Anything But Civil

by Anna Loan-Wilsey

  “Should’ve had you along, Hattie,” Sir Arthur said as way of introduction. “Mrs. Mahoud, the Grant home caretaker, gave us a most illuminating tour. Needed your pen. I won’t remember half of what she told us,” Sir Arthur said, half laughing, to the general.

  “Yes, she is most kind,” Adella said. “When we toured the house, she went out of her way to show us the president’s personal belongings, including a satin mouchoir handkerchief case, a wooden tea caddy, and a mother-of-pearl cigar case, that were still in the house.”

  “Yes, I think Sir Arthur’s favorite item was the .41-caliber Colt derringer on which Grant himself had carved ‘U.S. Grant 1863,’ ” Lieutenant Triggs said, smiling, as Sir Arthur nodded enthusiastically.

  “It was brilliant,” Sir Arthur said. “It would be the crown jewel of my collection. If only the Grants would sell it.”

  “Glad it was worthwhile,” General Starrett said. “Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook and I thought it might—” He stopped mid-sentence as Henry Starrett stomped down the stairs. His scowl hadn’t softened. “Well, hello, Henry. Haven’t seen you all day. Late night?”

  Henry, ignoring his father, looked about the foyer, then focused his attention on Sir Arthur. “You get around, don’t you, Englishman? Well, you should keep a better leash on your girl. I’m sick of finding her underfoot in my own house.”

  Sir Arthur’s face reddened as he took a step forward.

  “Father,” Adella said, trying to ease the tension, “you haven’t met Lieutenant Triggs.”

  “That’s all right, ma’am,” Lieutenant Triggs said, stepping next to Sir Arthur and laying a hand on his shoulder. It was the second time in less than twelve hours that a man had laid a hand on Sir Arthur and I anticipated that poor Lieutenant Triggs was about to have Sir Arthur’s fury flung at him. I was wrong.

  “Thank you for tea, Mrs. Reynard,” Sir Arthur said calmly, removing Morgan Triggs’s hold on him. “And the tour, General. As I said, it was most illuminating.” Without another word to acknowledge Henry Starrett, Sir Arthur turned his back on us and left.

  “Does he always leave a room like this?” Lieutenant Triggs asked me as we scrambled out the door to catch up with Sir Arthur.

  “No,” I said, pondering the question I’d been asking myself. “Only when Henry Starrett enters it.”

  CHAPTER 8

  I’d spent the entire evening and part of the night transcribing my notes from General Starrett’s interview. Sir Arthur’s disappointment for not having them in hand earlier in the evening had been assuaged by their sheer volume. He had graciously given me until morning to finish.

  Well before sunrise, with the notes on Sir Arthur’s desk, I stood at the top of the Washington Street stairs, wearing my rubber boots, recently purchased from Strohmeyer’s, for the first time. Although I’d have little time to actually hike this morning, I was excited; it had snowed several inches during the night. Even in the faint light of the quarter moon, everything glistened. Snow crystals clung to the tree branches and the muddy street was sparkling white, a single wagon track running down the middle. The view from the top of the stairs revealed that throughout the entire town every awning, lamppost, bench, boardwalk, parked wagon, and rooftop was blanketed in snow. And the stillness was absolute.

  Not a single footprint marked the newly fallen snow on the stairs. I gingerly stepped on the top stair, holding the railing, then decided that I didn’t want to be the first to test the slipperiness of the untrodden stairs. Instead I walked down Prospect to the Green Street, or as the pupils who have to climb them for class every day call them, the High School stairs. Here many footprints marked the passage of other early morning risers, mostly merchants and clerks who worked on Main Street below. I followed in their path and descended the hill to Bench Street without incident. My goal this morning was Mrs. Brendel’s first, to order holly, greens, and several bouquets of cut flowers for the Christmas decorations, and then to the river path that followed the train tracks toward the Mississippi River.

