Keeping Secrets (14 page)

John had much to say about that. “Old J.H.R. Cundiff wrote his articles the way he saw them. He was right about the unfairness of the military police in Missouri. The heavy-handed actions of a few men in power have actually driven loyal supporters over to the Confederate side.”

Finally, the conversation ebbed. Miss Hennessey left to return the buggy, with the promise she’d see them soon, and John strode into the backyard to carry in a load of wood.

“At last we can talk!” Ma said. She grasped Peg’s shoulders and smiled. “Tell me about Danny.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Peg said, surprised. “He’s fine. That is, except for a sniffle and a cough.”

“A sniffle and cough?”

“Ennie put him in bed with a mustard plaster on his
chest, but we played draughts and I read some to him.”

“If he’d been put to bed, it must have been more than you’re saying,” Ma told her.

“Danny’s nose was red, but he told me he felt fine,” Peg answered.

“Then I suppose there’s nothing to worry about,” Ma said, but Peg heard the concern still in her voice. “I’m sure Ennie is taking good care of my boy.”

Peg saw no reason to worry Ma by telling her that Danny had got out of bed—against orders—and had gone out in the chill air to visit the Parkers, because then she’d have to say
why
Danny wanted to investigate the Parkers; and that would bring in Miss Hennessey, and there was nothing to be held against Miss Hennessey except a few suspicions. Peg didn’t doubt for a minute that if Ma became aware of even one small suspicion, the trips to visit Danny would come to a quick end.

Peg sighed and said, “I’m hungry.”

Ma smiled. “There are apples in the cooler, love. Eating one now won’t spoil your supper.” She paused. “I suppose that Ennie Swenson cooked some fine dishes for you to enjoy.”

Peg shrugged. “They were all right, Ma, but your cooking’s a lot better.”

“Is it now?” Ma said, the pleasure in her voice as warm and soft as butter.

She bustled off to the kitchen, leaving Peg to wonder: What should she do next to discover the identity of the Parkers’ visitor? She wished she could ask Frances Mary for advice. If she and her big sister could change places, what would Frances do?

* * *

Except for those who grumbled now and then about missing
The St. Joseph Gazette
, the excitement over the fire soon died down and the residents of the town once again were caught up in their busy existence.

Peg, who was unwilling to talk to even her best friends about her trips with Miss Hennessey, bent all her energies toward her studies, winning Miss Thomas’s praise.

But Marcus wouldn’t let Peg be. One day at lunch-time he sneaked around behind the bench on which Peg was sitting with May and April, caught a fistful of her hair, and pulled hard.

“Ouch!” Peg yelled. She jumped up to run after Marcus, but he was already out of reach, hiding behind Willie, leaning out only to stick out his tongue.

“I hope your face freezes like that, Marcus Hurd!”

“Maybe it will, and you and I could be the ugly stepsisters in the Cinderella story Miss Thomas read us.”

“Huh! What could a guttersnipe like you know about Cinderella?”

“I know this much—that even when you’re high and mighty riding in a buggy and thinkin’ you’re Cinderella yourself, you’re not!” Marcus bent double with laughter, and Willie joined in.

“They’re both very common,” May said loftily. “Ignore them, Peg.”

April tugged at Peg’s skirt until Peg plopped back down on the bench. “Marcus likes you,” April whispered.

Peg’s eyes flashed angrily. “He’s horrid! He’s ugly-squished-dead-bug horrid!”

April shrugged and bit into a thick roll of bread and cheese. “He still likes you.”

Marcus dared to creep a little closer. “Someday I’ll rent a fine buggy, too, and maybe you’ll want to go riding with me, and maybe I won’t ask you.”

“Good,” Peg said. “Don’t ask me.”

“Maybe you’ll want to hold my lucky arrowhead, and I won’t let you.”

“I’m not interested in your stupid lucky arrowhead!” Peg bit into an apple with a loud crack, the tart juice running down her throat and making her shiver.

