“No . . . wish it were so. It’s Chief Kohler. Payback, I suppose, for rejecting him.”
“You broke Nathan Kohler’s heart?”
“If he ever had one.” Jane finally sat.
“What you said about my father . . .”
“I started running away from myself a long time ago . . .
when your father left me alone with . . . when I was pregnant with you. Felt like damaged goods. So much hurt and misunderstanding. Not toward you, my child, but toward myself.”
“So you came back to America to stop the pain?”
“No, to confront it, don’t you see? By setting up a practice in New York, but it proved disastrous.”
“So now we’re here, and talk about hiding from your feelings. You’ve become a master at it, Mother, right along with having become Dr. Tewes.”
“Only an expediency . . . to keep us in—”
“In the money, in the level of comfort to which we’ve become accustomed? Come on, Mother, out with it. To hide. To hide in plain sight is what you proposed from the beginning.”
Gabby grabbed her mother up from her chair and held her. The hug was long and heartfelt. “It’s OK, Mother.”
“But it’s not. In New York, I ran into Nathan, there studying some sort of new identification process he wanted in Chicago, this new fingerprinting thing.”
“It is a miracle of discovery this fingerprint business, Mother, and it is all true.”
“I’ve learned from Inspector Drimmer that Ransom is the 242
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one who pushed Kohler to adopt it, he and Dr. Fenger.
Christian’s known of it for years from his travels to the Orient, but officials ignored his counsel.”
Gabby nodded. “Always the way with new ideas. Look at the resistance to the Crapper, the telephone, electricity.”
“I so desperately need to calm myself,” said Jane.
“Tea. I’ll make us some fresh,” suggested Gabby.
“Would you? Tea will help.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” And Gabby was away.
An unpleasant shrill symphony of terror played out in Jane’s head, and she feared. She feared what would happen to Gabby should something happen to her. She consciously willed a respite to the panic attack. Poor Gabby. This is no way to live for either of us. “Jane Francis,” she spoke to herself, “you’ve got to reclaim your true self.” She repeated it until the mantra staved off the attack.
Once the tea had brewed, they went into the parlor where the windows overlooked the boulevard. For some time, they people-watched. They spoke of enjoying the house they’d rented. They spoke of the fair. Gabrielle felt that her mother needed time before broaching a larger, distressing matter.
“When you were just a little girl, I was befriended in New York by another woman very like myself she was . . . her name was Alicia.”
“Alicia . . . what a lovely name.”
“A lovely soul, and like me, she lived so much inside herself, in her inner world, until . . . well, she was murdered.”
“Murdered? No . . .”
“I had hired her in my practice to help keep things in place, to help look after you, to generally take my place when with patients, which, as it happened, was not often, so we spent a lot of time together, and we spoke of ourselves as problematic women.” “Problematic?”
“She drowned in the park, but there was more to it. I pointed CITY FOR RANSOM
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out the bruises on her neck, her legs, her forearms. Whoever did it knocked her down. I found blood on a stone nearby. I tell you this so you know I understand your pain now.”
“Was she . . . garroted?”
“No . . . at the very least all her parts were together when they laid her to rest. But the authorities were not going to be led by some woman—even if I did hold a medical degree.
They resented my bullying them, and they wanted it to be an accidental drowning, and so it was labeled. But child, that is not the point of my story.” “What then?”
“Gabby, this poor woman condemned herself for a sense of weakness drilled into her. In fact, we both shared the myth of feminine weakness”—she held up a hand to stop Gabby’s protest—“and, and shared I daresay with half the female population, even those young women who fall into the abyss of prostitution.” “Now you’re speaking of Ransom’s Polly Pete?”
“Yes, I suppose her too. Polly, and my dear friend to whom I so often give a prayer, and myself. . . . None of us ever saw that how we lived—inside our feelings—was power. A positive rather than a negative.” “Women are constantly told this. It’s one reason we’re uniting. What else are we to do?” Gabby replied, hands flailing like a pair of diving birds.
“We . . . all of us . . . are told feelings are a weakness, something we must struggle to combat . . . to contain if we’re to fit into the world—and for how long were we wrong? How horribly wrong in our perceptions?” “And the other two, dead now, took it into eternity with them.”
“So sad . . . only one of three learning the lesson of it.”
“I see . . . I think.”
“Think how in our day, our generation, child, women were taught to believe every step taken, every dream held was foolish, weak, silly, a woman’s ranting, a woman’s lot, a woman’s hysterics.”
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“It has not changed so much. I get the same attitude at university!”
“The weaker of the sexes, the highly emotional and volcanic of the sexes, making us out as given more to the animal nature of our evolutionary ancestors. Should we voice an opinion, medical men call it hysteria femalia. And only now am I finally getting it—” “Getting what, Mother?”
“That I live with foreign, strange, unfamiliar people around me, like some creature out of one of those mad outer space stories of Jules Verne’s, simple as that!”
“You mean as Byron felt . . . not of this world, born into the wrong place and time perhaps?”
“No, this euphoric epiphany is just the opposite.”
“But how do you mean, Mother?”