  I arrived at Mrs. Brendel’s a few minutes before she opened. I’d planned it that way. Mrs. Brendel had the best selection of cut flowers and Christmas greenery in town, but she was first and foremost a milliner. I’d spent hours since arriving in Galena pursuing the wares of Mrs. Edwards’ Millinery and especially Miss Burke’s, which I passed on Main Street every time I walked to the Green Street Bridge, but I’d never been to Mrs. Brendel’s. I now took the opportunity to admire her latest creations in her shop front window until a young girl with bows in her hair, obviously not Mrs. Brendel, unlocked the door. It took all of my restraint to order only the holly, evergreen rope, and flowers I’d come for. As I left, I pledged to myself I’d be back at a more convenient time for the fancy lace braid hat in the window. The wide satin trim and large spray of velvet forget-me-nots would match my navy brilliantine suit perfectly.

  I crossed the river on the footbridge and walked up Park Avenue. When I passed the Starrett house, most of the curtains were still drawn. From previous early morning hikes, I’d presumed that Mrs. Reynard and her grandfather, General Starrett, were both late risers. It seemed Captain Henry Starrett was as well. Mr. Reynard, on the other hand, was always gone to work before even I passed by. This morning seemed to be an exception, as evidenced by the three sets of footprints on the steps leading down from the lawn to the road. As I followed the train tracks south, I noticed that two of those sets of footprints had followed the same path. Who else had been hiking this way this morning from the Starrett house? I got my answer in the form of a distinct giggle a few yards away. Suddenly a snowball whizzed by my head and smacked against an elm behind me. Shouts of glee from the two children filled the still air.

  “Can’t a body pass in the early morning without being assailed by a missile of snow?” I mockingly declared. A little girl shrieked.

  “It’s not Mrs. Becker,” a boy of ten said. “It’s some lady in funny clothes.” I looked at the short hemline of my hiking skirt and my boots. What was so funny about them? “You can come out now, Sis.” A girl about eight came out of hiding from behind a tree.

  “You’re not going to Mama, are you?” his sister said.

  “I don’t know, who might your mother be?” I asked.

  The boy stood tall and puffed out his chest. “Mrs. Frederick Reynard. I’m Master Edward Reynard and this is my sister, Gertrude.” I knew the Reynards had children, having heard their squeals and the pounding of running feet above General Starrett’s library, but I’d not yet met them.

  “Well, Master Reynard, Miss Reynard, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. And I am not some lady in funny clothes; my name is Miss Davish and I’m wearing my very practical hiking costume. And no, Miss Reynard, I’m not going to tell your mother. But I do think an apology is in order,” I said, trying not to laugh.

  “Sorry, Miss Davish,” the children said in unison. Edward brushed the snow on the ground with his boot and stared down.

  “Apology accepted,” I said, offering my hand. Edward smiled and shook it heartily. Gertrude giggled and smiled at me before running back toward the trees. Her brother immediately followed his sister.

  Chuckling under my breath, I continued on my hike. Yet before I’d gone a hundred yards, a high-pitched screech came from the direction of the children I’d left behind. I ran back the way I’d come.

  “Help, help!” Edward was flying over the snow toward me screaming. “It’s Gertie!” He grabbed my hands and began pulling me down toward the river. “Come on, we have to help Gertie.”

  I let him lead me to the edge of the river, all the while hearing screams and cries from Gertie. But when we got there she was nowhere in sight.

  “Where’s your sister, Edward?” I asked. He pointed to a black hole in the river about ten feet from the edge, where the ice had broken completely. The snow around the hole had been scraped away on the side closest to the riverbank.

  “Oh my God. She’s fallen through the ice?” I asked.


  “We were playing and . . . the ice broke and . . . ,” Edward replied. “You have to get her out!”

  Suddenly the little girl resurfaced, gasping for air and wildly thrashing about in the freezing water. She obviously couldn’t touch the bottom of the river.

  “Ned! Ned! He-e-e-el-l-lp-p-p!” Gertie screamed, madly clutching for a hold on the slippery edge of ice. She burst into convulsive sobbing; her breathing sounded sporadic. Without thinking, I threw off my coat, dropped to my knees, and then crawled on my belly toward the break in the ice, pulling my coat behind me.

  “I’m coming, Gertrude. Keep swimming. I’m almost there.”

  I inched toward the struggling girl praying that the ice would hold my weight. Not wanting to get too close, I stopped about three feet from the hole and I threw the end of my coat toward it.

  “Grab my coat, Gertrude!” I cried. “Grab my coat!”

