Diamond Duo

by Marcia Gruver

  “Is Mr. Spellings ill?”

  He pushed out his bottom lip. “Nothing any doctor can fix. He’s having a hard time dealing with Carrie’s loss, is all. If he didn’t have the livery to keep him busy, I expect he’d go clean out of his mind.” He furrowed his brow and stared toward the livery door.

  “Papa?”

  Lost in his own thoughts, he regarded her with dazed eyes. “Yes, love?”

  “I still have the errand of my own to attend.” She pointed. “It’s just over on Vale Street. Is it all right if I walk?”

  He tilted his head and stared across the distant treetops. “I suppose, since you’re not ten anymore, I won’t ask what your errand might be.” He shook his finger at her. “Go on, then. Just don’t cause me any more trouble with your ma.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  He finished securing the reins and helped her to the ground. “I’ll pick you up at the corner of Lafayette and Polk in one hour. See that you’re there.”

  “Yes, Papa.” Bertha smoothed her bodice and straightened her skirts around her. She looked back, but he had already disappeared through the wide doors of Mr. Spellings’s livery.

  It took all of her strength to walk in a dignified manner to Brooks House. She longed to break into a mad dash and run, the way Annie described on the bluff–sans bonnet, corset, and shawl.

  After last night, the need to ensure her new friend’s safety swelled in her heart, pushing reason aside. She didn’t know how she would go about it, but she had to speak to Annie away from her frightening companion.

  Bertha drew near Brooks House, a grand yet inviting place where the white picket railing and four columns on the ground floor perfectly matched the wide balcony and four columns up top. Inside its walls, weary travelers who could afford it found comfort and rest under the vigilant eye of the hotel’s owner, Dr. J. H. Turner.

  She had no idea how to find Annie inside or how to get her away from Abe when she did. She just knew she would do it if it took all day and night, although squeezing so much time into the hour Papa had given her might pose a challenge.

  Dr. Turner’s omnibus approached from the opposite end of the street and pulled to a stop near the steps. Judge Armistead and another man, engaged in quiet conversation, stepped down from the big carriage and strolled to a spot by the front steps. The door of the hotel opened, and Bertha’s heart ricocheted in her chest when Abe stepped out on the porch and lit a fat cigar.

  Ever so slowly, so as not to attract his attention, Bertha pulled her shawl up over her head and faced the other way. As naturally as she could manage, she took three steps to put a shrub between her and the porch. From the cover it provided, she watched Abe while he watched the judge and his crony. When the two older men sauntered into Brooks House, Abe tossed his cigar over the rail and took the two steps down to the street.

  For one heartrending moment, Bertha thought he would head her direction, but he turned right instead and strode down the street whistling, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Sending a prayer of thanksgiving toward heaven, she made a beeline for the hotel but kept her gaze fixed on Abe’s back until she reached the entrance and ducked inside.

  Brooks House seemed quiet for a Saturday morning. Bertha expected to find staff buzzing about the dim lobby and guests lounging in the well-appointed parlor. But the judge and his friend must have retired to a room, and there were no porters or maids in sight. Surprisingly, Dr. Turner himself manned the front desk.

  Bertha pulled back her shoulders, licked her lips, and sauntered toward him as fast as she dared. “Good morning, Dr. Turner.”

  He looked up from the copy of the Jefferson Jimplecute he had spread open across the desk. “Bertha Biddie. How nice to see you, child. How’s your father? We’ve missed him at the lodge.”

  “He’s well, Doc. Mama’s been a mite under the weather, but she’s fine now.”

  He closed the newspaper and crossed his arms on it. “Good, good. Now what can we do for you?”

  Bertha cleared her throat. “I need to see a friend of mine. She’s one of your guests, but I don’t know what room she’s in.”

  Doc pulled the hotel register around so he could see it. “Well, of course, dear. Which guest?”

  “Her name is Annie Moore.”

  When he frowned and flipped the page, Bertha waved her hand at the book. “Forgive me. I guess you know her around here as Bessie Monroe.”

