It occurred to me how awful it would be if Mr. and Mrs. Dunn discovered the nature of Adelaide’s salons. Someone should warn Adelaide! There was no one who could do it but me. I hurried to the back door and turned the knob without hesitation.
It was as I remembered it, a darkened kitchen and a narrow staircase lit by a single bulb. I saw nothing of Mr. or Mrs. Dunn. I crept as quickly as I could to the landing. I still saw nothing of the Dunns until I turned up the next staircase. They were already at the door. They knocked, and the door opened. I leaned back into the shadows. I expected to hear sounds of surprise or dismay, or perhaps Adelaide would step out and usher them quickly down the stairs. None of that happened.
Light and laughter fell through the open doorway. Adelaide stood there. She smiled, and so did the Dunns. She stepped back, they entered, and the door closed again.
I slinked back down the stairs, my heart pounding at my narrow escape. Adelaide wasn’t having a women only salon. She was having some other sort of party where men were welcome. Grace and Trissie weren’t evading me after all. They truly must have had other plans. How horrible it would have been if I had knocked on that door and found myself uninvited at a perfectly respectable party.
My face burned with shame and confusion. I let myself out of the house and crept home in the dark.
THE NEXT DAY was Saturday. I spent the morning tidying my rooms, laundering my underclothes, and planning lessons for the next week. When I took myself downstairs for lunch, I learned that Grace and Trissie had gone into Spokane for the day. Fred was at work at the drugstore, which left only me, Ida Mae, Cora, and Jane at the table.
“What are you plans for the afternoon, Nell?” Ida Mae asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
“You’ll be here all afternoon?” Cora asked.
“I, uh...”
“Don’t forget we have the suffrage group meeting right after lunch,” Ida Mae said.
“Oh, that’s right,” I said. “I’ll be at the suffrage group.”
Cora looked disappointed for a moment, then suggested, “I wonder if your group would mind watching—”
“We’ve got a lot to do today, Cora,” Ida Mae said. “We can’t spare the time to look after Jane for you.”
Cora sighed.
The same members of the suffrage group arrived shortly after lunch, and I was able to match the faces to the names, Hattie Noonan, Maude Reed, Mrs. Steele, and Josie Franklin.
“Will Dr. Keating be joining us today?” Josie asked.
“I saw you walking with her the other day, Nell,” Ida Mae said. “Did she say anything about it?”
“She didn’t mention it,” I said, and Josie gave me a sharp look.
“I’m not surprised,” Hattie said. “She’s too busy for this kind of work.”
“I wrote thirty-six letters this week,” Maude said. “One to each senator in the state.”
“I wrote to the representatives,” Josie said. “That’s seventy-four letters.”
“You have more time, of course,” Hattie said, “unmarried as you are.”
“Nell is unmarried too,” Josie said.
“Nell is a career woman,” Maude said, “like Dr. Keating.”
“She’s only a teacher,” Josie said.
“I would help if I could,” I said. “But what can I do?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Ida Mae said. “Writing letters is all well and good, but we need to do something to reach the youngsters, especially the high school students. Some of those boys will be voting in two or three years. If we can get them on our side now, before they’ve made up their minds about suffrage, so much the better.”
“But I don’t teach high school,” I said.
“I was thinking of a contest,” Ida Mae said. “An essay contest for the whole school, open to boys and girls both, of course. We can give a cash prize. All the boys will try to win it, so they’ll all write essays on why women should get the vote. They’ll talk themselves into suffrage without even knowing it.”
“Brilliant!” Maude said.
“That’s why you’re our leader, Ida Mae,” Hattie said.
“How much of a cash prize?” Josie asked. “And where will we get the money?”
“I was thinking of ten dollars. And we’ll have to raise the money, of course. It’s been a while since we’ve had a baking sale.”
“We can sell my tatting,” Mrs. Steele said, holding up her needle.
“And I’m finishing up a quilt,” Maude said.
I thought about the thousands of dollars I had rolled away upstairs. It was a pity I couldn’t just give them the money, but it would raise too many questions, of course.
