The Strange Case of Baby H

by Kathryn Reiss

  “Hey!” shouted Sid, as Clara caught her breath. “It’s the girl! How’d she get away?”

  “You should have killed her while we had the chance,” hissed Herman, his eyes flicking toward Clara.

  She almost choked at the menace of his cold gaze.

  The police officers leveled their revolvers at the men. “What are these kids doing here?” yelled one policeman.

  “Keep out of the line of fire!” his deputy barked to Clara and Edgar.

  “Hand over my baby!” the man in the bowler hat cried to the kidnappers. “You’ve got your money—what more do you want?”

  “We want our freedom,” said Sid grimly. Helen moaned again, and Sid clamped a big palm roughly over her face.

  “We told you to come alone, Forrest,” Herman snarled. “But you broke our deal, and now you’ll pay the price.”

  “And the price is that you don’t get the brat back,” Sid added. Using the baby as a shield, the two men sauntered past the police and Lucas Forrest, down the hallway, and out the basement door.

  As the door closed behind them, the baby let out a wail that broke Clara’s heart. The policemen and Mr. Forrest burst out of the building after the kidnappers, and Clara and Edgar followed. The police ordered the children to stay back, then pelted after the men. Clara and Edgar, keeping to shadows, rounded the side of Cliff House and followed the running figures heading down to Ocean Beach. Clara slipped in the sand and fell to her knees. Gasping for breath, she stared at the action down on shore. She could just make out a tiny rowboat in the shallows. The dark shape of a larger vessel waited farther offshore.

  “They’ve got accomplices,” Edgar grunted, pulling Clara to her feet again.

  “Stop them!” yelled Lucas Forrest in desperation, his voice breaking. “They’re taking my daughter!” He and the policemen raced across the sand as the kidnappers sloshed out to the rowboat and tossed the baby inside. They struggled to launch it into the waves as the policemen aimed their revolvers.

  Don’t shoot! Clara prayed. You might hit Helen!

  The kidnappers leaped into the boat with the baby. Rowing hard, they headed toward the larger boat—a fishing boat, Clara could tell—that was anchored offshore.

  “You’ve bungled this!” howled Mr. Forrest in helpless fury, shaking the deputy’s arm. “I took your advice, and look what’s happened! You must go after them! You’ve got to stop them!”

  Shots cracked into the night as the deputy fired a warning into the air.

  Fury welled up inside Clara, and she couldn’t hold back any longer. “Shooting won’t help!” she shouted at the policemen. And without thinking of her own safety, she dashed past them to the edge of the water. “Stop!” she screamed out at the kidnappers. “You don’t need the baby! Give Helen back!”

  One of the men, only a dark shape now in the bobbing boat, fired his revolver toward the beach. The policeman dragged Clara back from the water. “It’s no use, young lady. You’ll get yourself shot.”

  They all watched helplessly from shore as the rowboat reached the larger fishing vessel. Shadowy men leaned down to haul the kidnappers into the boat. The fishing boat, canvas sails snapping in the wind, raised its anchor and disappeared around the treacherous Seal Rocks, leaving the small rowboat bobbing on choppy waves.

  Then all they could hear was the thin, heartbreaking wail of the baby over the sound of the surf.

  CHAPTER 14

  PERIL AT SEA

  They’ve left her in the boat!” shouted Lucas Forrest. “Thank the Lord!” But the little rowboat was moving quickly in the treacherous current and Clara knew it would soon be dashed on the rocks.

  She steeled herself against the terrible cold and plunged straight into the water. Her skirt, already torn by the kidnappers to make the gag that had bound her mouth, ripped easily under her frantic hands now as she struggled to free her legs. She was a strong swimmer; that was one thing in her favor. She and Gideon used to race each other across the pools in the Sutro Baths, and she would emerge the victor at least half the time. He had taught her well.

  Clara told herself she had a fifty-fifty chance of reaching the baby—although this swim was fearfully different from a swim at the baths. The current was strong, the water was frigid, and the biting cold took her breath away. She spat out salty water and kicked harder, desperate to reach the rowboat before the rowboat reached the rocks. She could hear the people on shore shouting to her, but whether they were urging her on or demanding her return, she could not tell.

