I turned twenty-two on May 23, and that evening Johnny escorted me to a small restaurant in the heart of Kyoto. He had obviously taken great care in selecting and arranging the dinner. Once we finished dining, the whole staff—two male cooks and three waitresses—presented themselves in the doorway of our private chamber to wish me a happy birthday.
Johnny folded his hands and dipped his head, Japanese-style, to show his gratitude. “Arigato. We’re ready for our dessert now.”
When the staff retreated, I reached for Johnny’s hand. “Life with you is the sweetest adventure.”
Johnny raised my chin with his fingertips, leaned close, and kissed me. “I forget the rest of the world when I’m with you.”
“You are my joy, my peace.”
“My dear, dear Pauline. I could never have dreamed you up.”
The curtain to our room parted and our waitress shuffled out of her shoes. She entered and placed a bowl of colorful round delicacies in front of each of us.
“Oh, cream anmitsu,” I said, “my favorite Japanese dessert.”
The waitress’s mouth betrayed the slightest smile as she plucked a little pitcher of dark liquid from her tray and placed it in the middle of our table. She looked at Johnny. He nodded, and she took a tiny box off the tray and put it beside my bowl. Bowing, she retreated, and the curtains to our room rippled closed behind her.
I stared at the box, so small it made me wonder: Could it be a ring? My heart pounded. My cheeks and ears flushed with excitement.
Johnny took up the pitcher and poured sweet black syrup over our dessert bowls. “Would you like to open your gift?”
Taking in a deep breath to calm myself, I lifted the box, gripped the bottom with my quivering fingertips, and pulled the top off. A ring. A diamond ring. I looked up at Johnny.
“Will you marry me, Pauline?”
I clapped a hand over my heart. “Oh, Johnny, I can hardly believe it.”
“You’ll be my fiancée. We can travel to New York together.”
I wanted nothing more than to say yes, to guarantee a life of happiness with Johnny. But I had thought of just one way to foil the obstacles Dougherty had thrown in our path.
“I can’t tell you how happy you’ve made me.” I reached for his hand. “Only can’t we stay in Japan? Can’t we get married here?”
“Darling, my family will love you. I wouldn’t dream of depriving them of a wedding in New York.”
“Can’t we just live here? I’m so happy here with you.”
“And I with you. We can be happy anywhere, dear girl, as long as we’re together.”
“I have plenty of money to get us started. Together we could buy antiquities and export them to the States.”
Confusion crept over Johnny’s features. “But I can’t let my family down. Everything’s been planned, from my schooling at Harvard to an office designed just for me. With a desk my grandfather brought over from Scotland.”
I gulped. I could never explain why I wanted to stay in Japan.
Johnny patted my hand. “Don’t worry, darling. It’ll be perfect—you and me in a home of our own in New York.”
I wanted to tell him everything, right then and there: I’m not Pauline. I’m not the daughter of a well-to-do restaurant owner. I’ve made mistakes. Dougherty is trying to separate us. He thinks I’m after your money. It’s not true. You’re my own dear Johnny. I love you. As I’ve never loved anyone before.
Johnny cupped his hand over mine. “Please say yes, my darling.”
I couldn’t bear to crush Johnny’s spirit. My trusting Johnny believed everything I had ever told him. Never had he doubted me. To him I was a sweet girl with an innocent past. His Pauline.
I gazed into his beckoning eyes. “Yes.”
He reached out for my hand and slipped the ring on my finger.
My throat nearly burst from the lump of sadness massing in it. I looked at him, my eyes misting over. “I love you, Johnny. I love everything about you.”
“My dear, wonderful Pauline.”
Pauline—how the name grated at my ears, signifying, as it did, nothing but pretense.
I clasped his hands. I wanted to never let go.
Johnny squeezed my hands. “Everything will be perfect. Leave it all to me.”
Johnny’s happiness that evening only intensified my agony: I desperately feared losing him. Once Dougherty reported back to Johnny’s father, his family might well refuse to meet me—or spurn Johnny if we married. I had to somehow spare Johnny the heartache of family abandonment. I had to outwit Dougherty.
