A Proper Pursuit (15 page)

“Oh, I do hope they don’t take our silver tray,” Aunt Birdie said. “I worked so hard to polish it.”

“I doubt if robbers would bother with our house,” Grandmother said, patting Birdie’s hand. “We really don’t have much worth stealing.”

I couldn’t help wondering about the drummer I’d met on the train. Could Silas McClure be one of the thieves the newspaper warned against? He had seemed very friendly and charming—exactly the type of person the paper had described. I recalled how restlessly he’d behaved, and how I’d suspected him of being a criminal. Then I recalled giving him my grandmother’s address! I would feel terrible if he came to call on me, then robbed us while we were all away. But more than a week had passed since I’d met Mr. McClure, and I hadn’t heard one word from him. I hoped he had lost our address or forgotten all about me by now.

“I know that the Columbian Exposition has attracted a lot of unsavory people,” my grandmother said. “But it also has provided an ideal climate for Mr. Moody to spread the Gospel. So you see? Every cloud has a silver lining.”

“Well, I’m warning all of you to be careful,” Aunt Matt said. “That fair has more than its share of sneak thieves, pickpockets, and purse snatchers. One of the women I know from the suffrage association had all of the money stolen from her purse. She thinks it happened while she was visiting the Woman’s Pavilion, of all places. And she wasn’t the first one to be robbed there either. At least two other women had the same thing happen to them.”

“Can’t they do something to make it safer?” Grandmother asked.

“We are doing something. The lady managers have hired Pinkerton’s Detective Agency to help capture the thieves.”

“The Pinkertons will catch those criminals—you can be sure of that,” I said. I was wide-awake now. “I read all about it in Allan Pinkerton’s book, which was based on his crime-fighting adventures. They’re famous all over America for solving robberies. During the war, they helped arrest a bunch of spies, and they even foiled an assassination attempt on President Lincoln’s life. Too bad they couldn’t have prevented the second one, though.”

Aunt Birdie suddenly looked alert. “What did you say about President Lincoln? Is someone trying to kill that nice man?”

“Not to worry,” Grandmother assured her. “Have some more eggs. And, Violet dear, where in the world did you run across a book about detectives?”

“Um … at Madame Beauchamps’ school.”

“I’m surprised they would allow impressionable young ladies to read about robberies and murders and things of that nature.”

“The book wasn’t mine. It belonged to a friend.” I hoped Grandmother wouldn’t probe further. “By the way, Aunt Matt—how did your friends go about hiring the Pinkertons?”

“They have a branch office here in Chicago.”

“They do? Does it cost much for their services?”

“I have no idea. Why do you ask?”

The directness of her question left me at a loss. I wanted to hire them to find my mother and to prove that Maude O’Neill had murdered her husband, but of course I couldn’t tell Aunt Matt the truth. And I didn’t want to lie either. I should have kept my mouth shut altogether.

“I’m just curious,” I said with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”

The clock in the front hallway struck eight and Grandmother sprang from her seat. “Come, Violet. We really must be on our way.”

I hurried to the hall tree to fetch my hat, grateful for the timely escape. I was pinning it to my hair when someone knocked on the front door. I opened it cautiously, remembering Aunt Matt’s warning. I half expected to see Silas McClure or some other thieving salesman on our doorstep. Instead, I saw a skinny birdlike woman carrying two bulging carpetbags the size of prize-winning hogs.

“Good morning. I’m Ethel Riggs.” She dropped one of the bags and extended her hand. “Mrs. Paine sent me here to make a gown for Miss Violet Hayes.”

“Oh no.” I struck my forehead in dismay. I had forgotten all about Aunt Agnes’ promise to send a seamstress. “I’m Violet Hayes—but I was just about to leave. Will this take very long?”

“Oh my, yes. At least two or three hours. And if I don’t get started on your dress today, I’m afraid it will never be finished by Saturday night.”

I saw no way out. I already had accepted Nelson Kent’s invitation to escort me on Saturday night, and I had nothing new to wear.

“Never mind, Violet dear,” my grandmother said. She had come out to the foyer to fetch her own hat and had overheard us. “We’ll miss you at the settlement house, but you can come to work with Louis and me another day. I really have to run along now. Bye-bye.”

Aunt Birdie smiled and waved good-bye to her, then greeted skinny little Ethel Riggs with a warm hug as she invited her inside.

