“I know.” Pausing, he directed his gaze about the morbid accoutrements of the morgue and shook his head.
“Even when I eat alone, my thoughts occasionally drift to this place such as it is.” Confidently, Lovejoy assured him,
“Let us hope that your days of eating alone will be less frequent in the near future.”
****
It is the evening of January 16, 1882. Dr. Phillip Greene and his wife Judith moved into their new house on South Fifth Avenue in early 1881. Judith is now fifty years old and Phillip is a little over nine years older than she.
With the onset of twilight, Mrs. Greene entered the room to sit with her husband. It was a ritual of sorts, they would watch until the lamplighter finished his rounds with the street lights. Mrs. Judith Ward Greene was fifty years old, nearly nine years younger than the doctor, but theirs had been a long marriage. Judith was the right match for the doctor for none of the usual reasons. She had fallen in love with him on sight after a chance meeting at the theatre.
Judith loved the theatre! So much so, she organized the Ladies Theatre Association with several other fine young ladies before the war. She encouraged any gentlemen of standing in the town – young or old – willing to make a fool of themselves for charity to audition for roles. Doctor Greene, having a reputation for playing the piano rather passably, young Judith boldly sought his support when their paths crossed at the market house. Pummeled with a barrage of compliments, pleas, and justification for playing the piano for their upcoming production, he became the music director. The tenor in their musical interludes had a fine voice, but could never keep a steady tempo. He was a young lawyer named Grundy. During the war, his bold heroics earned him the title “Captain Lightning.” Later, he entered politics. The rest of the ensemble, sundry businessmen, church ladies, and the local politicians. They joined because the association was a charitable organization. Most could sing in chorus. Few had the projection to carry in the grand hall of the town. The mayor’s wife had the pipes. Her “billy goat vibrato” was most amusing. None, however, surpassed Judith. Judge wholesome, the Old Port loved the outrageous comical performances of the Ladies Theatre Association, particularly when the script demanded something else. The professional touring companies that passed through town proved better entertainment, but their personnel were deemed unsavory.
Judith enjoyed her role as an organizer, a task-giver, and the shepherdess chasing after the strays. Taller than the rest of the young women and naturally athletic in build, she was first choice for all the goddesses, spirits, and villainesses. She ensnared a not-so-unwilling Doctor Greene in marriage with a simple question, “Are you sure you do not want to marry me, Doctor Greene?” To this he replied, “Why my dear Miss Ward, you must have misheard! I said that I am sure that I want to marry you.” This was the doctor’s supreme stroke of luck. He had found a companion with boundless energy and enthusiasm, and at heart, a “mischievous girl.” Sometimes contrary, but mostly prankster and comic. She was a virtuoso at playing the strings of the obstinate individuals with lines such as “Wouldn’t it be so nice if you helped the Ladies Theatre Association with a meager donation of your time? Oh, how we ladies would appreciate your kindness in our noble efforts to raise money for the widows and children of our community.”
Her energies extended to all corners of learning, not just the fine arts. She helped her husband in the early days of the war as a nurse, even attending to the sick during the typhoid epidemic. Luck favored her, for her health never faltered, then or thereafter. As a woman of middle age, she gained a mature beauty that set her apart. In the late 1870s, she added to her list of accomplishments “Special Teacher of the Classics and the Dramatic and Musical Arts” at the newly completed common school. The word “special” meant that she volunteered her time.
This Mrs. Greene was the much-beloved socialite of Old Port, before the war, and to a much greater degree afterwards. Her wartime career as a Confederate spy was known to few. Thanks to Colonel Wyche, they remained silent as a matter of honor. The story of her rescue eventually came to the surface, but when told, seemed an isolated event without context. It was merely another colorful stoke on an already cheerful canvas. The old-timers remembered her childhood career as “chief tomboy of the town?” As it had been since the war, she continued playing her roles well. When Mrs. Greene spied the lamplighter with his wick through the window, she said playfully,
“You really need to eat that chicken leg and rice before somebody like that young Doctor Everett we so much like to see this time of night comes a calling; or perhaps the gallant Captain Bacon will arrive just in the nick of time with his cavalry to save you from that awful fate… pray tell, what is it my captain is it true? … Egad, the wretched wench has done it again! She prepared food!” Dr. Greene, smiling, said,
“Oh, for shame!”
Doctor Greene gestures toward the lamplighter outside their window, and recited a line from Agamemnon.
“O hail thou beacon of the night forth showing daylight radiance, and the setting up of many a quire in Argos for this chance!” She continued, trying to contain her laughter.
“Huzza-Huzza! To Agamemnon's wife I give clear charge to spring up from her bed and in the house upraise a shouting for this beacon-light is welcome, if the town of Ilium is taken as the torch stands forth to tell … Such then I give thee as a Woman's thoughts… eat your chicken and rice before it gets cold!”
Doctor Greene at once relaxes into his usual good humor.
“I have a patient who thinks young Doctor Everett is my son.”
