A Fragile Design (35 page)
Addie finished slicing loaves of freshly baked bread and was carrying large serving platters of ham to the table as she heard the familiar sound of the girls coming in the front door.
‘‘I’m a bit off my schedule. Just give me a minute,’’ she said before rushing back to the kitchen.
‘‘Did Miss Mintie come visiting this afternoon?’’ one of the girls inquired with a chuckle as Addie carefully carried a large platter of ham into the dining room.
‘‘No, but I did have visitors. Ruth’s parents arrived in Lowell this afternoon,’’ she told the girls.
Silence. For just a moment it was as though all of them had stopped breathing, but an endless barrage of questions immediately followed the short-lived quietude. They wanted details of Ruth and her parents. Addie wished there were more she could tell them, wished she could say that Ruth had merely gone home for an unexpected visit and was now back, safely in the fold. But she couldn’t.
‘‘There’s nothing much to report. Ruth’s parents haven’t heard from her, either, and they’ve gone to talk to the police. They promised to stop back after supper. Perhaps they’ll have something more to tell us upon their return,’’ Addie replied before returning to the kitchen to retrieve two brimming bowls of creamed potatoes and peas.
The girls moved on to other topics as the meal progressed, and it wasn’t until the Wilsons arrived later in the evening that the subject of Ruth once again became fresh. The girls surrounded the Wilsons, all of them interested to hear any shred of news. Addie feared the sight of Ruth’s housemates would overwhelm Mrs. Wilson. It appeared, however, she found some sense of comfort seeing their youthful faces filled with anticipation.
‘‘I expected to be back earlier, Miss Beecher,’’ Mr. Wilson said as he took the steaming cup of coffee Miss Addie offered. ‘‘Our visit with the police was of little assistance. They were dismissive, telling us they didn’t believe there was any foul play surrounding Ruth’s disappearance. I confronted them with the fact that we knew some Irish girls were missing. He suggested that perhaps Ruth had gotten into trouble—in a family way—and didn’t want us to know.’’
Mrs. Wilson nodded in agreement as her husband spoke. ‘‘I was disquieted by their lack of interest in Ruth’s disappearance, but the police are even less concerned about the Irish girls. The policeman said the Irish girls were never officially reported missing. He even went so far as to say the girls were probably just hiding from a heavy-handed father and now they’re even more afraid to return home. I find their attitude appalling,’’ she added.
‘‘Yes, it’s pitiable,’’ Addie agreed. ‘‘And so you are no further along than when we parted earlier today?’’
‘‘It appears the police have done nothing to find Ruth. However, just as we were preparing to leave our meeting with the police, a lady came in and reported a missing boarder. It seems this girl worked at the Hamilton Mill. She had gone out alone last evening and was seen purchasing some ribbon in town. Later in the evening she was seen by some girls who said they’d observed her walking toward home, but the keeper said she never arrived.’’
‘‘Dear me!’’ Miss Addie exclaimed. ‘‘I’m going to want to keep my girls under lock and key. Did the police appear alarmed by this latest report?’’
‘‘They said they would look into it, but somehow I didn’t believe them, so I asked if they had talked with anyone from the mills regarding Ruth. One of the policemen mentioned a man named Matthew Cheever. I located his address and took the liberty of calling upon him at his home,’’ Mr. Wilson explained.
The idea of Mr. and Mrs. Wilson calling at the Cheever home, uninvited, took Addie by surprise. ‘‘Were you kindly received by Mr. Cheever?’’ she inquired.
Mrs. Wilson nodded her head up and down. ‘‘Oh yes, and he has a lovely wife. She was most sympathetic to our plight.’’
‘‘When I mentioned the new report of a girl missing from the Hamilton, Mr. Cheever appeared quite alarmed. He was on his way to the police station when we departed his home. I told him that we couldn’t remain in Lowell.’’
‘‘We have other children at home and the farm to look after,’’ Mrs. Wilson quickly interjected.
‘‘He’s promised to keep us informed and said that if the police are reluctant to investigate further, he will hire a private investigator. He’s going to go talk with a man named Hugh Cummiskey in the Irish part of town and see if any of the Irish girls have reappeared. I believe he will keep his word,’’ Mr. Wilson added.
‘‘Mr. Cheever is a good man,’’ Addie concurred. ‘‘I’m glad he’s agreed to move forward with the investigation. Will you folks be leaving soon?’’
‘‘Early tomorrow morning. We’re staying at the Wareham Hotel tonight,’’ Mr. Wilson said.
