Bloody Lessons (23 page)

Chapter Thirty

Wednesday afternoon, February 4, 1880

"RADICAL REDUCTION DECIDED UPON LAST EVENING...All janitors receiving more than $50 per month were subjected to a cut of ten percent." ––
San Francisco Chronicle
, 1879

As Annie sat at Mr. Hoffmann’s desk, taking notes on the files of past hires, she thought about what she had learned from Barbara Saturday night.
Linda, no, Barbara, that’s what she wants to be called. No wonder she is so reserved
. And the husband? Bobby Norman? Annie could only guess what it must have been like, married to her father’s ranch hand, a man who was probably much less educated than Barbara. She’d said little about him, beyond the fact that he was, like many men who drifted into Kansas working on cattle drives, a Civil War veteran. But Annie didn’t have to guess at what economic ruin could do to a man or to a marriage, because she had her own experiences to draw on. She also understood the desire to put the humiliations and pain of the past forever in the past. But someone knew about that past and had threatened to reveal it.
Who?

Today, as she looked through the files for teachers who had failed to secure a position, she noted down those who had ever lived in Kansas. She also found the employment records for Barbara and saw that Mr. Hoffmann had hired her. Yet there was no indication that Mr. Frazier sought Barbara’s position. That didn’t mean that Frazier, or some other disappointed applicant, wouldn’t target any recently hired teacher they felt didn’t deserve their position. What she needed to find out, however,
was if Frazier had lived in Kansas or knew someone who had lived in Kansas and might have mentioned knowing Barbara by another name. She thought the best way to get this information was to contact Frazier with the manufactured story she had given Della Thorndike. Tell him she was looking for a tutor for Mrs. Stein’s granddaughter, then interview him. She even got Esther Stein’s permission to do so, but when she told Nate about her plans on Sunday, he completely opposed the idea.

In fact, Nate’s visit on Sunday evening was an unmitigated disaster. First of all, he was late. He didn’t arrive at the boarding house until after eight, and by then she had given up on seeing him and had joined the rest of the boarders in the formal parlor. David Chapman was teaching Jamie how to play a card game called California Jack, with Jamie’s mother looking on. Esther Stein, her husband once again up in Portland on business, sat in a corner knitting and talking to the Misses
Moffet. Mr. Harvey was supposedly reading a book, but he was watching Jamie with fondness, no doubt longing for his ailing wife and his own children who lived with his in-laws in Sacramento. When Kathleen ushered Nate into the parlor, he spent some time chatting with everyone out of politeness, so it was nearly eight-thirty before she could come up with an excuse to draw him back over to the small parlor. He insisted that they leave the door open for propriety's sake, irritating her more than usual because she really had wanted the privacy to discuss Barbara’s surprising revelation. Then Laura, seeing the open door as an invitation, waltzed in and interrupted them before she had been able to even go through what she had learned on Friday at Girls’ High.

To make matters worse, when Laura told her brother about seeing Buck at the
City of Paris department store, he told her about his visit to Seth Timmons. Laura was furious, saying he’d humiliated her and bringing up a number of childhood incidents when he interfered unnecessarily in her affairs. Nate then lost his temper and said that if he’d known how much trouble she was going to get into, he would never have supported her decision to take the job at Clement Grammar, adding a few childhood tales of his own to illustrate his point that she was headstrong and took dangerous risks. When he said that maybe he should write their parents and advise that she go back to the ranch until everything had settled down, Laura told him she would never forgive him if he did that and stormed out of the parlor.

Nate had instantly felt remorseful, one of his more admirable qualities, so Annie told him that she would reassure Laura that he didn’t mean it when he said he was going to write their parents. But when she brought up her plan to interview Frazier, he got right back on his high horse and told her he would handle this aspect of the investigation, saying she should stick to the safe job of looking around at Girls’ High.

