Elizabeth knew only a handful of names, she thought shamefully, of the women who had fought in the early days for women's suffrage, but Elizabeth Cady Stanton was one.
“I had friends who'd spoken of the Women's Rights movement,” Catherine said, “but despite my bluster I was still a good Southern girl at heart. I might be able to argue with my father about Euripides or what silver to use at supper, but… I will admit I was afraid of him. But then, Mrs. Stanton said something I will never forget, 'The greatest protection any woman can have is courage.' And so I found myself some.”
Elizabeth smiled. “And you went to Seneca Falls?”
“I did and then returned home to drive my father crazy.”
Suddenly, Simon moved and stepped toward the window. “Thank God,” he said.
Catherine spun around and then practically ran to the back door. Elizabeth and Simon weren't far behind. Catherine pulled the door open just as Abraham was about to reach for the handle and threw herself into his arms.
Abraham's face was slick with sweat and covered with confusion. He held his arms out, not daring to return the bear hug Catherine was giving him. Finally, she released him. “Thank heaven. Are you all right?”
“I'm fine,” he said and looked to Simon and Elizabeth with questioning eyes.
“We are as well,” Simon said. “Thanks to you.”
“Good, now I don't—”
The sound of a throat clearing from the stairway stopped the rest of the words. They all turned to find the Colonel, wrapped in a robe and deep displeasure. “What,” he said, lingering over the word, “is going on here?”
Elizabeth did her best not to look guilty and was sure she did a poor job of it. The Colonel's eyes shifted from one of them to the next, pausing at each and silently demanding an answer.
“We thought we heard something, papa,” Catherine said quickly. “Someone in the yard. Abraham chased them away.”
The Colonel's eyes shifted from his daughter to Abraham and then back again. His usual sour disposition masked any hint of whether he believed them or not. He cast a quick accusing glare at Simon and then Elizabeth that clearly said, this is your fault, but he merely grunted and let them squirm under the pressure for a moment before saying, “I see.”
“You best go to bed now, Abraham,” the Colonel continued.
“Yassuh.”
“I will speak with the rest of you in the morning,” the Colonel said before turning and starting back upstairs. “Do not wake me again.”
Chapter Eighteen
The following morning over breakfast, Simon and Elizabeth did their best to dissuade Catherine from becoming further embroiled in their mission. After last night's near disaster, the last thing Simon wanted was someone else to worry about, but Catherine Stanton was not the sort to stop her flag carrying because of a hurricane force wind.
“I wonder what they're hiding,” Catherine said as she buttered her toast.
“Maybe it was an honest oversight?” Elizabeth said with a quick glance to Simon.
“I think that's likely,” Simon agreed, although he and Elizabeth believed quite the opposite.
Catherine chewed her bite of toast ferociously as she thought. “Maybe we should go to see Dr. Walker? Confront him.”
“Are you ill?” the Colonel said as he joined them in the dining room.
“No, papa.” Catherine took another bite of toast and, thankfully, had enough sense not to explain further.
“Good,” the Colonel said as he sat down at the end of the table. “If you are, you're not to see that charlatan. Dr. Parish or Smith, anyone else.”
The Colonel opened his newspaper as one of the servants came in with a fresh cup of tea and put it in front of him.
“Really?” Elizabeth said and looked to Simon for an encouraging nod. “I saw him the other day and he seemed quite nice.”
The Colonel snorted and unfolded his newspaper. “To women with more in their purses than in their heads, perhaps.”
Simon arched an eyebrow in disapproval and the Colonel amended, although a little reluctantly, “Present company excluded, of course.”
He lifted his newspaper and Elizabeth stuck out her tongue at him.
Catherine choked on her tea.
The Colonel put down his paper and frowned at her. “Are you sure you're not ill?”
Catherine shook her head and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin.
“I don't know,” Elizabeth said. “He volunteers at the orphanage and I understand he's the one who examined the body of that poor woman they found the other day, for the police.”
