“He’ll despise me!”
“What makes you think so? I think you ought to give him a little credit. Maybe you ought to start giving some to yourself? Right? Laura, I don’t want you to even think about going anywhere without these gentlemen.” One of the guards asked,
“Colonel, sir, when do you expect this fellow would likely try to do something?”
“That’s the problem, gentlemen! We don’t know our enemy we don’t know their numbers or when they will strike and we don’t know how long they are willing to wait before they attack. We are in one hell of a mess! The only advantage we have at this point is that we know what they are coming for – these ladies. That one there, Mrs. Greene in particular.”
****
On January 25, 1882, Myrtle Klieneburger debuted as the medical examiner’s assistant. The reporter for the Messenger was delighted! Doctor Lovejoy had to do some explaining. However, the commissioners of the cash-strapped county acquiesced to having a lady assistant rather than lose Lovejoy. She took her job seriously.
“Before I worked openly with my uncle some of the older ladies of our part of town mockingly called me die Hexe, “the witch.” Afterwards they would whisper other morbid epitaphs in German.”
The austere blond dressed in black delighted in the Gothic novel she had accidently created for herself. However, her father was aghast to hear his beloved, indulged, only daughter referred to in such terms. He countered the wagging tongues with a scheme that backfired, but made him wealthier: he hired a company to produce high-quality lithographed advertisements for his beers featuring a somewhat recognizable lady of the community. With her calf-length black skirt, riding boots, cane, and broad black hat, who else could it be? He countered the outraged by saying, “She dresses in the latest fashion, like my daughter!” My mother was colorful, even in black. She said playfully,
“Now, Old Port society had little doubt where the Wilhelm’s daughter had inherited her eccentricities. But to the working class men of the entire region “Visiting Death’s Maiden” was code for explaining a hangover. Beer sales, however, tripled because of the advertising campaign. The love of a doting father. Sometimes it is rewarded. All this was in the future.”
On Friday, January 27, 1882, she had been sent by Doctor Lovejoy on a friendly visit to see Doctor Greene. Lovejoy worried about his old friend. Doctor Greene walked the hospital grounds with Myrtle, smoking his cigar, as he described how he was shaken by the deaths of Judge Pugh and Senator Grundy. He was horrified by their murders. Pugh and Grundy had been childhood friends of and friendly rivals for the love of young Judith. Pugh had studied law before the war but found himself in the office of the chief of police when it all began. He had his work cut out for him with the town given over to the soldiers, speculators, ruffians, and women of ill repute. After the war he became a successful lawyer, and then a judge. Grundy had built his political career on his reputation as an officer in the Confederate Army. He had held out with his troops in the entrenchments around Old Port until the Yankees overran his position. His tenacity allowed the rear guard to retreat across the Northeast River.
Then Doctor Greene mentioned that his wife recently escaped instant death in the town theatre by a mere foot or so. Judith dismissed it as happenstance. He considered it too unusual. The block that fell from the catwalk had no business being up there. The riggers threaded them with rope to make block and tackle systems for lifting heavy objects a short distance. The blocks supporting the curtains and scenery were heavier, single pulley assemblies that attached overhead and fitted with a wrought iron collar bolted around the beam. Windlasses were used for raising and lowering heavy scenery, not brute strength. Myrtle, somewhat puzzled, asked,
“Why would somebody want to murder your wife?”
“Let me tell you a story Myrtle. Only last night I heard it for the first time from the Colonel. It had to do with a Confederate spy from a damaged vessel trying the run the blockade to meet up with a ship from Nassau. Having been damaged by shells from a Union Man of War, the blockade runner beached but it was within miles of a barrier island battery captured by the Yankees. The spy escaped inland and then appropriated a rowboat to continue upriver. Taking days to navigate a desolate swamp she was finally discovered by an old fellow from those parts and delivered to a patrol of our boys. The agent was barely alive! Sunburned tormented by mosquitoes and biting flies, deprived of food and fresh water for nearly a week and suffering from a fever, the spy was transported safely back to Old Port in secret. That was my wife, Judith.”
