“I wouldn’t think an Irish family would welcome outsiders that easily.”
Evangeline smiled thinly. “From what I’ve heard of their landlady, Mrs. O’Malley, the green of a dollar bill carries far greater weight with her than the green of a shamrock.”
“Have you spoken to the girl’s brother since the er... er...”
“No, I haven’t. I sent word to their house directly after I heard about her death, but the landlady said no one had seen Elsa’s brother. No one knew what had become of him. The funeral arrangements were made by my attorney in town. There was to be no wake. The last thing I wanted for Elsa was to find curiosity seekers gawking at her remains. So we settled on a brief ceremony over a closed casket as the best alternative.”
Freddie raised his eyebrows and whistled faintly through his teeth. “Well, that’s a bit high-handed even for you, Engie. How do you think her brother will feel about all of these ‘arrangements’?”
Evangeline craned her neck to see whether the hapless soul just stepping off the curb in front of their trolley was about to meet an untimely end. After he darted back to the safety of the sidewalk, she replied to her friend’s question. “I don’t know how he feels about it, Freddie—or her landlady either. Their feelings in the matter are of very little consequence to me. What I do know is that when the police were ready to release the body, no one came forward to claim it or to make arrangements for her burial. I expected better of Franz, but under the circumstances there was nothing else to be done.”
The pair stepped off the streetcar at the corner of Irving Park Road and proceeded on foot through the main gate of the cemetery. The weather hadn’t improved. The drizzle and fog continued, though the wind didn’t carry the icy edge that it would possess by November. Evangeline walked down the main path, making straight for a gravesite a few hundred yards away where a small group had assembled around a casket. Freddie concluded that this must be their destination. A minister stood patiently waiting to perform the final ceremony. The only other company in attendance appeared to be Elsa’s landlady and family.
As Evangeline and Freddie came into shouting range, a red-faced woman whose skin seemed too tight to contain its generous folds of fat trundled toward them. She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Oh, Miss LeClair! It must be you, for the lawyer said you would come! How can we ever thank you for what you’ve done!”
As the woman was still fifty yards away, Freddie was impressed by the volume of her voice. Under his breath he mumbled to Evangeline, “Well, that answers one question about the landlady’s attitude.”
“Yes, Freddie, it answers the question,” Evangeline winced, “but at such a pitch!”
The rotund woman lumbered toward them, dabbing her eyes and professing her gratitude. She was still out of earshot of a normal conversation, which tempted Freddie to continue his running commentary. “Brace yourself, Engie. We’re in for it now.”
Evangeline kept an absolutely straight face. “Courage, man. I’ll protect you. I always carry a derringer in my reticule.”
They stopped their conversation abruptly as the female juggernaut bore down upon them. Pausing only long enough to catch her breath, Mrs. O’Malley launched into another round of exclamations and lamentations—each expression of woe being accompanied by a sweep of her arms. “Oh, the poor girl! Poor, poor Elsa! What a world we live in nowadays! To be done to death in such a cruel manner!”
“Yes, yes, Mrs. O’Malley, it’s very sad.” Evangeline vainly tried to stem the tide as the three approached the gravesite.
Her words had no effect whatsoever. The woman continued unchecked until the minister decisively cleared his throat, stopping her in mid-sentence. Recollecting herself, she stammered, “Oh, where are my manners, so caught up as I am in this terrible, terrible tragedy! This is Reverend Schultz, who has kindly come all the way from Elsa’s church to perform the burial service,” sotto voce, she continued, “them being Lutheran and all.”
Mrs. O’Malley allowed herself a brief interlude of lamentation and eye-dabbing. “And here next to me is my husband, Mr. O’Malley.” She poked the emaciated man at her right sharply in the ribs. “Patrick, shake hands with the lady and gentleman!”
Rousing himself from whatever daydream he was pursuing, the man quickly pulled off his hat and extended a hand toward Evangeline. “Ma’am” and “Sir” were all he said as he greeted each in turn. Having fulfilled his wife’s commands, he stepped back and let her continue.