Later, Annie congratulated herself on not responding to this overt provocation, understanding that Nate was still upset about his fight with Laura. But a few minutes later, when he mentioned that he’d attended a dinner meeting Friday with Mr. Emory at Mrs. Anderson’s, despite having told her that he couldn’t make it to the boarding house because he had too much work, Annie could no longer hold back her anger. She told him she was surprised he preferred to spend his time with a woman who wielded her widowhood and her own child like weapons to get men to take care of her. He snapped back that if she would occasionally invite him to dine with her at the boarding house, he wouldn’t have to look elsewhere for a decent meal.

She had said…well, she hadn’t really said anything, knowing that he was speaking the truth. She didn’t invite him to dine with her because she only ate with her boarders on Sundays, preferring the solitude of meals in her own room after a long day talking to clients as Madam Sibyl. And she didn’t want to share him with anyone else when she got to see him so infrequently.

Annie had tried to change the subject, telling him what happened the night before when she and Barbara finally took Dandy down to the kitchen. The small terrier had rushed out to the back fence to sniff vigorously with his snub nose along the bottom of the gate. He then gave a short bark as if to say, "Whoever you are, stay away," and calmly trotted to the back of the garden to do his business.

She’d hoped the image of
Dandy as the minuscule guard dog would amuse him. Unfortunately, Nate’s response had been to reprimand her for not rousing one of her male boarders to check for an intruder. She’d kept her mouth firmly shut, knowing that whatever she said next she would probably regret. After a few chilly, silent minutes, Nate said he had an early meeting with Cranston and left. She hadn’t heard from him since, not even a note.

The small clock in Hoffmann’s office chimed, and Annie realized there were only forty-five minutes left until her class started. She put the files away and spent a few minutes looking over her notes,
then she decided she would go to the women’s washroom before class to make sure she didn’t have any smudges on her nose. Since this was a relatively new building, the washroom, holding several toilets and standing sinks, was part of the original construction, unlike the water closet in her own home that her aunt had paid to have constructed in the back hall. When Annie pulled open the heavy wooden door with the discreet word
Ladies
carved into it, she found it occupied by an older woman. Annie identified her as the janitoress, Mrs. Washburn, since she was standing next to a bucket and leaning on a mop.

“Oh, excuse me, I don’t want to get in your way,” Annie said. “I will just nip over here and wash my hands. I am afraid I have gotten some ink on them.”

“Nae problem, m’dear. Go right along, but mind yer steps. The floor might be a wee bit wet.”

Mrs. Washburn smiled brightly at her, leaning the mop handle against the wall. She was a tall, broad-shouldered, square-faced woman, whose white hair had the faint orange cast that hinted she had been a redhead in the distant past.
A past that probably included a birthplace in Scotland, if her accent was any indication. While she moved easily, the wrinkles, white hair, and the washed-out blue of her widely spaced eyes suggested she was on the far side of fifty.

She walked over to Annie and sketched a curtsy
, saying, “Pleased t’meet yer. I’m Mrs. Washburn.”

Annie, drying her hands on the towel next to the
wash basin, said, “Glad to meet you as well. I am Mrs. Fuller. I’m temporarily lecturing on bookkeeping for Mr. Hoffmann’s senior math class.”

“My, what an
unusual
subject for a lassie.” Mrs. Washburn took a rag that she had tucked in her apron and walked over to wipe out the sink Annie had just used.

Annie laughed. “I believe one of the new school board members felt it was a practical subject that every young girl should learn.”

“Practical?” Mrs. Washburn cocked her head, a small frown appearing. “Well, mebby it could help a lass make her household sums come out straight. A sight more practical than the strange foreign languages those young girls are lairning on Thursday nights with that Clement Grammar Vice Principal.”

“Oh yes, I believe I heard that Mr. Russell is tutoring some of the girls in Greek and Latin.”

“Greek?” The older woman shrugged, eloquently expressing her skepticism.