  She streaked through the waves like a sleek gray seal. “I’m coming!” she cried to the figure struggling in the water…

  The cold was bone-numbing. Clara peered ahead in the darkness. She was nowhere near the rocks yet, and not nearly close enough to the boat. Each time she struck out her arms and kicked her legs to propel herself forward, waves washed her back again. She could see the rowboat ahead in the water—but the swirling undertow twisted her body sideways, tossing it back toward shore. She was going nowhere—fast.

  Almost there! You can do it, Jelly Bean!

  Gideon’s voice again—she must be hallucinating.

  She flung out her aching arms, kicked her tired legs like scissors. And then—yes!—she bumped against the rowboat. She reached out, grabbed on, pulled herself up to peer inside. Baby Helen lay on her back in about an inch of cold water. Another wave broke against the boat and sent a freezing, salty spray down over the silent baby. She stared up at Clara in panic. She whimpered.

  Alive!

  They were both whimpering as Clara held tight to the side of the boat and kicked desperately to propel it away from the rocks. She could hear the bark of the seals now in the darkness, and she knew that they were very close. So were the rocks.

  “Hang on now, Helen,” gasped Clara, edging alongside the rowboat, never daring to release both hands at once, until finally she was at the rear of the small craft. “Your daddy is waiting for you.” She started kicking again, trying to maintain a steady pace, trying to push the boat to shore.

  She streaked through the water, reaching down for the figure trapped in seaweed, hauling him up onto the rocks …

  Then a huge wave slammed into Clara and sucked her down, down into the deep darkness. She lost her grip on the rowboat as the water swirled over her head. The undertow tumbled her head-over-heels. She tried to hold her breath but felt she would burst if she couldn’t fill her lungs with air …

  She surfaced, gasping, her heart thudding hard, and dashed the water out of her eyes. She strained to see in the darkness. The rowboat was gone.

  Had it capsized in the same wave that had nearly drowned her? Clara pivoted in the water, looking for the shore. She had lost her bearings. There! She could make out lantern lights bobbing on the beach. She pivoted the other way, treading water. And there! There was the row-boat—farther out now, still afloat.

  But maybe full of water? Helen can’t pull herself to sit up yet! She won’t be able to get out of the water!

  Clara struck out again for the boat. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. She counted her strokes as Gideon had when he was teaching her to swim.

  Race you, Jelly Bean!

  It was Gideon’s voice again, egging her on. She kicked faster—and the extra spurt of energy brought her to the rowboat again. She grasped the side and peered in. Baby Helen lay in several inches of water, but her face was not submerged. Her eyes were closed now.

  Was the baby still alive? Clara pushed the question out of her mind as she positioned herself behind the rowboat and started kicking again toward shore. The bobbing lights in the distance seemed so far now. It seemed she had been in the water forever …

  Clara’s strength was ebbing. She didn’t see how she would get back to shore. She felt the undertow twisting beneath her and she fought against its pull.

  Come on, Old Shoe, put a little muscle behind it!

  She had to smile through her desperate tears. Gideon’s voice in her head was as real a
s anything else on this nightmarish night, and she felt close to him, as if he were alive again, right there with her … And then suddenly the little boat seemed lighter in the water; suddenly it moved swiftly toward shore, as if the undertow had given up and gone away. Or—as if someone had surfaced next to her, someone stronger than she, who was swimming alongside, kicking mightily, giving a helping hand.

  And then, finally, there in the water ahead, she could make out two dark shapes: Lucas Forrest and the deputy! They were paddling out to her aid and grabbed the boat as she approached. Together the three of them towed the rowboat back to the beach.

  Clara collapsed on the sand as the men lifted Helen from the boat. She thought she would always hear the sound of waves in her head and taste salt on her tongue. She rested her head against the gritty sand.

  Well done, Old Sock. You did it!

  “W—we did it together,” she stammered, and closed her eyes.

  She felt rough wool being wrapped around her, and strong arms lifting her. She opened her eyes to find the senior policeman, who had remained on the beach, holding her. She was wrapped in his greatcoat but still felt so numb that she wondered if she would ever be warm again.

