Anything But Civil (6 page)

“I
have to have the rest no later than Tuesday.” As I stepped into the hall from the library, I heard the insipid man’s voice insist. “No later than Tuesday!”

“I’m not a child, Mott. I heard you the first time.” I recognized the second man’s voice. It was Captain Henry Starrett. The two men were speaking in hushed tones, but I could hear them arguing. They were in the back parlor, a few steps down the hall.

The general had been in a talkative mood and spent the remainder of the morning and some of the afternoon dictating his life story. He had his midday meal brought to him on a tray. He only stopped when Sir Arthur and Lieutenant Triggs arrived and Adella came to escort him to tea, admonishing me for keeping him from his afternoon nap. It was then that I’d realized that I was famished, not having been offered lunch when the general had his. I hoped Mrs. Cassidy might have something I could eat.

“If I may be so bold to say so, you act like one sometimes, Mr. Starrett,” the man called Mott said.

“I beg your pardon?” Captain Starrett said. “How dare you speak to me like that!” Was this conversation too going to come to blows?

“But I ask, what man comes all this way and then puts everything we’ve worked for in jeopardy?” Mott asked. “Maybe you fail to see the significance of what I’ve told you. Maybe you don’t care.”

“Of course I care,” Captain Starrett growled. “But I may have . . . miscalculated.”

“Miscalculated?” Mott said. “You’re not telling me you’ve wasted my time, everyone’s time, are you, Captain Starrett?”

“No.”

“Do I need to remind you that—”

“Enough!” Henry Starrett shouted, then lowered his voice once again. “You’ll have it by Tuesday. All of it.”

“Good. But let me remind you, just in case, that if I don’t, I won’t be held responsible for the consequences,” the man named Mott said condescendingly. “They won’t wait forever, Captain.” I wished I could see who Henry Starrett was talking to, but I didn’t dare move a muscle or they might know I was in the hall, eavesdropping. “By the way, may I ask how you intend to hold up your end of the bargain?”

“None of your business.”

“It is my business; everything’s my business. Who do you think will have to answer for your . . . miscalculation?”

“You’re scum, Mott. If I thought I could do this without you, I’d . . .”

“You’d what?” Mott said. “Have it by Tuesday, Captain, and you won’t have to deal with me again.”

“You’ll have it, damn it! Now get out of my house.”

“Oh, that reminds me, I spoke with Jamison.”

“Well? What did the snake have to say?”

“Forgive me, Mr. Starrett but I quote, he said, ‘Go to Hell.’ ” The captain growled. “Good day to you, sir,” Mott said.

Before I could hide myself, Mott was in the hallway. To my astonishment, it was the man I’d seen coming out of Enoch Jamison’s house, this morning. What could this man have possibly said to Enoch Jamison that interested Henry Starrett? And why? With my curiosity piqued, all thought of retreat was gone.

As he approached me, Mr. Mott lowered his face so as to see above his spectacles but down his nose. His neck was in an awkward position as he tried to look me up and down. It was comical, for as I was taller than he was, he ended up looking at my chin. He carried a small leather Gladstone traveling bag. What was inside? I wondered.

“Charming,” he said, grinning without showing his teeth. He tipped his old-fashioned hat to me and left by the front door without another word.

Did anyone else see him? He obviously wasn’t concerned that I had or that I’d overheard the conversation. Did anyone else hear Mr. Mott and Captain Starrett arguing? What was it that the captain had to give to Mott by Tuesday? Why was it so important? Before Captain Starrett caught me eavesdropping in the hall, I strode toward the kitchen. But I was too late. I walked right into him as he stormed out of the back parlor door.

“Pardon me,” I said, backing away as quickly as possible. His face was flush and his mouth was twisted into a scowl. He was obviously furious. And as before, it was all the more disturbing due to his resemblance to Santa Claus.

Would I ever be able to think of jolly Saint Nick the same again?

“You?” Captain Starrett grunted, and swung his arm toward me. I closed my eyes and braced for the impact of the blow. Instead Captain Starrett knocked into a side table, sending an Oriental flower vase smashing to the floor. The mosaic of colored pieces of porcelain crunched under his footsteps as he pushed past me down the hall. I didn’t give him a chance to turn back and ran to the kitchen.