  As the little girl snatched the end of my coat, the weight of her pulled me toward the hole. The ice creaked and then stopped. I pulled my coat toward me and held my breath. The ice creaked again, but I could see that Gertrude had her elbows on the ice. A bald eagle circled silently above us.

  “Hang on, Gertrude, and I’ll pull you out.”

  “It’s hard!” the little girl cried. “My hands hurt and I can’t feel my legs!”

  “Just hold on and everything will be all right.” I tried to sound convincing and keep the worry from my voice.

  “Hold on, Gertie!” her brother shouted encouragement from the river’s edge. “She’ll get you out.”

  It seemed to help. I could feel the coat draw taut as I slowly drew the little girl toward me. I inched backward painfully slow, trying to keep my weight evenly distributed, while pulling Gertrude from the water. When her legs and feet finally surfaced, I dragged her as quickly as I could to me. Her lips were blue and she was shivering uncontrollably. I wrapped her in my coat and pulled her tightly to my chest. I crawled back to the edge of the river and safety, on my knees.

  “I want my mama!” Gertrude whimpered, her breathing shallow. I stood up with Edward’s helping hand.

  “We’re going to get your mother right now, Gertie,” I said, starting to walk up the hill toward the path. I glanced over my shoulder at the sound of wings flapping behind us. The bald eagle had landed next to the break in the ice.

  “Don’t worry, Gertie,” Edward said, patting his sister’s back. “You’re going to be all right now.”

  “Edward’s right,” I said. “He’s going to see that you have warm clothes, a fire, and warm milk waiting for you.” I nodded to Edward, who immediately dashed back toward the house. I followed him as fast as I could.

  “C-c-c-cold,” the child whispered, becoming lethargic and heavy in my arms.

  “We’ll be home soon,” I said. I too was starting to feel the effects of the cold. I wasn’t wearing a coat and while I was crawling across the ice my gloves and clothes had gotten wet. My back ached, my ears and cheeks burned, and I too was losing feeling in my hands and feet. I’d only gone up the hill and a few yards along the path when I heard adult voices approaching. I kept moving.

  A woman cried, “Gertie! My baby!”

  “Mama,” Gertie barely whispered.

  “See,” Edward said. “I told you Miss Davish rescued Gertie.”

  “What on earth were you doing?” a man’s voice yelled.

  “Father,” Mrs. Reynard said as Henry Starrett came into view. I’d thought his comment was directed at the children until I heard the tone Adella used. Henry Starrett was speaking to me.

  “Silly woman,” Henry said sharply, “we might’ve had to rescue both of you.” I didn’t have the strength to remind him that that had been unnecessary.

  Less than a minute later, Gertie was wrapped in dry blankets and lifted from me into her mother’s outstretched arms, while someone put a blanket around my shoulders. I took a step forward and stumbled. Captain Starrett and the butler, each lifting me by an arm, supported me as we walked back to the house. A small crowd had gathered with several well-wishers patting me on the back or shaking my hand. I flinched at the pain each encounter shot through my body.

  “You’re a fool,” Captain Starrett said under his breath as Adella wept over her shivering child. “You could’ve gotten my granddaughter killed.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Captain,” I said, my teeth chattering. “She was drowning and I couldn’t think of what better to do.”

  “You should’ve called for help and let one of us get her.”

  “There wasn’t time. Besides, you would’ve been too heavy for the ice,” I said. “As it was, it barely supported me.” I said this last sentence nonchalantly but inside quaked at the thought of the ice breaking beneath me. The captain was right; I’d been impulsive. But I wasn’t going to admit that to him.

  “Thank you, Miss Davish,” Adella said, approaching us, after Mrs. Becker whisked Gertrude into the house. “You’ve saved my daughter’s life. We will be forever grateful.”

  “You’re welcome, Mrs. Reynard,” I said, not wanting to voice the doubts and fears I still had for the child’s recovery. “I’m only glad I was at hand and could help.”

  The crowd slowly dispersed as we approached the house. Captain Starrett and the butler released their hold on me. In her shock, I heard Adella admonishing her son.

  “Ned, I told you never to go near the river alone. Wait until your father hears about this.”

  “Gertie’s okay,” Ned said, pleading. “Do you have to tell Father? I promise never to go near it again.”

