by Rhys Bowen
“But, Daniel, she was living high on the hog from stolen money. She confessed to me that she was responsible for having Tiny shot. And she was partly responsible for your attempted murder and the murder of your federal agent colleague. She is a cold and calculating woman.”
He held up his hand at my onslaught. “Calm down, Molly, please. Of course I shall make my report to Mr. Wilkie. It will be up to him whether he chooses to send out agents to apprehend her. I am more concerned that the bigger fish are going to walk away scot-free. Mayor Schmitz, Abe Ruef, and Chief Dinan. From what General Funston said it seems highly probable that they will never now face corruption charges. They will emerge as heroes and that sticks in my craw.”
* * *
I wasn’t exactly surprised to find that Minnie Fenway, also known as Bella Rodriguez, also known as Lizzy Hatcher, had left the train at one of the stops we must have made during the night. If she ever showed up in Massachusetts, the police would be waiting for her. But my betting was that she’d stay on in the lawless West, inventing yet another identity for herself.
Thirty-three
Smoky, dirty, noisy New York City had never looked so inviting as we drew into Grand Central. Daniel hailed a cab and soon we were clip-clopping down familiar streets. While we had been away spring had burst forth in full glory. The sycamore trees were in full leaf. There were flowers in those tiny squares of garden that appear miraculously tucked between buildings or outside churches. Store windows displayed summer bonnets. There was an air of gaiety as mothers pushed buggies and older ladies walked their dogs. “Summer is coming,” everything seemed to be shouting. The harsh winter was over and forgotten. I felt tears come to my eyes when I realized how easily I could have returned home a widow, with no hope and no future. I glanced at Daniel, seated beside me with Liam on his lap. The nightmare was over.
At last we turned into our own dear Patchin Place. The cab came to a halt.
“You can walk the rest of the way, can’t you, sir?” he asked Daniel. “You don’t seem to have much in the way of bags.”
“We lost everything in the earthquake and fire in San Francisco,” I said as the cabby climbed down and then held out a hand to me.
“Did you really? Well, I’ll be blowed. Of course we read about it in the newspapers. Was it really as bad as they tried to make out?”
“Utter devastation,” I said. “A whole city in ruins and who knows how many lives lost.”
“Do you think they’ll ever recover?” he asked.
“They’ll rebuild,” Daniel said. “There is tremendous spirit out West. It’s my betting that they’ll build it up bigger and better.”
The cabby passed Daniel our pathetic bundle of odds and ends. Daniel put Liam down and took his hand. Liam had been looking around with apprehension and suddenly gave a squeal of delight. He broke away from Daniel and set off down Patchin Place on his own. He too realized that we were now home and safe. I was about to put the key in our own front door when the door opposite opened and Bridie came out. She too gave a cry of joy and rushed up to us.
“You’re safe,” she said. “You came back.” Tears started streaming down her face. “They said that San Francisco was all destroyed and so many people had died and we didn’t get any news from you so we thought that you’d died too.”
“We sent a letter, my darling, but it must have been held up,” I said. “The wires were down so there was no way of sending a telegram to let you know.” I hugged her to me and we stood there, locked in each other’s arms, both of us crying. Liam tugged at our skirts wanting to be picked up. Bridie had just bent down to embrace him when Gus came to the front door.
“Who are you talking to, Bridie?” she asked, then her face lit up. “It’s them, Sid. They’re home. They’re here!” she shouted. “Oh my darlings. You don’t know how we’ve worried about you. Why didn’t you write more often, you wicked girl? Here we were imagining all kinds of catastrophes and then we heard about the earthquake.”
“There were all kinds of catastrophes,” I said. “And we are really fortunate to make it out alive. But we’ll tell you all about it when we’ve had a chance to change our clothes and have a bath. It feels as if I’ve been living in this dress for weeks and poor little Liam…”
Liam was now in Bridie’s arms. Gus went over to give him a kiss. He resisted at first as if he couldn’t quite remember her.
“What? You don’t remember your Auntie Gus, who makes gingerbread and things for you?” she demanded.
Then his face broke into a smile and he allowed her to take him from Bridie. “Let’s go and see Auntie Sid,” she said.
“How is she?” I asked. “How is her leg?”
“What happened to Miss Goldfarb’s leg?” Daniel asked. I realized that I had not had a chance to tell him. There had always been more pressing and immediate worries.
“Sid broke her leg skiing,” I said. “She tried to go down the most difficult slope and took a tumble.”
“Typical,” Daniel said. “But I don’t suppose she’ll ever learn.”
“I’m sure she won’t,” Gus said. “She’s already planning our trip to India for when she is fully recovered. She does so yearn to ride an elephant.”
She carried Liam into the house, calling, “Sid. Look who I have found.”
And it was another happy reunion.
Later, when we were bathed and changed into clean clothes, we went across the street to their house for coffee and cake. They were agog to hear about the earthquake and fire, and we related all our experiences to them.
“Molly, you should write a book about this,” Sid said. “The world would love to hear from a survivor.”
“I’m not much of a writer. Not like you,” I said.
