by Amy Stewart
In her defense, Katie had nothing at all to say and merely snapped that the charges were true and that the judge ought to send her to a state home. After a few more gentle questions, it developed that Katie resented going to work every day and bringing every penny she earned home to her mother, while her father spent his paycheck at the saloon. She thought she ought to be entitled to do as he did.
“I hate him,” she told the judge, “and you would too, if he were your father.”
The judge saw no reason to argue with that. She called the father before the bench and lectured him about his family obligations, then arranged for Katie to be sent to New Jersey to live with an aunt willing to take her in. The aunt was to make sure that Katie finished her schooling and that she stayed away from liquor and dance halls. It fell to me to see that the judge’s order was carried out.
The aunt lived in a comfortable and well-tended bungalow. As I walked up to the front door, I thought about how pleased Katie must’ve been to have landed in such comfortable circumstances. But when the door opened, it became immediately clear that Katie was not at all pleased.
She was such a pretty girl, with angelic light hair and eyes the color of the sky, but she was not at all agreeable to look at when she was angry. Her mouth turned down at the corners, her nose was red, and she refused to grace me with so much as a glance.
“Oh, that’s just fine. Now the lady deputy’s come to write her report.” Katie marched back into the parlor, but left the door ajar so I could follow. The aunt appeared to be out of the house. I took a chair across from Katie—they were old carved oak chairs of the sort my own mother’s family had brought over from Vienna in the last century—and waited to hear the worst of it.
“I can’t say anything right, so you might as well put down whatever you want in that book of yours,” she snapped.
“I can only put down what you tell me. What’s come over you?”
“Only that I have no time to myself, and no friends to talk to anyway, or anything else to do but dust this old parlor and polish the silver.”
“Don’t you go to school?”
“Yes, and it’s dull and I hate it. I’d rather go back to work.”
“But your aunt gives you work to do, and you complain about it.”
“Then I’d rather just go home. It was better than this. At least I did what I liked.”
“And for that, they arrested you.”
Katie sniffed and flung her legs over the side of her chair. I would’ve thought a sixteen-year-old too mature for such theatrics, although I had to admit that Fleurette had been just the same at that age.
That gave me an idea.
“What is it, exactly, that you miss about your old life? Is it your parents?”
“Of course not. I can’t stand my father, and I can do without my mother.”
It gave me a little pain to hear a girl say a thing like that, but I pressed on. “What is it, then? Your friends? Tell me, or I can’t help you.”
She picked at an upholstery tack with her thumbnail and said, under her breath, “I used to go to the dance halls, and learn all the dances. I bet there are a dozen new ones now, and I haven’t even heard the songs. There’s not any sort of music in this house, nor anywhere for me to go hear any.”
There it was! Having raised a girl with aspirations for the stage, I recognized one in Katie.
“Well, what would you think about taking some dancing lessons?”
Katie looked up with interest but said, “I’m not allowed out.”
“I’m not talking about a saloon. I mean that you could take lessons at a girls’ academy. It’s not so terribly expensive, and perhaps your aunt wouldn’t mind paying for it, if you worked a little harder around the house. Isn’t she a teacher?”
“Yes, which is why I never have any fun at school. She’s always watching me.”
I wasn’t there to listen to the girl complain, so I rose to go. “I’m sure she’s very busy at school and would appreciate it if you’d do a bit more at home. Help with the cooking. Couldn’t you do that?”
Katie shrugged. She clearly wasn’t prepared to strike any sort of bargain. Nonetheless, I wrote in my little green book, “Katie does everything asked of her at home and has stayed with her schooling. She shows some musical promise and hopes to enroll at a girls’ academy of music and dance. Deputy Kopp to speak with her aunt at earliest convenience.”
It wasn’t much of a report, as I was forced to omit Katie’s rebelliousness and her litany of complaints. There was some drama Judge Seufert didn’t need to hear.
“Be good to your aunt,” I told her as I left. “You were given a second chance. Not everyone is.”