Myrtle told him he should be proud to have such a brave wife. She wondered why his wife had never told him about her wartime adventures, particularly for a considerable time had passed. However, if Mrs. Greene preferred to return to her usual life with undo attention, Myrtle understood why she had kept silent. Doctor Greene was inclined to disagree. He felt that Judith remained silent because her discovery would have put her and perhaps others in peril. He said that she was in danger now.
Their conversation closed with a bright note. Doctor Greene announced that her beau would take his place at the hospital; and continued by stating he would make a good husband for her. He advised Myrtle to corner him on the matter at the earliest opportunity. Then, he recalled how his wife had hoodwinked him into a proposal. Myrtle admitted she had “decided to love him” from the day they met, and if he had the good sense to recognize her devotion, she expected he would marry her. Doctor Greene chuckled,
“Myrtle you are much like my wife. That aside, I look forward to quitting medicine and spending the remainder of my years abroad with her! I want to hear about all her adventures.”
Myrtle bade goodbye to the good doctor, and went at once to report to her uncle that his friend was doing well. Doctor Greene omitted details about the armed guards living in his house, and he said nothing about Little Jack.
****
Sunday, January 29, 1882. That afternoon, a strong, bitterly cold northwest wind came up from the river. While it was not as steady in the business district, it channeled through the maze of alleyways that subdivided the blocks of commercial buildings. There, the gusts gained a higher velocity, often blowing open unlatched windows, frightening horses, and sending unsecured trash flying to all corners. Even with the wind, though, coal smoke hung thick in the air of the commercial district, some of it blowing in from steamers docked at the wharves. If it was coming from the north the smoke from the depot would foul the air on North First Avenue for blocks. When the foundry at the railroad shops was in use, it was worse. County Hospital was ten blocks removed from the business district. High on the hill at the end of Rose Street, it enjoyed the mild and bucolic setting in the undeveloped northern sector of the city. The surrounding woods blocked the winds, and only the sweet smell of hardwood smoke occasionally wafted through the air from the hospital’s old fashioned fireplaces. By dusk, the wind ceased, the sky cleared, and the hard freeze started to set in.
“Laura! Wake up!”
As if in the distance the muted voice of a lady repeated her urgent refrain:
“Laura, wake up! Oh, please wake up Laura!”
The voice grew closer and closer, but remained a whisper. Repeating her pleas over and over, the voice approached until Laura thought she felt the breath of the visitor on her ear
“Wake up Laura! It’s Susan Please wake up! They’ve come back for us I can hear them move about in the kitchen. Listen to me Laura!”
Laura struggled to open her eyes, but kept them open only for a moment before her will collapsed. She felt a tingling in her arms, but was too weak to move them. The voice of Susan however, persisted.
It’s his men... Remember what they did to you the last time- I saw it! They couldn’t see me, but I saw it all! They threw you down on the floor- I wanted to scream but then they would find me too. They tied your hands and dragged you stumbling up to the attic. They tried to hang you! Now they’ve come back and it is all Jane’s fault!”
With
these utterances resounding in her brain, Laura’s eyes sprang open! A sudden rush of terror coursed through every vein and sinew! The sun had set, but there was still enough light in the room to see the clock on the mantel. It reads twenty-three minutes after five. Laura did not recall going to bed. It appeared she had fallen into or was tossed into to her bed. While her shoes had been removed, she was otherwise fully dressed. The voice of unseen Susan whispered persistently:
“Laura! We need to get away from here, right now! It is only a matter of time before they search upstairs. Jane took what they wanted from the little casket. They’ll think you’re hiding it, but you dare not tell them anything. After they are finally done with you – it is sure – she will be next with a rope around her neck! Laura whispered,
“Stay with me, Susan! Please help me like you did before!”