She threw her hands up and shouted, “I am right for this world! It is the rest of the population that is strange and odd and foreign.”
“Really?”
“Indeed! Look at everyone around you—all the city!”
“I have many times over.”
“Look deeper then—it is made up of—of—”
“—of Martian men? Is that what you’re saying?” Gabby genuinely wanted to know.
“Men! Men like Chief Kohler, Christian Fenger, Thomas Carmichael, Mayor Carter Harrison, the governor, Philo Keane, Marshall Field, Alastair Ransom! We are simply not like them.” “Whataya mean to say?” Gabby asked, confused.
“They will stop at nothing to get what they want, to gain what they perceive are their entitlements!”
“Perhaps it’s part of the character of a Chicagoan.”
“The character of a man,” Jane countered.
“And you believe, Mother, that you’re not at all like them?
Frankly, going about as Dr. Tewes . . . well how like them do you think is Tewes?”
“That’s what I’m telling you. There’s no way we are like CITY FOR RANSOM
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them under our clothes, under our skin! They are takers, pickpockets, boodlers, and Machiavellians.”
“But we’re all human, Mother, and—”
“Tewes, for all his faults or due to them, he is accepted by Chicagoans—isn’t he? Still, you miss my point.”
“It all sounds so very cynical, Mother.”
Jane became thoughtful, speaking in a near whisper. “No, no child, it’s not cynicism I feel. My father alone understood the truth about me, but he could not tell me; he knew I had to learn for myself, and I did today.” “Learned what?”
“Behavior I’ve thought of as defective— brainwashed to think so by men! Behavior that in fact keeps me sane .
. .
and Alicia and Polly, and so many trapped women in our society.”
“So does this mean you’ll support our suffrage march?”
Jane gritted her teeth. “I fear for your safety.”
“Oh, come! Who’s gonna throw stones and bottles at women standing in their knickers with a brass band playing?”
“I just want you to know how I feel now. This is so important.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt, but the vote’s important to me!”
“I pray it’s not wasted energy, like the senseless self-loathing that is spoon-fed to women. Imagine, a lifetime of apology for being different—but no more.”
Seeing her mother’s tears come freely, Gabrielle again wrapped her arms about Jane, saying nothing, just listening.
“All the lost opportunity. But never again will I hide.”
“Hide?”
“Within myself yes . . . Sadly, it’s taken all these years to come to an accounting of just how bloody distorted my self-perceptions have been.”
“Mother! You never curse!”
“Forget about the cursing and concentrate, child, on what I’m saying. It’s so important that you understand early. You mustn’t waste your most precious commodity— time.”
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“Per-perhaps this is what we’re here for; to find ourselves, and maybe shake things up . . . change things a little!”
“Yes . . . that’s exactly what I’m feeling, but look closer, more deeply.”
“Sounds like . . . an epiphany.”
“A threshold . . . yes, a portal of mind that—”
A rapping noise like a gunshot came at the door. Through the sash, they made out Ransom’s silhouette with cane.
Gabby said, “Here is your favorite Martian now.”
Jane erupted in laughter. “That man! Why doesn’t he ring the bell?”
“I rather think he uses that cane for everything.”
“So right, including interrogations.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“I’d like to but . . .”
“Surely he suspects by now. After all, he’s a detective!”
“It would throw him a good shock!”
Gabby’s evil smile shadowed Jane’s. “Serve him right after what he did at the train station.”
“You’ve heard?”
“It’s all over.”
Again Ransom rapped at the door.
“God,” Jane wondered aloud, “what do you do with a bear at the door?”
“The truth, now!”
“But it could destroy any chance I might have of—”
“You’re attracted to him?”
“Yes!”
“Oh, dear.”
Jane secretly feared doing any harm to Alastair’s sense of self-worth and professional acumen. She grabbed ascot and mustache. “Gabby, stall him!”
“What? No!” As Jane rushed for mirror and glue, Gabby yelled through her locked door. “But you’re finished with masquerades!”
“Not like this . . . it’s too sudden. Go, do as I say. Answer CITY FOR RANSOM
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the door. I shall pop out the back and come around the front door as though Dr. Tewes is home from an appointment.”
“But what of that wonderful speech?”
“Just do it!”
“But your true sentiment?”
“It’ll happen when it happens, not before.”
By now Jane sat at her secret mirror, applying makeup, planning to exit through a nearby window. She’d stopped short of telling her daughter of her father’s ignoble end; perhaps the tale of his dying a brave soldier could stand, at least for now.
So here she was, Tewes again. This time climbing out a back window. She’d given Polly advice to get clear of Ransom, and here she was concerned about the man’s sensibilities? Whatever is wrong with me?
Despite Gabby’s disappointment in Jane’s latest decision, she followed her mother’s orders, inviting the unsuspecting Inspector into the parlor for tea. As she poured the tea and stalled for time, her mother preened as Dr. Tewes in a back room. Meanwhile, Gabby must field more questions about her “auntie”—Jane Francis Ayers—although Ransom said he was here to see Dr. Tewes.
“Auntie’s abed by this hour every night. An early riser, that one.”
