The Gilded Hour (82 page)

Even the Lees were coming. Jack had announced his plan to show Mr. Lee around the farm and greenhouses right from the start, which put Anna in a difficult spot. She tried to explain the problem: “Mr. Lee never leaves Waverly Place except to visit their son and his family, and he’s just four blocks away. He always has the same excuse, that somebody has to stay to look after the property. Properties, now.”

But Jack had gotten a particular look, one she had learned to recognize as unvoiced disagreement. The next day he introduced a young patrol officer he liked and trusted to the Lees. With their approval Jack hired him to stand watch while they were gone. Mrs. Lee was so touched that for once she couldn’t find a single thing to say, but Aunt Quinlan didn’t hesitate; she pulled him down to kiss one cheek while she patted the other. Anna wondered why they had never thought to do something similar in the past.

So they were going to Greenwood. Anna knew they had put the visit off too long already and that nothing short of an earthquake would be an acceptable excuse for staying away. What she couldn’t explain to herself was how nervous the whole thing made her until Aunt Quinlan pointed out that a big party with a lot of people would be easier than a small supper where she had everyone’s attention.

“We need to get an anniversary gift,” Aunt Quinlan said now. “How many years have your parents been married, Jack?”

He stared at the ceiling while he subtracted. “Massimo was born on the twenty-fourth of June in . . .” He looked at his niece, who was waiting for this question.

“Eighteen forty-four.”

“So they were married on the same day in eighteen forty-three; that would be forty years ago.”

“They don’t want presents,” Chiara added. “We don’t give a lot of presents.” She said this a little wistfully.

Anna was thinking about forty years of marriage, what that might be like in the year 1933. If there would be children and grandchildren and a party. She thought sometimes about children, a subject Jack hadn’t yet raised in any serious way. Why that might be was unclear, and not something she wanted to contemplate just now.

“What are you thinking about?” Rosa asked her. “Your face is all scrunched together.”

Anna started out of her thoughts. “I was thinking that I’d like more of that apple cobbler, unless somebody else has beaten me to it.”

“Your appetite is restored,” her aunt Quinlan said.

“After days of toast and tea and clear broth, I could eat the tablecloth.”

The girls found this very funny, as if they hadn’t had the same diet for days.

Margaret said, “What time are you leaving on Sunday?”

The discussion shifted to the logistic challenge of getting them all to the Hoboken ferry in time. They were a party of—the girls counted on their fingers, noisily, and came up with the astonishing number of ten, counting Bambina and Celestina. Eleven, if Ned came too, as the little girls were hoping. The plan was to leave Sunday morning and return to Manhattan late on Monday.

“Are there beds for all of us?” Aunt Quinlan asked again.

“Yes,” Chiara said, smiling broadly. “Room enough.”

Rosa was asking Chiara about the Mezzanotte grandchildren; she wanted names and ages and maybe even a chart that would tell her who got along and who didn’t. It seemed now that Rosa had survived the trip to Mount Loretto and the shock of losing Vittorio. She had always been a
serious child, and now just enough of that had lifted to see what might become of her if she could learn to let her brothers go.

She wasn’t healing, that was the wrong word. She was coming to terms with loss. As Anna had never been able to do.

•   •   •

S
LEEPLESS
,
RESTLESS
,
IMAGES
and snatches of conversation tumbling through her head, Anna decided that she would go read in the parlor. In the day the room was sunny, but there were gaslights, and a good chair, and a rug to put over her legs if the room was chilly.

Though Jack was a deep sleeper she moved very quietly, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and sat up.

“Savard.”

She lay back down again. He rolled to his side and yawned at her. The curtains weren’t closed all the way, so that she could just make out his features by the faint light from the streetlamp.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you need your sleep.”

“So do you.” He ran a hand down her arm. “The tension is rising off you in waves.”

“I’m going to go read until I’m too tired to stay awake.”

“Not yet,” he said. “Just rest next to me.”

His hand traveled up and down her arm, the lightest of touches.

She said, “I don’t want to talk about that dream.”

He hummed at her, his broad fingertips barely brushing along her skin. When she was about to say that it was no use, she would go read in the parlor, he made a soft shushing sound.

“I have a question that isn’t about your brother, and I want you to think about it before you answer.”

She drew in a deep breath. “All right.”

“Why did you feel so drawn to Rosa as soon as you met her?”

Others had asked her this question, but she had never answered it truthfully because, she knew this much, she didn’t know the answer. She thought back to that day in the church basement in Hoboken, all the frightened and anxious and angry children and Rosa, holding on with all
her strength to her brothers and sister. As if they were all that kept her afloat. She was going to find her father. She had promised her mother. She would keep the family together, come what may. Anna had listened closely and watched her face, knowing that none of those things would happen. They were orphans and Italian, and they were about to be tossed into a whirlwind.