“Quickly! Follow me!”
When her bare feet touched the cold wooden floor, she staggered to her feet, and was hit by a sudden headache that nearly brought her to her knees. Pulling the blanket from her bed, she wrapped it around her body, covering all but her face – the room was now too cold to be wearing just a day dress. Quietly, she dressed for cold weather in a haphazard fashion. With her heavy wool overcoat buttoned, she was ready to make her escape. Carefully, she opened the door and made her way down the stairs. In her haste, she left without a hat or gloves.
Laura McAdams was for the first time in a few days aware of what was happening to her. Jane had freely and liberally administered doses of chloral hydrate and opiates after Laura suddenly became convinced that the Yankees were about to take the town. The presence of “the soldiers” as she called the armed guards patrolling the perimeter of the house threw her into such an excited state – so much so she had to be sedated. Being unresponsive for days, Jane and the housekeeper had dressed and fed her like a child. Now, Laura was alert and terrified. With the recollection of being terrorized by the men in her mind, the overwhelming fear had once again overtaken her. The sound she heard was, in reality, something ordinary, the housekeeper.
Jane had discovered Laura missing at ten minutes to six that evening – she had already made it out of the back door of the house and disappeared into the twilight. At first, only the housekeeper and the guards searched for her, but Jane feared that she might tumble down into the lower inclined plane of the railroad cut at the end of the block. There was not a bridge over the cut at Fifth or Sixth Avenues. She ran as fast as she could down to Rose Street to enlist the aid of the servants at the Wyche House. She was expected to stay there that evening. Finding her husband waiting for her so dinner could be served, she sent him back to the depot. Jane and her entire household ran back up Rose Street to search for Laura.
The six o’clock passenger train had just left the depot, and its last car was passing under the Fourth Avenue Bridge. Colonel Wyche called for a discontinuation of all traffic, and he assembled a group of men with lanterns to walk the tracks. He sent word to the old Union Depot and the upper yards to have more men join the search.
Laura had made it into the lower inclined plane, but by the path that led down underneath the Fourth Avenue Bridge. Crouching along in a ditch that paralleled the track, she continued for two blocks and climbed up the tracks. The end of her skirt and sleeves were wet, and the temperature was in the mid-thirties. On reaching the Old Union Depot, she was spotted by railroad workers who tried to approach her. Dodging the men, she ran from the end of the inclined plane, up behind the old depot, and disappeared into the woods. What started out as a plan to go to the Old Union Depot where she would stay out of sight until the next outbound train had turned into an irrational flight, in any possible direction. In her mind, which was giving itself over to fear, the Yankees were hunting her.
“Susan! Where are you?”
“Stop crying you little nitwit! Follow me! They will never find us here Remember the boy that shot himself? He wandered these woods the whole night with his rescuers not far behind. They did not find him until the next day.” Laura cried out,
“We will freeze to death like the poor little boy!”
“Nonsense! Dying is not easy. I have tried it many times before and it didn’t work. Now follow me!”
Laura was in the woods between the old depot, the hospital, and the cemetery. The old mill stream beside the hospital snaked into the woods and curved around the north end of the cemetery. This was the woods a young man named Isaac Ryan, suffering from an accidental wound to the head from his own gun, had wandered wet and cold for a full day before dying. Within an hour, railroad men, neighbors, and the police were searching the woods. She evaded them and followed the mill stream past the abandoned mill and into the cemetery. The elderly caretaker of the cemetery spotted her several times skulking around his cottage. When he went outside to look about, she stealthily snatched the lantern from the old man’s hand, and took off into the cemetery.
The commotion around the hospital was clearly audible and visible around seven o’clock. Doctor Greene had gone home just at twilight, leaving the director, Doctor Lowe, waiting for Doctor Everett to arrive. The six nurses on duty were eager to be relieved. Since September, Mr. Bacon, the groundskeeper and handyman, had been bringing the nurses that worked overnight from their homes downtown. Using the grocery wagon turned ambulance, he took the nurses that worked in the afternoon to their homes if there was nobody to pick them up.
