Laura nodded and went over to her case to get a pen and dip it into the inkwell. She quickly wrote the word “yes” and her initials at the bottom of the note, before she could change her mind. Then she refolded and handed the note to Betsy.
Turning back to her job case and her sorting, she suddenly felt like crying.
*****
Seth carefully tightened a bolt on the big Babcock with a wrench. He’d found that at least once a week he needed to go over the whole machine, cleaning off the accumulated grit and ink that worked its way into the threads of the bolts, looking for cracks, and then making sure each bolt was securely screwed down tight. He’d sent Dunk off on his break while he did this, asking the boy if he would mind taking a note to Laura over at the Women’s Cooperative Printers Union.
For nearly two weeks he’d been wrestling with what to do about Laura. Seemed like he kept hitting the same patch of dangerous black ice with her. Ever since he first met her. She’d walked up to where he and her friend, Hattie Wilks, sat in the library at San Jose Normal School and asked Hattie about the next assignment for their botany class. Tall, long-limbed, with an awkward grace, she reminded him of a young colt, an image that was reinforced when she inadvertently swung her book satchel too close to the table edge, knocking off a chemistry text that fell to the floor with a crash.
Laura looked like she wanted to sink into the floor as everyone looked over and glared. One obnoxious fellow even hissed “quiet,” and Seth barely restrained himself from going over and socking the idiot in the nose.
Hattie later explained to him that Laura was shy but constantly trying to be brave, so she kept getting herself into difficulties. Yet she resented it when someone tried to help her.
And this was the problem. He would see her struggle with something––like the student in the small Cupertino one-room school house who’d harassed her last fall. Then he would do what he could to help. But inevitably she would flail out at him, seeing his actions as interference, and he’d lose his temper and walk away. Until the next time.
After the study session Sunday at the boarding house, he’d been so riled up it took the next few hours, walking up to the top of Twin Peaks and back home, to calm down. Hard physical activity and solitude. Only things that worked when the black clouds gathered. It had been difficult adjusting to city life after years of riding the range where there was plenty of both. Living indoors, rubbing along with people and their petty problems, it all made him feel penned in. But he’d discovered on the range that too much solitude and a lack of mental stimulation could be just as bad for him. So he struggled to adjust to city life, trying to keep the demons at bay. And trying not to hurt anyone in the process. Anyone like Laura.
Which was why he’d decided not to attend any more of their study sessions. Why he’d decided not to contact her brother with his growing concerns about Orrie Childers and Franklin Griggs.
Then yesterday, Orrie mentioned having seen Laura at Hank’s Restaurant last Tuesday.
Orrie was pouting because he wouldn’t agree to take her to a dance at Russ House, and she said, “Too busy gallivanting with Miss ‘nose stuck up in the air’ Dawson, are you? I saw her on Tuesday at Hank’s, too high and mighty to come over and say good day when she saw I was with you.”
He knew not to ask Orrie what she meant...that would just encourage her teasing. But he’d not been able to let go of the image of Laura standing in the doorway to the restaurant, looking for him, and then leaving. Perhaps she’d not seen him? If he remembered, Orrie took his usual seat—the chair facing the door. He hated sitting with his back to a room. Made his neck itch.
As did Orrie’s play acting. If anyone was watching them, she pretended like she was besotted. Like a saloon girl who romanced every cow poke who walked through a pair of swinging doors. Then she turned cold as ice when no one was looking. Like she did that Tuesday at Hank’s. She’d switched from complaining about a dressmaker to batting her eyelashes and patting him on the cheek for no particular reason. Only now he knew the reason—she had an audience—Laura.
As a result, he’d decided this morning to send the note. Told himself it was because he needed a woman’s opinion on what Orrie was up to and if it had anything to do with Rashers’ death. But he knew the real reason was that he couldn’t stand her thinking he was the kind of fool who would fall for Orrie Childers’ shenanigans.