12
when i arrived at the jail later that day, an automobile from the Hackensack Hospital was waiting to take Tony Hajnacka and Anna Kayser away. Dr. Ogden stood alongside it, looking every part the aggrieved chauffeur. With him was a young and timid-looking nurse who stared up at the jail’s glowering façade. She was trying to keep the worry from her face, as nurses are trained to do. She obviously hadn’t had much experience with it yet. I could only imagine Dr. Ogden telling her that the lady deputy couldn’t handle transporting lunatics, so she’d been conscripted to take my place.
Sheriff Heath was just walking out to greet him. “I’ll bring Hajnacka down myself,” he told Dr. Ogden, “and Deputy Kopp here will deliver Mrs. Kayser to you. I take it you’d like the men in the front and the ladies in the back.”
Dr. Ogden had a way of tucking his chin down and peering over the tops of his spectacles to express disapproval. It reminded me of a very similar expression of Norma’s. “The inmates can ride in the back.”
“I wouldn’t put two inmates together, Bill,” the sheriff said. “You want an officer alongside. We’ll chain them to the door so they can’t escape. I’m sure Nurse Schilling will feel perfectly safe alongside her charge. Mrs. Kayser is as docile as a lamb and might well be quieter if she had a nurse for company.”
“Of course,” the nurse said, eager to prove her mettle. “It’s no bother.”
Dr. Ogden glared at the sheriff. “We’ll do it your way, but if there’s any trouble . . .”
Sheriff Heath laughed and slapped Dr. Ogden on the back in a show of friendship he surely didn’t feel. “If there’s any trouble, you’re to blame, Bill! That’s the burden and the blessing of public service. What happens under your watch is credited entirely to you. Now, let us deliver your inmates.”
Sheriff Heath turned to go and I went along with him.
“The nurse can bring Mrs. Kayser down,” Dr. Ogden called, and the nurse quite visibly quaked.
But Sheriff Heath just waved him off. “My jail, my rules, Bill. Inside my four walls, we handle our own inmates.”
When we were inside, I said, “I don’t know how you manage to stay civil.”
“Staying civil is the one absolute requirement of elected office,” Sheriff Heath said. He was almost buoyant about it. “And speaking of elections, you’re to meet my successor in a few minutes. Shine your shoes.”
“You can’t be serious,” I said. My boots were atrocious, but it was impossible to keep them otherwise.
“Just take a look at mine.” Indeed, I could almost see my reflection in Sheriff Heath’s everyday shoes. “Remember, Mr. Conklin used to be sheriff. He likes a clean uniform.”
“All right,” I grumbled. I parted ways with him and went upstairs to fetch Mrs. Kayser. She was perched on the edge of her bunk, waiting for me, her coat folded neatly across her lap with her handbag on top. She could’ve been waiting for a street-car.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kayser, but it’s time.”
She looked at me with such kind affection. “It’s not for you to apologize, dear.”
I opened the cell and when she stepped forward, I whispered, “We only have a moment. I’ve written to a lawyer friend on your behalf. As soon as I hear from her, I’ll get word to you. I’m not sure how I’ll do it, but do watch f
or some kind of message from me. It might be . . .”
She smiled tentatively. “Written in code?”
“I don’t mean to make a game of it, only to say that I’m pursuing this on my own. No one else knows.”
She squinted up at me. “Your sheriff doesn’t know.”
It was embarrassing to hear her put it like that. What must she think of me? “It’s . . . it’s a little out of bounds. If there’s anything else I ought to know, tell it to me now. You don’t know me very well, but I don’t give up easily.”
I couldn’t delay any longer. I led her down the stairs. “You’re a good girl,” she said, and once again I felt more like her daughter than her jailer. “But in there, hope makes the time pass even more slowly. Send word to me if you can, but I won’t expect it and you shouldn’t feel disappointed if you can’t.”
We were by that time at the bottom of the stairs. “Isn’t there anything more I can do for you?” I asked as we went past the interrogation rooms and out into the damp, gray afternoon.
Anna sighed at the sight of the auto and the nurse standing alongside. “Get word to my daughter if you can. Tell her I’ll be fine. Tell her I’ll be home before she knows it.”
“I will.”
