Must the Maiden Die (3 page)

She looked around in surprise at the tall
woman, close in age to her own early forties, in a simple dark
dress; her thick brown hair, visible under a small bonnet, had been
drawn back over her ears into a coiled bun at the nape of her neck.
Glynis felt a warm flush creep into her face. She'd been so
engrossed in the role of unmasking her niece that she'd missed the
arrival of Susan Anthony.

"I'm sorry, Susan, I didn't see you," she
apologized.

"No, you looked right past me. You must be
expecting someone?"

"My niece. You might remember Bronwen. Bronwen
Llyr?"

Susan began to smile, and the keen blue-gray
eyes held an expression that said:
I
would be unlikely to
forget her.

She would not, of course, actually say that.
But what rose in Glynis's mind was a memory, a very clear one, of
being brought to the window of her library above the canal by the
noise of ducks and geese squawking furiously as they scattered in
every direction. The reason for this uproar had appeared in the
form of Bronwen, astride a horse that she was galloping, to no
earthly purpose, along the canal towpath. As it happened, a team of
mules, their towlines running to a packet boat, had been plodding
along the path minding their own business. Glynis had made what
seemed to her, and surely to any other sane person, the natural
assumption that when Bronwen saw the mules she would rein in her
horse. Instead she had urged it on. Glynis had sucked in her
breath, wanting desperately to turn away, but unable to tear her
gaze from the looming catastrophe. Then, with the aplomb of veteran
circus performers, horse and rider sailed over the mules as if they
were just another programmed obstacle. The mule driver's reaction
had been obvious from the clenched fists he'd shaken, and it had
been a long while before Glynis could breathe normally.

What brought this to mind at the moment was
her later discovery that Susan Anthony had been aboard the packet
boat that day.

The woman was now smiling broadly. She
pulled a scarlet shawl around her shoulders, saying to Glynis, "I
like your Bronwen. In fact, I like all your nieces—"

Susan was interrupted by a sudden surge of
noise. The men of New York's 33rd had begun clambering aboard the
passenger cars, and there was as yet no sign of Bronwen. But
perhaps she was still on the train, struggling with her luggage.
Except that Bronwen rarely struggled; most men as a rule were more
than eager to shoulder her freight. A circumstance of which she
managed to appear blithely unaware.
Appear,
Glynis thought,
being the operative phrase here.

In the meantime, Susan, looking for a
baggage handler and apparently finding none, went to pluck her
valise from a baggage cart. After hailing an open carriage, she
told Glynis, "I'm on my way to Mrs. Stanton's for a long-overdue
visit, and I am delighted that it coincided with Emma's wedding
date."

"Mrs. Stanton" was always called so by
Susan, despite the fact that she and Elizabeth Stanton had been,
for nearly ten years, fast friends and mutual supporters.

Glynis watched the woman's carriage leave,
and then turned back to the train with sinking hope. It seemed
certain that Bronwen had not been aboard. The militia men had
finished boarding the passenger cars and were leaning out of the
windows, while the women had lined up alongside the tracks, waving
their flowers and flags. A young boy, standing apart from the
others, wore an expression of utter dejection, as if he were being
forced to stay behind while his friends went off to the fair.

Someone with a reed flute had begun to pipe
"Yankee Doodle," which was quickly joined by boisterous singing.
When the conductors went up the steps, indicating that both trains
would depart shortly, Glynis began to wonder if she should consider
taking up residence in the station's baggage room together with
Jenny Terhune. Jenny, who at the moment was skittering toward the
station house, clutching several crusts of bread.

A
clip-clop
of hooves behind Glynis
made her turn to see the Seneca Falls constable, Cullen Stuart,
astride his Morgan horse. An amused expression creased his face
along the lines worked by time and weather, his sand-colored hair
shaggy around his neck and ears, and his thick brush mustache
scarcely trimmed. Not that it mattered. Cullen, like Bronwen,
seemed unaware of his effect on those of the opposite gender; but
in his case, Glynis had long since decided, the lack of awareness
was more than likely authentic.