 

“Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Reynard,” Sir Arthur said, taking that lady’s hand. “Come now, Triggs, we must be going.”

“Again, my wife sends her regrets,” Lieutenant Triggs said. The sound of small feet pounded on the floorboards above us. The lieutenant pointed to the ceiling. “She’ll especially regret not meeting your lovely children.” Then he saluted the general and warmly shook his hand. “It was an honor to meet you, sir. A real honor.”

“Good to meet you too, old boy,” the general said. “Send my regards to your brother.”

They were all in the foyer as I left the kitchen after tea. Mrs. Cassidy had been kind enough to offer me a cup of coffee and several each of her toffee bars and pumpkin bread, which had done wonders to calm my nerves. The front door opened and a man entered.

“Darling,” Mrs. Reynard said, greeting her husband at the door.

“Adella, my sweet,” the man said, kissing his wife on the cheek. He handed her a parcel. “That book you wanted came in.” Except for the odd way he spoke, slightly out of the side of his mouth, and the red and white variegated amaryllis on his lapel, Frederick Reynard was unremarkable in every way, average build, average height, sandy hair and mustache, brown and gray single-breasted sack suit. I wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a crowd. Yet his countenance and manners were charming, as it was evident that he adored his wife. His eyes followed her every movement, even as he handed his coat, hat, and gloves to the butler, a tall, thin black man. Frederick hung on her every word and seemed unabashed at showing her affection in front of complete strangers.

“Oh, Frederick,” Adella said, ripping the paper from the book,
Girl’s Winter in India
. “Thank you, darling. Oh, forgive me. Frederick, this is Lieutenant Triggs and Sir Arthur Windom-Greene. Sir Arthur is writing a book about Papa. Lieutenant Triggs is a guest of Sir Arthur.” Frederick looked up questioningly at my approach. “And this is his secretary, Miss Davish.”

“Should’ve had you along, Hattie,” Sir Arthur said as way of introduction. “Mrs. Mahoud, the Grant home caretaker, gave us a most illuminating tour. Needed your pen. I won’t remember half of what she told us,” Sir Arthur said, half laughing, to the general.

“Yes, she is most kind,” Adella said. “When we toured the house, she went out of her way to show us the president’s personal belongings, including a satin
mouchoir
handkerchief case, a wooden tea caddy, and a mother-of-pearl cigar case, that were still in the house.”

“Yes, I think Sir Arthur’s favorite item was the .41-caliber Colt derringer on which Grant himself had carved ‘U.S. Grant 1863,’ ” Lieutenant Triggs said, smiling, as Sir Arthur nodded enthusiastically.

“It was brilliant,” Sir Arthur said. “It would be the crown jewel of my collection. If only the Grants would sell it.”

“Glad it was worthwhile,” General Starrett said. “Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook and I thought it might—” He stopped mid-sentence as Henry Starrett stomped down the stairs. His scowl hadn’t softened. “Well, hello, Henry. Haven’t seen you all day. Late night?”

Henry, ignoring his father, looked about the foyer, then focused his attention on Sir Arthur. “You get around, don’t you, Englishman? Well, you should keep a better leash on your girl. I’m sick of finding her underfoot in my own house.”

Sir Arthur’s face reddened as he took a step forward.

“Father,” Adella said, trying to ease the tension, “you haven’t met Lieutenant Triggs.”

“That’s all right, ma’am,” Lieutenant Triggs said, stepping next to Sir Arthur and laying a hand on his shoulder. It was the second time in less than twelve hours that a man had laid a hand on Sir Arthur and I anticipated that poor Lieutenant Triggs was about to have Sir Arthur’s fury flung at him. I was wrong.

“Thank you for tea, Mrs. Reynard,” Sir Arthur said calmly, removing Morgan Triggs’s hold on him. “And the tour, General. As I said, it was most illuminating.” Without another word to acknowledge Henry Starrett, Sir Arthur turned his back on us and left.

“Does he always leave a room like this?” Lieutenant Triggs asked me as we scrambled out the door to catch up with Sir Arthur.