There was nothing left to do but to lock her inside the machine. She held her wrists out willingly. Her hands were cold. I warmed them with my own before I let her go.
sheriff heath and i watched the auto roll away. There was a secret standing between us now: my letter to Geraldine, my promise to get word to Mrs. Kayser if I could. It was a small secret, hardly worth keeping. Why not just tell him that I’d written to an attorney on her behalf, as a private citizen? I’d even posted the letter from home. What difference could it possibly make?
I might’ve said something at just that moment, but as we turned to go back inside the jail, a man’s voice called out from behind us. “Just hand me the keys, Bob, and I’ll take it from here!”
There was no time. I spun around to meet my new boss, realizing as I did that I hadn’t bothered to shine my shoes. I made the mistake of glancing down at them, and so did he.
I could tell in an instant that William Conklin was nothing like Sheriff Heath. He was robust in the red-faced, loud-mouthed manner of a man who was once captain of the college football team, and thought of as great fun at parties. Sheriff Heath might’ve had a number of good ideas about the running of the jail, and he was wily enough to catch a criminal and enjoy doing it, but no one would ever believe him to be fun at a party.
“Deputy Constance Kopp,” Sheriff Heath said, “may I introduce Mr. William Conklin.”
I offered my hand and Mr. Conklin took it. His own hands were enormous and surprisingly warm. There was something about him that reminded me of a furnace.
“So this is our lady deputy!” He was one of those men who had a tendency to shout, even in close quarters, and he spoke with a trace of a Virginia accent. “Bob told me all about your good work with the girls upstairs. That’s just fine.”
He flashed a row of perfect teeth at me. Although his face was lined and leathery, with deep crinkles around the eyes and an impressive cleft in his chin, there was something about him that seemed impervious to age. He had a vigor that could fill any room. I understood at once how he won elections.
He slapped Sheriff Heath on the back, and the three of us stepped inside and down the hall to the sheriff’s office. Mr. Conklin arranged his long limbs into the nearest chair and said, “Bob, go ahead and finish with your girl here. I must be early.”
Sheriff Heath cleared his throat. “I asked Deputy Kopp to join us. She’ll be a great help to you on this campaign.”
Mr. Conklin leaned back in his chair and pulled a pouch of tobacco from his pocket. “That’s awfully decent of you, Bob, but I’ve got a girl down at the office who does my calls and letters. I won’t need any—”
“I’ll be your deputy, not your stenographer,” I put in, and immediately regretted it. I had hoped to sound light about it, but it didn’t come out that way.
Mr. Conklin’s face looked vacant for a minute, then he reassembled it into a visage of amiability and said, in the noncommittal manner that politicians have when they want to duck a difficult conversation, “Of course, ma’am. Just as you say.”
Sheriff Heath said, “We didn’t have female deputies when you were sheriff last time, so you ought to know something about what Deputy Kopp does. It’s proving to be of great interest to the voters.”
There was a flash of something in William Conklin’s eyes. I couldn’t be sure, but I suspected he’d already formed his own opinion about female deputies. He covered it quickly and said, “That’s why I’m here, Bob. Why don’t you tell me all about it?”
I didn’t wait for Sheriff Heath to answer. “Just a few days ago I caught a thief running out of Mr. Giordano’s shop,” I offered. “He gave quite a chase, but I had no trouble in catching him.”
“Catching him! Do you mean to say that you went chasing him down the street?”
I couldn’t tell if Mr. Conklin was teasing me or not: he had that way about him.
“Of course she did,” Sheriff Heath said.
“Was he a boy?” Mr. Conklin asked, genuinely curious.
“No, he was a Polish gentleman of about forty,” I said.
“Ha! Another Pole out thieving.” Mr. Conklin slapped his knee. “I’m sure old Johnnie Courter would rather lock up a German if he could get one, but he’ll take a Pole. Looks good to the voters. He can say he’s doing something about the immigrant problem.”
Then he looked me over and added, “I’m sorry, ma’am. You’re not German, are you? Name like Kopp, I suppose you might be. Ever think of changing it?”
