by Sara Donati
“When she told me that Comstock would be coming to arrest me, I knew that I had to leave the city to save my own life. I could leave, but she had to go back to your grandfather.”
There was a stifled groan, the first indication of pain they had heard from Graham.
“He made something profane out of a girl who had tremendous promise.” Her voice was hoarse now with talking, but she seemed determined to go on. “The murders last year, all those women she punished so terribly. I suspected but I had no way of knowing. And still I feel I should have done something. If I could have gotten Nora away from Cameron, how many lives would have been spared?”
Now she looked at Neill Graham directly, her eyes damp but her expression steely. She said, “Did you have anything to do with those nine women, last summer? Did you know?”
He closed his eyes and drew a ragged breath. “No. Not until the last one, right before my grandfather left for Philadelphia.” The contractions in his facial and jaw muscles began again, but they waited for him.
Finally he went on in a whisper, “I thought once Grandfather was dead she would come back to herself. I truly thought she had put that business behind her. But then I heard Lambert talking about a Jane Doe, and I knew.”
His eyes moved back and forth through the limited arc of his vision. “Detective Sergeants?”
“Here,” Oscar said. “Both of us.”
Graham blinked hard. “I want to confess to all the murders. From last summer, the Dutch woman earlier this year, and my brother-in-law. I’ll confess to kidnapping Mrs. Louden as well. If you draw up a confession in writing, I will sign it in front of witnesses, but I have one condition.”
Oscar snorted, annoyed beyond bearing. “You had nothing to do with the deaths from last summer. Those were your sister’s work.”
“And my grandfather’s,” Graham said. “Even if he never lifted a finger. But if I confess, what does it matter?”
Jack cleared his throat. “What makes you think your sister will stop if she walks away from all this?”
“Bring me whatever papers I need to sign to have her committed to an institution for the criminally insane. For life. Can you do that? Can you see to it she’s put away and never released?”
“Trying to absolve yourself?” Oscar said.
“I doubt that is possible,” Graham said. “But I can’t bear to think of her hanging, not after all she suffered. I didn’t know and I couldn’t have helped her if I had known. But I can keep her from hanging, that much I can do. If you will agree. Will you?”
Jack nodded. “We know an attorney who will handle her commitment once we have the proper documentation.”
Anna leaned forward and touched his hand. “You need to reflect on this, Dr. Graham. If you do this you will go to your grave dishonored.”
Graham’s breathing was very ragged, but his gaze was steady. “It won’t matter to me, but it will to her.”
Vincent Maxwell stepped forward to look more closely at his patient. “He needs quiet now. You can come back with the paperwork when you have it, but don’t be long.”
* * *
• • •
THEY STOOD IN the foyer of the hospital for a few awkward minutes, considering. Oscar and Jack talked about the logistics of what needed to be done, starting with a visit to Judge Carruthers and a request for a recess until they could present evidence.
Oscar said, “I’ll do that now. It would make sense for you ladies to go home. We’ve got hours ahead of us with attorneys and clerks.”
“We’ll put you in a cab,” Jack said. “Go to Roses and sit in the garden. Aunt Quinlan and Mrs. Lee will want to hear about all of this.”
“Yes,” Amelie said. “A women’s council is called for.”
Jack said, “I’ll walk out with you and hail a cab.”
* * *
• • •
ON THE STREET Jack pulled Anna to his side and tucked her close, but whether he meant to protect her from the crowds or simply to touch her was unclear to Anna. She was too exhausted to sort even that much out, and she was trembling. His arm around her was more than just comfort, it was keeping her upright in the midst of chaos.
“So,” he said, smiling down at her. “How many of them have figured it out already?”
Anna had to smile. For a couple of hours she seemed to have forgotten that she was pregnant.
“Amelie and Sophie looked at me and they both knew. But they will keep my secret.”
He laughed out loud. “I’m sure they would, but that will only last until you walk through the door at Roses.”
She pressed her forehead to his shoulder. “Yes,” she said. “That will happen. I am resigned.”
Jack lifted her chin with one crooked finger. “Resigned?”
What she hadn’t meant to say came out in a rush. “You want me to be happy,” she said, working very hard not to frown. “And I will be. As soon as I forget how to be a doctor, I will be unreservedly optimistic. I’ll start making lists of names and knitting caps and embroidering linen and think of nothing but putting together a layette.”
Another man might have been hurt, but this was Jack. He would not try to talk her out of her concerns, because to do that would be to challenge her training and judgment. She understood, as he could not, all the things that could go wrong, terrible, heartbreaking things she had seen for herself, all the ways the mysterious process of creating a human being could suddenly turn and twist. She would never describe any of that to him, but neither could she put those images out of her mind.
And there was Nora Smithson, who had suffered so much and was suffering still, at the mercy of the anger that had put taproots into her marrow.
Jack kissed the top of her head. “I wouldn’t change you if I could, you know that. Look, Sophie has hailed a cab.”
She said, “You are a glutton for punishment, Mezzanotte.”
And he kissed her, right there on Fifth Avenue on a busy afternoon surrounded by strangers. The softest, most gentle kiss, his strong hands cradling her face.