He leaned down to speak to her over the
noise of the nearest locomotive gathering steam. "I take it
Bronwen hasn't shown up."

"No, Cullen, as you see."

"You sound exasperated."

She knew she did, and tried to smile. "A
common enough reaction to Bronwen—"

She broke off when she found herself
shouting over the deafening noise of the locomotive, the men on
board bellowing the last chorus of "Yankee Doodle," the young women
screaming their good-byes, and over it all the reed flute shrilling
like a frenzied bird.

She and Cullen waited while one train, then
the other, pulled slowly out of the station. When the roar of the
engines had begun to diminish, the older women allowed themselves
to weep openly. And a number of the younger ones, as if they had
just now realized the party was over, had also begun to cry. Among
them was Faith Alden, the wilting bouquet of violets crushed
against her face.

Cullen's earlier smile had long since faded.
He had watched the departing trains with an odd expression, and
Glynis suddenly wondered if he might be thinking that he, too,
should be heading south. "Cullen," she began, hearing the catch in
her voice, "you aren't considering—"

"So where is Bronwen?" he broke in, as if
he'd anticipated her question and didn't want her to ask it.

Trying to push aside the specter of Cullen
leaving for war, Glynis answered, "You know Bronwen. She changes
her plans as often as she changes her opinions, wouldn't you
say?"

"No, I wouldn't say. She's usually reliable
enough— when she chooses to be."

Not exactly unqualified praise, thought
Glynis, who had begun to worry in earnest.

"Bronwen's coming from Washington?" Cullen
asked.

Glynis nodded. "But she wrote that first she
wanted to spend a few days in Rochester with her family. Then she
would come on here by train today."

"If the trains were filled with troops, she
might have taken a packet boat." Cullen twisted in the saddle to
look toward the canal. "I'll check down at the boat landing."

He guided the Morgan toward Fall Street and
the Seneca River's canal, which ran below and parallel to the road,
while Glynis decided she should check the telegraph office in the
event Bronwen had wired. She tried not to imagine how Emma would
react when told her cousin had failed to arrive.

She was walking past the station house when
a tall, fair-haired woman emerged from it. Her face was plainly
distressed as she glanced around her, and she stood there at the
door before taking a few steps to a nearby wooden bench. After
sinking onto it, she brought up her hands to cover her face. Glynis
had slowed, at first thinking she had seen the woman somewhere
before, although the burgundy wool, hoop-skirted dress and cloak
looked more elegant than were usually seen in Seneca Falls; the
black, soft-leather shoes and kid gloves more appropriate for city
streets. In comparison to her garments, the woman's fine gold hair
beneath a black velvet bonnet struck a discordant note. Its
disheveled appearance suggested a long train ride. It could mean
that she, despite Glynis's initial impression, was a stranger to
Seneca Falls.

Glynis could not have said what made her
approach the woman. It might have been the prod of memory, the
recollection of another well-dressed woman who, years before, had
come to town a stranger, and whose life shortly thereafter had been
ended by murder. A murder that could possibly have been prevented,
Glynis had always felt with guilty remorse, if someone like herself
had thought to inquire the woman's intent.

She crossed the cobbled paving to stand
before the woman, and said cautiously, "Please excuse me if I'm
intruding, but I wonder if I might be of help?"

The woman's hands dropped to her lap and
startled, blue eyes met those of Glynis. "I don't know," she
answered in a hesitant voice which sounded not so much weak as
troubled.

"Were you to be met?" Glynis asked, although
the woman did not strike her as someone who would collapse over the
absence of a reception.

"No," the woman answered. "But I believe
there is someone I know...that is, I hadn't expected anyone to
meet me." Her voice now sounded more steady, and she attempted a
smile. "I'm just feeling somewhat overwhelmed by what I've
done."

Glynis seated herself on the bench, nodding
in encouragement, and trusting that the woman would go on to
explain what exactly it was she had done. When she did not, Glynis
gave the woman her name, then said again, "I'd like to be of help,
if I can."