“And here’s my daughter, Patricia.” Mrs. O’Malley pushed forward a timid girl of about ten. “Patsy is what we call her. She and Elsa were great friends, weren’t you, Patsy?” She gave her daughter a thump on the back to equal the blow that she had dealt her husband. “Greet the lady and gentleman in a proper manner, child! Do you want them to think I didn’t raise you right?”
The thump was followed by a shove as further incentive toward the meeting. The girl stepped forward but didn’t lift her head to look either Freddie or Evangeline in the eye. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She bobbed a lopsided curtsy and scuttled aside.
Unruffled by this awkward display, Mrs. O’Malley then propelled forward two boys of about five who had taken refuge behind her skirts to stare up in safety at the strangers. “And these two are my youngest,” she said with a glimmer of maternal pride. “Born only a year apart, they were.” She nudged the boys forward and bent down to whisper to one of them, “Michael, take your hand out of your mouth, and shake hands with the lady and gentleman.”
To Freddie’s everlasting gratitude, the child couldn’t be made to comply. Eventually the two boys were allowed to resume their original positions behind their mother’s copious skirts.
***
The introductions having been completed, Mrs. O’Malley kept still and allowed Reverend Schultz to begin the service. Evangeline chose to ignore the proceedings and scrutinize the O’Malleys instead. Mrs. O’Malley had already impressed her as energetic and overbearing with a strong penchant for personal drama. In contrast, her husband was withdrawn. Evangeline peered sideways under her hat brim to get a better look at him. He didn’t exhibit any signs of grief, though it would have been difficult to guess his state of mind under any circumstances. He hardly seemed the sort of person to encourage an emotional confidence from anyone or offer one in return. Elsa had said he occasionally drank. Seeing the man in person, Evangeline was prepared to ignore the word “occasionally.” His face hadn’t made the acquaintance of a razor for at least two days, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His wife outweighed him by more than 100 pounds, though how she managed to attain such majestic proportions on the meager wages her family and the Bauers brought home was something of a mystery. Elsa had told Evangeline that her landlady didn’t work, being content to order the affairs of her household from a seated position in her cramped, dark parlor.
The little boys were of less interest to Evangeline than the young girl who stood to her right. The child was small for her age. Her hair was thin and mouse-colored, and her complexion unnaturally pale. The overall impression was of something so ephemeral that Evangeline felt she was standing beside a ghost rather than a girl of flesh and blood. As she looked more closely, she noticed that the girl was crying. Since Patsy didn’t seem to share her mother’s taste for drama, Evangeline could only conclude that her grief was sincere. In a spontaneous gesture of sympathy, Evangeline put her arm around the girl’s narrow shoulders. For the first time, Patsy looked directly at her, startled and ready to pull away. Evangeline exerted a faint, reassuring pressure on the girl’s arm and leaned closer. “It’s all right. I know how you feel. I’ll miss her, too.”
Patsy appeared dumbfounded, not quite sure how to react. Eventually, trust must have won out over shyness since she didn’t withdraw. She favored Evangeline with a hesitant half-smile through her tears. The two stood together, sharing a melancholy silence for the remainder of the ceremony.
After the casket had
been lowered into the ground and the official ban on speech was lifted, Mrs. O’Malley began a new torrent of verbiage. “How sad a day this is, and a sad day for our house too. To be left destitute, just destitute, Miss LeClair!”
“Oh, surely not destitute, Mrs. O’Malley.”
“Yes, destitute, I say again, Miss LeClair. Both Franz and Elsa gone. What will become of us now?”
“There will be other boarders, no doubt, Mrs. O’Malley. You will be able to rent your rooms again, I’m sure.” Evangeline tried to reassure the woman and extricate herself at the same time.
“But when, Miss LeClair? I ask you, when? Times are hard. Money is harder still to come by.”