“I don’t know if the principal will approve of the contest,” I said, “but I’ll certainly try.”
I excused myself from the meeting soon after and went upstairs to my sitting room. I sat at my desk and pulled a piece of paper in front of me. I jotted across the top of the page, “Why Women in Washington Should Be Given the Vote.” Below it I listed the requirements of the essay. It should include the benefits for the state, the community, and the home as well as for women. It should be no fewer than five hundred words and no more than one thousand. Essays would be judged on the quality of the writing as well as the thoughts expressed.
I was so absorbed in my work that I barely noticed the sound of steps coming upstairs, or the muffled voices. It wasn’t until I heard a rap at the door that I realized someone was there.
I pressed blotting paper to my words and rose to answer it. It was one of the suffragists, no doubt, with another thought about the essays. I opened the door and stared into the smiling, devilish face of my husband.
His fist crashed into my face.
I flew back and landed on my little table. It toppled sideways, and I landed on top of it. I heard Ida Mae’s scream from behind Robert.
“Stop it! Oh no, no, dear God, leave her alone!”
Robert ignored her. Before I could stand again, I felt his hand on my head. He grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked me to my feet. I screamed. My scalp felt on fire.
“Josie! Maude! Get the marshal! Let her go, you villain. The marshal is on his way.”
Robert twisted his hand in my hair, and I whimpered. He held my hair in such a way that I couldn’t move except where he put me. Even screaming was impossible.
“Where’s my money, Eleanor?” He gave my head a shake, and black spots formed before my eyes.
I waved my fingers toward the bedroom. “There.”
He dragged me through the doorway. “Where?”
“There.” I pointed to the dresser, and he shoved me toward it, never letting go of my hair. I fumbled blindly with the drawer and pulled it open.
Robert reached in, threw my stockings on the floor, and pulled out the roll of bills. He shoved the money into his pocket without counting it and pulled me back toward the sitting room.
I didn’t see Ida Mae. She was behind the door. When Robert came through, she brought a chair down on his back. Robert was a tall man, Ida Mae a tiny woman. She didn’t strike him hard enough to make him fall, but he did release my hair.
I sprang away from him and backed toward the window, massaging my throbbing scalp.
Robert spun toward Ida Mae.
“Get back,” she warned, bringing the chair up again.
“Look out, Ida Mae!” I moved toward her, but too late.
She swung the chair at him, and he grabbed it from her and tossed it aside as if she were a child. He raised his hand to strike her.
“Hit her and I’ll kill you, mister.” Maude Reed, plump and powdered, stood in the doorway with a shotgun pointed at Robert. “I’ll kill you.”
Robert lowered his fist, but he didn’t look scared. Ida Mae backed away from him and joined me at the window. We both trembled.
“Just stay right there,” Maude said. “The marshal’s on the way.”
Robert perched casually on the edge of the table
and crossed his arms. “The law is on my side, ma’am. She’s my wife.”
“She may be, but I’m not,” Ida Mae said. “There’s no law on your side there.”
“You’re a liar,” Maude said. “Nell is a widow.”
“Oh, she tried to be.” Robert spoke pleasantly, as if he were at church. “First Corinthians, 7:39. ‘The wife is bound by the law as long as her husband liveth.’ My sweet wife Eleanor tried to shorten that time considerably. She tried to kill me.”
“Well, I don’t blame her,” Ida Mae said.
Maude did not look away and her aim did not waver, but she frowned and thought a moment before saying, “We’ll still just wait for the marshal.”
“Certainly,” Robert said. He moved to the chair closest to us and sat, as relaxed as if at home. Ida Mae and I shuffled back.
Minutes passed. From the edge of my vision, I could see my left cheek swell. My hair fell loose and heavy down my back. The sharp pain in my scalp had been replaced by a general throbbing ache. My trembling did not subside, and my legs grew so weary I thought I might fall.