Just as Johnny and I prepared to depart Kyoto and hasten back to the States, I received a message from Reed Dougherty: “I think we should take up that business we failed to resolve in Tokyo.”
Dougherty had managed to track us down despite my efforts to evade him. I had little choice but to meet the roving detective, so I sent word that I would call on him late that afternoon at his out-of-the-way hotel. (He obviously hadn’t had sufficient influence to secure any of the finer hotels in town.)
He welcomed me to a shadowy private room in his hotel’s dining area and poured cups of sake for us.
I knew my options were diminishing, but my love for Johnny drove me to try my hand. “Mr. Dougherty, you seem terribly determined to make an issue of something that is none of your business.”
He sat on a pillow with his gangly legs crossed at the ankles. “It became my business once John started draining his bank account for you.”
Out of habit, I picked up my sake cup. But the thought of taking sake with Dougherty repelled me, and I quickly replaced it. “Johnny is free to spend his money as he wishes.”
“It’s not exactly his money. It’s family money, and his father asks that the spending stop.”
“You can’t separate us. What do I care about a couple of photos?”
“Obviously enough to ransack my room.”
“You made such a fuss about them. My curiosity was aroused.”
With all the leisure of a lord out for a Sunday stroll, Dougherty sipped his sake and placed his cup back on the table. “I’m sure Johnny and his family would also find them fascinating.”
If only I could get the photographs. Perhaps it would rob him of the proof he needed to turn Johnny’s family against me. “If you’ll turn over the photographs, I’ll leave Johnny.”
“And if you’d found them in my hotel room, I suppose we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“I told you, I’ll quit seeing Johnny if you hand them over.”
“That wouldn’t help you.”
“Why not?”
“One set is in government custody.”
“And what do you propose to do with them?”
“Nothing if you leave Johnny.”
“That would make Johnny very unhappy.”
“According to you.”
“I know how Johnny feels.”
He eyed my engagement ring. “I see you’ve extracted a promise of marriage from him.”
“Extracted? How dare you insult Mr. Graham with such a cheap insinuation.”
“I can tell you with the utmost confidence that his family will not countenance the likes of you.”
“You can’t keep us apart.”
Dougherty tapped his fingers on the table. “If he stays with you, his family will cut him off. But, more to the point, you’re wanted for larceny. And if you dare to set foot on U.S. soil with John Graham, I’ll have you arrested.”
THE TRIAL
A MATTER OF CALCULATION
MENOMINEE—JANUARY 26, 1917
Over the course of the Friday-morning session, Sawyer finally wrapped up his overly solicitous questioning of Frank.
“Miss Shaver, when did your friendship with the Baroness end for a second time?”
“In July of last year, after she learned my inheritance was drained and that I was up to my neck in the Highland Park mortgage.”
“How did she respond to this news?”
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“She dropped me like a hot penny.”
The women onlookers (excepting the reporters, there were only women in the courtroom today) muttered to each other, as if this were the damning news they’d been waiting for all along. But they hadn’t bargained on the evidence my attorney was about to introduce.
After Sawyer yielded the floor, Judge Flanagan turned to my lawyer. “Mr. Powers, I assume you would like to cross-examine?”
“Yes, thank you, Your Honor.” Powers rose and marched to the witness box. His pomaded gray hair glistened under the glare of the courtroom’s bare lightbulbs. “Miss Shaver, you graduated from high school in Pittsburgh and attended the University of Pennsylvania, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And did you have occasion to learn arithmetic along the way?”
“Of course.”
Powers took a few steps to the right, toward the jurors. “So you do know how to add and subtract?”
“Yes.”
“And you graduated from the University of Michigan Law School?”
“I did.”
Mr. Powers paced back to the witness box. “Started a law practice in Chicago and Menominee after that?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have to manage or oversee the finances of those practices?”
“I had an assistant tend the books.”
“Did you ever check the books?”
“Monthly.”
“Did that involve counting dollars?”
“Not exactly. It involved checking the expenses and collections.”