Realizing the precedent she had set by paying for the funeral, Evangeline made the offer she knew was expected. “If I were to pay the amount that the pair of them owed you, plus enough to cover the inconvenience you suffered when these unfortunate events transpired, would that suffice?”
Mrs. O’Malley was all graciousness. “Oh, Miss LeClair. You are too kind. Lord love you, such generosity! I never expected you to come forward like this. But I cannot accept your kind offer. Sure it is, I cannot. My conscience would never allow it.”
“Really, Mrs. O’Malley, you must try to overcome your natural diffidence.”
The irony was lost on the landlady. “Lord bless you, miss. You are the soul of generosity. The very soul of it, I say.”
Evangeline quickened her pace, hoping that Mrs. O’Malley wouldn’t be able to keep up with her. The consequence was that the landlady transferred her attentions to Freddie, who had been lagging behind. She bombarded him with questions about who he was, and what he did for a living, and whether he and the lady were engaged. Although Freddie’s eyes implored his friend for assistance, Evangeline used the opportunity to walk ahead of the group and talk to the daughter.
Matching her pace to Patsy’s, she struck out in the direction of the cemetery gate. “I’m truly sorry,” she began.
Patsy’s shyness reasserted itself, and the girl looked down at the ground. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Well, that title is formal enough to make me feel like a dowager of seventy.” Evangeline smiled. “My friends call me Engie.”
“Oh, I could never do that.” The girl shook her head vehemently. “You’re a lady. You’re one of the gentry...”
Evangeline’s reply was tongue-in-cheek. “I have it on good authority that America is a democracy, albeit a limited one since women don’t have the vote yet. Nevertheless, that means the country doesn’t have either a king or an aristocracy.”
Patsy was silent, confused about what was expected of her. Evangeline clarified the issue. “Well, if you won’t call me by my first name, then you may call me Miss Engie. That’s close enough to being respectful to ease your conscience, isn’t it?”
The girl brightened. “Yes, yes, that’s fine. I can call you that.”
Evangeline paused, at a loss for what to say next. She had deliberately avoided any reference to the events preceding the funeral. She told herself it was to spare everyone’s feelings, glossing over the fact that it spared her own as well.
“So your mother says you and Elsa were great friends.”
Patsy looked sad at the memory. “Very great friends, miss. We shared a room. Our house didn’t have enough bedrooms for everyone, so I stayed upstairs with Elsa. Franz had the room across from us.”
It occurred to Evangeline that Patsy might be the source of valuable information that could lead to Elsa’s killer. She began gently so as not to alarm the girl.
“Patsy, I’d like to talk to you some more about Elsa.”
The girl’s eyes grew wide with alarm. “I don’t dare, miss! Ma already told us that Elsa brought shame on our house and that the less we all said about her the better!”
“Well, I don’t think there’s any need to distress your mama with this matter.” Evangeline’s tone was serene as she accented the second syllable in “mama.”
“I... I guess I don’t understand.”
Evangeline linked her arm through Patsy’s in a conspiratorial fashion. “We don’t have to tell her, do we?”
Patsy blinked as the idea began to sink in. “But, how’s that possible? Ma keeps a close watch on me.”
Evangeline paused to consider the dilemma. “Saturday is a half-day for factory workers, isn’t it?”
“Why, yes. That’s so. We quit at noon.”
“Very good. Then I shall meet you at your factory gates this Saturday at noon.”
“It’s the Van Ryn Garment Factory on South Ashland,” the girl offered doubtfully.
“Never fear, I’ll find it.”
“But what about ma? What’ll I tell her when I don’t come home right away?” The girl glanced over her shoulder nervously. Her mother was still deep in conversation with Freddie, leaning on his arm for support. The poor fellow looked as if he were locked in the embrace of a python.
“I’m sure your factory always needs willing souls to work overtime on Saturdays, doesn’t it?”
Evangeline paused, allowing Patsy to digest that stratagem for a moment. “Trust me, child. I’ll arrange matters so that no harm will come to you.”
