Winter Sisters

by Robin Oliveira

  “And in the family?”

  “Oh, yes, everyone knows.”

  “Including your husband?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell us what happened to you when you returned from your trip to Manhattan City, Mother.”

  Viola locked her hands together on her lap, her white gloves taut against her knuckles, one thumb moving rapidly against the other. Something like shame flashed across her face as she hesitated a moment before saying, “Gerritt hit me.”

  Shock rippled through the courtroom as spectators jostled one another to get a look at her. While it was a common sight in Albany for women to be cuffed in the tenements and alleyways of the city, intimate violence was not supposed to happen in the homes of higher society.

  “Where did he hit you?”

  “On my right eye.”

  “Did you suffer any injury?”

  “Yes. Bruising and a deep cut.”

  “That will be all. Thank you, Mother.”

  Judge Thayer’s voice, husky with concern, carried over the now silent courtroom. “Mr. Hotaling?”

  Taken aback by Viola’s revelation, Hotaling leaned back in his chair and made a tent of his fingers. “Mrs. Van der Veer. Are you at all estranged from your husband?”

  “We’ve been married for many years. My husband has many business concerns that keep him from the house. He is often gone from dawn until long after dark.”

  “Do you resent these absences?”

  “On the contrary. I find the freedom refreshing.”

  A round of strangled titters fluttered through the gallery.

  Hotaling sighed. “No further questions.”

  —

  On the stand, a red-faced Arthur Mantel, subpoenaed yesterday afternoon from his office at the precinct house and held overnight in a jail cell pending charges of accepting bribes, glowered at the whispering gallery, reserving his fiercest hatred for Jakob, who stood to one side of the witness stand. Mantel was holding himself very rigid. After the usual establishing questions, Jakob showed Mantel the receipt for the purchase of the dolls sent to the Stipp house.

  Uncomprehending, Mantel shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’ve never seen this before?”

  “No. What is Arthur Constable?”

  “This is the receipt for the purchase of two dolls sent to Emma and Claire O’Donnell. And that is your name, listed as purchaser. The date is April twenty-sixth.” Jakob went to the jury box to retrieve the dolls, which the jurors had been passing among them, and gave them to Mantel, who also held them at arm’s length.

  “Did you send a request to purchase those dolls and send them to Emma and Claire?”

  His face took on the bewildered affect of someone who believes he is being tricked. “No. Of course not.”

  “Then how did your name come to be listed there?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “How can you account, then, for the fact that your name is listed as the purchaser?”

  “I can’t.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and laid one doll in his lap so that he could pull at the high-buttoned collar of his jacket.

  “Perhaps you purchased those dolls as a proxy for someone else?”

  A flare of indignation mottled the skin of his face. “I did not.”

  “Say, for instance, James Harley?”

  “Absolutely not. I am not an errand boy for suspected felons. And besides, no transactions of that type would ever occur in our jail. The jailer reads every letter that goes in or out.”

  “Perhaps you allowed someone else to use your name?”

  Mantel waved his hand in dismissal at such a ridiculous suggestion. “I did not.”

  “Perhaps you sent those dolls to the girls as an apology for abandoning your search for them?”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Tell us, why did you abandon that search?”

  Mantel glared at Jakob. “Do you go looking for ghosts?”

  “You understand, Captain, that you are under oath.”

  “Listen. We looked. We couldn’t find them. And I have never seen those dolls. I did not send them. How many times do I have to say that?”

  “Perhaps you are being literal? Did you have the store send them?”

  Mantel’s round face flushed a deep crimson. He leaned over and laid both dolls at his feet and jabbed his finger at Jakob. His voice came out in a hiss. “Let me be clear. I had nothing to do with those dolls. At all. I’d never even heard of them till this moment.”

  “Perhaps you would like to know that there was a note. It read, Do you miss me?” Mantel startled as Jakob pushed on. “Maybe you have business dealings with someone who may have had reason to send them? Or maybe you’re repaying the debt of a bribe?”

  “Objection,” Hotaling said, leaping to his feet, his confusion apparent. “Leading questions. This is harassment and innuendo and conjecture. There is no prior basis for this testimony.”

  “Sustained,” Thayer said. “Mr. Van der Veer, you will restrict your questions to fact and only fact. You have not established Captain Mantel as a hostile witness, and he certainly doesn’t appear to be one to me. And if you cannot establish that Mantel purchased the dolls, then move on to something you can prove.”

  Jakob turned away. “I’ll ask one final question. Captain Mantel, do you know who sent the dolls?”

  Mantel exhibited only the slightest flicker of indecision. “No.”

  “Let me ask another: Perhaps you suspect who may have sent them?” Jakob said.

  Hotaling sighed, not even rising to his feet. “Objection. Suspicion is not fact.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Forgive me, Captain,” Jakob said. “I do have just a few more questions for you. Would you please tell the court where you spent last night?”

  Mantel’s face flushed a deep crimson. “You know where. In jail.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Jakob said. “In jail. Now, Captain, are you aware that yesterday one of your police officers testified that you are taking bribes from whorehouses?”