  “Young lady, what a daring rescue!” exclaimed the policeman. “You are a much stronger swimmer than any of us, and thanks be to heaven for that!”

  “You saved her!” Lucas Forrest wept openly. “Saved my daughter’s life!”

  Clara turned her head stiffly and saw Mr. Forrest at her side, cradling his baby. Behind him, Hattie Pitt and another woman who must be the baby’s mother raced over the sand toward them. And Edgar was there, jumping up and down. Only Gideon was not there, and had he ever been? In her dreams she’d tried to do what no one had been able to do: save him. But the clamor of all the voices around her receded until she could hear only one voice now, the lusty yells of Baby Helen—Baby Helen, who was still very much alive.

  Roseanna Forrest grabbed Clara and kissed her on the forehead. “My dear, you are our hero!”

  Clara found she couldn’t speak. Her body ached in every bone. She was chilled in every pore. But a great big smile spread across her face as she listened to the baby’s cry, and little wings of warmth started fluttering deep inside her.

  CHAPTER 15

  OUT OF THE RUINS

  Hattie Pitt rode back to the city in the Forrests’ motorcar, and Edgar and Clara rode with the police. As they drove along the sandy road, rosy dawn lightened the sky. Two soldiers streaked past on horseback, blowing bugles. At the entrance to Golden Gate Park, a military band played triumphant marching music. Clara, huddled in the rumble seat with Edgar, watched in astonishment. Was all this fanfare to celebrate Baby Helen’s rescue? How was it possible the news had traveled so fast?

  The policeman driving their automobile stopped to speak to one of the soldiers, and the real reason for the celebration was made clear: the fires were out! At last, on this fourth morning since the earthquake, San Francisco was not in flames. The motorcar drove Clara and Edgar back to the boardinghouse, swerving to avoid hitting groups of cheering revelers in the street. When they chugged up to Clara’s house at last, the door burst open and Mother ran out onto the steps. A bandage wrapped her head like a turban, but this injury did not stop Mother from racing down the steps to the street.

  “Clara, oh Clara!” Voice shaking, she clutched Clara to her breast. “We feared you were dead!”

  Clara felt all the unshed tears of the fearful night welling up in her, and she wanted to crawl into Mother’s lap as she used to do, bury her head against Mother’s shoulder, and cry for joy that she was home again. But Mother led her inside to Father waiting in the hallway, holding out his arms. The lodgers were assembled behind him, relieved and curious.

  Clara and Edgar were taken into the bedrooms and stripped of their wet garments. They were dressed in warm clothing and wrapped in dry blankets. Then they were settled into armchairs in the parlor and made to tell their stories over and over again. Humphrey snuggled up close to Clara and laid his shaggy head upon her knee. Mother poured them cups of hot coffee sweetened with tinned milk and plenty of sugar. The police officers took notes.

  Clara was relieved to see Geoffrey Midgard and Hiram Stokes. The men explained that they had waited for the kidnappers at the tea garden but saw no one suspicious. They’d searched the entire park, looking for women in red dresses—but found no one who could help them. Mr. Stokes patted Clara’s shoulder. “It took your more direct action to solve this case, my dear!”

  “Oh, daughter,” Father murmured, reaching out to stroke Clara’s cheek. “To think I sent you out into the hands of such brutal men.”

  “But she escaped,” Edgar reminded everyone.

  “She saved herself,” the policeman said. “And she saved the baby. It was the bravest rescue I have ever seen.”

  Father beamed, but Mother’s eyes glazed as she stared at her daughter. “My own baby,” she whispered. “You could so easily have been lost …”

  Father reached out and gripped Mother’s hand. “My dear.” His voice was firm, comforting. “Our Clara is safe.”

  “But how could you risk it?” wept Mother, and Clara knew the question was as much for Father as it was for her. “After all we’ve already suffered?”

  Clara reached for Mother’s other hand, and the three of them sat there in the parlor, linked together for the first time since Gideon’s death. “Baby Helen was nearly lost, too,” Clara said. “I couldn’t let that happen, could I?”

