“I mean no offense.” I had kept my distance from the other girls, it was true, but not, as she insinuated, out of a sense of superiority. The fact is, I pitied them—and feared that any tender feelings toward them would lead to attachments and interfere with my plans. “I am new to this way of life. I never had a sister. I guess I don’t know how to behave like one.”
“Well, you’ve got a whole houseful of girls to show you.” Miss Watson smoothed a hand over her brow, as if to slacken its strain. “Not that I expect you to be a sister to all of them. But I do expect you to treat them with respect.”
“Of course,” I said, bowing my head.
Miss Watson plunked her hands down on the desk. “Can I count on you, then, to mend your ways?”
“Yes, I will be more attentive to my conduct.” All this time I had not ventured a glimpse at Rose, though I discerned her fidgeting in the chair next to me. Poor Rose. I had quickly mastered the art of seeking sponsorship for my departure from Carrie Watson’s, but she and most of the other girls were doomed to spend their youthful years there. And Rose had already seen a good number of those pass.
Miss Watson leaned back in her chair.
“Is that all, miss?” I asked.
Rose cleared her throat and said, “There’s that other matter.”
I shot Rose a glance, raising my eyebrows demurely. She kept her gaze fastened on Miss Watson.
Miss Watson’s eyes darted over Rose and settled on me. “I know Mr. Hall has been visiting you regularly. Can you tell me how that started?”
Ah, I understood now what Rose’s real concern was. Mr. Hall—who had showered her with the loveliest trinkets—had cast her off, and she wanted to blame me for it. “Mr. Montcrief introduced us over dinner one evening, and the next night Mr. Hall said he wanted to spend the evening with me.”
“Did you know he’d been spending time with Rose for some months now?”
“I didn’t know for how long, but I had seen him with Rose before.”
“And did you do anything to discourage him from seeing Rose?”
“No, miss, I can’t see any reason to do such a thing.”
Miss Watson shifted from one haunch to the other, turning away from Rose toward me. “Well, our guests are free to choose whomever they want. But I expect you to show some respect for each other’s regulars as well.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Very well, then.” Miss Watson braced an arm on her chair and made ready to stand.
Rose blurted out, “But she fixes her hair the way Mr. Hall likes it—just the way I do, swept to the side. She never did that before. And she makes a beeline for him every time he shows up.”
“Oh, my.” Miss Watson pinched her lips and rolled her head in an arc. “Do you see what this has led to, Pauline? You setting yourself apart from the other girls?”
I folded my hands on my lap and hunched forward. “Yes, miss.”
Miss Watson flattened her hands on her desk. “I want both of you to let this matter drop. Mr. Hall will see whomever he wishes to see. It is his choice. And, Pauline, I expect you to take this talk as a warning. I do not want strife in this house. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And you, Rose, I expect you to give Pauline a chance to mend her ways. Will you do that?”
I heard the slightest snort escape from Rose’s nostrils as she spoke. “Of course I will.”
Turning to Rose, I said, “I appreciate that.”
Miss Watson concluded the interview then, but I figured life at Miss Watson’s would not be as easy for me as it had been. Rose would be on the lookout for anything she could pin on me to cause more trouble. And with Miss Watson insisting I change my ways, it was high time to get serious about leaving, though I had not yet formed any solid plan.
In retrospect, I realize I miscalculated by not cultivating the other girls’ society, an error I have taken care never to repeat. In fact, I have since learned that women can be counted on to show great devotion and loyalty when afforded respect and friendship.
THE TRIAL
FRANK TAKES THE STAND
MENOMINEE—JANUARY 23, 1917
As Frank stood and marched to the stand, a buzz shot through the courtroom. Judge Flanagan gripped his gavel. The crowd quieted. I followed her every move: her stocky frame held straight and stalwart; the plump hand placed on the Bible; her usually mischievous expression tempered with solemnity. She skated through the swearing in as if it were a turkey shoot, occasionally glancing in my direction, most likely with the intent of unnerving me. This was her arena. She knew the courtroom, and she probably thought her chances of out-gaming me in it were quite good. I merely held her gaze, my expression abundant with tranquillity.
