Searching for Home (Spies of Chicago Book 1)

by Jessica Keller

  “I don’t do arithmetic at all, Miss—but I know what you’re asking. And no, I don’t stand in a factory all day. We do piece-work at home. Now, I’m not going to lie and tell you it’s nice work, ‘cause it ain’t. Look at what it does to my hands.” Iana held up her gnarled fingers. “I’m only twenty-two and I look like my great nonie.”

  Twenty-two. Goodness, James was twenty-three, and his hands weren’t beaten up like that. They hadn’t felt weathered at all when he’d traced his fingertips down Ellen’s cheek.

  She blinked a couple times.

  Where could he be? He wouldn’t have returned to Wheaton after Uncle Garret kicked him out, would he? Perhaps he had. Either way, she kept expecting him to saunter back into Aunt Louisa’s drawing room as if the last two days had all been one big gag. But he was gone.

  She shook her head and focused on Iana. The girl could be pretty if she wasn’t worked so hard and had the chance to bathe and relax. Ellen’s heart squeezed. If she could even help just Iana, that would be enough to make her life mean something.

  Ellen cleared her throat. “What if I make a list of ways to start helping and find some woman who will donate and—”

  “People don’t want handouts.”

  “But they have so little. Isn’t that what all this striking is for?” She stopped. Marchers jostled past her again.

  “No. They want set wages for set time. The anarchist faction is wanting them to fight for eight-hour workdays at twelve-hour pay, but most people aren’t for that. They just want a fair eight-hour’s pay and the promise that they can leave for home after that.”

  “I figured everyone wants more money.”

  “No. Want they’re wanting is respect. To be treated like we’re as good as the people up in their mansions on Prairie Avenue. Their money don’t make them better than us, and we want them to know that.” Iana fisted her hands.

  “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I’ve met a lot of those people, and they are just like any other group of people in the world. Some of them are very good, and some aren’t.”

  The girl’s eyebrows dove into a deep V. “You been to their homes? Do you live up there? You one of them?”

  “I’m only in town visiting relatives who live there. I’m from the country. I grew up playing in a river with mud clear to my ankles. Believe me, if the people on Prairie Avenue knew about that, they wouldn’t respect me, either.” She sighed.

  Iana crossed her arms and studied Ellen. “Do you fancy their fake respect then?”

  “Fake—”

  “’Cause that’s all it is if they treat you well because they don’t know you.”

  The girl’s words sank deep into Ellen’s heart. She blinked back tears. “Iana, I want to be your friend.”

  “Friends with me? Well, I never.”

  “Please, call me Ellen.”

  “What do you want to be friends with someone like me for?”

  Ellen wrapped her arm around Iana’s waist. “Because you’re wiser than me. I could learn a great deal about life from you.”

  Her friend ducked her chin into her chest, but not before Ellen caught her smiling.

  They rounded the avenue, causing the lakefront to come into view. Hundreds of people swarmed the streets to the point where traffic couldn’t pass. The strikers had effectively shut down a major portion of the city, not to mention all the factories sitting empty without anyone to work that day.

  Craning her neck, Ellen tried to guess how many people had assembled. “Mercy. I’ve never seen such a crowd. Not even at the horse track in my home town.”

  “They said more than thirty thousand people would show today. Looks like more.”

  “Thirty thousand—that’s unfathomable.”

  Iana scanned the crowd.

  Ellen poked her. “Am I keeping you from someone?”

  “Me? No. I’m looking for the Tabors.” Iana must have seen her questioning look. “You know, the famous Tabor’s Detective Agency … the ear that always hears. People just call them Tabors for short.”

  Ellen shook her head.

  “Well, they’re famous all over because companies hire them to break up strikers, or to spy on us and find out what we’re doing.”

  A thought struck Ellen. She’d never considered asking James who he spied for. Could he be one of the Tabors? Why hadn’t she asked?

  She gulped. “And you’re afraid of them?”

  “’Course. The Tabors love rioting and strikes because it secures them business. They aren’t under the same laws as the police. Their money comes from the business owners.”

  A bell tower chimed, making Ellen jump. It had taken so long to walk the whole way to the lakefront in the large group. She hadn’t realized how much her feet ached in her slippers that were most definitely not made for marching.