  “If Clara hadn’t tried to save the baby,” added Father quietly, “she would have felt guilty for the rest of her life. And living each day wracked with the knowledge that you might have done something differently but didn’t—” He hesitated, then raised his wife’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “Believe me, that is no way to live. I am very proud of our daughter.”

  “Oh, so am I,” whispered Mother. “So am I.”

  As words of praise washed over her, Clara snuggled deeper into her blankets. She could not stop shivering—not from cold now, but from fatigue, and from the certainty that she would never feel safe again. The Borden brothers were out there somewhere in the world, and that knowledge was a stone in the pit of her belly.

  They got away, she thought desolately. They’ll kidnap somebody else sometime, in some other place. Clara’s belly clenched at the thought.

  The policemen prepared to leave. “We still have work to do,” the deputy said, as if he had read Clara’s mind.

  During the week that followed, the sound of hammers rang out through Clara’s neighborhood as people boarded up broken windows and mended collapsed fences. Families moved back indoors, though cooking still had to take place out in the yards or streets; until the gas mains were repaired, it would not be safe to light stoves. All over San Francisco, relief crews were working to clear the rubble of fallen buildings, erect shelters for the thousands still homeless, and bury the dead. From all over the world, help was coming by train and boat in the form of food, water, clothing, household goods, and medical supplies.

  Two days after the fires were out, the Hansen family left for Oakland, taking the Grissingers along with them. Mrs. Hansen’s brother had sent word that he would house them all until their own homes were rebuilt. The Wheeler sisters found to their delight that their home had not burned to the ground after all, though looters had made off with a good deal of the contents. Miss Chandler announced she would be leaving San Francisco for good, taking her piano-teaching talent north to Seattle. “People aren’t going to be thinking about paying for extras like piano lessons around San Francisco anytime soon,” she told Mother and Father. “Everything is changed now.”

  Everything felt changed to Clara, too, but for different reasons. At night she lay awake, hearing in every creak of the house a footstep, seeing in every shadow a revolver—aimed at her. When she did sleep, she dreamed of hiding from Sid and Herman Borden.

  A happier change was in the air for Peggy DuBois and Hi
ram Stokes, who now, on the fifth afternoon since Clara’s daring rescue, announced they planned to marry. They would like Clara to be their bridesmaid! They hoped to remain at the boardinghouse, however, until they could find a home of their own.

  Clara smiled with pleasure and told them she would love to be a bridesmaid. Mr. Midgard and Mr. Granger made jokes about how roomy the boardinghouse would be with only the two of them left as lodgers.

  “And me,” Edgar piped up softly. “Don’t forget me.”

  “Of course no one is forgetting you,” Mother said.

  “How could we forget the boy who has built us a real oven?” And then Mother decided that she would bake a special cake in the brick oven Edgar had constructed just that morning in the backyard. They would celebrate Clara’s safe return and the end of the fires, and also, now, the betrothal. After so many days of gloom and fear, Clara found the cheerful bustle in the house a pleasant change.

  She mixed a batter of flour, sugar, the last of the tinned milk, and eggs from the neighbors’ chickens. A knock at the front door sent her hurrying down the hallway. There on the step stood Emmeline. The two girls threw their arms around each other. “Come in!” cried Clara. “Oh, Emmy, I’m so glad to see you!”

  “Such a lot has happened since we last saw each other,” said Emmeline. Her family, she explained, had been visiting Emmeline’s grandmother in Oakland when the quake hit—and of course they stayed on until word came that the fires were out in San Francisco. “We didn’t know what we’d find when we came back,” Emmeline told Clara. “We are so fortunate that we still have our house—and everything’s still in it. But our school is gone—did you hear? And the cinedrome, too. But you—Clara, what is this I’ve been hearing about a kidnapping? All the neighborhood is talking! You must tell me everything.”

  “I will,” Clara promised. “Stay for dinner, why don’t you. It won’t be fancy, but Mother has made plenty of fritters and barley soup, and we’re even trying our hand at a cake in our new brick oven.” She led her friend into the kitchen and introduced her to Edgar and the lodgers.