Evangeline gave the girl’s arm a gentle squeeze. “I should be very grateful for your help.” They had nearly reached the exit to the cemetery.
Patsy smiled timidly. “I’d like to talk about Elsa some more. It would help. She was the only one who listened to me, and I miss her.”
“Yes, she was a very kind person.” Evangeline scowled as a new thought struck her. “I always thought she and Franz were just alike. I don’t understand why he isn’t here!”
Patsy came to a dead stop, as if her feet had taken root. “But... Miss Engie. Didn’t they tell you?”
Evangeline regarded her young companion with puzzlement. “Tell me what, my dear?”
Patsy showed signs of increasing agitation. “I’m sorry. Ma thought you knew. We all thought you knew.”
“Knew what, Patsy?”
“The police came yesterday night. They took Franz away. They say he killed Elsa.”
A blast of wind sent a chill through Evangeline’s bones. She began to shiver. “But that’s impossible!”
The two were standing just inside the cemetery gates. The rest of the group caught up at that moment and, after another round of handshakes and lamentations, went their separate ways.
As Evangeline and Freddie walked back toward the streetcar line, the fog around them seemed to swirl into the core of Evangeline’s brain. She could still hear Patsy’s last words, and they drowned out the street sounds, the voices, the horses’ hooves. She barely heard Freddie when he said through gritted teeth, “I’m placing you on notice. The next funeral we attend together will be yours.”
Chapter 3—Anarchy’s Red Hand
The morning following the funeral, Evangeline found herself in an unusual place—staring through the bars of a cell in Chicago City Jail. She stood back as a guard unlocked the door and let her step inside. The room was narrow and deep with a double row of cots lining the wall to her right. Only one prisoner occupied the cell: a man in his early twenties with a blond beard that seemed somehow too long and flowing for someone his age. He sat leaning over the edge of the lower cot, clasping his hands and unclasping them, mutely expressing the contradictions battling in his brain. He didn’t look up until Evangeline stood directly before him.
Uttering a cry of surprise, he leaped up when he saw her. “Fräulein! Mein Gott! What are you doing here? How is it you came to hear about this?”
Looking him full in the face gave Evangeline a shock. Franz and Elsa Bauer were twins. Elsa had been no more than medium height. She would have been described as delicate, in form and in face. To see the girl’s features and mannerisms, the same green eyes and flax-colored hair in a masculine form, was disturbing. To now link those same features to such unfortunate events—the sister dead and the brother in prison—only increased the uneasi
ness of the encounter for her. She finally composed herself enough to reply, “Half the city heard about this before I did, Franz.”
“And aren’t you afraid to be locked in a cell with a dangerous criminal like me!”
“Is that what you are? I would never have thought it possible when you were taking English classes from me at the settlement. Never would have thought it from the way Elsa talked about you with such pride—her brother, the writer on the German newspaper the Sozialistische Tageszeitung. She always said her brother was going to be known as a great writer someday.”
“Her brother is going to be hanged for murdering her, and there is no one in this city who will doubt that he did it!”
“You are hasty in your judgment, my friend. Perhaps there is one person in this city who is disposed to keep an open mind.”
Franz Bauer looked closely into Evangeline’s eyes. “You are willing to listen to the truth?”
She half-smiled. “Why else would I have bothered to come here? As you already know, I rarely take other people’s opinions as gospel. I prefer to see for myself.”
“Yes, yes, you are Fräulein Klarheit still. You want to get to the truth of things.” Franz used the nickname he had given Evangeline when taking his first English class from her years before—a German variation of her surname.
She settled herself unceremoniously on the cot and looked up at Franz. Her face was expressionless, detached. “Please begin.”
He paced toward the opposite end of the narrow cell, his hands now clasped behind his back, head bent once again in concentration. He turned and seemed on the point of speaking several times, but the memories flooding his consciousness overwhelmed him. He sighed and muttered to himself and cursed and paced until Evangeline walked over to where he stood and put her hand on his shoulder.
The Fall Of White City (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 1) Page 2