Powers stroked his hand over his chin, as if contemplating some weighty matter, and then, releasing his hand, asked, “Then how can you claim not to know the value of a dollar?”
Frank paused. Several of the jurors leaned forward. The courthouse mice likely pricked up their ears at the sudden silence.
I recited a prayer of quiet gratitude for my attorney. My side had taken quite a bruising during Frank’s direct examination. And with over a hundred thousand dollars at stake, I needed a strong defense. The fact is, I didn’t have that kind of money.
Frank held her head up high. “I meant exactly what I said. I grew up with plenty of money; my parents never flaunted the family wealth; and I expected my inheritance to last a long time.”
“Are you saying that, when you inherited two hundred thousand dollars from your father’s estate, you considered that an unlimited amount?”
“I’m saying two hundred thousand would have lasted a lifetime if May hadn’t come along.”
“That’s not what I asked. Did you think that sum was unlimited?”
“More or less.”
“Even when you withdrew tens of thousands at a time?”
“That’s how I grew up, believing that there was always more.”
“How can a lawyer not understand the simple matter of subtraction?”
Sawyer shoved his chair back and stood. “Objection, counsel is badgering.”
“Sustained,” said Judge Flanagan.
Mr. Powers walked to the defendant’s table and selected a paper from the lineup of pages he had spread out there. Approaching Frank, he said, “Miss Shaver, I’ll ask you to examine the signature on this sheet.”
Frank took the sheet from Powers and examined it. “Yes, that looks like my signature.”
“Does it look like it, or is it your signature?”
“I guess it’s my signature.”
“And do you recall signing this on December 11, 1915?”
“Vaguely.”
“Will you read it, please?”
In an uncharacteristically subdued manner, Frank read, “By this document I, Frank Shaver, hereby release the Baroness May de Vries from all debts and loans, and everything else that may be construed as such.”
Powers had been studying the floor, as if to absorb every word of the reading. “Now, Miss Shaver, you are an attorney, correct?”
“Yes, but there were extenuating circumstances.”
Powers rushed in. “You signed this contract, did you not?”
“Yes, but I didn’t understand it.”
“Do you deny this is a simple contract, understandable to a layman?”
Sawyer rose. “Objection, argumentative.”
“Sustained,” said Flanagan.
Powers forged ahead. “What didn’t you understand, Miss Shaver?”
“I was very ill at the time; I couldn’t take it all in.”
“Did you know the word ‘everything’ was in it?”
“No, I didn’t know what was in it.”
“You signed without carefully reading it, without noticing the word ‘everything’?”
“I was ill.”
“If you were ill, why did you entertain signing a contract?”
“Even when I’m ill, I can always write. And talk.” Frank gripped the sides of the witness box and pitched forward. “The fact is, I trusted May and she tricked me.”
With a sigh, I relaxed in my chair. We had a signed release. No amount of squirming or wheedling on Frank’s part could undo that.
A JOURNEY OF SOUL SEARCHING
TOKYO TO VANCOUVER—JUNE 1891
As the crew pulled up ropes and the ship drifted away from Tokyo’s harbor, I sought a perch at the rear starboard. The lumbering Maiden of the Seas turned and headed for open water, destined for Vancouver, Canada. I leaned over the ship’s rail to study Tokyo’s bustling shoreline and the buildings rising beyond its piers. Johnny was back there, at the Imperial Hotel. And I, standing apart from my fellow travelers in mourner’s black, already grieved our loss.
By now he’d probably awakened and discovered my note and the engagement ring (for I could not keep sweet, innocent Johnny’s ring under the circumstances): “Forgive me, Johnny. I love you, but we cannot be together. I am not who you think I am. Though I will treasure your memory always, I beg you, for your sake and mine, to forget me. I am leaving Tokyo—and you—today, because I am not good enough for you. Yours, Pauline.”
All I could think of was Johnny reading my words, crying out in anguish, and racing out of the hotel in search of me. Even now he might be standing at water’s edge, watching my ship dwindle on the horizon.