*****
Once again, Laura stood at the corner of Clay and Sansome, watching Seth Timmons exit the Niantic. The sun beat down on her parasol, which did little to lessen the heat that lay like a blanket over her royal blue polonaise. For some reason the constant noise of the street, which she normally didn’t notice, was more intrusive today. The clip-clop of horses, jingle-jangle of harnesses, squeak of wheels, rattle of wooden carts, barking of dogs, and shouting of newsboys thrummed in her ears, reawakening her headache.
Obviously it was a mistake to have agreed to meet him. She would tell him she had to go right home; he could accompany her to the corner where she caught the horse car if he had something imperative to say. Why did he look so cool, all dressed in black? She had a brief image of him sitting easily on a horse, peering out from under his stetson across the hot, dry expanses of Texas.
Then Seth was in front of her, saying, “Thanks so much for coming. I hope I haven’t kept you standing out long in this heat.”
“No, but I really can’t take the time to join you for your lunch break. I must be heading home immediately.”
“Of course. I’ll walk you to Kearney. Perhaps there will be a little shade on the Portsmouth Square side of the street while you wait for the car.” He turned and politely offered his arm.
Unreasonably irritated with his easy acquiescence, Laura ignored this offering and started to step down off the sidewalk, looking back at him and saying, “What was so important that you had to meet me?”
Unfortunately, she’d misjudged the depth of the drop from the sidewalk to street, and Seth neatly kept her from stumbling by taking her left arm at the elbow. She felt her already over-heated cheeks turn to fire, and she remained silent as they continued across the street.
When they both safely achieved the other side, Seth said, “I wanted to consult with you about Miss Childers.”
Laura felt herself stiffen and tried with great effort to sound nonchalant as she said, “Yes? What, may I ask, is the problem?”
“You mentioned the other day that we might want to consider if Miss Childers was one of the women, like the box factory forewoman, that Rashers might have...”
“Might have been involved with in one of his apparently numerous dalliances. Is that what you are trying to say?”
Laura paused and tilted her parasol so she could see Seth’s face as she continued to speak. “Why do you ask? I thought you were quite firm in your assertion that the murderer couldn’t be a woman.”
“I still think it’s unlikely. But I never said that Miss Childers hadn’t been one of the women who flirted with Rashers. And I certainly didn’t mean to suggest she might not have been the cause of Mrs. Rashers’ jealousy. Which is what we were discussing, if you recall.”
“Your point?”
“My point is that while I wasn’t all that surprised that Miss Childers started making up to our foreman, Griggs, after Rashers’ death, I always assumed that her flirtation with Rashers was designed to improve her pay, and it stood to reason that with Griggs now responsible for measuring her output, she would turn her attentions to him.”
“Your typesetters don’t measure their own pages?” Laura was surprised because at both the San Jose Mercury and her current job, one of the privileges of being a full-time typesetter was measuring your own output in terms of how many ems of type you had produced in any given day.
“No, not even Mrs. Sullivan or Griggs did the measuring. Rashers always insisted he do it. Gave him just that little bit more power over everyone.”
Without thinking, Laura slipped her arm through
Seth’s when they got to Montgomery Street, glad of the support this gave her as she skirted around the dried dung that lay scattered in the street. “So, she’s been flirting with Griggs. What is the difficulty?”
“My concern is that two weeks ago she...well...she turned her attentions to me.”
“Well, I guess congratulations are in order. Good for you. But I don’t see why you felt the need to consult with me on this.” Insufferable man. Did he just ask to meet her to gloat?
“Look Laura, that wasn’t what I meant. What I am concerned about is why she suddenly has dropped Griggs.”
“Maybe Miss Childers got tired of watching him fawn over Mrs. Rashers. Annie said he’s been pretty pathetic—bringing her flowers and such. Maybe she decided to move on to someone more responsive. You didn’t seem to mind the other night when you took her to Hank’s...”
Laura stopped talking and pulled her arm out from his, appalled that she’d admitted she’d been there...and fled.