“No,” I said, pondering the question I’d been asking myself. “Only when Henry Starrett enters it.”

I
’d spent the entire evening and part of the night transcribing my notes from General Starrett’s interview. Sir Arthur’s disappointment for not having them in hand earlier in the evening had been assuaged by their sheer volume. He had graciously given me until morning to finish.

Well before sunrise, with the notes on Sir Arthur’s desk, I stood at the top of the Washington Street stairs, wearing my rubber boots, recently purchased from Strohmeyer’s, for the first time. Although I’d have little time to actually hike this morning, I was excited; it had snowed several inches during the night. Even in the faint light of the quarter moon, everything glistened. Snow crystals clung to the tree branches and the muddy street was sparkling white, a single wagon track running down the middle. The view from the top of the stairs revealed that throughout the entire town every awning, lamppost, bench, boardwalk, parked wagon, and rooftop was blanketed in snow. And the stillness was absolute.

Not a single footprint marked the newly fallen snow on the stairs. I gingerly stepped on the top stair, holding the railing, then decided that I didn’t want to be the first to test the slipperiness of the untrodden stairs. Instead I walked down Prospect to the Green Street, or as the pupils who have to climb them for class every day call them, the High School stairs. Here many footprints marked the passage of other early morning risers, mostly merchants and clerks who worked on Main Street below. I followed in their path and descended the hill to Bench Street without incident. My goal this morning was Mrs. Brendel’s first, to order holly, greens, and several bouquets of cut flowers for the Christmas decorations, and then to the river path that followed the train tracks toward the Mississippi River.

I arrived at Mrs. Brendel’s a few minutes before she opened. I’d planned it that way. Mrs. Brendel had the best selection of cut flowers and Christmas greenery in town, but she was first and foremost a milliner. I’d spent hours since arriving in Galena pursuing the wares of Mrs. Edwards’ Millinery and especially Miss Burke’s, which I passed on Main Street every time I walked to the Green Street Bridge, but I’d never been to Mrs. Brendel’s. I now took the opportunity to admire her latest creations in her shop front window until a young girl with bows in her hair, obviously not Mrs. Brendel, unlocked the door. It took all of my restraint to order only the holly, evergreen rope, and flowers I’d come for. As I left, I pledged to myself I’d be back at a more convenient time for the fancy lace braid hat in the window. The wide satin trim and large spray of velvet forget-me-nots would match my navy brilliantine suit perfectly.

I crossed the river on the footbridge and walked up Park Avenue. When I passed the Starrett house, most of the curtains were still drawn. From previous early morning hikes, I’d presumed that Mrs. Reynard and her grandfather, General Starrett, were both late risers. It seemed Captain Henry Starrett was as well. Mr. Reynard, on the other hand, was always gone to work before even I passed by. This morning seemed to be an exception, as evidenced by the three sets of footprints on the steps leading down from the lawn to the road. As I followed the train tracks south, I noticed that two of those sets of footprints had followed the same path. Who else had been hiking this way this morning from the Starrett house? I got my answer in the form of a distinct giggle a few yards away. Suddenly a snowball whizzed by my head and smacked against an elm behind me. Shouts of glee from the two children filled the still air.

“Can’t a body pass in the early morning without being assailed by a missile of snow?” I mockingly declared. A little girl shrieked.

“It’s not Mrs. Becker,” a boy of ten said. “It’s some lady in funny clothes.” I looked at the short hemline of my hiking skirt and my boots. What was so funny about them? “You can come out now, Sis.” A girl about eight came out of hiding from behind a tree.

“You’re not going to Mama, are you?” his sister said.

“I don’t know, who might your mother be?” I asked.

The boy stood tall and puffed out his chest. “Mrs. Frederick Reynard. I’m Master Edward Reynard and this is my sister, Gertrude.” I knew the Reynards had children, having heard their squeals and the pounding of running feet above General Starrett’s library, but I’d not yet met them.

“Well, Master Reynard, Miss Reynard, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. And I am not some lady in funny clothes; my name is Miss Davish and I’m wearing my very practical hiking costume. And no, Miss Reynard, I’m not going to tell your mother. But I do think an apology is in order,” I said, trying not to laugh.