  How late in the evening had it become? With all the congestion downtown it would take double the amount of time—or more—to get back to Aunt Louisa’s tonight. Besides that, she’d have to take public transportation. She certainly didn’t have enough money to hire a private carriage.

  Even though her aunt told Carter she wouldn’t worry about how late Ellen arrived home, Ellen knew appearing at a decent hour would garner fewer questions. She still had to decide how much to tell Aunt Louisa about the day.

  She imagined it: “Dear Aunt, I jumped from Carter’s carriage and ventured out—alone—into the city and participated in a march for the laboring class.”

  No. That would not go over well at all.

  Grabbing a flyer from a man preaching damnation on the street corner, Ellen pulled a pencil snub from her reticule and jotted down her aunt’s address.

  “Here.” She pressed the paper into Iana’s hands. “I want you to keep me informed. Send word to me when the next meeting will happen or if there is any news or anything I can do to help you.”

  “Send you word, but I—”

  Money. “Of course.” Ellen pulled a few coins from her purse and put them in Iana’s palm. When Iana tried to give them back, Ellen took the girl’s fingers and closed them over the cash. “Send me word, about anything. We are friends. Remember that.”

  “But Miss Ellen, the carriage you were in is so far away. How will you get home?”

  Ellen knotted her fingers together. “I’m good at using public transportation.”

  Iana’s eyes widened. “And being all alone? You really are a brave woman.”

  After that, Ellen charged off to catch the streetcar. She hopped aboard and grabbed the top rail like she’d been riding the contraption her whole life. No one looked at her funny. She remembered she still wore Iana’s jacket and decided it was exciting to travel incognito. If they had known she was the niece of Louisa Danby, they would have gasped and fanned themselves, but dressed like a street urchin, they didn’t even give her a look.

  Which settled everything.

  She wouldn’t tell her aunt anything about her adventure.

  ***

  When Ellen stepped off the streetcar more than an hour later, she shrugged out of Iana’s tent-sized jacket and wadded it into a giant fabric-ball. She chose a stop a few blocks from her aunt’s home in order to sneak to the back of the house unnoticed. After looking in all directions, Ellen knelt and concealed the jacket behind a bush near the service entrance to the home. Because they never ventured out through the back door, her aunt and uncle wouldn’t have cause to see it there.

  Tip-toeing around the side of the house, Ellen ducked whenever she encountered a window. On feet as worn down as her spirits, she climbed the front stairs and knocked. The door snapped open and her aunt ushered her inside.

  “Oh my dear, you must tell me all about your day.” Aunt Louisa grabbed Ellen’s hand and tugged her toward the parlor. “Is Mr. Hurst not the kindest of men? Did he introduce you to everyone? I’m sure he did, a man like him.”

  Ellen took her time sitting down. “He is exactly as he should be.”

  Her aunt clasped her ha
nds together under her chin with a sigh. “I knew it. And when does he want to see you again?”

  “He … he asked to see me tomorrow.” Well, before he gave his leave-the-carriage-and-we’re-done ultimatum.

  Her aunt scooted to the edge of her seat. “And where did he take you for dinner?”

  This she could answer honestly. “First we stopped at the Home Insurance Building. I thought it marvelous what people are accomplishing today. Then he brought me to The Palmer House for our meal.”

  Aunt Louisa couldn’t have been more pleased if Carter had taken her out instead of Ellen. They launched into descriptions and thoughts concerning the grand hotel. Her aunt fluttered about its merits, while Ellen admitted the building impressed her.

  When they had exhausted the wonders of Palmer House, her aunt moved to the next subject. “Tell me about the opera.”

  Don’t lie. Don’t lie.

  Ellen swatted at a non-existing wrinkle on her skirt. “I don’t know what to say about it.”

  Her aunt leaned over the armrest to pat Ellen’s forearm. “To tell you the truth, I don’t like the opera much at all. The whole event has altogether too much shrieking and foreign languages for my tastes.”

  Ellen rose. “I’m tired, Aunt. I think I’ll go to my room.”