Seth turned towards her. “I wanted to explain that. She showed up outside of Hank’s that night and insisted I take her to dinner. I didn’t know until today that you were there. You should have come on in. I would have welcomed the company.”
“No, no...I just happened to be passing by on my way home from visiting my brother at his law offices. I had a question I wanted to ask you, if you were there. Then I saw you were...busy.”
“What question?”
“I wondered if you’d ever seen my forewoman, Iris Bailor, at Rashers—maybe visiting Mrs. Sullivan.”
“I am afraid we’ve never been introduced, so I wouldn’t know if she’s been there. Is it important?”
“Not really. Just a thought I had.”
They walked together in silence for a few moments, and then Seth said, “How did Mrs. Sullivan take the news the trial was postponed? I was sorry to hear it. Griggs told us on Monday.”
“She seems to be holding up. Annie has been visiting her, getting her to help with some questions she has about Rashers. Annie thinks that Mr. Rashers might have been working to take over the Neppier Printing Company. Oh...please, don’t tell anyone at Rashers that. It’s just speculation on her part.”
Seth looked sharply over at her. “Does your brother think this will be important to the trial?”
“It introduces the possibility of another suspect. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about James Neppier or his son?”
“Actually, I applied for a job at their place last spring, before I got the job at Rashers. But they require a union card. Met the son, Jack. Smooth talker, hinted that if he were in charge, union membership wouldn’t be a requirement.”
“Do you mind if I pass on that information to Nate? It might help.”
“Of course I don’t mind. But back to Miss Childers. I’m really worried about her. Her work’s deteriorated to the extent that I’m afraid she might get fired. She comes in late, leaves early, talks like she doesn’t care about anything in the world but dancing and buying a new hat.”
Laura thought that Orrie sounded like a woman who believed she wasn’t going to have to work much longer...and wondered if the typesetter had found someone even richer than Rashers to take care of her. Maybe her attentions to Seth weren’t designed to make Griggs jealous but were directed at someone else. She started to ask him if he noticed any connection between Orrie’s flirtatious behavior and visits to the shop by any of Rashers’ customers or suppliers.
Then she remembered Orrie touching Seth’s cheek and she changed the subject. “When is your entrance exam scheduled? Kitty, lucky girl, doesn’t go until Tuesday morning, so she will be able to benefit from Ned’s and my experiences Monday afternoon.”
“I have an eleven o’clock exam time, Monday. Griggs said if I worked two extra hours today, I wouldn’t have to be back to work on Monday until two. Just in case the examiners get behind. I heard that happens. So I am working tonight until eight instead of six.”
“Won’t you come tomorrow to our last study session? We are starting at one. Mrs. O’Rourke, our cook, has promised us a nice luncheon to fuel our efforts. We won’t go too late.”
They had just gotten to Kearney, and Seth stopped. Laura looked at her watch and saw that she had ten minutes until the next car was due. She said, “Let’s cross and sit on that bench for a minute. There is a little shade.”
When they were both settled, she again brought up the Sunday study session.
She felt Seth stir beside her.
He said, “I don’t believe I will join you. Better that I just concentrate on reviewing my own notes.”
Laura didn’t understand why he was being so stand-offish. Kitty said he scared her—and she’d tried to explain that it was just his way. She really wanted her friends to get to know him better. After all, with any luck, they’d all be attending the university together. So she tried again, saying, “Why not just stop by for a few hours? Kitty has worked up the most ingenious list of memory prompts for the Greek plays. It will be fun.”
“That’s all this is to you, isn’t it? A game?” Seth suddenly stood up and glared down at her. “Miss Blaine gets to pretend that she isn’t simply waiting around until she marries some man as rich as her father, and Mr. Goodwin gets to postpone doing a day’s work for the next five years. Well, excuse me if I don’t want to play.”
Laura stood up so rapidly that Seth had to take a step back from her. How dare he talk to her that way? She briefly thought about taking a swing at him with her parasol.
