I flattened my back against the wall beside the door, ready to spring out. “No. And I’ll tell you one more thing: Juan Ramón doesn’t even run a legitimate coffee business. He’s a spy for Spain.”
Sue Marie and I vamoosed out of the Tenderloin precinct station, out into the wee, dark hours of morning. The city’s lumpy landscape lay before us, spotted with the blinking lights of gas lamps. We made a beeline for Lillie Winters’s house, our feet pattering over the damp brick streets and echoing against eerily quiet buildings.
We fetched a ladder from the carriage house, and Sue Marie climbed it and let herself into her bedroom. From the top step of the ladder she dropped her suitcase to me. We put the ladder away and hurried over to Juan’s apartment to retrieve my suitcase. Then we hustled down to the docks, keeping to side streets all the way. We walked the length of the docks, nosing around for a quiet corner, and settled behind a row of empty shipping bins. With suitcases for pillows and coats for blankets, we slept until wakened by cawing seagulls.
Business hours could hardly come soon enough. Once the port offices opened, we booked passage on the only ship sailing that day, the Emperor of Peking. I can’t say as I relished the prospect of journeying to China, but with larceny charges hanging over our heads and the police likely keeping an eye out for us, we had no alternative. At least we had enough money for the crossing and, I hoped, a new start in Shanghai.
THE TRIAL
GIFTS GIVEN AND PROMISED
MENOMINEE—JANUARY 24–25, 1917
When court resumed, Sawyer began by querying Frank about communications between herself and me.
“The Baroness wrote you many letters and telegrams from 1913 to 1916, correct?”
“Yes.”
Sawyer walked back to the plaintiff’s table, retrieved a paper, and strode up to Frank with it. “Is this a letter she wrote to you in December 1913?”
“Yes.”
“Your Honor, may I read this?”
The judge nodded.
The slightly stooped Sawyer positioned himself before the jury box, his bow legs spread like those of a broken-down cowboy. “The letter, gentlemen, reads: ‘My dear Frank, I cannot tell you how pleased I am at the renewal of our friendship. All these long years I have missed your entertaining ways and delightful companionship. We do have great fun together, don’t we? I never again want to lose that. I’m so glad you agree that we need never again part. Now, I intend to sail to London for the New Year and want you to join me. We can take the train to New York together and celebrate New Year’s Eve there first. Say you will, please. Daisy can take care of the particulars. Your loving friend, May.’ ”
Sawyer deposited the letter at his table, and walked back to Frank. “And did you celebrate New Year’s Eve in New York with the Baroness?”
“Like it was the end of time.”
“Was liquor served at this party?”
“Liquor is served at all May’s parties.”
“And did you indulge?”
“Yes, against my better judgment. I’d sworn off liquor altogether after May and I quarreled in 1903.”
“And what was the result of your drinking?”
“I was sick as a dog the first part of the crossing. Needed the doctor on board to attend to me.”
“How did the Baroness take this?”
“She came around to my room often and took some meals with me. She offered to be our purse holder and suggested we pool our funds. So I gave her my six hundred dollars in cash and a check for fifteen hundred dollars in stock dividends. Soon after we landed, she said the money was gone, so I had to wire home for more.”
“Miss Shaver, yesterday you mentioned a gift of pearls. When and exactly how did this come about?”
“It was 1913, while we were in London. I remember this clearly because it was shortly after the Baron’s death. Even though he and May had been apart many years, she was suddenly shot through with sentiment, which made no sense, because she’d told me years before that she never loved the Baron. Anyway, she claimed he had given her thirty-five prize pearls that she’d always wanted to make into a necklace. Daisy intended to give her fifteen more pearls, but May told me that, due to the significance she attached to the pearls, such a gift would mean more coming from me. So I gave her fourteen thousand dollars in stock shares, and she selected fifteen pearls, which cost ten thousand dollars.”
“And did you ever see the leftover four thousand dollars?”
“No,” said Frank, pointedly fixing her gaze on me.