“Miss Shaver,” said Mr. Sawyer, “please tell us the story of your acquaintance with the Baroness, just so we understand the time and events. How did you meet?”
Frank squared her shoulders and looked to the jury. “We met on a train traveling from Chicago to Milwaukee back in 1901. I was in the parlor car, and the Baroness was holding court there, having quite a merry time. I was alone and couldn’t help but notice the jolly party at the next table. The Baroness caught my eye at one point and invited me to join them. That’s how it all started.”
“And what do you mean by ‘holding court’?”
Frank tossed her head back and smiled. “Entertaining her entourage—and the whole car, for that matter. May could charm the crown—and bottoms—off a king.”
Titters erupted in the courtroom. Once the judge wiped the smile off his face and glared at the onlookers, calm was restored.
“Yes, fine,” said Sawyer, “and how did the acquaintanceship get on?”
“We exchanged letters, and six months later, in spring of 1902, when May was on her way back to Menominee, we met in Chicago and spent some time gadding about the city. Her brother Gene joined us, which was the first time I met him. Later, in September of 1902, May visited me at my parents’ home in Pittsburgh, and her brother came along and spent a month there.”
“And is that when Gene proposed marriage?”
“Yes, and I accepted. Afterward, he invited me for a long visit to Menominee. He had borrowed some money when he visited me in Pittsburgh, which he repaid. But then he started borrowing money again, and it got my hackles up. I told May I was not pleased and asked her to set him straight.”
“And did she do that?”
“No. She said I should humor Gene and enjoy his company, which didn’t satisfy me. So I told Gene he obviously couldn’t support both of us, and I broke the engagement. May came crying that Gene was heartbroken and asked me to reconsider. But I refused.”
I glanced at Gene, who merely shrugged. Heartbreak never had been his métier.
Sawyer urged Frank on. “And then what happened?”
“We quarreled, and that was the end of our friendship for quite a few years.”
“And when did this quarrel occur?”
“In 1903, in Pittsburgh.”
“But the friendship recovered?”
“Yes, in 1912, after my father died. I received a letter of condolence from May, and I sent her a thank-you note. She was so anxious to renew our friendship she hotfooted it to Chicago and invited me for a fancy dinner at the Congress Hotel. She told me she’d regretted our falling out and went on and on about how we need never again part.”
“And you agreed to resume the friendship on that occasion?”
“In the blink of an eye.” Frank bobbed her chin in my direction. “My God, who wouldn’t?”
Frank’s admission brought a chorus of oohs and aahs from the ladies. My heart thumped. I had to admit I never tired of Frank’s artless candor.
“And what happened that first night of your renewed friendship?”
“During dinner, May ordered several highballs for us. I caught her sneaking a few of hers to my side of the table when she thought I wasn’t looking. She asked me to go to Menominee with her, b
ut I had business to attend to in Chicago.”
Frank leaned to the side so that she had a clear view of me, smiled, and said, “But May could talk a cougar out of a tree, and the next thing I knew, I was on a train headed for Menominee. In November. Without a lick of luggage.”
A rustle of amusement sounded around the courtroom. I returned Frank’s smile—it had been one of the most memorable train rides I’d ever taken.
Sawyer motioned to Frank with a dip of his head, and she continued. “To head off my worries about not having a warm coat or change of clothes, May ordered the porter to bring us a bottle of Scotch, and the highballs flowed again.”
Snickers erupted. The judge cleared his throat.
Sawyer rushed to his next question. “Did you enter into any financial arrangements with the Baroness around that time?”
“While I was in Menominee, she brought up Gene and wondered if I might resume the engagement. I didn’t like the idea one bit. She insisted she wanted to somehow join our families together and asked if I’d buy into the Menominee home and take up residence there with her. I agreed and purchased a half interest in the house for six thousand dollars.”