She said, “I was that determined too, once upon a time. When the telegram came saying Paul had been wounded in battle I tried to run away. I thought that if I could get to Virginia and find him in the army hospital he would get better.”

“How far did you get?”

“Not very. Uncle Quinlan caught up with me at the corner, on my way to the omnibus. I was six years old. I screamed and kicked and bit, but he never scolded me. He just carried me home to Aunt Quinlan and they sat with me while I howled.

“That evening Uncle Quinlan left for Virginia. Later Auntie told me he would have gone under any circumstances, but I still think that he went for me. The irony is that Paul was dead before Uncle Quinlan got there, but there was no way he could have known that and so he went around the field hospitals, asking. That’s how he caught typhus. He died not two days later and they both came home in coffins.”

Jack seemed to hesitate. “You blame yourself for your uncle’s death.”

She turned on her side to look at this man who was her husband. “I blame Paul. I blame Paul because when our parents died he swore he would always take care of me and never leave me, that when he grew up he’d have a house and we could live there together. And just three years later he broke his word and went to war. He was the most important person in my world. He knew that, but he left me to go to war when he promised he wouldn’t, and he died when he said he wouldn’t, and he took Uncle Quinlan with him. Uncle Quinlan was the only father I remembered.

“Everyone thinks that I was mourning my brother. That I’m still mourning him, but that’s not true. I was consumed with anger. I couldn’t say his name, I didn’t want to see his likeness, I hated him for leaving me. And I couldn’t say that, not to anyone. Not even to Aunt Quinlan. It was unsaid until Sophie came, but she understood without words.

“All these years people tiptoe around me when the subject of my brother comes up. It’s almost funny, sometimes. And the thing is, I’ve tried to stop, but I can’t feel any other way.”

She drew in a breath like a hiccup and turned away to lay an arm over her eyes. Her whole body was shaking, but she was powerless to do anything but let it happen. She was afraid to look at Jack, sure to see disappointment and disapproval where there had been no doubt.

•   •   •

J
ACK
MADE
HIMSELF
take three deep breaths and reached for her. She came to him trembling, pressed her face against his shoulder, and wept.

When she was quiet he said, “I don’t know if it would be any comfort to me if I were in your place, but I can guarantee that your brother died thinking of you and full of regrets. You were so young, Anna. He was young too, but old enough to know that he had failed you. He made promises he couldn’t keep because he thought that would make you happy.”

She swallowed hard. “All these years I was so angry at him, so unforgiving, and then I went and did the same thing to Rosa that he did to me.”

Jack sat up, pulling her with him, holding on to her shoulders so he could look into her face, tear streaked and swollen.

“You are too rational a person to really believe that. You promised to look for the boys, and you’ve done that. You’re still doing that. Rosa doesn’t hate you. Anna, Rosa and Lia will love you for as long as they live.”

He pressed his mouth to her temple. “And so will I.”

R
OSA
CAME
TO
breakfast on Friday morning, without Lia. She stood very formally before Anna, her expression almost sorrowful as she put a folded piece of paper on the table.

“Will you read this, please?”

Anna could feel Jack watching them, but she kept her gaze focused on Rosa.

“Now?”

Rosa nodded, the muscles in her throat working hard as she swallowed.

Anna spread the single sheet open. Rosa had written from margin to margin, each letter carefully formed and spaced.

Dear Mayor of Annandale Staten Island New York,

I write to ask whether you have living in your town Eamon and Helen Mullen, and their two children, a girl and a baby boy. Mr. Mullen is a blacksmith. If you know of them I would very much like to learn their address in order to write them a letter. Thank you. Yours sincerely,

Rosa Russo
18 Waverly Place
New York NY

Anna finished reading and handed the sheet of paper to Jack. Rosa was staring at the floor, her head bent. She was trying so hard to be a grown-up, it wouldn’t do for Anna to start crying.

“Rosa.”

The small face came up, slowly. Misery and determination fought for the upper hand.

Anna said, “You’ll need a three-cent postage stamp. I’ve got some in my desk.”

After some discussion they came up with a plan. Every week Rosa would write to another town, one she chose from the atlas she found in the parlor bookcases at Roses. One week she would write to a town in New York, the next in New Jersey. Anna would provide the paper, envelope, and postage stamp.

Margaret would help her with the wording, consulting now and then with Aunt Quinlan and the others. Rosa could continue writing these letters for as long as she liked.

Rosa asked Jack a question that another man would have had trouble answering. “Do you think I might find them this way?”

He reached out and put a hand on the crown of her head. “I’ve seen stranger things happen.”

Elise came in as Rosa left.

“I’m about to leave for the hospital,” Anna said. “If you want to walk with me you should get your things.”

“I will,” she said. “But I wanted to be sure you saw this.”