The Colonel harrumphed. “Walker's only charitable cause is himself. The man is a degenerate and a gambler. Losing money he can ill afford,” the Colonel said with repulsion. “He makes an appearance to impress the town widows and loosen their pocketbooks.”
“At least he makes an appearance,” Catherine said not so quietly.
The Colonel glared at her. She'd told Elizabeth that she'd tried again and again to get her father to volunteer there. The boys there would make perfect little soldiers, she'd said. Besides, he was always looking for someone to boss around and the boys would be far more willing victims than she was. Somehow, that hadn't won him over.
The Colonel didn't rise to Catherine's bait. “I am far too busy for such things. As to the other business, Walker helping the police,” he said, “I find that highly unlikely.”
“No, it's true papa.”
The Colonel seemed about to reply when his frown deepened. “And just what is your interest in the matter?”
Catherine shrugged. “Idle curiosity.”
Her father pursed his lips. He knew that there was nothing remotely idle about his daughter. “Stay out of other people's business, Catherine.”
He fixed her with a pointed glare and she offered an innocent smile in return. He humphed again and went back to reading his paper. Catherine wiggled her eyebrows over her cup of tea and Elizabeth stifled a giggle.
Between the two of them, Simon was doomed.
~~~
Simon tried to be more discreet than he had the last time he'd traveled down Water Street to Smiley's Saloon. To his knowledge, Elijah Harper had not gossiped about his previous sojourn, but he doubted he'd be so lucky should he be seen a second time.
Simon pushed open the swinging doors and stepped inside. The lower floor was nearly empty with just a few people, all too tired or still too drunk to care about anything. Two saloon girls, including Genevieve lingered at the end of the bar.
“Back again?” Genevieve said with a smile.
“I just need a few minutes,” he said.
The brunette with smeared lipstick next to her laughed. “You and every other man.”
Simon nodded toward a table in the corner. “I only have a few questions.”
“If you need help, honey,” the brunette said as she swayed precariously close, “I'm your girl.”
Genevieve pushed her friend away. “Go, dry up, Sal.”
Sal frowned and pouted but slid down the bar away from them.
Genevieve motioned to the corner table. Out of habit, Simon held out her chair. She looked at him as if he'd grown a second head, then laughed and sat down, shaking her head.
Simon pulled up his own chair and placed a ten-dollar bill on the table. “Just a few questions.” He pulled his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and unfolded it. “Do you recognize this?”
Genevieve leaned forward and picked up the necklace to examine it. Her expression shifted from bored to interested and then quickly to worry. “Where'd you get this?”
“Do you know who it belongs to?”
She shrugged. “It's Alice's. She never took it off. How'd you get it?”
“You're sure?”
“Said it was her mother's or something, from Scotland or Ireland or someplace.”
Simon nodded thoughtfully and put the necklace back into his handkerchief. “Thank you.”
“Why do you ca
re? What's she to you?”
Simon put the folded handkerchief back into his pocket. “Someone who needs help.”
Genevieve slid the ten-dollar bill toward her and stuffed it into her bosom. “Ain't we all?”
~~~
Elizabeth took a few moments to study the girls as they changed their bed linens. While Simon was otherwise occupied, Elizabeth had decided to tag along with Catherine to the orphanage. She'd helped in the kitchen until the cook had practically kicked her out. Catherine was busy teaching the boy's morning class, leaving Elizabeth to her own devices, and so she sought out the girl's dormitory.
The children fluffed and wrestled with their sheets as they made their beds. One girl, bigger than the others sat and watched a little one do the work, until Elizabeth's watchful eye forced her to help. Most of the others tended to their own small beds, except for one little girl at the end of the hall. She still had her nightgown on and sat perched on the edge of a bed watching as another girl worked.
At first Elizabeth thought it was another bullying situation, but she soon realized it was anything but. The girl in the nightgown coughed and shivered and the other put a blanket around her shoulders before getting back to finishing making the bed. She smoothed down the sheets and then folded back the covers. The littler one slid in between the sheets and curled up. Poor little bug.