“And did you invest any more money in the house?”
“Did I ever. May suggested we increase the value of the house with some improvements, so I plowed another nine thousand dollars into remodeling. After that I took to calling it ‘the palace,’ because I figured May needed a place fit for royalty, meaning her and her darling Frenchie.”
“Her Frenchie?”
“Her French bulldog.”
“Did the Baroness ask about the inheritance you received upon your father’s death?”
“Not in a direct way. She did go fishing, though. And I don’t mean some Sunday-afternoon outing. More like a regular expedition.”
The few men in the courtroom took their turn at chortles, causing Judge Flanagan to sit upright. After Frank and her attorney completed this round of questioning, the judge said, “Counsel, it’s time for our lunch break.”
Judge Flanagan resumed the afternoon session with new instructions: “Mr. Sawyer, I’ll ask you to pick up the pace of your questioning. And remember: This is a trial, not storytelling hour.”
“Of course, Your Honor,” Sawyer said. He turned to Frank in the witness box. “Miss Shaver, you were telling us about events of 1913, after your reconciliation with the Baroness. Was it about that time you met Miss Belle Emmett?”
“Yes, Daisy, as everyone calls her, is May’s personal assistant.”
“What sort of assistance does she provide?”
“Oh, she sees to correspondence, bills, financial matters.”
When Sawyer exhausted his inquiries about the handling of Frank’s money, he turned his attention to trips Frank and I had taken.
“Oh, yes,” said Frank. “May and I traveled all over Europe—Venice, Paris, the south of France. And there was one long stay in London, and also a trip to Algiers, in 1915. You name it—we were probably there. We gathered towels and linens from so many places that we often jested, while selecting napkins at home, ‘Where shall we dine tonight?’ ”
“I imagine this Algiers trip ran up some costs. Who paid for it?”
“I never knew exactly how much it cost—but Daisy kept asking for more money. First it was for the deposit. Then the balance. Or wine or liquor. At the end of it all, I’d spent about twenty-four hundred dollars.”
“And during the London stay, was there talk of a gift of pearls?”
“Yes, May had a collection of pearls from the Baron that she wanted to turn into a necklace. She told me Daisy planned on giving her fifteen more pearls to complete the necklace but said the gift would have more sentiment attached to it if it came from me instead. So I deposited about fourteen thousand dollars’ worth of Westinghouse shares in her London bank for the pearls.”
“And did that satisfy the Baroness?”
“No, when she found out I had more shares, she said we could use them for our living expenses and asked if I would loan them to her for that purpose. So I deposited another twenty-two thousand dollars’ worth of shares, but kept my receipt of debt for them.”
Sawyer tugged his vest into place. “Around this time, did the Baroness ask you to write a will out to her?”
“Yes, in late 1914, after France and Germany and all those other European countries started up the war, she told me she might have to travel to Europe at some point and that she was going to make a will out in my favor. She suggested I do the same, so I wrote a will bequeathing eighty thousand dollars to her. But whenever I asked about her will, she told me she hadn’t gotten around to it. Now I figure she didn’t have that kind of money. But, knowing May, she’ll claim she’s going to be the first person to live forever.”
“Objection,” said Mr. Powers. “The witness is not in a position to know how much money the Baroness had or has.”
“Sustained,” said Judge Flanagan. “And, Miss Shaver, please restrict your answers to the questions before you.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” said Frank, with the same little smirk I’d seen on those occasions when she resolved to do just as she damn well pleased.
“Gentlemen of the jury,” said Mr. Sawyer, quite possibly noticing the droopiness of their eyelids. “I just have a few more questions.
“Miss Shaver, did the Baroness ever request your help with her brother Paul’s business?”
“Yes, around 1915. She told me his business was off to a roaring start and if we invested some funds toward the purchase of more automobiles that our loan would pay off handsomely. I lent fifty-five hundred dollars to the business, but never saw any return on it, let alone the original loan.”