Marcus began to prance around and flutter his hands. In a falsetto voice he said, “Oh, Peg, I must tell you an amusing story about one of Mrs. Kling’s boarders!” … “A wonderful story, Miss Hennessey” … “Peg, my dear girl …”

In shock, Peg leaped to her feet. “You slimy snake! You spied on us!”

“Of course I did. How else would I find out what you were talking about?” Marcus hooted, and Willie snickered, both of them dancing out of Peg’s reach.

“ ‘Peg’s mad, and I’m glad, and I know what will please her. A bottle of ink to make her stink and Marcus Hurd to tease her!’ ” Willie chanted.

But Peg had stopped listening, her mind dwelling on what Marcus had said. He had spied because it was the only way to find out what she and Miss Hennessey had been talking about. And she had promised Danny to spy, too. Sinking slowly to the bench, ignoring the lunch Ma had packed for her to eat, Peg moaned, and May quickly turned to her. “Are you sick?” she asked.

“No,” Peg said, shaking her head, but she
was
sick. Sick at the idea of subterfuge.
I’ll give Miss Hennessey one more chance to answer my questions
, Peg told herself,
before I even begin to think of other ways to find out the information Danny wants. I’ll go to Mrs. Kling’s boardinghouse the minute school is over and
talk to Miss Hennessey. I know she’ll be truthful with me. I know she’s not a Rebel spy! She can’t be!

At exactly four o’clock Miss Thomas gave her students their assignments for the next day and marched them to the door in neat lines. Not even waiting to walk home with May and April, Peg broke free and ran down the hill, hair flying and skirts flapping.

She burst into the door, dropped her books on the kitchen table, and yelled, “Ma? Where are you?”

From upstairs Ma answered, “Here I am, love.”

“I’m going out for a little while, Ma!” Peg shouted. “I’ll be right back.”

Not wanting to hear Ma’s answer, Peg slammed the door and ran outside, heading down the hill into town. She wove through the busy street traffic, but when she came to the block on which Mrs. Kling’s boardinghouse was located, she hesitated. She couldn’t just march up and knock at the door and ask to see Miss Hennessey without a plan in her head. What would be her reason for coming? What excuse could she devise?

In order to give herself time to think, Peg skirted the block, her mind whirling with ideas that wouldn’t come together and make sense. So desperate was Peg to come up with the right things to say, she stopped watching where she was stepping and tripped over a small pile of rubbish at the entrance to an alley. Down she fell, the rough stones stinging her knees as they cut through her black cotton stockings.

Tugging an almost-clean handkerchief from her coat pocket, Peg scrunched down behind some piles of boxes and rubbed the dirt from her knees. Ma would have a fit about the stockings, which was bad enough, but now Peg couldn’t visit Miss Hennessey—not with stockings torn and bloody.

Boot heels suddenly slapped the cobblestones so
close to where Peg was huddled that she flinched and pressed back against the boxes. A tall man strode past—a beardless man with long hair and …

Peg gasped. In a homespun shirt and trousers he was dressed differently from when Peg had first seen him, but she knew him immediately. James! Miss Hennessey’s renegade cousin!

13
 

P
EG SLOWLY CLIMBED
to her feet. If James had gone with Quantrill’s raiders, then by now he should be in Arkansas, on his way to Texas. What was he doing here, dressed in farmer’s homespun with a broad-brimmed felt hat pulled low over his eyes?

Danny’s partial description of the man he’d seen riding with Mr. Parker flashed into Peg’s mind.
No beard or mustache and long … Had Danny been about to say long, curly hair?

Danny!

Peg suddenly woke up to the fact that she was shivering in the alley when she could be following James, as Danny would want her to do. James’s big boots had carried him well into the alley, so Peg took that route, too, this time quietly and carefully picking her way over and around the rubble, much of it hidden by the late afternoon’s deep shadows.

She was close to the next street when she heard a voice. She looked up and saw that James was still inside the alley, nearly hidden in the dim light. And with him was a woman.

Her heart pounding, her throat tight with fear and hurt, Peg huddled against the wall. Although she couldn’t see the woman clearly, Peg knew that she had to be Miss Hennessey. Who else would James meet so secretly? And if this was Miss Hennessey, then everything she had told Peg was a lie! And Peg had believed it!