The other girl handed her something, a doll maybe, and then tucked her in. This was the one Elizabeth would want to talk to — the little mother. She was hardly ten years old, but Elizabeth could tell she was the one who looked out for the little ones. If anyone had taken the time to get to know Mary, it would have been her.
Elizabeth walked down the corridor between the beds.
“Is she all right?” Elizabeth asked.
The girl looked up at her in surprise and back down at her charge with such compassion it made Elizabeth's heart tighten. “She'll be fine,” she said as she petted the little girl's head. “Won't you, Mellie?”
Mellie nodded and curled up tighter, hugging her doll beneath the covers.
The other girl turned and started work on what Elizabeth assumed was her own bed.
“What's your name?” Elizabeth asked.
“Alison. And you're Miss Elizabeth,” she said. “I remember from when you come before.”
“That's right,” Elizabeth said. “Do you think we could talk? Just you and me?”
Alison looked at her shyly and then nodded. “I have to finish this first.”
Elizabeth picked up one end of the sheet and pulled it taut. “We'll have it done in a jiff.”
Once they'd finished making the bed and Alison had checked on Mellie one last time, she led Elizabeth outside to a bench under a shady oak. A tiny gray and brown sparrow pecked at the ground looking for seeds.
Alison smoothed out her threadbare calico dress, and sat primly and politely waiting for Elizabeth to begin.
“I was hoping you could tell me a little something about Mary Stewart,” Elizabeth said. “Were you friends with her?”
Alison thought about the question quite seriously, her little brow furrowing as she considered her answer. “She weren't here very long, but we was friends a little.”
“Did she ever talk to you about her mother or father?”
“Not at first. She didn't talk much to nobody, but when I started taking care of her—”
“When she got sick?”
Alison nodded. “She used to tell me about them then, but it was just the fever talking. It does that,” she added with a sad, knowing look.
Elizabeth gave her a sympathetic smile. “What did she say? Do you remember?”
Alison bit her lip and squinted to try to remember. “She said her momma and daddy lived in a big house, like a king and queen. Course I knew her momma up and left her. Everybody did. Some kids used to tease her about it. Her momma bein' a whore and all.”
Elizabeth swallowed her shock at the casual way the girl had said it. But then, perhaps here, sadly, it wasn't all that an uncommon a thing for a single mother to be. “That upset her?”
Alison shook her head. “Mary'd just say that weren't her momma anyway so they could say what they wanted, didn't mean nothing to her.”
Elizabeth felt a tingle. “She said that the woman who took care of her wasn't her mother? That Alice Stewart wasn't her mother?”
Alison shrugged. “That's what she said.”
Elizabeth tried to stop her mind from racing. What could that mean? “She said her parents lived in a big house?”
“She thought they was gonna come for her. Said her daddy told her he would.” Alison smiled up at her, sadly. “They never come.”
Elizabeth clasped her hands to keep her from taking the girl into her arms and comforting her. What could she say? Don't worry little orphan girl, someone will come for you? She knew it wasn't true. It wasn't true for any of them.
Alison sighed and Elizabeth's heart couldn't take much more of this. She heard Simon's voice in the back of her head. We cannot save them all. Understanding the reality of her limitations didn't help her aching heart.
“Dr. Walker and me took care of her,” Alison said proudly. “He said I was his best nurse.”
“I'm sure you were.”
“He gave me her medicine and I made sure she took it every day with hot tea,” Alison said. “One for her and one for her baby.”
Elizabeth's brows arched in question.
“You know how little ones is. She wouldn't take nothin' unless her doll took it too.”
“Ah, I see. I'm sure you took very good care of her.”
“She was always sickly, even before she come, Dr. Walker said. And sometimes, he said, there ain't nothin' nobody can do for the real sick ones. Sometimes a child isn't meant for this world.”