Instead, she said, “That’s completely unfair. You don’t know Kitty or Ned at all. And I thought you knew me better than that. But I guess not. You’re too busy worrying about little Miss Childers and where she got the money for a new hat. Excuse me if I don’t care.”
“I guess you’re right, Miss Dawson,” he said between visibly clenched teeth. “I thought I did know you better. I thought you’d have just the littlest bit of compassion for a woman like Miss Childers. A woman who has been working since she was eleven, supporting three younger siblings and having nothing to look forward to but more of the same. A woman who wasn’t raised in a loving home, with parents and brothers who looked out for her and taught her right from wrong. A woman who could be led astray by the promise of a new hat.”
Laura felt like she’d sustained a physical blow, his anger was so palpable, and she was having trouble breathing––her stays unbearably tight and her head pounding.
Before she could gather her wits together to respond, Seth pointed up Kearney and said, “I believe that is your car. If you will excuse me, Miss Dawson. I need to get back to work.” He then turned and hurried across the street, disappearing from her view in a few moments.
Chapter Twenty-five
Saturday, evening, July 31, 1880
“The people living in the western addition are to be congratulated upon having such ample and elegant accommodations for travel as are afforded by the Sutter-street, the Geary-street and the California-street cable railroads.” San Francisco Chronicle, August 18, 1880
Laura watched as the sun set the skyline on fire. She was walking up the steady incline of O’Farrell Street west towards Larkin, entranced by the changes in a sky that was unusually clear. No fog to soften the edges of the horizon or mute the colors of the end of day. The wind had died down, leaving everything hot and still, but she’d brought a shawl because she could already feel a chill in the air.
When she reached Larkin where she would get the Sutter Street cable car up to the roundhouse at Bush, she stood for a few minutes taking in the way the milky blue of the sky perceptibly darkened, and she saw the glimmer of the first star. The black silhouette of the houses on the ridge line of the hills were sharply etched against the twilight sky, and a lamplighter was making his way down the street towards her, creating his own miniature stars in his wake.
After waiting about ten minutes, she heard the clang of the cable car. As the car slowed, she leaped on and grabbed the railing as the car bega
n to accelerate. At seven-thirty on a Saturday evening, the seats weren’t full, and those men and women sitting beside her looked weary after a hard day’s work.
The decision to try and catch Seth Timmons as he arrived home from Rashers suddenly felt foolish. He’d be tired. He would want either to study or go to sleep. But she knew she wouldn’t get any more studying done or rest herself until she talked to him.
She had reached home this afternoon absolutely furious. She’d run right up to her room to strip off her dress and loosen her corset, which had become unbearable. She must have been making more noise than usual because Annie knocked on her door and asked if anything was wrong. Welcoming an audience, she drew Annie into her room and gave her a detailed description of every irritating and hateful thing Seth had said and done.
As she slipped on a light robe, she said, “He treated me like some child. Can you believe he accused me of seeing the entrance exams as a game?”
Annie shook her head and said, “That was rather stupid of him since I am sure he doesn’t believe that for one instant. I suspect Mr. Timmons has a bit of temper. As do you, darling. Putting all that aside, what did you think of his concern about Orrie Childers? Seems to me that he wouldn’t have asked you to meet him if he wasn’t really worried about her. I just thought she was a bit of a gossip and liked being the center of attention. Given that there is a murderer running around, however, that kind of behavior could get a girl in trouble.”
And that was the moment that the heat of Laura’s self-righteous anger had begun to cool. Annie was correct. Seth wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of sending Dunk with a note or asking her to meet with him on a whim. He was worried about Orrie Childers—probably with good reason. Even if Orrie’s actions were not tied up with Rashers’ murder, was it any less dangerous if she were taking up with some man who would use her and then throw her away? She remembered Seth’s angry words about Orrie’s hard life and not having loving parents to teach her right from wrong. She’d begun to feel ashamed.
Deadly Proof: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery Page 25
