened his mouth but then snapped it shut. Mae saw a look of calculation cross his face. “They won’t try to adopt us out?” was all he asked.
“No. There can be no adoption since you have a mother who loves you, wants you and has done her very best to give you a home.” Millie’s tone was firm and believable and Terry nodded. She then added. “You will be permitted to work after school until seven p.m. so you can save money for a home once your mother gets better. The Society will even help you find a job.” That little snippet didn’t seem to encourage Terry. Mae wondered why.
“Okay,” Dr. Lane said in a louder voice that signaled his examination was over, and he wanted their attention. “Mrs. Tobias does have TB and she is eligible for admission to the sanatorium. I explained to her that someone has offered to pay the six dollars a week cost. I also told her about the Boys and Girls Aid Society. She says that she is willing to allow the children to stay there temporarily provided they will be allowed to visit her at the sanatorium.”
“Where is the sanatorium?” Terry asked
Millie was the one who answered. “It’s on River Road, between the villages of Milwaukie and Oak Grove. It has cottages with steam heat and hot and cold running water. When it gets warm enough, there will be a canvas tent on a platform so that your mother can live and breathe in fresh, clean air. It will help her lungs recover.” Millie’s enthusiasm reminded Mae that Millie was one of the sanatorium’s founders.
Terry zeroed in on the biggest problem. “It’s a long way out to Oak Grove. Too far for the three of us to walk and we don’t have no money for a train.”
The doctor raised an inquiring eyebrow in Millie’s direction but it was Mae who answered, “I will escort the three of you, myself, every weekend, and pay for your train fare.”
Silence fell until Terry broke it. “I need to talk to Ma,” he said. “Privately.”
The doctor moved away and Terry went to his mother. There followed an intense and whispered conversation. Mary kept shaking her head vehemently which set her to coughing. Terry kept whispering and finally she gave a reluctant nod to whatever he’d been proposing.
He turned to them, his face grimly resolute. “We’ll have to pack our things up. How soon can you move our Ma to the sanatorium?” he asked.
Sage was mindful that the sun had dropped beneath the clouds’ edge. He was heading south toward the farmers’ market. Come dusk he had to be at Speedy Messenger. That gave him less than an hour. Before embarking on that great pleasure, however, he planned to question Matthew’s messenger friends as to why Matthew had left their ranks.
One corner of the market building sported a wide metal awning. From what Matthew had said, this had to be where the bike messengers gathered after school. Oddly, not a single young student stood about. He ambled around the huge granite building and never saw a single messenger. Reaching the awning once more, he asked a fruit seller where the messengers were.
“I no see them some days past now,” the dark-eyed man with curly black hair said in a thick Italian accent.
“You know why?”
The seller shook his head. “One day they here, next day, poof,” he said, throwing his hands in the air for emphasis.
Sage trudged back to Mozart’s puzzling over the messengers’ absence.
As it was, he barely arrived at Speedy on time. Kimble was there and still unpleasant. Terry arrived right after Sage. Since Mae had explained the agreements reached in the Tobias shack that afternoon Sage expected to find Terry in better spirits. Instead, the boy’s expression seemed a strange mix of gloom and edgy.
“Hey, Terry. How are you doing?” Sage asked, striving to sound lighthearted.
“Alright, Mr. Miner.” The boy glanced at Sage, flicked a glance toward the corner by the window and stepped in that direction after making sure Kimble remained distracted by a customer.
Sage followed the boy and smiled warmly to show he had no hard feelings for Terry’s abrupt departure from the alley that morning. “I boiled the heck out of this cap until the wool baa’d for mercy,” he said.
The boy chuckled but his face quickly sobered. “Say,” he began, “I’m awful sorry that I didn’t thank you proper for helping me this morning.”
“That’s okay. I haven’t known you long, Terry, but you seem to be a fine person. If there’s anything I can do to help, I’ll do it.”
His somewhat stilted offer triggered a rueful shake of the boy’s head. “You ever feel like every darn thing is falling on you?” he asked.
Sage smiled at the image but he knew exactly what Terry meant so he said, “Yup, more than once. You got a lot of burdens these days?”
“More of them than I can count.” Terry sighed, and visibly tried to summon optimism. “Well, maybe a few of them burdens got lifted today. We’ll see.”
“Miner! If you’re ‘bout done flapping your yap, I got a message for you to take on down to Union Station. You’re to meet a lady and give her this note.” Kimble was waving a paper in the air.
And so his night began.
Fourteen
“Did you get a chance to talk to Terry Tobias? Did he tell you they’re moving out today?” Mae peppered him with questions as she strode over to the bay windows and pulled the curtains aside to let in the early afternoon sunlight.
Sage heaved a sigh, flung back the bedclothes and sat on the edge of his bed. “No, Ma, to both questions. Terry was vague, he just said some things might have gotten better but he wasn’t celebrating. We only had a couple of minutes to talk. Then we got busy and he was already gone when I got back from an errand to hell and gone.”