“Miss Shaver, you have told us of considerable sums of money that you either loaned or turned over to the Baroness after cajoling and manipulation on her part.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” said Mr. Powers. “ ‘Cajoling and manipulation’ implies motive.”
“Sustained. Mr. Sawyer, please rephrase your statement.”
“Yes. You turned over significant funds in loans or in response to requests, funds totaling a little over one hundred thousand dollars. Correct, Miss Shaver?”
“Yes.”
“And you retained receipts for those funds which were loans, shares, or investments, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And in 1916 did you show those receipts to the Baroness?”
“Yes, she requested that I turn the receipts over to her. She said she’d repay all of them.”
“And did she?”
“Not one cent.”
“What happened when you pressed for payment?”
“She said she didn’t owe me anything. So I decided the only way I’d ever see any of my money was to take her to court.”
Mr. Sawyer slowly pivoted away from the jury, summoning the gravity of an actor, and faced the judge. “Your Honor, that’s all I have today.”
That concluded day two of the trial. Disheartening, it was. In fact, the whole affair unnerved me. I hated being stuck in Menominee, facing the prospect of being cooped up in a courtroom for days on end. In the middle of winter, no less, with more snow in the forecast. If it weren’t for the war raging all over Europe, I’d never have set foot on U.S. soil, and this lawsuit might never have been filed.
My lawyer had gotten off to a good start, but I didn’t care for the impression Frank had left with the jury. Thank goodness, we still had an ace in the hole—a document Frank herself had signed.
PROPOSALS AND PROPOSITIONS
CHICAGO—NOVEMBER 1887-JUNE 1888
Being anxious to leave Carrie Watson’s and step out on my own, I hoped my new friends, Melody and Melissa, might afford some such avenue. I had told them I was staying at the Palmer House while I attended to my deceased uncle’s will; they believed I seldom saw them in the evenings because I needed to look after my grief-stricken aunt. But this pretense created certain problems: I feared the excuse would sooner or l
ater wear thin, and my engagement at Carrie Watson’s prevented me from mingling with their circle of fascinating friends. These cumbersome circumstances, as well as the deteriorating condition of my relations at Miss Watson’s, thus forced some action.
After the Jastrow lecture, Melody, Melissa, and I retired to the Palmer House for drinks. We settled on red velvet seats in the lobby and ordered cordials. All around the thick-carpeted lounge, couples and foursomes bent their heads together in hushed conversation. Candle lights flickered across their faces, revealing expressions animated by good humor or, at the least, by wine and spirits.
“Wouldn’t you just love one of those new Gramophones so you could listen to music whenever you wanted?” I asked them, taking in the piano player’s even-tempered rendition of a Chopin piece.
“Oh, my,” said Melody, the elder and more practical of the two, “we just asked Father to buy us a new dining-room set.”
Melissa, who was always keen to acquire new playthings or contraptions, rolled her eyes. “You’re such a spoilsport.”
“Well, I’m thinking of buying one,” I said. “But it seems a shame to keep it in a little hotel room that’s hardly fit for entertaining.”
“You could keep it at our house,” said Melissa.
Melody clapped her hands together. “And you could visit and even stay over whenever you wanted.”
And that is how I found my way out of Carrie Watson’s and into their home. After I gave Melody and Melissa a new Gramophone for Christmas, they made me a bona fide member of their household. Such gay parties and receptions the sisters held in those days. Their lovely home, not far north of the river, on Chestnut Street, attracted socialites, businessmen, and general rounders—a most eclectic mix of Chicago’s young people. At the sisters’ New Year’s Eve reception, I met a promising young man, Charles Dale Andrews, Jr. Dale, as everyone called him, worked as a teller in his father’s bank, First Chicago National.
By March, Dale and I had become enamored to the point of serious involvement. One Friday he sent a hansom to bring me to the bank before our planned evening of dinner and a performance of Richard III at the Haymarket Theatre.
Parlor Games Page 7