  Drumming on the desk until Bertha wanted to scream, Doc stared at her as though trying to cipher a disturbing puzzle.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Turner, but I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  Frowning, he awoke from his ponderings. “I have a couple of guests registered as A. Monroe and wife. I believe the wife might be the person you seek, considering she has a trunk labeled ‘A. Moore.’ ”

  Bertha nodded. “Yes, that’s her. Please tell me what room she’s in.”

  He cocked his head. Bertha could almost read in his eyes the questions he wanted to ask. She supposed he thought Annie Moore wasn’t exactly the sort of friend she should have.

  “I guess it’ll be all right,” he finally said then pointed behind him. “Go right down the hall to number four. I think you’ll find your friend inside.”

  She pushed away from the desk but stopped and turned back after only a few steps. “Can we keep this between us, please? I don’t want anyone to know I was here.”

  He pulled on his mustache. “Somehow I can believe that, Bertha. You be careful, now, you hear?”

  She nodded then rushed down the ornate hall. She found number four with no trouble and knocked. No one answered, so she knocked again, this time louder. Though she saw Abe leave with her own eyes, her flesh crawled as she pictured him standing behind the door.

  “What now?” Annie blustered from inside. “You have the key.” She opened in a rush, and all the blood washed from her face. With wide, darting eyes, she looked down the hall before yanking Bertha inside. “What are you doing here? You can’t be here.”

  Bertha’s legs threatened to give out, so without an invitation she hurried to sit on the end of the bed. “I’ll only stay a minute. I had to see for myself that you’re all right.”

  Annie pointed at the door. “Abe–”

  “He’s gone. I saw him leave.”

  She pulled Bertha off the bed by her wrist and herded her toward the exit. “Trust me, he won’t be gone long. You have to get out of here before you get us both killed.”

  The warning sent terror spiking through Bertha’s heart. “Killed? Oh, Annie. . .”

  Annie seemed surprised by her own choice of words. She waved her hand back and forth, as if the gesture could erase what she’d said. “A figure of speech, silly girl. People say it all the time. It doesn’t mean. . . Abe would never. . .”

  Bertha wasn’t convinced. Annie’s lips were smiling, but her eyes were afraid. “Let me take you out of here. You can hide out at my house until he leaves town. Please, Annie.”

  Annie’s put-on confidence crumpled, and she gathered Bertha in her arms. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so glad to see you. I really am. I’ve wracked my brain for an excuse to leave this room and come find you.” She leaned back and peered into Bertha’s eyes. “Can you ever forgive me for the way I treated you last night? I felt so bad about it, but I had to pretend I didn’t know you. I did a foolish, impulsive thing by running off to the bluff. And then I lied to Abe about it. Only he caught on that I left while he was sleeping. He thinks I’m holding out on him.”

  “Holding out?”

  “Money. He thinks I–”

  She bit back the words and turned her face aside. “Well, it doesn’t matter what he thinks. I should’ve told him the truth from the beginning. Now I have to hold my ground, no matter what. Abe hates it more than anything when I lie.”

  Bertha took hold of her hands. “You can tell me, Annie. He hits you, doesn’t he?”

  Annie swiped a tear from her cheek with her finger. “Hits me? Don’t be si
lly.” Sudden panic crowded her eyes. “Bertha, you have to go now. Please.”

  She hurried to the door, opened it a crack, and peered out. “Come on. The hallway’s empty.”

  Bertha crossed to her and touched her trembling arm. “I’ll go. But there’s something we need to discuss. Can you get away from him? Just for a little while?”

  She nodded. “Tonight. I’ll wait till he’s soused and sneak out.”

  “Is it safe?”

  “I’ve done it before, and I’m still here, ain’t I? I’ll be fine as long as I don’t stay too long, all right?”

  “All right.”

  “We can’t go far, though. I need to stay near the hotel. Some-where out of sight.”

  “Remember where we met up with Mose to hitch a ride to the bluff? The spot at the end of the alley?”

  Annie nodded.

  “Meet me there. I’ll look for you at sunset, but I’ll wait no matter how long it takes.”