Alvah Sawyer changed his line of questioning at this point, shifting the focus to Daisy Emmett, which prompted Judge Flanagan to empty the courtroom of the jury and spectators for the rest of the day. The lawyers and judge proceeded to argue the legal ins and outs of including Daisy and my two brothers in the lawsuit. Sawyer claimed they were all accomplices in a conspiracy. But my attorney argued, first, that there was insufficient evidence of any conspiracy, and, second, that bringing them into this case would confuse the jury as to who was on trial and whose conduct was at issue. In the end, the judge ruled that they could be tried separately if, depending on the outcome of this case, a grand jury determined that their involvement warranted it.
We recessed around 4:30 p.m., leaving me time to mail out the new baby gift for my dear friends Helen and David O’Neill, a young Chicago couple whom I had introduced. The darlings had just had their first baby, and I’d ordered an engraved sterling-silver rattle to commemorate the joyous occasion.
The next morning, Frank ascended to the witness stand for a third round of testimony. She was not only getting her day in court—she was getting several long and drawn-out days. I hoped she found all the attention edifying. The townspeople certainly enjoyed the show. Each day the crowds hoping for seats grew larger, and this morning many had to be turned away, which no doubt upset them after they’d trekked to the courthouse in such frigid weather as had blown in overnight: It was minus four degrees at eight this morning.
But the crowd of sixty who did get seats probably regretted wasting their time, for Sawyer and Frank spent the morning wading through envelopes of bills and papers—bills for hotel expenses in Menominee; bills for my mother’s illness and burial; expenses for Daisy’s room in a Paris hotel; drayage and freight bills; tailors’ bills; and papers recording all manner of such petty Menominee household expenses as milk and bakery items. Every chance he got, Sawyer worked in questions like “So the funds to pay for this were obtained by fraudulent representation?” or “Were you led to believe you would be paid back?”
My attorney objected quite often. Judge Flanagan finally agreed that this exercise had run its course and directed Sawyer to compile the items under consideration. Sawyer proposed to break the list into three categories, which he claimed would account for every penny of the $106,252 requested in the suit.
Goodness gracious, I almost felt I should apologize to the poor spectators who had given up a warm hearth to listen to all this tripe. But, then, this pesky trial is dragging out much longer than necessary, even with the judge urging Sawyer to condense his examination at every turn.
I believe, however, that the spectators who chose to remain for the afternoon enjoyed themselves.
“Miss Shaver,” said Sawyer after the lunch break, “the Baroness sought your help with a wide array of living expenses, correct?”
“Oh, yes, even when we weren’t together, I heard about her finances.”
“Would you please read these two letters from the defendant, starting with the one on top.” Sawyer handed Frank two sheets of paper.
“The first one’s dated November 18, 1914,” said Frank. “ ‘Dear Frank, I hope you are well and that your work on that real estate matter is progressing. It is unbelievably cold in Menominee of late. I dearly hope that Chicago is not suffering the same blistering winds and drifting snows. Although I miss you very much, I cannot blame you for staying away just now. Only one thing worries me. I want Tokyo to have a coat, because
the weather is so cold up here and he really must get out for exercise. You know how dear he is to me, and I should be very unhappy if he is not fit and healthy. Please see what you can do. Love, May.’ ”
Frank grinned at me and I returned the gesture, knowing the affection we shared for Tokyo. She shuffled the letter to the bottom and took up the next sheet. “This one’s from December 2, 1914. ‘Dearest Frank, we had a lovely Thanksgiving together, though your absence was noted and you were missed by all. When will you finish with that beastly real estate business? You really ought not deprive us of your company for so long. I for one won’t stand for it. The world is in such shambles, with Germany running amuck and now France and England declaring war on Turkey. Who knows what’s to come of it all? I detest being so far away from you. If you cannot come home for Christmas I have decided to spend it with you in Highland Park. Let’s talk about taking a trip to some sunny and warm place, perhaps Algiers. The war hasn’t touched it at all, and I understand it’s quite lovely in the spring. Love, May. P.S. Tokyo adores his new red coat and warm fur collar.’ ”
Laughter welled up from the bottom of my belly. Frank tossed her head back and guffawed. The whole courtroom laughed. Even the judge allowed himself a chuckle.