  “Come with me, Hattie,” Mrs. Cassidy said, walking toward the kitchen in the back of the house as the family went to the front door. Instead of following her, I hung back. I was shivering, filthy, and exhausted and had to get back to work.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Cassidy, but I’m already late getting back,” I said. “They’re delivering the greenery today and Sir Arthur has more guests arriving this morning.”

  “Come on, girl,” the older woman said as she physically led me into her warm kitchen. “You’ll catch your death if you don’t come in and warm up. I’ll make us a fresh pot of coffee.” She sat me down in front of the fire and left the room for a moment. When she returned, she had a man’s cloak and gloves.

  “This is all I have, but you can wear them while we launder your own,” Mrs. Cassidy said, helping me put the cloak on. “You saved that girl, you know.” My whole body shook. My fingers and toes tingled and burned as I began to warm up. “You’re a hero, Miss Davish.”

  “I’m no hero, Mrs. Cassidy. I did what anyone would have.” The cook shook her head as she handed me a cup of coffee.

  “No, not everyone would’ve done what you did. It took real bravery to do what you did.”

  “But I didn’t even think about it. I was acting on instinct.”

  “Should’ve known you’d be so brave,” she said as if she hadn’t heard me. “People said you faced down a murderer after all.” I flinched at her reference to the murder of my previous employer.

  “I’m not brave, Mrs. Cassidy. And I’m certainly no hero.” I looked down at myself. I was a mess. I was wearing a man’s coat, several sizes too big for me; my dress was filthy, wrinkled, and torn in several places. Even my new rubber boots were covered with ice, mud, and grime. I touched my head and could only imagine the state of my hair. And my hat, where had I left my hat? “I’m simply cold, filthy, and slightly embarrassed.”

  Granted I couldn’t think of what else I should’ve done. The child was drowning. But what would Sir Arthur think of my escapade? Would he approve of my rescuing the girl or merely think me impulsive? I glanced at the kitchen clock.

  It won’t matter if I don’t get back right now, I thought. The Baineses’ train was about to arrive any minute and I’d be out of my job.

  CHAPTER 9

  When I returned to Sir Arthur’s house, all I wanted to do was run up the back stairs, get to my room without being seen, an
d change my clothes. None of that happened. Instead, as I came out of the kitchen, before I could even get to the stairs, Ida was in the doorway, blocking my way.

  “Oh, mein Gott!” she declared. “What happened to you, ja?”

  “It’s a long story and I need to change quickly. The Baineses will be here any minute.”

  “Too late, meine Freundin. They’re already here, ja. He wasn’t pleased you weren’t here to greet them. I was sent to find you.”

  “Oh, I better be quick.”

  “Nein, nein. You have to come with me now.” She took my arm, as if she expected me to dash out the door and escape Sir Arthur’s reprimand, and pulled me toward the parlor door. “If you don’t come, it will be my trouble, ja?”

  “All right, all right.” I tossed the borrowed gloves and cloak over Ida’s outstretched arm but didn’t know what to do with my boots. “This is ridiculous, Ida. I can’t go in there with boots on and looking like this.” I attempted to repin my hair in place without the aid of a mirror.

  “But you must,” Ida said, helping me with my hair. “You go in and I’ll get your shoes. You can change later, ja?”

  Ida escorted me to the parlor and knocked. “I found Hattie, Herr,” she announced. As I entered the room, my worst fears were confirmed. Sir Arthur was not alone. Lieutenant Triggs and his wife turned at my approach. A tall, handsome, impeccably dressed man in his fifties with a full head of silvery-blond hair and a short, tidy mustache stood leaning against the wall next to the fire. He winked at me. I blushed, confused until he did the same thing a moment later when he was looking elsewhere. I’d come to recognize it as a nervous twitch in his eye. But what did he have to be nervous about?

  Also in the room, seated on the settee closest to the fire, chatting about the barely palatable breakfast she had been served on the train, was a woman in her early fifties, who, though still attractive, must have been striking in her youth. Her light brown hair showed not a single streak of gray; her complexion was creamy and flawless except the few wrinkles etched into the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her day dress of cream and pink printed silk was exquisite, expensive, and probably mail-ordered from Paris or New York. She didn’t smile when she saw me. Nor did she stop talking.