‘‘Two of Ruth’s friends helped me gather her belongings. I’ve put them in my parlor. If you’d rather wait until morning . . .’’
‘‘No, we’ll take her things tonight,’’ Mr. Wilson replied. ‘‘I left our address with Mr. Cheever. He’s promised to contact us the moment there’s any word, although he didn’t expect any immediate results.’’
Addie led them across the hallway to the parlor and then, for the second time in one day, bid Mr. and Mrs. Wilson farewell.
Addie remembered only after they’d gone she had unfinished business with Taylor Manning. The very thought of him stepping out of line with one of her girls was enough to fuel her with newfound energy.
‘‘I’ll return shortly,’’ she told Margaret.
‘‘Aren’t you afraid of going out alone? Maybe one of us should go with you,’’ Margaret suggested.
‘‘No,’’ Addie replied, putting on her bonnet. ‘‘I’m not worried that someone will attack an old woman like me.’’ After all, she was forty-eight. With that she picked up her shawl and exited the house. The less said the better—for Bella’s sake and for her own.
John’s house wasn’t all that far, only a matter of blocks. The walk in the night air gave Addie strength for the words she had to say. She had thought Taylor might stop by the boardinghouse as he’d done the day he’d returned the picnic basket.
Oh, if only I’d known his actions then,
she fumed,
I would have set that young man straight then and there
.
She approached the house, and seeing that a light shone from the parlor window, she knocked.
Lord, help me to deal with this boy in a reasonable but firm manner. Let him see the error of his ways
.
The door opened and a rather ragged-looking Taylor Manning stared back at her. ‘‘Miss Addie?’’
‘‘Taylor, we need to talk. There is the none-too-small matter of the liberties you took with Miss Newberry.’’
Taylor paled. ‘‘Come in. I figured that sooner or later Bella would tell someone.’’
Addie stepped into the house. ‘‘Taylor, how could you? Your uncle told me of your philandering ways, but how could you take liberties with a girl such as Bella? She’s made her opinions of you very clear.’’
Taylor shrugged. ‘‘I suppose that was part of the attraction, but believe me, Miss Addie, I’ve been wracked with guilt. I know what I did was wrong, and for once I really care about it—but I don’t know what to do.’’
Addie softened, feeling sorry for the young man. ‘‘Taylor, women and their feelings are not to be trifled with. You know better than most, having grown up in England, where the women have few choices but to take a husband or labor as someone’s slave. Here young women are encouraged to make a living for themselves, and the girls who work for the mills are the lucky few who enjoy such freedom.
‘‘Still,’’ she continued, ‘‘you knew that Bella had no interest in hunting a husband and yet you pursued her.’’
‘‘I know,’’ Taylor said, pushing back his blond hair. ‘‘But there’s something about her.’’
‘‘Forbidden fruit?’’
‘‘No, it’s more than that. Bella has a spirit to her that seems more open and honest than other women. Perhaps it’s because she’s the first woman I’ve ever met who didn’t play games with me and fall at my feet when I offered her a soft word and appreciative glance.’’
‘‘But relationships are built on far more than that,’’ Addie answered. ‘‘Bella has been deeply wounded by the men in her life, and you’ve done nothing but perpetuate that problem.’’
‘‘I honestly didn’t mean to, Miss Addie. I kissed her and would have done nothing more. Please believe me. I wouldn’t have pressed her for anything.’’
Addie nodded. ‘‘I suppose I do believe you. Still, you hurt her, and you need to make amends.’’
‘‘But how? She won’t see me.’’
‘‘I think you’d better start with a reckoning of your soul. Taylor, you wouldn’t even begin to act in such a manner if God were guiding your heart. I’d rather not have to be so bold on this issue, but Taylor, every man and woman is called to account before God. Without an acceptance of Jesus Christ as Savior, they will make that accounting alone.’’ Taylor said nothing, so Addie pressed home her point. ‘‘Jesus died for your sins long before you were even born, Taylor Manning. He longs for you to come to Him and to seek forgiveness and rightness before Him. You’re the only one who can make that choice. John can’t do it for you, although he would in a heartbeat if only he could. I can’t choose that way for you and neither can Bella. But, Taylor, mark my words: by rejecting what I’m saying—by rejecting Christ—you’re making your choice. And that choice will only lead to certain destruction.’’