I had no patience for that kind of talk and didn’t like to hear it coming from the man running for Sheriff Heath’s office. The whole country was getting whipped up into a frenzy over the war, and a man in the fever of combat will see enemies everywhere. Americans were turning against not just the Germans and the Austrians, but also against the Poles and any other flavor of European they found disagreeable—all of whom were viewed as sympathetic to the eastern front, and as refusing to take up American ways. They posed a vague threat never properly explained, but that didn’t stop politicians from making a campaign issue of it.
“Unless you see the job of sheriff as that of putting people into jail before they commit a crime, I don’t see how anyone’s nationality comes into it,” I said in the awkward silence that hung about the room.
“There’s no point in debating Mr. Courter’s positions,” Sheriff Heath said hastily. “He’s unfit to carry the keys to this jail and the voters know it.”
In an effort to turn the conversation back to my duties, I said, “I also stopped an inmate from escaping a few nights ago.”
“I might’ve read something about that in the papers, miss,” he said. “I wonder why we bother to hire any fellows at all, if you ladies are going to run out and collar criminals all by yourselves.”
“She does good work with delinquent girls,” Sheriff Heath put in quickly, “and you know our men can’t get a word out of those girls.”
I realized that Sheriff Heath had meant for me to tell about my probationers, this being a better example of the kind of situation where a woman could succeed when a man could not. William Conklin didn’t need a woman to chase down thieves and clearly didn’t want them to.
“I never did like those delinquency cases,” Mr. Conklin said. “Impossible to prove, wastes your time.”
“But the girls get sent away without cause,” I said, “and that’s a waste of a life.” I’d given up on trying not to sound stiff and rigid. Mr. Conklin seemed to bring it out in me.
He seemed as discomfited by the conversation as I was. “Well, all I’m saying is that it’s not the best part of the job.”
“What is the best part of the job?” came a voice from the doorway. It was Cordelia Heath, looking every the inch the politician’s w
ife in a rose-colored serge suit with a flag-patterned ribbon pinned to her lapel.
Mr. Conklin was back on his feet in an instant. “Is that Cordelia? Cordelia Heath? You don’t look a day over twenty, and you never have. I wish you’d give your beauty secrets to Mrs. Conklin. Now, don’t you tell her I said that, pretty girl.” He leaned over and planted a kiss on her cheek.
Cordelia’s complexion turned the precise color of her dress. “Bill, you know I tell Loretta every word you say, so watch yourself.”
In all the time I’ve known Cordelia, I have never seen her sparkle like that. She was usually so restrained, and always on the verge of expressing her displeasure. Ordinarily, a smile from Cordelia was a token to be issued when protocol demanded it, but now she grinned and blushed and lapped up his flattery like a debutante.
I looked over at Sheriff Heath in surprise, but he didn’t seem to find anything unusual in it and in fact seemed relieved for the distraction. He rose to pull a chair from the corner of the room for Cordelia, but Mr. Conklin beat him to it, and offered Cordelia a seat at his side, having pushed my chair away. I didn’t take offense: I wasn’t looking to be kissed on the cheek by the next sheriff of Bergen County.
I would’ve been happy to make my escape, but Sheriff Heath nodded for me to stay and said, “Bill, I want you to have a look at the program Cordelia’s put together for this campaign. She has me speaking at every club and church supper in Bergen County over the next month, and we’d like to have you along. I’m campaigning on my record, which is to say that I’m telling the public about the good works of this office. It seems only natural that they’ll want to meet the man who’s going to carry on with what we’ve started here at the jail. I’ve also put some photographs together so that people can see for themselves. Deputy Kopp is sometimes on hand to answer questions about our programs for women, which seems to hold a special interest at the ladies’ clubs.”
Mr. Conklin leaned forward in his chair so he could take another look at me. To my astonishment, he winked at me. “I do love those ladies’ clubs. They put out a spread like you will never see at a Rotary supper. There’s a group of ladies down in Fort Lee who do an entire table of pies. Pies like you can’t imagine. Pork pies, chicken pies, potato pies, and then every kind of fruit and cream pie. One of them does a maple sugar pie, and I told Loretta to get that recipe but she never could. You ladies like your secrets, isn’t that right, Miss Kopp?”