“I will do my best for you. For both of you. Always.”
And this was Jack, too. Giving her something after all: a solid truth to hold on to.
* * *
• • •
IN THE GARDEN at Roses all the women Sophie depended on were gathered, as if drawn together by some silent messenger. Aunt Quinlan, Mrs. Lee, Mrs. Cabot, Elise, and Laura Lee turned to the gate as they came into the garden, and all wore a familiar smile, one that said what she most needed to hear at this moment: I am so happy that you are finally here.
Amelie walked straight to Aunt Quinlan, went down on one knee, and took her hands in her own. As gently as she would handle a newborn, she cupped the swollen joints and pressed her forehead to their clasped hands.
“Iakoiane.” She lifted her head to smile at her. “Aunt Lily.”
Aunt Quinlan said, “You are one of the few who still calls me by my own name. It makes me happy to hear you say it. Now, tell us what happened today and leave nothing out.”
Sophie had dreaded this, but it went quickly, Anna and Amelie each taking turns, turning to Sophie to clarify or correct.
“And that’s where it came to an end?” Aunt Quinlan said. “Neill Graham accepts responsibility for all the crimes, and Nora Smithson is off to an asylum?”
“Oh, no,” Anna said. “There will be legal maneuvers. Lawyers will argue that she is criminally insane and should be committed for the rest of her life. Others will say she is criminally insane and must hang by the neck until she’s dead to protect innocent women and children. Jack and Oscar promised her brother they would do what they can to make sure she doesn’t go to the gallows.”
“Did he say what happened to Geoffrey Smithson?”
“I don’t think he knows, beyond the obvious,” Sophie said. “And
she will never admit to anything. Maybe a good alienist will be able to get her to open up, if there’s one at the institution.”
Anna’s stomach growled, and the somber mood disappeared just that quickly.
Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Cabot shooed them into the pergola, where they passed platters and bowls and filled their plates. To her surprise, Sophie discovered that she was very hungry.
Elise was sitting beside her, and she touched Sophie’s hand. “I wanted to ask,” she said, her voice low. “What did your Aunt Amelie call Mrs. Quinlan when she came in?”
“Iakoiane,” Sophie told her. “It means clan mother. The Mohawk and all the Seven Nations are ruled by a council of clan mothers.”
Amelie heard this and took up the explanation. “We were raised up in the old Mohawk ways, where the eldest women in the clan are revered for their insight and wisdom. I call her Clan Mother, because she is that for me.”
Anna sat up a little straighter. “Well, then, Clan Mother. Tell us what should be done with Nora Smithson.”
“What do you want for her?” Aunt Quinlan said.
Anna looked surprised. “Are you asking if I want to see her hanged?”
“I think I do,” Sophie offered. “When Janine Campbell comes to mind, and those poor boys. The others like her, they all died in agony and stripped of hope.”
“There is agony enough to go around,” Anna said. “I’m not sure we need to manufacture any more.”
“You know Nora better than anyone,” Sophie said to Amelie. “What do you think?”
Amelie gave her a weak smile. “Do you expect that I’d be more harsh or less harsh than a court of law? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. I think that Nora might spend her whole life in an institution in a contented haze, caring for a doll she believes is her child. Or she might rail and rend her hair every day of her life. Or maybe she has fooled us all and she is plotting right now how to escape and start this terrible business all over again.”
“Oh,” Anna said. “Lovely. That hadn’t occurred to me.”
“Nor me,” Sophie added. “Do you really think—”
“I can’t pretend to understand what’s wrong in her mind and soul,” Amelie interrupted her. “I know of no way to heal her. I don’t know what would be harsher, a quick death or a long life in an institution. I don’t know that she deserves the harshest punishment.”
“Whatever else she is, she is terribly damaged,” Aunt Quinlan said. “She never had a safe place to call home after her grandmother died. She lived for years with that—” She shook her head. “For years she was his servant and worse. And no one came to her aid. Not even her brother.”
“She didn’t allow that,” Anna said, softly. “You have said it many times, you can’t force help on people who don’t want it.”
“She was a child,” Amelie said, sharply. “She lived in fear, the kind of fear that will break a strong man. I should have stolen her away from him.”
“Amelie,” Mrs. Lee said in her calmest tones. “By the time she came to you, the wound was too deep. I was there, and I remember very well. It’s an abomination, what her grandfather did to that girl, but it’s his abomination. Not yours.”
Elise had been very quiet, listening to them talk. Now she said, “My grandmother used to say that a wound is where the light enters. I never really understood what she meant, but I’m starting to. Nora Smithson was too young to understand that if you try to hide or deny or ignore a wound, it will poison you. You can’t wish it away. If her mother or grandmother had been there for her, if she had had a clan mother—” She shrugged.
Sophie watched Anna struggling with all these things and remembered, suddenly, that she was pregnant. Anna, who would make a catalog of everything that might go wrong, determined to stop any threat before blood was spilled. She was so hard on herself in her profession; what would motherhood cost her? As if Anna had heard her, she cleared her throat and looked around the small group.