“We’ll take him!” Playfully, she stands and makes a sweeping gesture as she speaks in exaggerated oratory,
“And I will prepare food for him, my lord and say, Aye! for this craft was just a woman's part,” but he will surely eat!”
I am sure he is getting enough to eat now that Lovejoy has made a match for the boy with his niece. Judith interjected,
“Splendid!” Dr. Greene, changing the topic, asked,
“What can you tell me about the myth of King Laius, my dear? I figured that you would know since you teach the Classics.” In an interested tone, she answered,
“He incurred the wrath of Hera. Laius kidnapped the bastard son of Pelops. The oracle warned that should he have a son Laius was destined to be killed by him. His son Oedipus, who was left to die when he was an infant was saved by a Sheppard, and raised by King Polybus of Corinth. Oedipus killed Laius, without knowing he was his father, at the place where three roads meet, then solved the riddle of the Sphinx, and married his mother. It is the curse of the house of Labdacus.”
“The son killed his father and married is mother? That’s more than I thought. I heard a patient mention King Laius – the same one who called Everett my son. He said he was a university man… Yes.
“I guess he thinks he is Tiresias.”
“I think I will have a piece of that cake with a glass of brandy.”
Judith turns on her heels and confronts him.
“No you will not! You will have chicken and rice with tea and then we will do some reading; and maybe after that I’ll give you cake and brandy. For the last three weeks it was in and out day and night at all hours riding all over creation and running that poor horse to death; then when you’re here for the night, you pass up the meal I cooked for you – and we have no cook because I want to cook for you – but you eat all the sweets drinking coffee and brandy into the wee hours – and when did you start back chewing tobacco? – What am I going to do with you Phillip Greene? What is eating at you?” Never mind, you can tell me over dinner… and I will not heat it up for you!”
Quite an actress! She had read about the discovery of a child’s coffin under the Fourth Avenue Bridge in the evening Messenger. When Judith perused the article, her heart dropped, and a chill ran through her body. Surely, this was not the coffin! It unnerved her. Judith forced herself to assume the normal routine. It felt like she was acting a part, but without the exhil
aration she usually felt on stage. Her whole body braced for a heavy blow.
After three days in this state, Judith accepted the possibility the authorities might come calling at any hour. She was prepared for it. Protecting her husband and her champions – the associates of Fred McAdams from the war years – she would admit acting alone in the deed. Driven by fear and abandoned by reason, she took the child to protect him. Confident in her ability to play a crowd, she could probably gain sympathy, and the damage would end there. The days passed, and nothing out of the ordinary happened. Nothing particular about the coffin could lead the authorities to the grave from which it came. Forgetting about the two well-made brass locks, she wondered why McAdams had not taken the pouch from inside, and left the coffin. That is, if it was the same coffin. What she did not know was a certain Mr. Cassidy wasn’t even trying to pry them open when carrying out McAdam’s orders. He took the coffin out of its vault and placed it in his wagon.
Her champions – the “devilish boys” – thought it best to not approach her unless necessary. Without a witness, Judge Pugh doubted the investigation could continue. State Senator “Captain” Grundy and his minion Cassidy agreed to prevent witnesses from coming forward.
****
The state senator and the judge, hereafter occasionally referred to as Mrs. Greene’s champions, met at length to discuss the discovery of the child’s coffin. They knew it came from the fake grave of “Little Jack.” They knew what it looked like. The obvious weak link had been the late Fred McAdams. Laura McAdams, perhaps aided by her sister, botched an attempt to bury it. They wondered why the ladies selected a site so close to the McAdams House. Trusting Fred had shared no details about the bonds with his wife, the champions would be safe. If the authorities caught the ladies, they could not connect the judge and senator to the coffin. The other person, their hireling Cassidy, might best be employed to spy on Mrs. McAdams. To make it legal, the judge swore him in as a county detective.
Captain Grundy was the last person to see the coffin after McAdams had recovered it. He suspected Laura McAdams was hiding the bonds, and now it proved to be true. If only Colonel Wyche and his wife had not taken over the house thought Grundy, he could have forced the truth out of Mrs. McAdams eventually. Judge Pugh was furious.
“Senator, keep your thugs away from that house and for God’s sake, don’t you dare torment that woman again. Word has it around the police station that Mrs. McAdams has lost her mind. Colonel Wyche and that damn railroad lawyer Thomas now have power of attorney over her estate; in other words, he has her sewn up in a sack I tell you. Now stay away from her! The same goes for Mrs. Wyche. Don’t worry about those damn bonds anymore! Who knows, the Colonel probably found those bonds after you fellows ransacked the McAdams House, and he redeemed them years ago. It is about time you forget about that nonsense! Don’t you have enough money already?”
“It is not just the money! Can’t you see? Somebody gave McAdams those bonds, or he stole them. Don’t you think the owners are looking for them too?” Pugh cut him off!