  “I was not aware,” he said.

  “Are you taking bribes?”

  “That is a scurrilous charge and wholly unsubstantiated.”

  “Your witness, Mr. Hotaling.”

  Hotaling tapped his fingers on his desk, eyeing Jakob out of the corner of one eye before saying, “How long have you been a police captain in Albany, Captain Mantel?”

  “Twenty years.”

  “Until this moment, have you ever been suspected of committing a crime?”

  “No.”

  “Is purchasing dolls a crime?”

  “No.”

  “Is writing cryptic notes a crime?”

  “No.”

  “Is forging someone else’s name on a document a crime?”

  “Yes.”

  “And bribing a police officer? Is that a crime?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Thank you,” Hotaling said. “That will be all.”

  “Mr. Van der Veer? Any cross?”

  Jakob said, coolly at ease. “Not at this time, Your Honor. He may be dismissed.”

  “Captain Mantel, you are released on your own recognizance. I trust that you will answer any and all summonses from this court? And that you will remain in the courthouse should you need to be called again?”

  Mantel gave a resentful nod, and Thayer released him.

  Mantel was on the way out the door when Jakob said, “I call Gerritt Van der Veer to the stand.”

  The captain turned and gaped. The courtroom erupted. Thayer hammered and hammered and finally stood, pointing out the worst offenders to the bailiff, who took two men by the elbows and forced them out, causing the entire room to hush.
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  Thayer called both attorneys forward.

  “Mr. Van der Veer,” Thayer said, his eyes sharp with fury. “I understand that this is the first case you have tried and I understand that you may not be adequately versed in trial procedure, which I am sorry to say, may prove a liability for your client. However, let me help you. Lawyers don’t usually call their parents as witnesses.”

  “To say nothing of irrelevant discussions of the origins of dolls—”

  Thayer glowered at the district attorney, interrupting his tirade with a gesture of irritation.

  “Your Honor, I am aware of the irregularity,” Jakob said. “But Gerritt Van der Veer is Mr. Harley’s employer. Up until Mr. Harley’s arrest, they worked closely together for many years. He is here to attest to many things, among them to act as a character witness for the defendant.”

  “Gerritt Van der Veer was excluded from my witness list, Judge,” Hotaling said. “Mr. Van der Veer had only Harley listed. I prepared for Harley.”

  Thayer narrowed his eyes and tapped the end of his pencil on his desk again. “I’m not fond of incestuous complications. This had better have relevance, Mr. Van der Veer.”

  Gerritt Van der Veer sauntered into the courtroom in the company of the limping bailiff who had subpoenaed him that morning. No one could remember ever seeing Gerritt Van der Veer less than impeccably turned out. This morning, however, he had the rumpled appearance of having slept in his clothes. His wrinkled shirt was stained, and a small razor nick on his neck had bled onto the hastily buttoned collar of his shirt. However, despite his disheveled appearance, he made a show of seating himself, removing a hat to reveal a scalp flushed pink, and balancing it on his knee. He was regarding his son with ill-concealed rage.

  Jakob swallowed hard as a strained silence fell.

  “Can you state your name for the record, please?” Jakob said.

  “I will when you tell me what I am doing here.”

  Jakob blushed, heat rising to the roots of his hair. “Unfortunately, we cannot proceed unless you state your name, Father.”

  “Why the drama of a subpoena, Jakob? We had dinner together last night. You could have asked me to come to court then. It certainly would have been more polite.”

  Thayer said, “Mr. Gerritt Van der Veer, we are all aware of the singularity of this situation. But I caution you. You have been subpoenaed in a court of law to answer questions on behalf of your employee James Harley as a character witness. You will be in contempt of court if you do not answer the questions posed to you.”

  “Then I’ll enter a plea of contempt of my own. I was dragged here this morning against my consent. I would like to go home.”

  “Impossible. Your son has subpoenaed you, using his newfound authority as an attorney to the hilt,” Thayer said with a hint of amused respect. “I suggest that if you don’t want to be jailed that you answer the questions posed to you, and then you will be set free to go about your day. Your choice.”

  Gerritt tossed a sour look at Jakob and addressed himself again to Thayer. “My name, as everyone knows, is Gerritt Van der Veer. Jakob knows very well where I live. It’s the house I built for him and his mother at 411 State Street.”

  “I am not the one asking you questions, Mr. Van der Veer,” Thayer said. “Answer your son, which is not something I ever envisioned saying from this bench.”

  Jakob clasped his hands behind his back and turned away, his heart pounding in his chest. All his life, he had managed his father, working to prevent his volatile eruptions. Jakob’s daily goal had been to provoke the least amount of conflict and to protect his mother where he could. He had skirted, hazarded, wondered, flattered, eased, and had largely been successful, though the effort at appeasement was an exhausting dance, one he had hardly recognized he’d engaged in. It was simply his way of maneuvering in the family. But he had never opposed his father absolutely. For sound reason, he’d been careful, respectful, and above all fearful of exposing his mother to the explosive tirades his father displayed at work, when labor mistakes or shipping problems—things outside of his control—upended his expectations. But now, he was about to abandon years of careful calculation for another kind of careful calculation. “Father, can you tell us how you know the defendant?”