  “I’ll be there.” Annie peeked out again and pulled Bertha to the door. “It’s now or never, sugar. Please go.”

  Bertha paused long enough to give her a tight hug then slipped out the door. Annie had no sooner closed it than Bertha heard approaching footsteps. She dashed across the hall and stood in front of another room, her hand on the doorknob as if she’d just come out. She feared he’d be suspicious if she lingered, so she headed toward the lobby, though he came right toward her.

  They passed in the corridor. Bertha kept her face turned away, her shawl pulled tight against it. Abe mumbled a greeting, and she managed to nod and return it in a low voice. When Annie’s door opened and closed behind her, relief flooded her bones.

  As she passed the front desk, Doc Turner cleared his throat. “Everything all right?”

  She swallowed her tears and nodded.

  He picked up his paper and gave it a shake to straighten the pages. “Then good day to you, Bertha.”

  She smiled at him. “Thank you, Doc.”

  He winked at her across the Jimplecute as she backed toward the door and stepped outside.

  Dense clouds had managed to hold the light over Jefferson at bay for the better part of two days. Sarah thought it fitting when the overhead sky parted and the sun fired an accusing ray through her kitchen window, as if God had aimed the light of judgment full in her face. She sagged against the pantry door in tears. “What have I done to that poor woman?”

  Henry got up from his chair and took her trembling body in his arms. “Slow down, baby. Jus’ tell me what happened.”

  Sarah pointed in the direction of town. “The tonic I sent home with Jennie Simpson. It ain’t no energy tonic at all.”

  Now Henry looked scared, which scared her more. “What’d you give her, Sarah?”

  She held up one of the vials. “Aloe and sacred bark. With some other cleansing herbs.”

  Thunder sounded, and somewhere overhead a cloud doused the sun ray, drenching the kitchen in shadows again. When the light left, a cold draft rushed in to take its place.

  Henry stared at the tonic and swallowed. “Poison?”

  “Maybe. If she takes too much. . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know for sure.”

  “What’s it gon’ do to her?”

  She blinked up at him. “Remember those stewed prunes you liked so much at Miss Blow’s house last Christmas?”

  He tilted his head and answered real slow. “I do.”

  “Remember what it done to your insides?”

  He made a face. “I sho’ do.”

  “Henry, if Jennie mixes the tonic in water like I told her, she might as well done ate ten pots of those prunes all by herself. She left here ready to drink it straight from the bottle.”

  This time he blinked. Then came the slightest twitch at the corners of his mouth.

  Sarah gave him the eye. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

  And that was all it took. Henry laughed so hard the plates rattled. He laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks. He laughed until he doubled over, holding his sides.

  Sarah longed to join in, but she couldn’t because she still held the terrible mistake in her hands.

  He finally rose up and looked at her, likely to see how mad she would be.

  She stifled a grin. “I never knew you to be a cruel man, Henry King.”

  He wiped his eyes with his shirttail. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I jus’ keep seeing Miss Jennie running along Polk Street, trying to make it home in time.” Saying it must’ve brought the picture back, because he fell into another howling fit.

  Sarah pushed him toward the door. “Go bray it to Dandy whilst you hitch him to the wagon. We should’ve been halfway to town already.”

  Henry turned at the door when he heard her gasp. “What now?”

  “Jennie said Doc Turner would be itching to try her tonic, too. Said she’d bribe him with it if he saw her coming in late.”

  He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, no trace of laughter left on his face. “Then you best pray she ran the whole way.”

  H

  On the porch, Bertha took her first easy breath since she’d entered Brooks House. After a glance back at the door, she scurried down Vale with plenty of time to spare before she had to meet up with Papa. She reached Lafayette and headed for Polk Street, where Papa said he’d be waiting. A loud whistle sounded behind her, and she turned to find Magda coming up the road in her mama’s red surrey.

  The two-seater pulled next to her, and she grinned up at Magda. “Remember, ladies don’t whistle in the streets like common pitchmen. Your pa will take a strap to your legs.”