Aunt Matt left the house a few minutes later, growling about the important suffrage meeting that I should be attending with her and how degrading it was for women to adorn themselves for the purpose of enticing a man.

“And remember, now, don’t open the door to any traveling salesmen,” she warned Aunt Birdie. The door closed behind her with a bang.

I spent all morning with the seamstress. One of Mrs. Riggs’ carpetbags contained a pile of the latest fashion books from Paris.We paged through them for nearly an hour, searching for a style for my new gown.

“I’ve never seen so many beautiful dresses in my life. How in the world will I ever choose one?”

Mrs. Riggs gave me a long, appraising look, twirling one end of the measuring tape that was draped around her neck. Then she wet her forefinger and quickly paged through one of the pattern books.

“I think this is the dress we should make for you.” She pointed to one with a low-cut neckline. “You have a wonderful bosom.Why not show it off?” Her mind was made up even if mine wasn’t. She closed all of the other fashion books and stuffed them back into her satchel.

“It’s a beautiful gown,” I told her, “but I’m worried that my grandmother will find it immodest.”

“Nonsense. I’ll make sure it covers all of your essentials. These large, puffy sleeves are all the rage this year. And see these silk flowers on the shoulder and waist? I’ll make an extra spray of them for your hair. You’ll look lovely.”

“I’ve never owned such a beautiful dress before.”

“Mrs. Paine told me that you needed an outstanding one in order to attract a wealthy husband.”

“She said that?” I knew my aunt’s goal was to find me a rich husband, but Mrs. Riggs made us sound like cheap hucksters looking for a hapless victim to defraud.

“If this dress does the job, you can use it for your wedding gown,” she added with a smile. “See these ruffled inserts in the sides of the skirt? They’re called
godets
. We’ll use a contrasting fabric for them— maybe a spotted voile.” She opened her second bag, which fairly exploded with fabric samples in a variety of colors.

“I don’t know how I will ever decide.”

“May I make a suggestion? I think the dress would look lovely made from silk brocade. And the color should be … let’s see … how about this gorgeous ivory, with pale blue for the accent color? It would be a magnificent contrast to your dark hair.”

Mrs. Riggs measured every last inch of me—twice, it seemed. “I’ll return tomorrow morning, bright and early,” she promised.

My grandmother would have to go to work without me once again. Meanwhile, I hoped she wouldn’t tell Louis Decker the reason I had stayed home.

I stood for hours the following morning while Mrs. Riggs pinned and basted the muslin pattern. Then I raced upstairs to change my clothes in order to make social calls with Aunt Agnes in the afternoon.

While I waited for my aunt to arrive I decided to spend a few minutes practicing the piano in case she asked for a command performance at one of our teas—and in case I ever made it downtown to play hymns for Louis Decker. I was practicing my scales so energetically, running my fingers up and down the keys, that I never heard the knock on our front door. I didn’t realize that Aunt Birdie had gone to answer it until I played the final note—just in time to hear her say, “Why, yes, Violet is here. Won’t you come in?” I leaped up from the piano stool and hurried into the foyer.

I almost didn’t recognize the man who stood there until he smiled at me: Silas McClure, the traveling salesman. The very person I had worried about only yesterday.

“Good afternoon, Miss Hayes.” A candelabrum was much too dim to describe his grin. His entire face seemed to glow as if lit by a spotlight. He had on a conservative brown suit this time instead of his garish plaid one, and he must have run out of Macassar oil since the last time we’d met, because his wavy brown hair looked clean and nicely combed. Except for his blinding smile, he might have been a different man altogether.

My heart began to gallop like a team of horses at breakneck speed. “Mr. McClure!” I couldn’t seem to draw a deep enough breath to say more.

“I was in town for a few days and thought I’d stop by like I promised.” “Oh, how nice,” Aunt Birdie said. “I’m Violet’s aunt, Mrs. Casey.”

“Yeah, we met before. Great to see you again. Silas McClure’s the name.”

Aunt Birdie retrieved the silver tray from the hall table and held it out to receive his calling card.

“Here you are, young man …”

Mr. McClure took the tray right out of her hand and gave it the once-over, as if estimating how much cash he could get for it from a pawnbroker.

“Looks like good sterling silver,” he said, tapping his forefinger against it with a resounding ring.