Matthew had seen the look Lilly leveled in his direction as the Wilsons detailed the plight of their missing daughter and then began telling of an additional missing girl who worked at the Hamilton Mill. Instantly, he knew there would be no peace in his household without another visit to the police station. Truth be told, he believed Ruth Wilson would return to Lowell on the arm of her salesman with a wedding ring on her finger. And the same could likely be said about the recently reported missing girl from the Hamilton. However, he wasn’t about to further upset the Wilsons—or Lilly. Knowing there could be no delay, Matthew abandoned the rest of his leisurely evening for the company of policemen who likely would become offended when he began questioning their inability to solve the puzzle of Ruth’s disappearance.
He entered the small brick building that sported two small iron-barred cells, an unpleasant reminder of the consequences associated with the town’s growth. Martin Hensley waved him forward. ‘‘I sincerely hope you’ve not come to discuss missing girls,’’ he warned. ‘‘I’ve had enough of that nonsense for one evening.’’
‘‘I’m afraid that’s exactly why I’m here, Martin. What makes you believe it’s all nonsense?’’ he asked, hoping Martin would give him something tangible to support his argument.
‘‘Aw, come on, Matthew. These girls take a fancy to some fellow, and next thing you know they skedaddle out of town, get married, and have themselves a passel of babies. What’s so different about these girls? We know the Wilson girl had a beau. I’m checking on the gal from the Hamilton, but it’ll probably be the same thing.’’
‘‘What’s her name—the one that works at the Hamilton?’’
‘‘Hilda Beckley. Don’t know much else. Figure I’ll go over there come morning. With a little luck maybe she’ll have returned.’’
‘‘Don’t get your hopes up, Martin. I understand there are several Irish girls missing. What information do you have on them?’’
‘‘None. Nobody ever came in and talked to me. Far as I’m concerned, there aren’t any girls missing from the Acre.’’
‘‘But you know there are—and people are beginning to get a little apprehensive with all this talk of disappearing girls. I think you’d best make some effort so folks settle a bit. It will affect the local businesses if the girls are afraid to leave the boardinghouses. I’d like to have your word you’ll treat these disappearances as abductions rather than runaways.’’
Martin grunted. ‘‘I’ll see what I can do,’’ he said and immediately went back to cleaning his gun.
Obviously Matthew had been dismissed. He clicked open his pocket watch and then walked out of the building, deciding he’d pay a visit to the Acre before heading home. Perhaps Hugh would be at the pub. If not, their visit would wait until morning. It was certainly too late to go calling at Cummiskey’s home.
Wending his way through the mucky streets of the Acre, Matthew arrived at the pub shortly after nine o’clock. The shouts and laughter of drinking men overflowed into the street long before he arrived at the door. But surprisingly, there were few patrons at the bar. Instead, they appeared to be congregated toward the back of the room, most of them circling one table and hollering out instructions.
‘‘Appears you’ve got some entertainment going on back there,’’ Matthew commented to the barkeep.
The man nodded. ‘‘Arm wrestlin’. What’s your pleasure?’’
‘‘I’m looking for Hugh Cummiskey. Does he happen to be here?’’
The barkeep eyed him critically. ‘‘Who wants to know?’’
‘‘I’m Matthew Cheever—a friend.’’
The barkeep emitted a grunt before pointing toward the table. ‘‘He’s back there with the rest of ’em.’’
Matthew thanked him and moved toward the crowd. Circling the outer perimeter of men, Matthew edged a bit closer. Two men were battling each other in a fierce arm-wrestling match. A pile of gold coins lay on the table awaiting the victor. Matthew ceased searching the crowd as his gaze fell on one of the participants. Before him sat a shirtless, sweating, seemingly drunk William Thurston fighting to take down the arm of another man.
Astonished by the sight, Matthew found it impossible to look away. Thurston was hurling insult upon insult while attempting to push his opponent’s arm to the table. Matthew felt himself being shoved toward the action as the crowd tightened. He was now standing to one side of Thurston, the man’s beefy arm in full view. Matthew’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at a prominent mushroom-shaped birthmark on William Thurston’s right arm.
Without warning, someone grabbed his shoulder. ‘‘Now, what would you be doing in the Acre at this time of night?’’
‘‘Hugh,’’ he said, relief flooding his being. ‘‘I came to talk to you. The barkeep said you were amongst the crowd,’’ he explained.
‘‘Come on over here,’’ Hugh said, pushing several men aside to make a path. ‘‘There’s plenty of tables available with everyone crowded over there to watch William Thurston make a fool of himself.’’