“Sorry, Miss Davish,” the children said in unison. Edward brushed the snow on the ground with his boot and stared down.

“Apology accepted,” I said, offering my hand. Edward smiled and shook it heartily. Gertrude giggled and smiled at me before running back toward the trees. Her brother immediately followed his sister.

Chuckling under my breath, I continued on my hike. Yet before I’d gone a hundred yards, a high-pitched screech came from the direction of the children I’d left behind. I ran back the way I’d come.

“Help, help!” Edward was flying over the snow toward me screaming. “It’s Gertie!” He grabbed my hands and began pulling me down toward the river. “Come on, we have to help Gertie.”

I let him lead me to the edge of the river, all the while hearing screams and cries from Gertie. But when we got there she was nowhere in sight.

“Where’s your sister, Edward?” I asked. He pointed to a black hole in the river about ten feet from the edge, where the ice had broken completely. The snow around the hole had been scraped away on the side closest to the riverbank.

“Oh my God. She’s fallen through the ice?” I asked.

“We were playing and . . . the ice broke and . . . ,” Edward replied. “You have to get her out!”

Suddenly the little girl resurfaced, gasping for air and wildly thrashing about in the freezing water. She obviously couldn’t touch the bottom of the river.

“Ned! Ned! He-e-e-el-l-lp-p-p!” Gertie screamed, madly clutching for a hold on the slippery edge of ice. She burst into convulsive sobbing; her breathing sounded sporadic. Without thinking, I threw off my coat, dropped to my knees, and then crawled on my belly toward the break in the ice, pulling my coat behind me.

“I’m coming, Gertrude. Keep swimming. I’m almost there.”

I inched toward the struggling girl praying that the ice would hold my weight. Not wanting to get too close, I stopped about three feet from the hole and I threw the end of my coat toward it.

“Grab my coat, Gertrude!” I cried. “Grab my coat!”

As the little girl snatched the end of my coat, the weight of her pulled me toward the hole. The ice creaked and then stopped. I pulled my coat toward me and held my breath. The ice creaked again, but I could see that Gertrude had her elbows on the ice. A bald eagle circled silently above us.

“Hang on, Gertrude, and I’ll pull you out.”

“It’s hard!” the little girl cried. “My hands hurt and I can’t feel my legs!”

“Just hold on and everything will be all right.” I tried to sound convincing and keep the worry from my voice.

“Hold on, Gertie!” her brother shouted encouragement from the river’s edge. “She’ll get you out.”

It seemed to help. I could feel the coat draw taut as I slowly drew the little girl toward me. I inched backward painfully slow, trying to keep my weight evenly distributed, while pulling Gertrude from the water. When her legs and feet finally surfaced, I dragged her as quickly as I could to me. Her lips were blue and she was shivering uncontrollably. I wrapped her in my coat and pulled her tightly to my chest. I crawled back to the edge of the river and safety, on my knees.

“I want my mama!” Gertrude whimpered, her breathing shallow. I stood up with Edward’s helping hand.

“We’re going to get your mother right now, Gertie,” I said, starting to walk up the hill toward the path. I glanced over my shoulder at the sound of wings flapping behind us. The bald eagle had landed next to the break in the ice.

“Don’t worry, Gertie,” Edward said, patting his sister’s back. “You’re going to be all right now.”

“Edward’s right,” I said. “He’s going to see that you have warm clothes, a fire, and warm milk waiting for you.” I nodded to Edward, who immediately dashed back toward the house. I followed him as fast as I could.

“C-c-c-cold,” the child whispered, becoming lethargic and heavy in my arms.

“We’ll be home soon,” I said. I too was starting to feel the effects of the cold. I wasn’t wearing a coat and while I was crawling across the ice my gloves and clothes had gotten wet. My back ached, my ears and cheeks burned, and I too was losing feeling in my hands and feet. I’d only gone up the hill and a few yards along the path when I heard adult voices approaching. I kept moving.

A woman cried, “Gertie! My baby!”

“Mama,” Gertie barely whispered.