“And what of you?” he asked between sips, favoring a headache that threatened to blind him. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
They both glanced at the clock. It was nearing midnight.
“Me? Oh . . . my studies keep me up.”
An awkward silence followed until, noticing the pain he was in, she asked, “Are you all right? I heard about the horrible fire in which your . . . the lady you were seeing . . . that is Father told me how difficult it’s been for you.” “Your father bailed me out of jail. I mean to make good on 248
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it.” He pulled forth a twenty-five-dollar note from the Harris Bank and laid it on the table.
“You must speak to Father about your headaches.”
“Aye . . . it’s why I came—and to repay the note. But it’s rather late for—”
“Nonsense, you must take care of it right away.”
“But the lateness of the hour.”
“I assure you, for his fee, my father won’t turn you away.”
“Then the good doctor, he has not—”
“Retired? Wish it were so. I’m afraid, he doesn’t take care of himself half so well as his patients.”
“He works hard.”
Dr. Tewes came through the front door and into the parlor, saying, “So, you’ve finally come, Inspector, for a complete examination? At such an hour?”
“I do my best work after hours, when others sleep.” He stood and filled Tewes’s hand with the note to repay the bail-out.
“What is this?” Tewes was in the midst of asking when Ransom suddenly became dizzy and wobbly on his legs, almost falling before they got him back onto the settee where he’d been moments before.
Even dazed, Ransom saw that Gabby and Jane showed genuine concern, the caring written in their eyes. Tewes was barking orders and young Gabby, flitting about after cold water and a compress. So unconditional was this response to his near fall. What would these two be like should I keel over completely?
“It’s his head, Father. He’s been favoring it since he arrived.”
“Delayed reaction. You must take my cure, now, Alastair,” Tewes said. “Can you walk to my clinic? In the chair, under the strap, so your head’ll be stabilized as I conduct my examination.”
“I am quite all right. No need for a fuss. Don’t wanna be a bother or a—”
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“Burden? Inspector, trust me. You’ve long ago surpassed—”
“Why don’t you tell him?” asked Gabby.
“Tell me what?”
Jane gave her daughter a withering look, warning her not to say another word, but Gabby replied, “To get his blooming arse in that chair! Now!”
The two women each took an arm and helped him from parlor to clinic, guiding him into the doctor’s waiting chair.
From a haze, he smelled multiple chemicals and concoctions, saw shelves lined with books, and countertops strewn with gleaming instruments and probes.
Alastair felt instantly ill at ease even though the chair he found himself in was as comfortable as sin; in fact, doing as told, he closed his eyes and felt he could easily fall asleep here, finding himself awakened in the morning to the chime of Gabby’s voice calling him to consciousness, asking if he wanted one or two eggs with his bacon.
To further relax him, Dr. Tewes’s magical fingers began massaging Ransom’s neck, moving on to ridges behind each ear. Tewes’s thumb at each point, rhythmically rotated. Ransom realized this motion could put a man down fast. He thought what a tool of control is this. He’d never before been induced to such peace, but a s
liver of suspicion kept fighting his desire to relax as Tewes repeatedly suggested—as the small, firm hands soothingly continued, careful to apply no pressure to the still throbbing sore point left by Muldoon’s blackjack.
Tewes’s hands pressed on, precision in each fingertip. Then all thumb action behind the ears ended for the full cranial massage, the talented fingers working to and from each temple, further easing his tension. He wanted to tell the doctor how wonderful this felt, but he felt perturbed, too, ashamed to be feeling so good at the touch of another man. In fact, the idea began to invade his mind—an inky stain fighting Tewes’s mantra: “Heal thyself, Alastair . . . heal, heal, heal . . .”
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“Tewes, I’m . . . I mean to say . . . I’ve never . . .”
“Quiet . . . heal, heal . . .”
“I find Jane intriguing. Being a man, I . . .”
She did not tell him to shut up.
“. . . that is to say, I like women as you know . . .” Jane realized what he was so clumsily trying to tell Mister Tewes.
“. . . and have naught interest in men in that regard . . . if you take my mean—”
“My God, Ransom. Each time I think there’s hope for you, a bit of progress.”
“I only want it clear that—”
“Please shut the noise out, especially the sound of your own voice! Not another word.”
Ransom took the doctor’s advice.
“Heal . . . heal thyself . . . heal . . .”
From somewhere nearby, Gabby’s sweet laughter erupted.
Tewes shushed her.
“Heal . . . heal . . . heal . . .”
Then Tewes’s fingers lightly hovered over the huge lump that still throbbed and caused so much pain. He sensed the doctor, using those large magnets he’d seen on the tray near the chair, now performed his patented magnetism treatment.
While Ransom’s eyes remained closed, Tewes softly whispered in his ear, “The body is filled with an electromagnetic energy that has the power to heal. I want you to picture this powerful energy inside your body, your head, your will, Alastair. You have it within to will this pain away . . . along with all your problems.” But Alastair no longer heard anyone.
“Mother,” said Gabby, looking deeply into his features where he’d slid low in the chair.
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