Tears, unbidden, streamed down my cheeks. I hated writing that farewell note, wrenching myself away from Johnny. Only the necessity of my sacrifice spurred me on. My poor, dear Johnny. He wouldn’t understand, couldn’t understand. Even if Dougherty broke his promise and told Johnny everything he knew about me, it wouldn’t have mattered to him. Sweet, naïve Johnny would have told me he loved me just the same. But I knew his family would never accept me, and I refused to condemn Johnny to a life apart from them. My love for him compelled me to save him from my mistakes. If I’d allowed my selfishness to prevail, I would have ruined the man I loved—my trusting, loyal Johnny.
The ship picked up speed, its propellers churning the waters in its wake and heaving it over the waves. The chill, damp air misting my face and neck sent shivers through me. With each lurch of the ship, my stomach writhed. I believed I had found my one true love in Johnny. But now the cold, hard metal of the ship parted the waters, speeding me out onto the deep sea, dispatching me to an uncertain future. A future without Johnny.
Dirty smoke belched from the ship’s two stacks, roiling into a murky trail pointing back to Tokyo’s harbor. Might Johnny check the boat departures and discover I’d taken this ship to Vancouver? Would he board the next ship, the one sailing for America, and try to track me down?
Much as I hoped he would find me, I knew I couldn’t allow it. I would spend only one day in Vancouver, long enough to purchase a train ticket and continue my eastward journey. Even if Johnny took the next ship out of Tokyo, he’d never make it from San Francisco to Vancouver in time to stop me. Nevertheless, fantasies filled my mind: I imagined Johnny finding me, swooping me into his arms, insisting we need never, ever part.
Still, in numb conviction, here I was, rushing away from him. How
it stung my heart to know that each day at sea and each mile of rail would take me farther and farther from Johnny.
All I had ever wanted was a respectable and happy life. Yes, I admit, I desired the ease that wealth brings, but not money simply for money’s sake: money so that I might enjoy travel, fine dining, and exotic sights in the company of someone I loved.
Had I ruined my chances for such a life? Were my prospects doomed ever since hunger and destitution drove me to Carrie Watson’s in Chicago? After all, my association with Miss Watson had given Reed Dougherty the ammunition he needed to break up my engagement to Dale, my hopes for a life with Johnny. Had I erred in joining forces with Sue Marie? If I’d never met her, I wouldn’t have been seduced into the plot that landed us in jail. Could I ever live these things down?
How different my life would be if I’d never crossed paths with the Pinkertons. I could hardly believe Dougherty had tracked me down in Tokyo. How incredible that he’d managed to foil me with the only two mistakes I had ever made in my life—being desperate enough to enter Miss Watson’s employ, and being foolish enough to allow Sue Marie to use me for her schemes.
I couldn’t undo my past, but I could learn from it. I would go someplace where no one knew of my mistakes, find the dignified and cultivated life I longed for, and live it honorably, albeit without Johnny.
I’m sorry, Johnny. So sorry my mistakes cost us a future of bliss. May you find happiness with someone more worthy than I.
FROM MENOMINEE TO NEW YORK
1891
I spent the rest of the summer in Menominee, basking in the acceptance and easy amiability one can find only with family. Young Gene had sprouted into a lean fourteen-year-old, rambunctious as a colt raring to run the range. Maman still took in sewing orders, but only for people she was “partial to.” As for Paul, he rose with the roosters six days a week to slave away at the lumber mill.
Over those late summer months, thoughts of Johnny rushed into any empty space in my mind, every idle moment of my time. I hashed and rehashed the events leading to our forced parting—the incredible happenstance of it all, how Reed Dougherty had robbed me of the love of my life. Could I have done anything differently? Should I have called Dougherty’s bluff? No, no, I always answered the same way: I’d done the right thing for Johnny. Young and well educated, he had the assurance of a position in an established business and the welcoming society of his well-to-do family. How could I have allowed him to turn his back on this bright future? No, if I had stayed and permitted Dougherty to tell Johnny of my past, Johnny would have clung to me all the same. But the cost to him would have been more than he could or should have borne.
Parlor Games Page 17