“See,” Edward said. “I told you Miss Davish rescued Gertie.”

“What on earth were you doing?” a man’s voice yelled.

“Father,” Mrs. Reynard said as Henry Starrett came into view. I’d thought his comment was directed at the children until I heard the tone Adella used. Henry Starrett was speaking to me.

“Silly woman,” Henry said sharply, “we might’ve had to rescue both of you.” I didn’t have the strength to remind him that that had been unnecessary.

Less than a minute later, Gertie was wrapped in dry blankets and lifted from me into her mother’s outstretched arms, while someone put a blanket around my shoulders. I took a step forward and stumbled. Captain Starrett and the butler, each lifting me by an arm, supported me as we walked back to the house. A small crowd had gathered with several well-wishers patting me on the back or shaking my hand. I flinched at the pain each encounter shot through my body.

“You’re a fool,” Captain Starrett said under his breath as Adella wept over her shivering child. “You could’ve gotten my granddaughter killed.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Captain,” I said, my teeth chattering. “She was drowning and I couldn’t think of what better to do.”

“You should’ve called for help and let one of us get her.”

“There wasn’t time. Besides, you would’ve been too heavy for the ice,” I said. “As it was, it barely supported me.” I said this last sentence nonchalantly but inside quaked at the thought of the ice breaking beneath me. The captain was right; I’d been impulsive. But I wasn’t going to admit that to him.

“Thank you, Miss Davish,” Adella said, approaching us, after Mrs. Becker whisked Gertrude into the house. “You’ve saved my daughter’s life. We will be forever grateful.”

“You’re welcome, Mrs. Reynard,” I said, not wanting to voice the doubts and fears I still had for the child’s recovery. “I’m only glad I was at hand and could help.”

The crowd slowly dispersed as we approached the house. Captain Starrett and the butler released their hold on me. In her shock, I heard Adella admonishing her son.

“Ned, I told you never to go near the river alone. Wait until your father hears about this.”

“Gertie’s okay,” Ned said, pleading. “Do you have to tell Father? I promise never to go near it again.”

“Come with me, Hattie,” Mrs. Cassidy said, walking toward the kitchen in the back of the house as the family went to the front door. Instead of following her, I hung back. I was shivering, filthy, and exhausted and had to get back to work.

“Thank you, Mrs. Cassidy, but I’m already late getting back,” I said. “They’re delivering the greenery today and Sir Arthur has more guests arriving this morning.”

“Come on, girl,” the older woman said as she physically led me into her warm kitchen. “You’ll catch your death if you don’t come in and warm up. I’ll make us a fresh pot of coffee.” She sat me down in front of the fire and left the room for a moment. When she returned, she had a man’s cloak and gloves.

“This is all I have, but you can wear them while we launder your own,” Mrs. Cassidy said, helping me put the cloak on. “You saved that girl, you know.” My whole body shook. My fingers and toes tingled and burned as I began to warm up. “You’re a hero, Miss Davish.”

“I’m no hero, Mrs. Cassidy. I did what anyone would have.” The cook shook her head as she handed me a cup of coffee.

“No, not everyone would’ve done what you did. It took real bravery to do what you did.”

“But I didn’t even think about it. I was acting on instinct.”

“Should’ve known you’d be so brave,” she said as if she hadn’t heard me. “People said you faced down a murderer after all.” I flinched at her reference to the murder of my previous employer.

“I’m not brave, Mrs. Cassidy. And I’m certainly no hero.” I looked down at myself. I was a mess. I was wearing a man’s coat, several sizes too big for me; my dress was filthy, wrinkled, and torn in several places. Even my new rubber boots were covered with ice, mud, and grime. I touched my head and could only imagine the state of my hair. And my hat, where had I left my hat? “I’m simply cold, filthy, and slightly embarrassed.”

Granted I couldn’t think of what else I should’ve done. The child was drowning. But what would Sir Arthur think of my escapade? Would he approve of my rescuing the girl or merely think me impulsive? I glanced at the kitchen clock.

It won’t matter if I don’t get back right now,
I thought. The Baineses’ train was about to arrive any minute and I’d be out of my job.