The woman straightened, saying, "I apologize
if I've seemed ungrateful. My name is Elise Jager and I've come
here from . . . from east of Syracuse, and . . ." Her voice trailed
off, while she studied Glynis. She evidently came to a decision,
because she continued, "I have reason to believe that my daughter
is here in this town, but I don't know where to begin looking for
her."

When she did not offer more to Glynis, her
silence raised immediate questions: Why was this woman's daughter
in Seneca Falls, and not in Syracuse? How on earth could a woman
lose track of her own child? Glynis didn't ask. Elise Jager's
expression held every indication of intelligence, so she must have
known that her words would be heard as odd ones. And if she didn't
choose to explain herself, Glynis wouldn't intrude further, not
with Bronwen's whereabouts continuing to concern her. She should be
off to the telegraph office.

"Perhaps you could start with the constable,
Mrs. Jager," she said. Because of the gloves, she could see no
ring, but assumed that if the woman had a daughter she was, or had
been, married. If not, that might answer the questions.

"Constable Stuart left here a few minutes
ago," Glynis went on, rising from the bench and gesturing toward
the canal. "He planned to stop at the boat landing, but if you
don't find him there, you should try his office. Anyone in town can
direct you to it. I'm on my way to Fall Street," she added, "so I'd
be happy to walk with you that far."

Elise Jager had gotten to her feet, and she
gave Glynis a brief nod.

"Do you have any baggage?" Glynis inquired,
glancing around.

"I had it sent to Carr's Hotel," the woman
answered briefly.

As they walked toward Fall Street, Mrs.
Jager said nothing more, showing little interest in the church and
the school that they passed. Glynis found the woman's lack of
curiosity peculiar. One would have thought, after arriving in an
unfamiliar town and needing to find a daughter, she would be
asking questions.

When they reached the corner of Fall Street,
Glynis again gestured in the direction of the boat landing. "You
may meet the constable on your way down there."

"How will I recognize him?"

"He rides a black Morgan, and he wears a
badge," Glynis said, smiling. "Both horse and man are markedly
handsome, so I doubt you'll miss them." She extended her hand,
saying, "I wish you well in your search, Mrs. Jager, and should you
want to see me again, I can be found in the Seneca Falls
library."

The exception to that, she thought with some
irritation, being those days when she was forced to wander the
railroad station like an out-of-work drifter. She stood for a
moment, watching the woman walk toward the canal, then hurried on
to the telegraph office.

When she questioned the telegraph operator,
Mr. Grimes, he was adamant: no wire had come from her niece. So
where was she? thought Glynis as she emerged from the tiny cubicle
of an office. She remembered much too clearly that the only time
Bronwen had failed to send word, she had been in serious trouble.
But what could possibly have happened to her now?

While in the telegraph office, Glynis had
debated with herself as to whether she should send a wire to
Rochester. But if Bronwen had simply been delayed en route—and
connecting trains were often late—such a wire would cause her
family needless worry.

Glynis sighed, then raised her eyes from the
road when she became aware of some commotion on the far side of
Fall Street. A handful of townsfolk were standing there, pointing
excitedly and shading their eyes as they gazed at the sky. Since
she heard anxiety in their voices, Glynis discarded the simplest
explanation: a late flock of Canada geese winging northward. As she
started across the road, people began pouring from shops and
offices, all pointing upward, so Glynis stopped to search the
cloudless sky. She blinked several times to clear her vision, then
looked again. And still did not believe what she saw.

There, high over the land to the west, was
something that appeared far too large to be a bird, or even a flock
of birds. It bobbed slightly on the nearly windless air, and as
Glynis watched, along with what had become a growing crowd, the
object looked to be slowly descending.

She had to conclude that if she were losing
her mind, she was not alone in madness, since the voices of those
on the street were reaching fever-pitch. When her elbow was nudged,
she turned to find the Morgan nuzzling her sleeve. "Cullen, what
is
that? Do you know?"

He gave her an odd smile when he dismounted,
as if she were asking the obvious. But he seemed fairly
unconcerned, and while this had the effect of calming those
nearby, they looked to him for an explanation. Glynis, staring
upward at the now rapidly approaching object, said with some
frustration, "Cullen, if you know what that—"