Then the questioning turned to another coat.
“Miss Shaver,” said Sawyer, bracing an arm on the witness box and angling for a view of me. “The Baroness, through her lawyer, reported that she made you a gift of a sealskin coat. Is this true?”
“No, she only said she would.”
“Please tell us about this.”
“We were shopping in New York—in 1913, I believe—when we came across a moleskin coat that caught May’s eye. When I bought it for her, she said she’d pay me back and also have her sealskin altered to fit me. But then she never gave me the sealskin. And I never got my money for the moleskin, either.”
I could hardly believe Frank included gifts given and promised as part of a lawsuit. I always thought a gift was a gift. When someone presents me with a gift, I do not expect to sign an IOU for it. And when I present a gift, I intend it just as that—a gift, for heaven’s sake. Given that, it simply makes no sense to recount the rest of the afternoon’s testimony.
THE FORBIDDING ORIENT
SHANGHAI TO HONG KONG—APRIL–JUNE 1890
In late April of 1890 Sue Marie and I established residence at the Queen’s Hotel in Shanghai, a British-style hotel brimming with portraits of the royal family and inhabited by English businessmen and the odd family on tour. We set about regaining our footing by mingling with guests, sometimes as a pair and other times on our own, in the lobby and over dinners in the Kensington Room. Some evenings we ventured out to the Shanghai Gin Club, where we danced with Englishmen and the occasional American.
But all was not well between Sue Marie and me. Barely a month after we’d arrived, we quarreled over how to manage our modest funds. I preferred to open a bank account and require both of us to sign on withdrawals; she wished to keep all the money on hand—under her management, of course. We’d been unable to agree, so she counted out half the money and slapped it into my palm.
The next morning, I surmised the storm had blown over when she asked me to go to the Londoners’ Gift Shop and buy us some rosewater. The errand took nearly an hour in Shanghai’s pedestrian-clotted streets, which required me to navigate among Chinese obviously quite at home with the bump and brush of crowded-in shoulders.
Upon my return, I noticed Sue Marie, outfitted in her deliciously yellow day dress, conducting business at the registration desk. When she spotted me approaching, she turned her back on the desk and worried her hands about her purse.
“Sue Marie,” I asked, “are you going out?”
She stepped away from the desk. “Yes, well, I left a note in the room, but I might as well tell you. I’m leaving.”
“What do you mean, leaving?”
“Leaving, striking out on my own,” she said, perturbation creeping into her voice.
It took me a moment to comprehend. “But we’re partners.”
“I’m tired of you telling me what to do. And San Francisco sure didn’t make us rich.”
“Is that all I am to you—somebody to help you get rich?”
Sue Marie smirked. “We were after the same thing. Don’t play innocent with me.”
“But we’re more than that to each other.”
“Did you think I was looking for a wife?”
The breath escaped my lungs. I felt I might faint. “But you can’t just walk away. Not in a strange place.”
“Can and will. My luggage is already in a cart.”
My mind buzzed with questions. I rubbed my fingers over my temple. “But what will you do?”
She drummed her fingers against her purse and looked around me, toward the door.
I maneuvered between her and the door. “And what am I supposed to do?”
“Do as you please. Find somebody else to play maid for you.”
I knew people in the lobby might be watching, but I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed her arm. “No, Sue Marie, don’t leave like this.”
“Oh, quit making such a scene,” she said, lifting my hand off her arm and nudging her chin toward the door. “Mr. Brosney is waiting for me.”
I turned around. A big-eared young man stood by the door, watching us with wide eyes. I looked at Sue Marie, pulled in my lower lip, and pleaded with my expression. She merely tossed her head. A shiver shot out from my core, convulsing my arms, neck, and head. I could hardly bear the thought of Sue Marie’s abandoning me. “Please, don’t leave me.”
“Good-bye, Pauline.” She walked around me to Mr. Brosney, took his arm, and, without looking back, strolled off.