Peg’s heartache slid into anger, and she stepped out boldly, ready to confront Miss Hennessey. But the couple had left, and the alley was empty.

Bloody, torn stockings or not, Peg marched furiously out into the street and down the block to Mrs. Kling’s boardinghouse.

“Please, may I see Miss Hennessey?” Peg asked Mrs. Kling as she opened the door.

“Why, you’re the little girl who visited her before,” Mrs. Kling said and held the door open wide. But she took in Peg’s appearance immediately, and her smile changed to a look of concern. “Whatever in the world happened to you?” she asked, automatically bending down to brush dirt from Peg’s coat.

“I fell on the cobblestones,” Peg answered.

“My, my, my! Will you look at those knees! You’re in need of some cool water and a cloth to clean those scrapes.”

“Maybe Miss Hennessey …,” Peg began, but Mrs. Kling was already leading Peg up the stairs and down the hall to the third room on the right.

Mrs. Kling knocked on the door, waited for an answer, then knocked again. “Apparently, Miss Hennessey
is not at home,” she said. “If you’d like, you may wait for her in the parlor.”

Peg tugged at her skirts, her face pink with embarrassment at the thought of her skinned knees on exhibit for anyone who came into the parlor. “Please, ma’am, the state my stockings are in … Could I wait in Miss Hennessey’s room, instead?”

From her pocket Mrs. Kling pulled a round gold watch on a chain, glanced at it and said, “Supper will be served in fifteen minutes, so Miss Hennessey should arrive home any minute now. I suppose that under the circumstances, there’s nothing wrong with allowing you to wait in her room.” She opened the door, sailed inside with a swish of skirts, and lit the oil lamp on the nearest table. “Sit down, dear,” she said, “and do tend to those knees as soon as possible.”

Out the door Mrs. Kling swept, closing it firmly behind her.

Peg studied the room. It was neat and tidy, with lacy curtains and two floral prints on the wall. A puffy patchwork quilt covered the bed, and a wardrobe stood against the far wall.

Unable to resist temptation, Peg opened both wardrobe doors wide and peered inside. There hung the dull gray dress Miss Hennessey had worn while she stayed at their house, and the traveling suit she had worn to visit her sister, but there were two beautiful dresses in velvet and silk hanging next to them. Peg stroked the soft fabric and wondered where Miss Hennessey could possibly wear such elegant dresses.

The two carpetbags were against the wall behind the wardrobe. Peg quickly closed the wardrobe doors and opened the bags. The small one was completely empty, the clothing inside probably transferred to the
chest of drawers; but the bottom of the larger one contained printed leaflets.

Peg picked one up and saw that it advertised a play that had been performed at a theater in St. Louis. Another was from a theater in New York. On both leaflets was a sketch of a beautiful, dark-haired woman who could be no one else but Miss Hennessey. But the printed name of the actress under the picture was Elsie Morgan.

Stunned, shaken, and unable to comprehend what she had discovered, Peg staggered to the edge of the bed and plopped down. Who was Elsie Morgan? Who was Violet Hennessey? Ma would have a fit if she knew Miss Hennessey was an actress. And surely Mrs. Kling didn’t know, either. No respectable landlady of a boardinghouse would rent a room to an actress. Actresses were … well … Peg wasn’t exactly sure why actresses were shunned by other women, but she remembered the painted ladies she’d seen in the hotel when she and Danny were there with Olga and Alfrid, and she’d heard comments about actresses being “loose women,” whatever a loose woman was.

As the door suddenly opened behind her Peg started with fright and jumped to her feet. For just an instant Miss Hennessey stared at Peg with wide eyes. Then she silently closed the door and crossed the room. She took the leaflets from Peg’s hands, returned them to the carpetbag, and snapped it shut.

Although she was frightened, Peg asked, “Who are you?”

“As you’ve discovered,” Miss Hennessey said, “I’m an actress.”

“But are you Violet Hennessey or Elsie Morgan?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes. Of course it matters.”

“Why? Do you like me any the less because you’ve learned about my profession?”