Annie cast around for some other subject that would keep the
janitoress talking. “I was wondering if you were the person I should ask about getting into the supply cabinet. Miss Thorndike spoke very highly of you the other day, and she said that if I needed any help that you were the person to ask. I need some graph paper for an assignment I am giving the girls next week.”

“Humph.” The older woman snorted, two angry spots of red appearing on her wrinkled cheeks. “Don’t expect Mr. Hoffmann to give me a copy of his precious cabinet key. No, you will have to ask him. If you can find him.”

“Oh dear, that is too bad. Well, with Principal Swett away, he does have a lot to manage. But it is strange that a long-term employee such as yourself wouldn’t be trusted.” Annie paused, then added, “Particularly with all the work that having these extra-curricular activities must create. Greek study groups, drama classes, the Literature and Debate Society and such. I saw the list on the board in the front hall. Seems there is something every night. However do you get the rooms cleaned?”

Mrs. Washburn went back to her mop and stabbed it into the bucket, slopping water over the sides,
then she began to swish it around on the floor under the window. Over her shoulder, she said, “Ah, you dinnae ken the half of it. And there’s that Mrs. Anderson’s room, all covered in paint and clay and such. Her screeching at a body when they’re just trying to do their job. But here I am blethering on, keeping yer from yer duties.”

Annie looked at her pocket watch and said, “Goodness me. How right you are, and I need to go gather my notes. Wouldn’t do for me to be late to class. It was lovely chatting with you, Mrs. Washburn.”
And you, my dear, have just gotten yourself on my list of possible suspects.

*****

Several hours later, after a successful class and five more years of files gone through and refiled, Annie leaned back in her chair and stretched. She now had a list of people she wanted to investigate further. Mr. Frazier had been joined on the list by a Miss Agnes Easton, one of the young women who Della had dismissed due to lack of experience. Miss Easton had attended Kansas Normal School just a year ago, so she wouldn’t have attended when either the fake Barbara or the real Barbara were there. She did apply for the job Barbara now held, however, as well as for the arts position, which did seem suspicious to Annie. There were a few others she put on the list because they had applied and failed to get positions at Girls’ High multiple times. None of these applicants, however, seemed to have any Kansas connections. Then there was the janitoress, Mrs. Washburn, who had managed to say something negative about Russell, Hoffmann, and Mrs. Anderson. Annie had rather enjoyed the image of Dottie Anderson dropping her mask of a refined lady to scream at Mrs. Washburn.

A knock interrupted this thought, and when Annie got up to open the door she had left locked for privacy while going through the files
, Miss Thorndike stood there smiling warmly.

“Mrs. Fuller. May I bother you for a moment?”

“Of course, come on in and sit down. What can I do for you?” Annie quickly put the list she’d compiled in the folder that held her bookkeeping notes.

“I ran into Mrs. Washburn after classes were over, and she mentioned she had met you today.”

“Oh yes, in the ladies’ washroom. It was delightful to hear that Scottish accent again. When she learned I was teaching bookkeeping, she very reluctantly admitted that this might be practical for a young woman. This reminded me of my father’s housekeeper in New York when I was growing up. Mrs. McGregor was very proud of how well she managed the household accounts, and she would say, ‘Mony a mickle maks a muckle,’ and my father would nod and say to me, ‘You pay attention to Mrs. McGregor and you will end up a rich young lady.’”

Della laughed and said, “How droll. I understand your father was Edward Stewart? Laura Dawson mentioned that he had been a famous
stock broker in San Francisco in the sixties. You later moved to New York?”

“Yes. I only moved back to San Francisco two years ago. Did you ever live in New York City?”

“Oh no, but my family lived only about two hours away by train, near Poughkeepsie, so we often went into the city for the weekend to attend lectures and visit the Opera House or the art galleries. I can tell you that one of the real regrets I have about moving west is the lack of cultural stimulation.”

“Yes
, I suppose. Although I didn’t have much leisure time to enjoy that side of city life after I left school and married.” Annie wondered where this conversation was going.