I stood reeling at the edge of the lobby, as wobbly as an old Chinese woman on tiny pegged feet, dejected and discombobulated, a veritable stranger in a foreign land. How could my own dear Sue Marie cast me off like chattel? I wanted to be alone with the surge of distress welling up in me, with the tears threatening to break. As I turned to retreat to my room, a hefty man in a summery off-white suit swept up to me.
“Excuse me, miss,” he said, his flat-featured face exuding calm and concern. “I couldn’t help noticing. Are you in need of some assistance?”
His British accent struck me as civilized and genuine all at once, and his button nose and pink complexion gave him the appearance of kindliness. He had a soapy, well-scrubbed scent about him, and I guessed from the hints of creases around his eyes that he might be in his mid- to late thirties. Struggling to regain my composure, I folded my hands over my chest. “It was nothing, only a disagreement.”
He cocked his head in a consoling pose. “Are you quite all right?”
I heaved out a deep breath. “I’ve just had a shock.”
“Come, let’s sit in the lounge. At least let me get you some water.” He escorted me to a table in the hotel lounge and ordered a glass of water. After Mr. Hugh Carlyle introduced himself, he turned his most earnest attention to my distress.
“Can I provide any assistance, Miss Townsend?”
“No, no. She was my traveling companion.”
“Forgive me if I seem to pry, but has she caused you a problem?”
“She’s decided to go off on her own, which was totally unexpected.”
“Ah, she’s abandoned you. I say, even at twenty paces, her heartlessness chilled me to the bone.”
“Yes, I thought we were dear friends.”
“No true friend would behave in such a manner. She’s proved her brutishness, and I daresay you deserve better.”
“I thought I could count on her.”
“And now you’re left by yourself?”
“Completely.”
“You know no one else in Shanghai?”
The way he put it quite upset me, bringing the cold reality down on me as it did. Why, I was barely acquainted with the hotel neighborhood, to say nothing of the city of Shanghai. I patted a hand over my heart to
calm myself. “Not a soul. And it seems such a forbidding place.”
“I can remedy that,” he said, with a decisive dip of his head. “Will you permit me to show you around? Shanghai has such sights to see.”
I swallowed some of the cool water the waiter had placed in front of me. The flush of my skin and quivering of my nervous limbs subsided. I summoned my most grateful smile. “I feel better already.”
Three days later, on a sunny June Saturday, Mr. Carlyle hired a mule-drawn carriage and toured me around Shanghai. First we wove our way through the shopping district and took in the wares displayed in their wide windows—intricate ivory carvings, elegant water paintings, fine cloisonné, and lovely silk carpets. Well-dressed foreigners strolled the streets, mingling with Chinese women in colorful silk robes and men in muted and flowing wide-sleeved garb. The sight of all these exotic scenes and goods and the singsong cacophony of Chinese voices filled me with childlike wonderment.
“Can we stop, please?” I asked Mr. Carlyle. “So I can explore that shop?”
“Of course,” he said, grinning so broadly I wondered if the delight he took in my enthusiasm exceeded even my own pleasure.
We sauntered through the aisles of a curio shop filled with jade and ivory carvings and stone chops of milky gray, burnt orange, and endless other variations on earthy tones. When a miniature horse statue—a proud, muscular stallion with a mane of thick, swirling coils—caught my eye, Mr. Carlyle indulged me with its purchase.
Next we traveled to the Jing’an Temple and strolled the perimeter of its interior court. Before the steps to one of the temple buildings, a Chinese man paused and crouched. An old stooped woman—his mother, I surmised—leaned over his backside; he circled his arms around her legs, lifted her onto his back, and carried her up the stairs.
“Why, I’ve never seen anything like that,” I remarked, taking Mr. Carlyle’s arm. How amazing it all was. Here I was in China, worlds away from my own family. I imagined recounting this scene to Maman and Gene and watching their eyes sparkle with awe. My older brother, Paul, with his misguided notions of familial duty, would probably have scoffed at this, or, for that matter, any of my stories.
Parlor Games Page 14