“Oh yes. It is sterling silver,” Aunt Birdie assured him.

I couldn’t breathe. What if he and his partners came back this afternoon while Grandmother was downtown and Aunt Matt was at her suffrage meeting, and I was making social calls with Aunt Agnes? Poor Aunt Birdie would be here all alone! Mr. McClure and his chums could tie her up and stuff her inside the pantry with a gag in her mouth and steal every stick of furniture in the house—and it would be entirely my fault.

“You rarely see one this shiny,” he added, admiring his reflection.

“Why, thank you,” Aunt Birdie replied. “I polished it myself. It’s for calling cards. Do you have one?”

“Oh!” he said, as if finally catching on. “Yeah, just a minute.” He handed the tray to Birdie and groped in the breast pocket of his jacket for one. His business card had the words
Dr. Dean’s Blood
Builder
on it in blood-red letters.

“Does your tonic contain alcohol?” I asked, groping for something to say. He found my question amusing, for some reason. His smile widened—something I wouldn’t have thought possible—until he resembled a display of fireworks.

“Absolutely not. There’s not even a trace of alcohol in it. Dr. Dean believes in strengthening the blood, not diluting it with alcohol.”

“Let’s not keep the nice man standing in the hallway, Violet. Won’t you come in, Mr. McClure?”

I didn’t want him to come in, but what could I do? Aunt Birdie hung his hat on the hall tree and led him into our parlor.

“Nice place you have here, Miss Hayes,” he said, looking all around.

“It isn’t my house,” I said quickly—and emphatically. “I’m just visiting. My widowed grandmother and her two sisters live here.” I wanted him to know whom he was robbing, so he at least would be conscience-stricken afterward. “They really don’t have much that’s worth stealing.”

“Stealing?” he repeated. He seemed very amused. “It’s a nice place. Reminds me of home.”

“My husband is fighting with General McClellan in Virginia,” Aunt Birdie told him. “Why aren’t you in uniform, young man? Are you home on furlough from the war?”

For a horrible moment I feared that Silas would laugh at her or else try to convince Aunt Birdie that the year was 1893, not 1864. But my esteem for Mr. McClure rose immeasurably when he took Aunt Birdie’s hand in his and replied, “I haven’t received a draft notice, Mrs. Casey.”

“Oh, how nice… . Well, I’ll go fix us some lemonade—unless you’d prefer tea?”

“Lemonade’s fine,” I said quickly. Tea would take too long. Aunt Agnes was due to arrive any minute, and I needed to get rid of Silas McClure before she did. But as soon as Aunt Birdie left the room, he moved a step closer to me.

“You’re even more beautiful than I remembered, Miss Hayes.”

“Um … thank you …” I backed away, unaware that I was about to collide with the parlor sofa. I lost my balance and fell backward onto it with an undignified plop. My skirts flew up to reveal my ankles and ruffled petticoats. What on earth was wrong with me today? Madame Beauchamps would be horrified by my gracelessness.

“I-I’m sorry but our visit will have to be a short one,” I explained as I rearranged my dress. I decided it was best to remain seated. I didn’t think my legs could hold me. “I have an engagement with my aunt Agnes this afternoon, you see. She will be arriving momentarily and—” As soon as the words left my mouth I realized my mistake. I had informed a potential thief that I was leaving soon. If Silas McClure was a thief—and I was almost certain that he was—then by the time I returned from my social calls, the house would be ransacked.

“May I call you Violet?”

“I-if you’d like.” I didn’t know what else to say. Everything I’d learned about making polite conversation seemed to have flown from my head. If the art of conversation was like a graceful tennis match, then I had lost track of the ball, the racket, and the score. Worse, I felt as though I’d become entangled in the net.

“Won’t you have a seat, Mr. McClure?”

“Okay. Thanks. But please drop the ‘mister’ stuff and call me Silas.”

He sank down on the sofa right beside me. I would have chided him for being too forward, but I remembered how I had invited him to sit beside me on the train. It was my own fault that he was taking liberties. I couldn’t inch away from him because I was already sitting right up against the armrest. Besides, he was gazing deeply into my eyes with his bright spring-water blue ones and his charm began to have a mesmerizing effect on me, just as it had on the train. I couldn’t have moved away from him any more than the poles of two magnets could be pulled apart. This must be how he charmed all of the other unsuspecting women he robbed.