Those words felt like a physical blow. Poor Mary. Elizabeth forced a sad smile. Alison smiled back thoughtfully and then leaned back into the bench. They sat quietly together watching the little sparrow hop around in the grass, until it had its fill and flew up into the branches of the oak and landed in a small round nest.
They watched the mother bird care for her chicks until Mrs. Nolan called them back inside.
~~~
Simon and Elizabeth met for lunch at a small restaurant in town and shared what they'd learned that morning. Simon wasn't quite sure what to make of Elizabeth's talk with the girl from the orphanage. Had Mary really known who her parents were or weren't, or was it just her imagination painting castles in the clouds?
Armed with the evidence that Alice Stewart was indeed the dead woman and concerned about Elizabeth's description of Mary the night before last at River Run, they decided to go see Old Nan again. The old woman had been vague the first time. Why couldn't psychics be straightforward, Simon thought irritably. Why must everything be masked in a riddle like they were the bloody Sphinx?
Abraham was kind enough to get them another audience with the elderly woman that afternoon. As they climbed the steps of her small cabin again, Simon was determined to get some actual answers this time.
Old Nan sat as she had before in her rocking chair, but this time she was talking to a small boy in tattered clothes. “You be sad now,” she said. “But it won't always be dat way.”
The boy nodded, but his lower lip trembled as he fought back tears.
“You listen to Old Nan,” she said kindly, but firmly. “She know best.”
Abraham shifted his feet nervously and tugged on his fingers. Simon noticed him looking around the room anxiously and then staring at Nan.
“Now, you run 'long,” Nan said. “Tomorrow be better. Hmm?”
The boy chewed his lip and then noticed Elizabeth and Simon for the first time. He glanced back at Nan who nodded and he turned and ran for the door, and right through it. Simon had suspected the boy might be a spirit, but seeing him run through solid wood still caught him off guard. He could see that Elizabeth felt much the same way. The same could not be said of Abraham, however. His ey
es never left Nan, his expression unchanged, and Simon suddenly realized Abraham hadn't seen the boy, that he couldn't see the boy.
Nan leaned back in her rocking chair.
“Will he be all right?” Elizabeth asked.
Nan smiled and started rocking. “He be gone by sundown. Sometime dey just need a kind word to set 'em on dere way.”
Abraham swallowed and looked nervously between the two women. “Maybe I should just wait outside?”
He looked to Simon for permission and once he got it wasted no time leaving the small cottage.
Once the door was closed, Nan studied Simon and Elizabeth again, just as she had the first time. Her milky white eyes danced over them, seeing without seeing, and an odd smile came over her wrinkled face. “You is peculiar. Part of you is here and part of you later.”
While Simon found her second sight fascinating, it was somewhat discomfiting when it was turned his way. Despite that, he couldn't help but wonder if she could be sensing some sort of temporal wash from the watch? Simon had experienced it when the watch had first come into his possession, but it was nothing like this. As interesting as that theory was, he refocused. He was resolute about getting actual answers about Mary this time.
“Yes, well,” Simon said, “be that as it may, we're concerned about Mary. Mary Stewart, you remember?”
“I remember.”
Simon waited, but that was apparently all the woman had to say. He turned to Elizabeth silently entreating her to help.
“I saw her again,” Elizabeth said. “The night before last, and she was starting to fade. Like you said she might.”
Nan hummed and kept rocking.
“We were hoping,” Simon said, feeling his impatience grow, “that you might be able to tell us more. Help us, help her. Has she come to see you? Has she told you anything that might help?”
Nan smiled. “She chose you.”
“Why?” Elizabeth asked, casting a quick glance at Simon. “Why us?”
“Why do any of us choose another?” Nan said. “We all has holes inside dat need fillin'. Dat child need you as much as you need her.”
“I don't understand,” Simon said.
“Your burden,” she said as she continued to rock back and forth slowly, rhythmically.
Thursday's Child (Out of Time #5) Page 17