She waved her hands excitedly. “Then we’ll write it together. You will tell your story to me and we’ll put it into words together. I have been feeling so trapped and frustrated with this broken leg. It will give me a challenge. Something exciting to do.”
I glanced across at Daniel, who had said very little since we got home.
“Why not?” he said. “You have experienced more of the earthquake and fire than many people. And it will help you to get back to your old life. You shouldn’t be too active until you have allowed your head wound to heal properly. You’ve already had to do far too much.”
“There you are. Your husband agrees,” Sid said. “What a splendid time we shall have.”
“We should invite my mother to come to stay and help with the work until you are fully recovered,” Daniel said. “You are still clearly weak, aren’t you? And dizzy, and headaches?”
“I’m fine, Daniel,” I said quickly, thinking that having my mother-in-law in my house would cause more headaches than I was currently experiencing. In truth I didn’t yet feel like my old self—definitely a little frail, but that was hardly surprising after all I had been through.
“And you, Captain Sullivan,” Gus interjected. “We haven’t yet heard your part of the story.”
“My part?” I saw Daniel give a wary look in my direction.
“Why you were called to California in the first place and whether you really did summon Molly with that extraordinary letter.”
Daniel shook his head, smiling. “I’m afraid I was on a mission that must remain secret, but I did indeed want Molly to join me, and very much regretted my rashness later. I would not have put her through such grief and torment for anything in the world.”
“Then we are not to be privy to this enigma?” Gus asked.
“I regret no,” Daniel said. He glanced at me again. Clearly I was not to divulge that Daniel had been pushed over a cliff and had to hide, disguised as an elderly professor. I would never be able to tell my friends of my utter anguish and despair for those two awful days I believed my husband to be dead. Nobody would ever know what that felt like. But then I realized that this was a good thing. Bridie sat on the rug at my feet, keeping Liam amused. I would not want her to hear that she had a
lmost lost both of her guardians. She already worried enough about her missing father and brother. Let her at least feel secure here.
“But was the business successfully concluded? Was all put right in the end?” Sid asked.
“Let’s just say that the earthquake put an end to my investigation and I doubt now that it will ever be satisfactorily concluded,” Daniel said. He stood up. “We should be getting home,” he said. “We have so much to do.”
“You’ll dine with us tonight?” Gus said. “You won’t want to be rushing out to buy supplies and I have a fine chicken roasting in the oven.”
“You’re very kind, but I think…” Daniel began.
“We’d love to,” I cut in. “You just said you don’t want me running around too much and it’s late in the day to go out to buy food.”
“I’ll go for you,” Bridie said. “I’ve been running errands for the ladies. I’m turning into a good shopper, aren’t I, Miss Walcott?”
“You certainly are, Bridie. And I must tell you, Molly, what a joy she has been to us. I’ve introduced her to Jane Eyre and Dickens and I started to teach her to paint.…”
Bridie gave me a shy smile.
“It sounds as if you won’t want to come home to our boring house,” I said, smiling back.
“Oh, yes,” Bridie said. “I do want to come home.”
Thirty-four
I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to wake up in my own bed with the sun shining on the dear, familiar wallpaper and the sound of Liam babbling happily to himself in his crib in the back bedroom. Daniel lay still sleeping. I looked down at him, lying serene and peaceful, and my heart surged with love for him. As I brushed a dark curl from his forehead I thought how nearly I had lost him. I doubted I would ever fully get over it. Feeling my light touch Daniel opened his eyes and smiled at me.
“You look so beautiful,” he said.
“So do you.” I had to laugh.
“Kiss me,” he said, and for a while we were too busy to talk.
Bridie had shopped for basic foodstuffs the afternoon before so I was able to make us scrambled eggs and coffee. I don’t think either of those items had ever tasted better. When we had breakfasted Daniel announced his intention to go straight off to the telegraph office to wire Mr. Wilkie.
“I’ll wait awhile to let the police department know I have returned,” he said. “No sense in rushing things.”
“Are you hoping that Mr. Wilkie might offer you a full-time job?” I asked, with a tinge of anxiety in my voice.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said. “And, Molly, I’d like you to see a doctor today. You had a nasty blow to the head and I want to make sure you’re healing well.”
“I’m feeling much better now,” I said. “A little dizzy occasionally but that’s to be expected.”
“And take it easy for these first few days.” He wagged a finger at me.
“Daniel, I have been taking it easy on a train for five days now,” I said. “I’m feeling fine. Honestly, I am.”
“All the same, I’d like you to show that head wound to a doctor. Please do it today.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but left the house. Bridie went off to school and I had a pile of laundry to face. Only a small pile, I noted. The few items I had managed to rescue. Not my fine evening frock or Liam’s sailor suit. It seemed that as soon as we took one step forward, it was then followed by two steps back. But at this moment, with all of us alive and well, I could not complain about the loss of a few possessions. I thought about those who had lost everything and were now camping in tents in chilly Golden Gate Park, wondering how they could possibly get on with their lives. I thought about Mr. Dennison, the man who had plunged to his death beside Daniel, and wondered if he had a wife and family, waiting to hear from him. And my thoughts went to Mrs. Endicott. I would have to steel myself to go and see her and tell her a lie. And Mr. Paxton—did he make it safely home to New York? I knew that Caruso and the stars of the opera had managed to escape on a ferry before the fire engulfed the whole of downtown San Francisco and would then presumably have taken a train back to New York. I only hoped he was with them. He had been very kind to me.