She put the
New York Post
on the table in front of Anna, and Jack immediately got up to come around and read over her shoulder.

•   •   •

NEW YORK POST

LATE EDITION

ARCHER CAMPBELL IN CUSTODY

STOLEN BEARER BONDS FOUND IN HIS POSSESSION

Acting on an anonymous tip, Detective Sergeants H. A. Sainsbury and M. P. Larkin of the New York Police Department yesterday searched the home of Archer Campbell at 19 Charles Street and found a number of stolen bearer bonds. Campbell resisted arrest and sustained significant injuries in his struggle with the detectives. He sits now in the Tombs awaiting arraignment.

Just weeks ago Campbell appeared in court to testify in the inquest into his wife’s sudden and tragic death. At the same time the couple’s four young sons disappeared without a trace and are still missing. The city mourned with Mr. Campbell for the loss of his family, only to find that their sympathy was ill placed.

The bonds found in his possession were just three of a larger issue of fifty. The Boston and New York police will interrogate Campbell in an attempt to uncover the location of the rest of the bonds.

“The Boston police tell us this was an older robbery,” Detective Sergeant Larkin told the
Post
. “It’s possible the rest of the bonds will never be recovered.”

It took a great deal of stern self-discipline, but Elise never asked about the newspaper article; she kept all her questions to herself and ignored the burn of curiosity in her throat.

Instead they talked about Regina Sartore’s surgery, which Anna had missed. To Elise Anna’s many questions felt something like an exam that she hadn’t studied for, but she answered with what turned out to be satisfactory detail. Finally she got up the nerve to ask about a different matter, almost as difficult as the newspaper article.

“Has there been any progress in the postmortem cases we talked about?”

Anna glanced at her in surprise, as if she had already forgotten the long conversation of just two days ago. Then her expression cleared.

“There’s been another case,” she said. “And a little forward movement. A witness who has some information the detectives are pursuing. Did you find the cases interesting?”

“The circumstances are terrible, but the discussion was interesting. Did the detectives agree that the doctor must be well established, and considered trustworthy?”

At that Anna smiled. “Just the opposite. They have a suspect. An intern, very young and untried. I’m not sure why exactly but they are as sure about him as I am convinced that you have the right of it, and they should be looking for someone older.”

They walked in silence for a while, and then Elise said what came to mind.

“Why couldn’t it be both?”

•   •   •

O
N
THE
WAY
out of the squad room a runner brought Jack a message that he opened and read on the spot.

Oscar waited, worrying the end of his cigar. “Well?”

“From Anna. It says, ‘Why are you assuming there is only one doctor? Could it not be the man you suspect as well as a more established physician, the two working together? Elise suggested this to me, and it makes sense.’”

“I can see where this is going,” Oscar said dismally. “Those two are after our jobs.”

This time they found Neill Graham’s landlady up to her elbows in soapsuds, but she was all good cheer, made offers of tea and cake, begged just a moment while she changed her apron.

When she had finally settled on the very edge of a sofa, Oscar smiled at her. “Mrs. Jennings. We’re just trying to tie up some loose ends on a case, and we were wondering if you might answer a few questions for us.”

She had the bright dark eyes of a robin, but the way she was chewing on her lower lip gave her nervousness away.

“Well, now,” she said, her hands fluttering. “You know I’m not the youngest anymore, and my memory sometimes fails me.”

Jack caught on before Oscar. He introduced them both and left all details about their last visit unstated. It seemed possible that Mrs. Jennings had no memory of their earlier meeting; Anna wondered if that would work for or against them.

Mrs. Jennings seemed relieved not to be scolded, and sat up even straighter, an eager schoolchild wanting to please the teacher.

“We have a few questions about one of your boarders, Neill Graham. We are trying to locate his family, but without luck. Do you happen to know where they live?”

Vague enough, he hoped, to start her talking.

She knotted her hands in her lap. “Oh,” she said, “Neill Graham. A very good boy, very orderly, never late with his rent. Never tries to sneak girls into his room, which you must imagine, happens often with young men like these medical students. The things I’ve seen, I could make the seven sisters blush, I’m sure of it.”

She paused as if she had lost track of the subject.

“Neill Graham,” Oscar said gently.

“Oh, yes. Dr. Graham. No, he never has girls in his room, or I’ve never caught him at it, I should say. Young men do have their urges. But he’s never been any trouble.”

“Do you know if he has any family nearby, or any close friends who might come to visit?” Oscar leaned back, as relaxed as a Buddha, radiating calm acceptance of whatever she wanted to tell them. It was the only hope they had of getting anything useful from the conversation.

“Family. Family. A sister, I think. Or a brother? A brother-in-law. Yes, a married sister, she comes by now and then and brings him things, new shirts and socks and such. He never seems very happy to see her, but then brothers and sisters often quarrel. She was a very elegant type, tall and slim, but no furs or jewels. Spoke to me very politely and didn’t even blink when her brother was short with her.”