  Magda snorted. “Fine. He can borrow your papa’s strap. The one he doesn’t have. What are you doing alone in town this early on a Saturday morning?”

  Bertha climbed up on the seat beside her. “I reckon I could ask you the very same.”

  “I ain’t alone. Papa’s at the barber. Mama’s at Stilley’s.” She dug in the pocket of her dress and produced a sheet of paper. “Meanwhile, I’m to hustle on over to the drugstore and fetch everything on this list.”

  “Sedberry’s? I’m headed there to meet Papa.”

  “Where’ve you been this morning?”

  Bertha glanced around them before she answered. “Can you keep a secret?”

  Magda drew back and glared. “Did you just ask if I could keep a secret?”

  Bertha laughed. “Don’t get your bustle in a bunch. Long-standing habits are hard to break.”

  Magda waved a dismissive hand. “Just get on with it.”

  “I’ve been to see Annie over at Brooks House.”

  Magda stiffened. “Oh?” she asked with an air of indifference. “How is she?”

  “Truth is, she’s in terrible trouble. I can’t go into it now, but I’m awfully worried about her.”

  Magda gave her a look. “It’s that man she’s with, isn’t it?”

  Startled, Bertha looked into her knowing eyes. “Goodness, how’d you guess?”

  Magda sniffed. “I know trouble when I see him.”

  Bertha gripped her friend’s hands. “Oh, Magda, I believe he’s dangerous. Annie’s scared witless of him. There has to be a reason.”

  A wagon veered close, driven by an agitated woman and loaded down with rowdy youngsters. Six stair-step boys, all with runny noses and unruly shocks of brown hair, stared up from the wagon bed.

  Bertha nodded at the poor mother then watched them rattle off down the road.

  Magda tugged on her fingers. “What are you going to do?”

  “There’s nothing I can do. I’m smart enough to know that much. But God can do plenty, and I intend to tell Annie so.”

  “Think she’ll listen?”

  “Her life may depend on it. Her eternal life, at least.”

  Magda sat back against the seat and crossed her arms. “At least it’s given you something to worry about besides what’s happening to your own life. You seem in awfully good spirits, considering.”

  The baffling statement didn’t bode
well. Magda knew something Bertha didn’t. Something bad. “Good spirits considering what?”

  “Papa was ever so mad when he got home last night. Ready to skin Thad and hang him in the square for running off with you. But today Charles Gouldy explained why. Now Papa understands completely.”

  Bertha gripped the sides of her head. “Understands what? What are you going on about?”

  Magda heaved an irritated sigh. “You know. About him leaving tomorrow.”

  “Who’s leaving tomorrow?”

  “Thad, of course.”

  The three words rushed at Bertha in a fuzzy white fog, and her ears started to ring. The noisy, bustling town around her faded to the far distance. She tried to shake the haze enough to understand. “What did you say?”

  “Thad.” Magda’s tone sounded less sure. “He’s leaving for school first thing tomorrow morning.” She covered her face with both hands until only wide-open eyes were visible above her finger-tips. “Oh, sugar, you didn’t know.”

  Bertha struggled for her voice. “Who told you that outlandish story?”

  “Charlie.” She pointed behind them. “I just left off talking to him and his sister in front of the barber shop. He said Thad swore to tell you last night.”

  A seething cauldron of rage tipped over inside her chest. She writhed with shame at how she’d lingered in bed nursing fanciful notions about Thad’s motives. He hadn’t put her feelings above a desire to share his news. He’d simply run out on her. She’d mistaken cowardice for consideration and careless disregard for concern.

  “Turn this thing around,” she demanded, pointing back over her shoulder.

  Magda, pressed into the corner of the surrey waiting for her reaction, seemed taken aback. “Why?”

  “I’m going to see Thad. I need you to take me.”

  Magda looked more thunderstruck than when she’d first let the news slip. “That’s the most improper suggestion I’ll ever hear. You won’t do any such thing. You can’t.”

  Bertha met her scandalized gape with gritty determination. “I can, and I will.”

  Magda’s head rocked back and forth. “I won’t be a party to it. It’s too reckless bold, even for you.”