  Aunt Louisa’s brows dipped. “Did you leave your coat in Mr. Hurst’s carriage?”

  “I’m unsure where the coat is at present.” She cupped her elbows. Please don’t notice the missing necklace.

  “Why would you have it off—no matter, I’m glad the day went well. There is one more thing we must discuss.” Aunt Louisa straightened her skirt as she stood. “I’m glad you’ve planned an outing with Mr. Hurst tomorrow, but—”

  “Don’t worry, we didn’t set plans.” Ellen shrugged, hating the half-truths. “If you have something else scheduled I’m able to join you.”

  “I’m relieved, because I accepted a dinner invitation for tomorrow night. They specifically asked for your presence.”

  Ellen turned to leave the room, but her aunt’s words made her look over her shoulder. “Really? Who’s hosting the party?”

  “Mrs. Goodwell.” Aunt Louisa straightened a framed photo on the side desk. “The help around here can’t do anything right.”

  But Ellen’s heart had lurched into her throat. Goodwell. What game was Mary playing? Ellen rubbed her cheek, remembering the sting from the woman’s hand across her face. “Did you say tomorrow night? I might not be able to attend.”

  “Oh, hush. If it’s the young Hurst you’re worried about, I’m sure the Goodwells have included him on the guest list. Sid Goodwell has more than enough money to spare, and that wife of his doesn’t seem to mind spending it.”

  Spending money or syphoning large chunks of it to fund an anarchist uprising? Same difference.

  Ellen followed her aunt down the hallway. “It’s just … I don’t know the Goodwells at all.”

  “They’re hosting the dinner as a benefit to raise funds for D.L. Moody’s ministry. Isn’t that an admirable endeavor?”

  Ellen bit back a humorless laugh. “Raising money for Moody? It fits at least.” She couldn’t call Mary Goodwell a dimwit. No, the woman had clearly orchestrated everything. But to what aim? Would she call Ellen out before her relations? That—or possibly catch her again. Ellen’s heart started to pound against her ribs like a prisoner beating against their cell bars. Calm down. If Mrs. Goodwell was anything, it was smart. She wouldn’t do anything at the party to jeopardize her cause.

  Ellen turned to go upstairs.

  Aunt Louisa peeked into Uncle Garret’s office. “Oh, where is my husband? I need to remind him so he doesn’t leave on one of his missions.”

  She caught her aunt’s last words and stopped in her tracks. Had she heard right? “Missions?”

  But only spies went on missions.

  Maybe Uncle Garret wasn’t an adulterer after all. What if her uncle knew more than he let on? Could that be the reason he sent James away? If they were on different sides then that would make sense.

  Ellen would never sleep tonight.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Chicago, May 2, 1886

  As the horses stopped, the carriage gave a last sway, and Ellen tried to think of a final excuse to avoid the Goodwells’ dinner party.

  She pressed her arms over her stomach. “I really don’t feel well.”

  Aunt Louisa fluttered her hands. “Now—just wait—you’ll see. All this worrying today over the young Hurst will have been for nothing. I’m sure he didn’t send word because he knew he’d see you tonight. Though, I do find it strange that he wouldn’t choose to accompany you. On the other hand, maybe he believes it’s a kindness to allow us your company because we’ll only have you with us in town a short while longer.”

  If only Ellen’s anxiety had been over Carter. “How would he know I won’t be with you much longer? I didn’t tell him about my mother’s plans to move west.”

  Her aunt patted Ellen’s knee. “I’m sure he feels it, my dear. He’s probably so—”

  “Enough.” Uncle Garret cleared his throat. “The footmen are waiting.”

  Ellen followed her relatives out of the carriage and onto the wood-planked sidewalk. She scanned the mansions situated on the upscale two-hundredth block of East Cullerton. The Goodwells’ home loomed before her, a light blue Victorian mansion with decorative red shingles. Its high gable peaks pierced the evening sky.

  Wealthy Chicagoans who summered in Wheaton built homes like this in her hometown, so they were familiar. But this house, with its oversized dormers, three colossal chimneys, and wraparound porch, suddenly made Ellen feel small and insignificant.

  Another carriage jingled up the drive. The matching brown horses snorted and pawed at the dirt.