Finally, I heard the door open downstairs, and heavy feet tramped up the steps. Maude moved aside, and Marshal Mitchell entered the room. His eyes darted from one face to another and returned to mine.
Robert rose and tugged the corners of his vest. “I’m glad you’re here, constable. I’ve come all the way from New York City to fetch my runaway wife, here, and this little old lady hit me over the head with a chair. Arrest her, if you please.”
“No.” I grabbed onto Ida Mae’s arm. “She was only trying to help me. She didn’t know.”
“She’s a termagant, anyway,” Robert said. “Keep her off me, and I’ll take my wife and go.”
“No! Don’t let him take me, Marshal Mitchell, please. He hit me, you can see. He’ll do it again. He’ll kill me. Don’t let him!”
“I don’t know how much you know about the law, constable,” Robert said, “but you have no power to stop me. She’s my wife.”
Marshal Mitchell glanced again from me to Robert, and I despaired. He might not go out of his way to return runaway wives, but that didn’t mean he would thwart the law on my behalf. He was a man, after all, and a lawman at that.
“Wait!” I let go of Ida Mae’s arm and reached for my handbag. “You can arrest me. Put me in jail, Marshal. I don’t mind. Just don’t let Robert take me.”
I thrust my wanted poster at the marshal. He’d already seen it, of course, but he read it again and handed it to Robert.
“That’s unimportant,” Robert said. “I’m the one she shot and robbed. I drop the charges. You can’t arrest her now.”
“Doesn’t it say I’m wanted by the State of New York? You can’t drop the charges, Robert, not unless you’ve been appointed governor since I last saw you.”
Robert had remained calm until then, but now he flushed dark red. “You see what I’ve had to put up with, constable? A wicked, spiteful wife!” He clenched his fists, and I knew if he were allowed to be alone with me, I would suffer for my words.
“Perhaps,” Marshal Mitchell said. “I don’t know how much you know about the law, mister, but I’m not a constable and you’re not in New York City. I’m a marshal and I’m bound to enforce this wanted poster until I’m told otherwise by the State of New York.” He turned to me. “Eleanor Caldwell, I’m placing you under arrest for attempted murder and robbery. Please get your coat, ma’am, and come with me.”
Chapter Twenty-two
I WAS ALONE in the jail. The other cell was empty. The door to the office was open. I could only see part of a wall, a corner of the gun cabinet, a wedge of the marshal’s desk, but it was enough to let me know I was alone in the building.
I’d been sleeping. The trauma of the afternoon’s events worked on me like a drug, and I fell asleep on the jail cot almost as soon as the door locked behind me. I didn’t know how long I slept, but it was now dark outside. The only light came from the old oil lantern turned low on a table beside the door between the office and cell. It was kind of Marshal Mitchell to leave it for me, I supposed, so that I wouldn’t awake in pitch darkness in unfamiliar surroundings.
I wondered if I would be left alone in the jail all night. My cell door was locked, nothing could hurt me where I was, but I was frightened. I had never been alone in a building in my life.
I found a bucket in the corner of the cell, kicked it, then used it for its intended purpose, grateful for that moment, at least, that there was no one nearby to see or hear me. The room was cold. I still wore my coat, but I pulled the wool blanket from the cot and wrapped it around my shoulders as I paced from wall to bars to window to wall. It occurred to me that I might be imprisoned for days or weeks or months. Even years. How could I bear it?
A noise from the outer office made me freeze. Someone came in and closed the door. Steps crossed the floor. As frightened as I had been at being alone, I was more frightened now that I was not. Robert? I searched for a place to hide, but there was nothing in the room but the bucket and the cot, which was too low to the ground to hide under.
A figure appeared in the doorway. Humiliation replaced my fear. I was aware of the picture I must make. Hair mussed and loose, swollen cheek, odorous bucket, and the bars, of course. He would not allow a criminal to teach his children.
“Hello, Mr. Dunn.” I clutched the blanket at my neck. “I’m sorry to have you see me like this.”