“And her name?”

The small dark eyes opened wide. “Sure, she has one. I don’t recall what it was he called her, she came in a fine carriage.”

“You don’t have any idea of her family name?”

“Well, Graham, of course.”

“Pardon me, Mrs. Jennings, but didn’t you just say she was married? Did her husband come to call with her?”

“He waited out in the carriage.”

“Did you catch the brother-in-law’s last name?”

“No, I don’t think I did. Shall I ask Dr. Graham when he comes in?”

“It’s really not important,” Oscar said. “No reason to bother Dr. Graham with it. If you happen to remember anything else about his sister, would you drop us a note at police headquarters? We’ll come again if you recall something new.” He fished a card out of his vest pocket and passed it over to her.

“I’ll try, but my memory does sometimes fail me. Oh. Dr. Graham’s sister might be a baker’s wife, she smelled of anise. Might that be of use?”

“It might just,” Oscar said.

On the porch Oscar shook Mrs. Jennings’s hand with great formality. As he was turning away he seemed to remember something—it always amazed Jack that no one ever saw through this little ruse—and came up with one last question.

“How often did the older gentleman visit?”

Mrs. Jennings smiled apologetically. “I can’t say. It wasn’t very often, and always on Sunday. Not a talkative man, the kind who don’t heap praise on a child. Or anybody, for that matter.”

“And his name?”

“Don’t fathers and sons always have the same last name? Dr. Graham, I suppose.”

“Wait. I’m confused. Neill Graham’s father comes to call, is that right?” Oscar’s voice came a little hoarse: a hound on the scent, Jack thought.

“Not very often,” said the landlady.

“And his father is a doctor, like he is. How do you know that he’s a doctor?”

She nodded eagerly, as if she had finally come across something that might please him. “He carries one of those doctor bags. I’ve been boarding medical students for many years, and I’d know one of those bags anywhere.”

•   •   •

J
ACK
SAID
, “S
HE
could be wrong on both counts. The old man might not be Graham’s father, and even if he is, she could be mistaken by the bag.”

“No,” Oscar said. “She had it right, except I think the man she remembers was the grandfather she mentioned last time. An older doctor, established, experienced, trustworthy. A woman paying him a visit would be assured by all that. Once she’s under, she doesn’t know who actually does the operation, does she?”

Jack shook his head. “I don’t know. It feels too pat, like a big bow on an empty box.”

“Do you have a better idea where to start?”

The ultimate argument. When you were stuck, you worked the clues.

•   •   •

T
HEY
SPENT
THE
rest of the day interviewing clerks at hospitals, clinics, and dispensaries from one end of the island to the other, jumping in and out of cabs until they came across a driver they knew and hired him to drive them for the day. So far no one had any memory of a Dr. Graham who met the landlady’s description; getting a hit going about it like this was unlikely, but they plowed on.

Jerking through traffic from St. Luke’s to Women’s Hospital, Oscar raised the subject of Archer Campbell.

“Does Anna know they booked him?”

Jack shook his head.

Oscar said, “He doesn’t realize how lucky he is to be sitting in the Tombs where you can’t get at him.”

“He can’t make bail,” Jack said. “So he’s safe where he is for the time being.”

“Unless you want to grease old Fish’s palm, so we could pay Prisoner Campbell a visit.”

“I admit it’s tempting. But Anna wouldn’t like it.”

Oscar stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “All right,” he said. “We’ll table it. For the moment.”

In the late afternoon they went back to Mulberry Street with just three names: Michael Graham, house physician at the Protestant Half-Orphan Asylum, Ulrich Graham, on the faculty at the Eclectic Medical School, and Andrew Graham, who had a small practice near Stuyvesant Square. None of them old enough to be Neill Graham’s father or grandfather, but they’d have a look anyway. They’d find something to eat and start calling on hospital night porters. Most of them liked to talk, all of them were bored, and they saw a lot.

What Jack wanted to do was to go home to Anna, to stay close so she didn’t start to imagine that the things she had told him in the night were weighing on him. As if anything could make him think less of her. He wrote her a note, one that he put in an envelope and sealed.

Anna my love, I’ll be very late but it’s your own fault. The suggestion you made earlier today has us rushing around Manhattan looking for that second doctor, and we’re making progress. Oscar thinks you’re after his job. I ask myself now every day how I got so lucky. Love you, J.

•   •   •

A
LL
DAY
LONG
Anna wondered if she had imagined the newspaper article about Archer Campbell, a question that could have been answered by a short trip to the corner where six different daily newspapers could be had for pennies each. She could read the news in German, if she pleased, or Italian, or Hebrew. And then as soon as the opportunity presented itself, she had some very specific questions for Jack and Oscar.