  “Again, something you know. He was—is—my head stevedore. My overseer.”

  “And how long has Mr. Harley been in your employ?”

  “Twenty years or so. Let’s see,” he said, gazing at Jakob with a mocking look. “I think you were one year old then. So, yes, twenty years.”

  “Is Mr. Harley good at his job?”

  “He was the envy of my competitors. I don’t know how many times another yard tried to hire him away. I had to pay him well.”

  “How much did you pay him?”

  “Ten dollars a day. Six days a week. That’s sixty a week. Three thousand one hundred twenty a year.”

  “So much? For an overseer. You’re certain about that?”

  His father seemed to gather focus. He studied Jakob with that familiar look of benign bemusement he adopted whenever Jakob questioned him about some arcane contract stipulation, common in the lumber industry, whose agreements with landowners had been forged long ago, before the world had grown so complicated. “Harley is good. And I know my books inside and out.”

  “Define good. He was punctual, trustworthy?”

  “He ran that lot like a general.”

  “So you were a good team?”

  Given a chance to boast, Gerritt warmed to his subject. “Van der Veer Lumber makes more money than any other enterprise in the district.”

  “And part of this was due to Mr. Harley’s efforts on the lot’s behalf?”

  “It was.”

  “Was Mr. Harley privy to all your concerns about the business?”

  “I allowed Harley access to almost everything, except that he never balanced the books.” Gerritt straightened and pulled at the creased lapels of his jacket. “I am meticulous about those, in strict control of them.”

  “Can you tell us about your work for the House of Shelter?”

  Hotaling raised his hand to object. “What does this have to do with Mr. Harley?”

  “This attests to character,” Jakob said.

  “Whose?” the judge said.

  “Mr. Harley’s.”

  “Then make a connection, please,” Thayer said.

  “Your work at the House of Shelter?” Jakob prompted.

  His father’s voice carried a false lightness. Dissembling was the single tactic he wasn’t good at. “I founded and funded it. It is a house of reformation for prostitutes.”

  “How long ago did you establish that home?”

  “Twelve years, I believe.”

  “Did Mr. Harley participate in the House of Shelter?”

  “He found me girls, persuaded them to come to the house.”

  “Found you girls?”

  Gerritt shifted in his chair. “Found the house ladies of the night.”

  “How very interesting. How was the House of Shelter funded?”

  Hotaling’s chair scraped against the floor as he hauled himself up. “Objection. I fail to see how the funding of a charitable endeavor has anything to do with this case.”

  “Mr. Harley was involved with the House of Shelter,” Jakob argued. “Again, it will speak to character.”

  “I’ll allow,” the judge said. “But be specific, Mr. Van der Veer.”

  “How was the house funded?”

  “By money from my enterprises.”

  “Why are you so interested in the welfare of prostitutes?”

  “I am interested in the moral welfare of our collective society and of fallen girls especially.”

  “Objection. How is this specific?” Hotaling said.

  “Mr. Hotaling, if you are going to i
nterrupt every two questions, then Mr. Van der Veer will never finish questioning Mr. Van der Veer, and we will be let out late again today, and I for one want my dinner.” He flicked his hand impatiently, and Hotaling dropped to his seat to a chorus of laughter. It seemed that in his fatigue Thayer no longer had the will to threaten the gallery with expulsion, however little he had enforced his dictum of silence.

  “Tell the court more, Father, about your interests in young prostitutes,” Jakob said.

  If his father was irritated, he did not show it now. Instead, he shifted in his chair, batting back Jakob’s parry with pleasure. “A woman can fall and it is her own fault, but when a child falls, then society has failed. Children need help. They need a true friend. They needed me. So I created the home to care for them. I enjoy being around children. I love their energy.”

  “Does the House of Shelter care for only girls?”

  “No. There are women there, too, but my primary interest is in the welfare of the young ones. They are so helpless out on the streets.”

  “Did Mr. Harley ‘like their energy,’ as you say?”

  “I think so, yes. Childless men often do.”

  “In all the time that Mr. Harley has been in your employ, have you ever known Mr. Harley to harm anyone?”

  Gerritt snorted. “Never.”

  “To abuse children?”

  “He better well not have.”

  “Have you ever heard him intimate a desire to do so?”

  “Never. I would have forbade him if he had.”

  “Forbade him?”

  Gerritt sniffed. “I would have explained to him the consequences of such actions. I wouldn’t have tolerated it.”

  “Would you have fired him?”

  “Yes.”

  “And if he is convicted of these charges?”

  “Then I’ll fire him, but then that would mean that you had failed.”

  A light chuckle carried through the room.

  “Now, can you tell me what you did on the day after the flood? I’m asking specifically what you did the morning after the flood?”

  “The morning of the flood?”

  “Yes, you came home with an injury to your forehead, which William Stipp treated.”