Her brow wrinkled though. “Now, that is interesting” was all she said. “But, that’s not why I’m getting you up. Hanke’s downstairs, again.”
“Oh, no. Another boy?”
She nodded, her lips pursed. “Yes, another meeting with the coroner, I’m afraid.”
“You mean with Dr. Lane. Coroner Crowley just rubber stamps Lane’s conclusions. That’ll be a real pleasure I’m sure.”
“He was right kind to Mary Tobias and the children. I can’t think why you have taken against him.”
“I didn’t. He took against me on sight. I figured that was his normal way and thought you ought to know. Good to hear that he’s nicer to his patients. Maybe he just doesn’t like rich people as a rule.” Sage stood up, pulled on a pair of trousers. “Tell Hanke I’ll be down in five minutes,” he said on his way to the bathroom.
They didn’t talk much on the walk to Crowley’s funeral home. Ha
nke said the body had been found floating in the Willamette, lodged against the pilings of the Couch Street dock. Early morning stevedores shifting cargo onto a ship had spotted it and pulled the boy out of the water.
“Another kid froze to death?” Sage asked.
Hanke shook his head. “No, there was something funny about this incident. We’ve already called Doc Lane.”
Crowley was waiting at the door, distress making him wring his hands. “Two boys in one week. What on God’s green earth is going on, Sergeant?” he asked, though he didn’t wait for Hanke to answer before turning on his heel and heading toward the basement stairs.
Dr. Harry Lane again met them at the entrance to the embalming room. If anything, his facial expression was sourer than the last time. So were his words. “Sergeant, I don’t appreciate starting my mornings like this.”
Hanke shrugged but said nothing. Lane turned toward a table where another small body lay covered by a plain white sheet. As before, Sage approached the table with trepidation. Lane seemed to sense Sage’s anxiety because his voice was kind when he looked at Sage and asked, “You ready, Adair?”
At Sage’s nod, the doctor pulled the sheet off the boy’s face. Sage let go the breath he’d been holding. Once again, it wasn’t Glad. Instead, a boy of about twelve lay on the table. His hair was carrot-colored and his face freckled. Sage shook his head and looked at Hanke saying, “He’s not Glad Tobias.”
Hanke turned toward Lane. “What killed him, Doc?”
Dr. Lane heaved a sighed and pulled the sheet further down, exposing hands crossed over the thin body. “Look at these marks around his wrists. Those are ligature marks. He’s got the same marks around his ankles. Given the clean edges and thin lines, I’m thinking that someone used wire to tie him up.
“He was thrown into the water with his hands and feet tied?” Outrage and the urge to hit something seized Sage. After a beat, he forced himself to unclench his fists.
The doctor shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. He was already dead when he went into the water. There are no signs of drowning.”
“So, what killed him, then?” Hanke asked.
“His neck is broken. I can’t say if it was deliberate. A bruise on the back of his head makes me think it might have happened in a fall. There’s no way to tell.”
“But someone had him tied up,” Sage reiterated, anger clenching his jaw so tight it ached.
Lane glanced at him and pulled the sheet back over the boy’s face as he said, “No doubt about it. He spent time tied up just before his death. The marks around his wrists and ankles are new. It looks like they were still tied when he threw his hands out to save himself from the fall because the outsides of both palms are skinned like his hands were pressed together.”
Sadness darkened the doctor’s eyes and dragged down the corners of his mouth as he laid a gentle hand on the dead boy’s shoulder. “He was a cute little lad,” he said, his sorrowful tone banishing any lingering animosity Sage felt toward him.
Hanke appeared to be contemplating the overhead steam pipes as if some answers perched amid their welter. Breaking his gaze, he looked at the three of them and said, “I’m going to call it murder until I learn something different.”
This time, Dr. Lane exited the funeral home with them. Upon reaching the sidewalk he said to Hanke, “You’ll get my report later today. I’ll have it messengered over.”
“Thanks, Dr. Lane. I wish—” Hanke began, only to stop when Lane raised a hand.
“Sergeant, we both wish you didn’t have to call me out on this kind of duty. Just do the best you can to get the men behind this. That child couldn’t have been more than twelve. Who knows what he might have accomplished in life? Who knows what we all lost with his death?”
Lane turned toward Sage. “Mr. Adair, I don’t know what your interest is but I was wondering if you might have a few minutes to spare? I’d like to show you something.”
“I can spare some time,” Sage said, expecting the doctor to elaborate. He didn’t.
Instead, his next words dismissed Hanke. “Good. Thank you, Sergeant. I’ll be in touch.” Sage exchanged puzzled looks with the Sergeant as Lane turned and started walking north. Hanke headed east toward the police station.
Sage caught up with the doctor who said, “I understand from Hanke that you met a newsboy who is now missing. Is that why you are coming to view the bodies?” Lane asked.