“That is another matter! We don’t know who they are and they don’t know who we are, and it should stay that way. Mind you, McAdams took hold of those bonds in 1863 then he was murdered in 1873 – nearly ten years ago! If they didn’t know about us then, what makes you think they know about us now? Unless Mrs. Greene talks – and you know she will not do that – or if one of those damn sisters gets a loose tongue – and you know the Colonel will not let that go far – or you, Mr. Cassidy, or some of your associates bumble into plain view with your antics – and you know that will not happen because I’ll bring the law down on you, old friend. Now, not that we shouldn’t keep an eye on things. If an opportunity presents itself, say, somebody gets ornery in her pen and wants to break for the woods, a deal could be made there. I tell you what; you can’t tell me that Jane Wyche married that old man because of love – no-sir-ee! She comes hunting money, if you ask me. And another thing, I would welcome the chance to get my teeth into Caudwell Thomas. The old rotter has his hands in some of my pies, and that’s cause enough to set him right one of these days.”
“What about Judith?” Judge Pugh replied vehemently.
“Remember that we pledged our honor to protect that dear lady, sir! Maybe you can sleep soundly after manhandling and terrorizing a certain defenseless lady, but I cannot abide such behavior in a rogue much less a gentleman! As for our Judith, I think you have forgotten that we were all head-over-heels for that girl when we were pups; and though she took a fancy to that sawbones, we can’t hold it against her. Can we forget her bravery and daring when we worked with McAdams during the war? Hell no, we can’t forget that!” Grundy with a slight smile, affirmed the judge’s statement.
“How true, Judge, for all my shortcomings and improprieties, I will not forget how that saintly lady risked her life not once, but many times, for our beloved Confederacy. If only the old doctor knew what his wife was doing while he was off with the troops, he would finally know how lucky a man could be.”
****
January 19, 1882. That day on the South side, Mrs. Greene had gone about her routine at the school with her usual robust ebullience. The students loved her, and many claimed that her classes were their favorite. Hidden from them that day was her inner struggle. Judith felt it was necessary to tell her husband about what she had done regardless of the origin of the mysterious coffin. He needed to know about Little Jack and why she had taken him as her own. All the successfully suppressed secrets she removed from the marital dialogue needed telling. Now, rather than later, seemed the right time to speak with him. He would either accept her act as a temporary lapse of sanity, or despise her. If their marriage must end, she could unburden herself of any pretends of dignified wholesomeness, and simply quit the society of her birth. Forced to constrain a thirst for venturing beyond the familiar by a decrepit code of honor, she felt the break was unavoidable. If her husband would still have her, he might be persuaded to follow.
Arriving home before dark, he braced himself and hesitated before entering, then sat down on the steps and smoked a cigar. Judith seeing him from the window went out to sit with him. Reluctantly, he said he was making plans to sail to France in the spring, if not before the month was out. There was no particular reason he chose that place other than it was a place he had never visited. With her approval, he intended to sell their land holdings and never to return to the South; or perhaps, they might live out their days abroad. She saw this idea as a newly open route of escape and said,
“I would like that very much. You need not explain your decision, since we are agreed.”
Then, he struggled to tell her the difficult part. Holding her hands, he explained how he and Doctor Lovejoy had been out at the cemetery that afternoon. The warm complexion drained from her face in instant he utter the word “cemetery;” and as he continued, he noticed her hands grew cold. Without hesitating, he said,
“The grave of our son might be empty. Doctor Lovejoy has enough evidence to prove the coffin found at the railroad came from there. As soon as Lovejoy has finished his investigation, he will seek an order to have the tomb opened.”
“What makes him think the coffin is from our son’s grave?”
“It is a special coffin made by a cabinet maker in Raleigh for a select number of clients including a certain shopkeeper and undertaker. He is still in business.”
“I purchased the coffin in Raleigh she said then pleaded. It is true, but not a good reason for opening our son’s grave!”
“The cabinetmaker stamped a number – what he curiously called an “opus number” on a brass plate attached to the lining of the casket. The number is on the receipt and the railroads shipping invoice. So too is your name. It was shipped to Oak Crossroads Lovejoy is confident that it is the same one you bought.”
In a tone unlike any he had ever heard, she stammered,
“Where is he?”
A look of intense suffering suddenly appeared o
n her face. After a moment he said,
“The casket was empty…”
Judith could no longer hold back the tears. She buried her face on his shoulder and wept. She had lost the strength to confess.
“It is not our Little Jack! Doctor Lovejoy must be mistaken Do not let him open his grave Promise me!”
A short distance from their house, a man was working on the street lamp, or rather pretending. Detective Cassidy took his work seriously. Trusting nobody he spied on Mrs. Greene for good measure, against orders. Unknown to Cassidy he was also being watched by another.
****
January 20, 1882. Judith Green tried to preserve routine as her life was falling to pieces. Friday was the day of the week she had set aside to work with the theatre association. Occasionally, she now played roles for mature women, particularly in comedies. She had acquired a love for painting backdrops during the years following the war when the association lacked the funds to hire somebody for the job. Often, she worked alone, having little concern since the theatre was merely an attachment to the town hall. Beyond its only open door, many were at work in their offices.
JUDITH GREENE: The Old Port Chronicles, Part 1 Page 5