The ambulance, given as an act of goodwill, had no assigned driver. Lacking any means for outside communications, the hospital could not know when to dispatch it. But, it was a good omnibus. That night, when the neighborhood men milling about the hospital told him that a woman was lost in the woods, Doctor Lowe asked a few of the nurses to delay returning home. Until the night nurses arrived, he dreaded the thought of being caught ill-prepared. The county commissioners insisted the fledgling hospital open much earlier than its director thought prudent. With construction unfinished, lacking supplies, and understaffed, Doctor Lowe doubted the hospital was ready if something terrible happen.
As an hour passed, the men searching for Laura converged on the cemetery. With its winding pathways, plentiful majestic oaks, and uneven topography, it would be an easy place to hide in the daylight. At night, the pinpoint of a lantern might seem in one place. After climbing the hills and negotiating the clusters of tombstones, monuments, and wrought iron fences around family plots, the light might seem to reappear in another direction.
The men stumbled in vain, closing their ranks until they found her. She was in the Greene family plot. The spectacle they witnessed froze them in their tracks. She was clawing at the dirt with her hands. Nobody would dare touch her. When two constables arrived, one tried to approach. She cast the lantern on the ground before him. On landing on the ground, the oil blazed up and set dry leaves afire. In running away from the constables, she ran down the other side of the hill and struck full-force an ornate wrought iron gate. Falling back, she stumbled and fell against a headstone. The men led by the constables, descended the hill. Gasping in a labored whisper, Laura said,
“She said dying was not easy and then she left me. Do you know about the little boy that died in these woods?” The Constable shouted out,
“Don’t run away! We’re here to help you! What is your name?”
“My name is Laura…” She knelt on the ground holding her side and cried, “You are not the Yankees…”
The men converged around her in a semicircle that started at the iron fence, went up the hill, and down to the other side of the fence. The lenses of their lanterns cast their light on Laura. Blood flowed from a head wound she had suffered from striking the fence. Two constables tried to lift her up by her forearms, but she cried out that they were hurting her. Then, without missing a beat, she transformed into a very genteel lady, her pleas for help uttered in a sweetly apologetic tone. They assumed she was in the delirium of a fever, but didn’t know how to move her without a wagon. The caretaker who guided the men through the cemetery
told the constables he had a dray and a mule at his cottage they could use to get her out of the graves. He needed two men to help him. They agreed, since not only were they afraid they would hurt Laura if they tried to walk her out, they were also afraid to touch her. With a labored voice Laura told them,
“Gentlemen, I’m hurt!” The constable said,
“Stay still, we are here to help you! Do you understand? Don’t try to run away again. We are taking you to a doctor.”
The caretaker knew well the paths that snaked through the cemetery, so it did not take long before the men heard the dray creaking towards the group. To them, however, it was a tortuous wait as they stood silent and dumfounded. Not knowing what to do or what to think, they could not speak. They knew her wailing was not the result of her injuries, but from the deep pain that brought her into the cemetery. Laura said,
“I know who you are now.”
One of the constables noticed the light glinted off tears rolling down the cheeks of some of the men. When the dray arrived, the constables had to move her. Her unsteady limp to the dray was punctuated with grimaces from pain, and some of the men gasped. A stocky, middle aged man in the group, a worker from the upper yards, took off his coat and draped it over her legs like a blanket after she was seated on the rickety cart. Another man placed his cap on her head. Then the solemn procession out of the cemetery began. With the caretaker, leading the mule, and the constables flanking the dray. A dozen men with lanterns fanning out from behind. Laura sat upright with her body bent clutching her side. With head down, her dark hair, now streaked with blood, hung down over her face like a veil. She reached her hand out to one of the constables and said,
JUDITH GREENE: The Old Port Chronicles, Part 1 Page 12