He strode forward and yanked at my cell door. “Is this locked?” He turned and went back to the office, rummaged about, and returned with a large key. He stuck it into the lock, opened my cell door, and beckoned with his fingers. “Come,” he said.
I stepped back.
As desperate as I had been to get out of my cell a moment ago, now I was terrified to leave it.
Mr. Dunn’s face was white as paste, except for his eyes, which were red and swollen as if he had been crying. “Come with me,” he said more forcefully and stretched out his hand.
I shook my head and pressed back against the wall. “I don’t want to.”
He took a quick step forward. “You don’t understand. You don’t know who I am, do you?”
Had he gone mad? “I do,” I said. “You’re Hiram Dunn, the school superintendent.”
“You don’t,” he said. “Of course you don’t. I knew it, but she doesn’t believe it. She saw you at Adelaide’s salon. She thinks you know.”
My mind scrambled. He could only mean Mrs. Dunn. She saw me watch them go to Adelaide’s back door. She thought I knew...what?
When I saw the Dunns at Adelaide’s, I’d assumed that Adelaide was not having a women’s salon after all, that she was having a salon for genteel guests, men and women. But as I pictured her there at the top of the stairs, smiling and inviting them in, I realized I was wrong. She wore men’s clothing! It was a salon for women only, and she’d welcomed the Dunns.
I thought of what Adelaide had told me once before, about women living as men, and examined Mr. Dunn more closely. He was clean shaven, as always, narrow about the shoulders and paunchy in the front. But it was in meeting his eyes I read the truth.
“You’re not really Mr. Dunn, are you?”
Tears flooded his eyes, and he shook his head. Her head, that is.
For Mr. Dunn, I’d just realized, was a woman.
“It’s all right,” I assured her. “It doesn’t matter to me. Adelaide explained it to me. I know some women prefer it, living as men. What harm is there in visiting with others who understand?”
She wiped her cheeks and said, “That’s what I thought. You’re as innocent as a baby. But she doesn’t believe that. She thinks...”
“Who?” But I knew who. “Mrs. Dunn? She thinks what?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Maybe it didn’t, but it does now, unfortunately,” Mrs. Dunn said from the doorway. We’d been so engrossed we didn’t hear the door open. “It’s too bad you didn’t trust me, my dear Angel. You’re so clumsy.
If you’d left it to me, perhaps she would still be the innocent babe.” She took the key from Mr. Dunn’s fingers, closed my cell door, and locked it. “Now you really do know. You shouldn’t have spied on us, Mrs. Jones.”
“I didn’t.” I felt a strong need to reassure her, for she moved with an air of intention that frightened me. “I mean, I didn’t mean to, and it doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t care if you go to Adelaide’s salon. I’ve gone myself. I never said a word to anyone, and I wouldn’t. I won’t.”
She shook her head. “We might have trusted you if it was only that. We’ve trusted others. Adelaide, of course. She knows about Angela and she never told. But you know a bit more than that, don’t you?”
I did, all at once. Mr. Stanfield knew Mr. Dunn in St. Paul. He told me he hoped to see an old friend. I thought he meant Mrs. Hennessey, but he was surprised when he saw her. I should have realized. It was Mr. Dunn he hoped to see, and when he did, he had to know at once that he was seeing an imposter.
Mrs. Dunn nodded. “I thought so.”
“The real Mr. Dunn,” I said. “What happened to him?”
She made no answer. She lifted the oil lantern from the table.
Mr. Dunn—Angela—watched Mrs. Dunn, her expression fearful. “But Mrs. Jones won’t tell.” She turned to me. “You won’t, will you? We had to do it. He found out Emily was leaving. He didn’t care about that, but he was going to keep the children. We couldn’t let him do that. Especially Fannie. You have to understand. He was indecent with her, and she was just a little girl. We aren’t killers, but we had to stop him. Please, tell her you won’t tell.”
“I won’t tell,” I said quickly. Angela’s fear increased my own. “Why would I? You know I tried to kill my own husband, don’t you? That’s why I’m in this cell.”
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