“Yes, he is a newsboy by the name of Glad Tobias. He’s been missing for ten days. I saw him kidnapped off the street.”
After half a block Lane said, “I see too many dead children. Disease kills most of them but I blame the poverty and hunger that makes them vulnerable. That’s upsetting enough. But when they die from maltreatment it makes me especially angry.”
Sage could only nod in agreement. Lane glanced at him. “I suppose you’re wondering why I wanted you to come with me. I’m going to show you something in the hope you will want to help me with a special project. I won’t fool you; I hope to part you from your money.”
The doctor sent a pointed look at Sage’s tailored suit with the gold watch chain draped across his matching vest. “But don’t worry, I’m not talking about more than you can afford. Have you ever heard of a woman named Valentine Pritchard?”
That name rang a bell and Sage searched his memory until, at last, he had it. His mother had mentioned her. “Isn’t she one of Millie Trumbull’s friends?”
For the first time that day, Lane smiled. “She sure is,” he said. “Miss Pritchard came to Portland to run our public school kindergartens. She’s done a fine job—such a fine job that she’s been hired as the director of the new People’s Institute.”
Sage vaguely recollected reading something about the organization. “Isn’t that a new settlement house in the North End? I’ve seen the building at 4th and Burnside.”
“Well, you know more than most. That’s exactly what it is. And, that’s where we are heading.”
“So what’s the project?” Sage asked.
Lane shook his head. “I think it best to let Miss Prichard explain it,” was all he said.
They reached the corner across from the Institute and Lane paused. “We have ambitious plans for the whole Institute. Pretty soon, that place will be hopping. Luckily, someone’s donated a large space.”
Lane was right. The two-story sandstone building took up half the block. Three concrete steps led up to its corner entrance door. There were big windows on the street level with top panes that louvered inward to admit fresh air. A row of closely-spaced sash windows ran along two sides of the second floor. The Institute would be light-filled.
“What are your plans?” Sage asked.
“Health clinics and sewing classes, adult reading, and mathematics classes in conjunction with the public schools, job finding services, lectures on public health, and a kindergarten. The special project I’m talking about is for the kindergarten children.”
They crossed the street and entered into a somewhat chaotic scene of people passing to and fro, mostly adults herding packs of small children.
Lane ushered Sage into an office near the front door. The minute Sage laid eyes on Valentine Pritchard, he knew he’d never seen her before. He would have remembered the dark-haired beauty, with her widely spaced, large brown eyes above delicate cheekbones and a naturally red pair of lips. His survey went unnoticed as the woman’s full attention was on Harry Lane.
“Harry! How wonderful to see you! Do you have good news?” she asked him and then noticed Sage standing behind the doctor. “Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t notice that Dr. Lane had brought a friend.” She held out her hand, saying, “Welcome. I’m Valentine Pritchard, the new director here at the Institute.”
“The first director,” Lane corrected.
Pritchard’s laugh was musical. The woman had barely said a few words yet Sage kne
w he was wearing what his mother called his “dopey grin.” He struggled to bring his features under control. “I’m John Adair and I’m pleased to meet you, ma’am,” he said as he shook the slim hand and noted that it applied just the right pressure.
She smiled at him, “Ah, ha! I recognize that name.” She turned to Lane, saying. “Am I right in thinking that you’ve roped this famous restaurateur into helping with our little project?”
Lane laughed. “Well, I’ve driven him into the corral. It’s up to you to do the roping. I’ve got to take off. Patients are waiting.”
She laughed and gestured Sage toward a chair in front of her desk. She took a seat herself and folded her hands atop the desk’s scarred surface. She studied Sage for a moment and then said, “You look tense, Mr. Adair. Don’t be afraid. I will not harangue you for thousands of dollars in donations.”
Sage grinned and said, “That’s a relief,” when, in fact, it was his unexpected attraction to her that had made him tense.
Reassured, she launched into her pitch. “We are starting a kindergarten for poor children. The hope is that it will give the children a safe place so that their mothers can work. It’ll give us a chance to provide the children with a head start on their schooling. And, there’s a greater chance the parents will let them stay in school, now that Millie Trumbull’s crew has made schooling compulsory. But, you never know. Lots of piece work is done in homes and other places where Millie can’t inspect.”
She smiled, shrugged and said ruefully, “I am afraid that’s more than you want to know.”
Sage was quick to shake his head and say, “No, I am interested and think that is a great approach. What can I do?”
She held up a hand and said, “Just a little more back story, if you have the time.” Not waiting for his agreement she said, “The problem is our little tykes come to school too hungry to learn. It’s a national problem.” She took a deep breath and launched into what was obviously a set speech given many times before. “The children come to school underfed and too weak in mind and body to learn anything. They are cranky and disruptive. Those who say they’ve had breakfast tell us it was just coffee, because they were cold, and cheap bread. Because the North End is so poor, most of them arrive at school having eaten nothing.”