  Uncle Garret grabbed Ellen’s elbow and led her along the walkway. “Stop gawking.”

  The front double doors had a beveled glass inlay with a winding pattern Ellen would have loved to run her fingers over if the home had belonged to anyone else.

  Aunt Louisa drew near. “Even if you don’t feel well, I want you to act like you are having a grand time. The Goodwells are not the kind of people you want to snub unintentionally.”

  Ellen nodded and rubbed her hands over her arms as she entered. She followed close on her uncle’s heels, scanning the open doorways as they passed. Anyone could grab her and ferret her away in a house like this. Her relatives wouldn’t notice Ellen’s absence for hours—and that would be too late. Suddenly she wasn’t so certain that Mary wouldn’t do anything to her.

  Ellen swallowed hard.

  Voices carried down the hallway. They entered a spacious ballroom where other guests mingled. Dark wood paneled the bottom half of the room, and rich maroon wallpaper covered the top. Deep blue carpeting padded her footfalls, so much so that she never heard the man approaching her.

  “Greetings, Miss Ingram.”

  She jumped, grabbed her heart, and a small shriek escaped her lips.

  He captured her elbow. “There now, little lady, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Oh.” She caught her breath, but her heart still beat a staccato rhythm against her rib cage. “Mayor Harrison. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s not every day I make a girl flush. It’s very becoming.” He smiled with grandfatherly warmth.

  “I didn’t know you’d be in attendance tonight.” She tried to recover her composure. A couple people still craned to watch her as if she were a circus act, but most had gone back to their conversations.

  “Have you enjoyed your visit to our fair city?” Mayor Harrison picked up a plate of cheese and fruit. He offered her first choice, but she declined.

  “I’ve seen and learned so much. I believe I understand many different things about life for the first time.”

  Why had Mary Goodwell invited Mayor Harrison? Mary hated the man. That was apparent from the way Mrs. Goodwell reacted when Ellen suggested the anarchists have a c
onversation with him. Was the party an elaborate ruse to trap him … kill him?

  With an unassuming grin, he popped a piece of cheese into his mouth. “Have we won you as a resident?”

  “I don’t know. I’m concerned about the disparity I’ve seen here.” Maybe her words would get her blacklisted in society, but it didn’t matter. In a few weeks Chicago politics wouldn’t matter anymore. She’d be hundreds—no—thousands of miles away.

  He set down his plate and mopped his mouth with a napkin. “If you’re talking about the immigrants, I understand. I’ve made it my mission to champion for them during my time in office. They’re the reason I keep winning each term.”

  “They vote for you?”

  The Mayor laughed. “Don’t sound so surprised. Everyone gathered in this room had someone who immigrated to this country in their ancestry. Chicago wouldn’t exist without it. What sort of man would I be if I looked down on them? Besides, they make up the majority of the residents anymore.” He held out his hand, and a lady in a purple, gathered dress came to his side.

  Ellen knew the Mayor had a policy for supporting middleclass businessmen. When she’d stolen the newspaper away from her uncle, she’d read that Harrison held more liberal views on moral and social issues than she had originally credited him with. But somehow Mary’s words had infused into her thoughts. Ellen hadn’t considered that they could be warped untruths.

  “Might I introduce you to my wife?” He gestured to the woman on his arm. “Miss Ingram, this is Mrs. Harrison.”

  The regal lady offered her hand. “Call me Marguerite.” She patted her husband’s arm. “I do believe Mr. Armour is looking for you.”

  When the couple walked away, Ellen shrank against the wall. At least with her back against the cold wooden panels, no one could snatch her from behind. Each time her eyes met someone else’s, she dropped her gaze to the floor. Every person in the room could be against her … waiting to pounce on her.

  She licked her lips.

  How would she handle an entire night like this?

  Her pulse pounded in her temples.

  Someone entered the room, and a hush fell across the crowd. Ellen looked. There stood Mary Goodwell on her husband’s arm. Her dress more exquisite than any other woman’s in attendance. She strolled to a group of people, Carter with Prissy on his arm among them. Prissy leaned closed and winked at Carter. Apparently he’d moved on quickly.