“If I can’t make sense of Nora Smithson and the things that drove her to such horrendous acts, what kind of doctor am I?”
Amelie’s smile was a combination of affection and exasperation. “You are a human being first. A thoughtful, careful human being. You struggle along doing your best. That’s the right place—it’s really the only place—to start. As a doctor.”
As a mother, Sophie added to herself. She could see that same thought moving behind Anna’s eyes. Over the next months, Sophie would watch Anna transform herself into another kind of creature. It was a role she would never claim for herself. Rosa and Lia might come to her; she would have students and patients, all of them in need. But she would not be their mother.
She felt Amelie’s eyes on her. Amelie, who had never married but who had loved, quietly. Who had no children of her own, but dozens who claimed her. Open to the light, Sophie hoped she might make such a life for herself.
EPILOGUE
THE NEW YORK TIMES
MRS. NORA SMITHSON UNFIT TO STAND TRIAL
Today District Attorney Peter Olney announced that all charges against Mrs. Nora Smithson related to the kidnapping of Mrs. Charlotte Louden and the kidnapping and death of Dr. Neill Graham have been dropped.
When questioned, Mr. Olney said, “We do not prosecute when there is no reasonable chance of conviction, and in this case there are two facts that stand in the way. First, Mr. Hobart is dead by his own hand and cannot be brought to trial. Second, medical experts agree that Mrs. Smithson is insane.”
The defendant was examined by three physicians and two alienists, all of whom concluded that she is unfit to stand trial. Instead she will be admitted to an institution for the criminally insane. In an ironic and tragic turn of events, it was Dr. Graham, the brother whose death she is accused of causing, who made arrangements for her financial security from his hospital bed by leaving his estate to her alone.
Last month Dr. Sophie Savard Verhoeven testified in closed chambers and again on the stand that Mrs. Smithson, who claims to be with child, is in fact suffering from delusions of pregnancy and may instead be found to have an undiagnosed cancer. The reports submitted by the physicians engaged by the court agreed with Dr. Savard Verhoeven on these points.
Neither Mr. Hummel, who has represented Mrs. Smithson thus far, nor Anthony Comstock of the Society for the Suppression of Vice, who supported her claims, would comment on the district attorney’s decision.
A great number of questions about this and related cases remain unanswered but the police, the district attorney’s and the mayor’s offices refuse any further comment on open investigations, citing privacy of victims, named and unnamed.
* * *
• • •
THE HARVEY INSTITUTE
PLATTSBURGH, NEW YORK
June 14, 1884
Conrad Belmont, Esq.
Belmont, Verhoeven & Decker
Attorneys at Law
11 Wall Street
New York, N.Y.
Dear Mr. Belmont
As we are now in receipt of the bank draft, medical and legal documents, and the notarized final declaration of status I am pleased to say that we are finally prepared to welcome Mrs. Smithson as a patient in the wing for the violent and incurably insane.
Dr. Montrose of our staff will oversee treatment of Mrs. Smithson’s physical ailments, while Dr. Lansdown, our head alienist, will take on her mental hygiene.
Tomorrow three attendants, two of them nurses, will set out to collect the patient from Bellevue. We will notify you when she is safely arrived at the Institute.
When Mrs. Smithson is comfortably settled, our monthly reports will begin.
Attached hereto is a preliminary statement for the clothing and toiletries that will be prepared for her use upon arrival.
Yours sincerely,
James Harvey, M.D.
Di
rector
* * *
• • •
NEW-YORK EVENING POST
SMITHSON APOTHECARY, HOBART BOOKSHOP DECLARE BANKRUPTCY
With the sudden removal of Mrs. Nora Smithson to parts unknown and the deaths of Dr. Neill Graham and of Thaddeus Hobart, both Smithson’s Apothecary and Hobart’s Bookshop, located on Sixth-ave. at Clinton-str., are now in receivership. A number of investors have expressed interest in these once vital places of business, despite the sordid recent history.
It seems that the mysterious circumstances surrounding the kidnapping of Dr. Graham and Mrs. Charlotte Louden and the disappearance of Geoffrey Smithson may never be explained.
* * *
• • •
THE NEW YORK EVENING SUN
CRIMES AGAINST NATURE
COKKIE ST. PIERRE, HOUSEMAID
The serving girls and housemaids and flower sellers of this city lead difficult lives, but most of them are diligent, modest, and thankful to have honest work for a fair wage. Others hope to improve their lot by any means necessary, and become despondent when plans go awry.
Cokkie St. Pierre, employed in the household of Mrs. Minerva Griffin of Stuyvesant Square as a maid, was a young woman of the last sort. Finding herself in a family way and sure that she would be dismissed, she escaped this life by means of a rope suspended from a rafter in her mistress’s attic.
Like other Christian denominations, the Roman Catholic Church views suicide as equal to murder, and as such the most serious of sins. To embrace this unnatural act is to deny the will of God. For that reason there will be no mass for Miss St. Pierre’s soul, nor will she be allowed a Christian burial. Her remains will be surrendered to the city, and she will rest in an unmarked pauper’s grave.