So after my morning chores I took Liam and we boarded the trolley going up Broadway. I remembered more or less where the Metropolitan Opera House stood. It had been pointed out to me once, in a most unlikely part of the city—on Broadway close to Macy’s department store. And I had been surprised that the building was so ordinary. It was a square yellow brick edifice without adornment and would have passed for insurance offices had there not been a discreet marquee on Broadway, advertising the next performance. Liam enjoyed his trolley ride, pointing out things that attracted him—automobiles mainly. Clearly he was going to grow up like his father—fascinated by them.
As I watched his chubby face alight with joy I found it hard to believe how we had nearly lost him. How I had nearly lost my whole family. Our return to normality seemed like a miracle. I had almost gone past the opera house before I recognized it and had to walk back from the next stop. Then I paused outside, looking up at it. It was a building of many floors, many windows, but the only entrance I could see was into the theater itself, and clearly Mr. Paxton didn’t work there. Nevertheless I went in through the glass doors. The box office was open and someone was in the process of buying tickets. I tiptoed past and stepped into the theater foyer. Then from beyond golden curtains I heard a wonderful sound—a sublime voice raised in song. I crossed the foyer, opened the curtain across the doorway, and stepped into a darkened auditorium. Oh, my. I had never seen anything this grand in my life before. The only lights were on the stage but even that small amount of light lit up tier after tier, balcony above balcony of gilded opulence. And in the ceiling an enormous chandelier. On the stage a male and female singer were now rehearsing, dressed in ordinary street garb. I could have stood and listened all day. I had no idea opera was so wonderful and could see now why the whole world adored Mr. Caruso.
But Liam didn’t share my sentiments and wriggled in my arms. I retreated before he let out a wail only to encounter a stern woman in black.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “The theater is closed to the public.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I came to see Mr. Paxton and I couldn’t seem to find the right way in to his office. And the singing was so glorious I had to just take a peek.”
Her expression softened. “Aida,” she said. “Opens next week.”
“And Mr. Paxton?”
“Will be up in administration. Go around the corner to Thirty-ninth Street and you’ll find the entrance there.”
I thanked her and left reluctantly, those glorious notes floating after me. Maybe my trip to California would make an opera fan of me! I was directed to Mr. Paxton’s office and was delighted to find him sitting at his desk, safe and sound. His expression showed that he was equally delighted to see me.
“My dear Mrs. Sullivan.” He rose from his seat and came around to me. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you. I have to confess that I worried about you all the way home on the train. To have lost your husband and then to have had to endure that awful quake. And yet look at you—as fresh and healthy as if it had never happened.”
“I was lucky, Mr. Paxton,” I said. “We survived the quake and found my husband alive.”
“Alive, after all?”
“Yes. It was a case of mistaken identity. A body found at the bottom of the cliffs was falsely identified as that of my husband.” I did not elucidate any further.
“What a relief for you.”
I nodded. “When I saw that awful destruction and what other poor souls had to endure I feel truly blessed. And you—you were able to escape with the rest of the company before the fire struck?”
He smiled. “I was given the task of transporting our stars to safety. I commandeered vehicles and whisked them away without a scratch, I’m glad to say. We were on a ferry to Oakland before there was any h
int of fire. We had to wait until the train lines were repaired but we stood there across the Bay and watched the city burn. What a terrible tragedy, wasn’t it?”
“And Caruso?”
“Is already on a ship heading back to Italy. He vows to come to America no more. Let us all hope he will change his mind.”
I left him then, promising to invite him and his wife to dine with us as soon as we were settled. How lucky I was that he was assigned to share my compartment. There really are some good people in the world.
On the trolley back my thoughts turned to the other, less pleasant duty I had to fulfill. Mrs. Endicott. On the train ride home I had wrestled with what I should say to her. Should I let her think that her husband died in the earthquake and fire, or should I tell her the truth—that he had another family and would never be returning? Would I want to know that Daniel was alive and well, but with another woman, rather than mourning his death? Usually I am on the side of truth, but I wanted to spare that frail and delicate lady as much grief as possible. Let her think that her husband had died. Let her at least continue to live comfortably on the proceeds of his businesses. But when we approached Fourteenth Street I found myself hesitating. What could I say? That I knew he was dead? That I had been told he perished? In which case by whom? So I continued on the trolley to my own stop. Mrs. Endicott would have to wait until I had my story straight and I had thought out the kindest way to spare her pain.
When Bridie came home from school I did as Daniel had asked and went to the doctor’s surgery, leaving her to look after Liam. I told him what had happened to me. He tut-tutted and examined the wound on the back of my head, which had now healed nicely.
“You’re a lucky woman,” he said. “That was quite a blow. Are you still experiencing unpleasant symptoms?”
“A little nausea and dizziness,” I confessed. “The occasional headache.”
“To be expected. I want you to take things easily and rest as much as possible.”
