Ollie's Cloud (28 page)

Chapter 13

Sunday, July 25, begins as a perfect summer morning. It is hot and humid, but a gentle breeze blows through Ollie’s window refreshing him as he lies in bed. His life is adrift, but deliciously so. The mysterious mission that for years has driven him so fiercely now seems less urgent. Mary Rogers has tamed it.

He thinks about Herbert Eaton, his best friend and mentor, the man who stood by him through the pain of Anne’s duplicity and even now looks after the Belgravia mansion to which Ollie will one day return. Ollie does not miss much about London, but he misses Herbert terribly. And he now understands something about love—about how Herbert, after the pain and humiliation of Anne’s betrayal, can still love the woman. True love is undying. After all these years, Ollie knows that Herbert still holds out hope that one day Anne will be granted a divorce and return to him. And if that should ever happen, Ollie knows that in an instant Herbert will forgive all.

Can Ollie ever love so unconditionally? He hopes so. He believes that he does now love in such a way. He cannot imagine a circumstance or a world in which he would not love Mary Rogers.

The sound of his loved one’s voice now floats through the open window and makes him shiver with delight. He can’t make out the words, but the musical voice is like wind chimes. He lets it dance in his ears for a moment, then rises from the bed and walks to the window overlooking the front yard. There he can see Mary Rogers with her back to the house. She is speaking to someone just out of sight. The willowy elegance of the girl, her lissome grace and womanly gestures, cast a spell of such exquisite bliss that Ollie nearly swoons from the enchantment. He memorizes this picture, this magical square of space framed by the window.

But then the unseen person to whom Mary speaks moves toward her and the spell is broken, for there, intruding into Ollie’s tranquil portrait of Mary, is the despicable Daniel Payne. He is agitated. With frantic gestures he seems to be pleading his side of an argument to a jury of trees and clouds. He menacingly points a finger at Mary but she doesn’t back down. Instead she raises her hands in a question then turns in exasperation. At last, with her face toward the window, Ollie can make out her words: “That’s it. I’m running my errands.”

Mary races into the house, apparently to gather her things. Daniel kicks angrily at the dirt and marches off. Ollie can hear footsteps on the stairs—
Mary’s?
—and then a gentle knock on his door.

He scrambles for a dressing gown and then says, “Come in.”

Mary enters the room. Her face is flushed, which makes her even more beautiful in the morning light. “Good morning,” she says.

“It’s a very good morning now that you’re here,” Ollie replies. He takes a step toward her but she coyly backs away. He stops.

“I wanted you to know that I would be gone for much of the day,” Mary explains. “Errands to run and such.” Except for the pinkness in her cheeks, there is no sign in her manner of the argument with Payne. How quickly she has put it behind her.

“Care for company?” Ollie asks.

“I wouldn’t think of taking up your day with a visit to my aunt and my other menial chores,” she answers. “But I also thought that you might be interested in knowing I broke off the engagement this morning.”

She says this so casually! As if announcing a shopping list.

For Ollie, though, this is momentous news. He grins and rushes toward Mary, smothering her with an embrace.

“He was very hurt,” Mary says when she is released from Ollie’s smothering hug.

“I’m not surprised. Did he threaten you?” Ollie remembers the menacing finger pointed at Mary.

“He was angry, but Daniel would never hurt me. He loves me too much. He’s more likely to hurt himself.”

“Still, the man has a great deal of pride—”

Mary pulls away and speaks harshly. “I said he’d never hurt me. It’s over now. He’ll go on a bender and in a week he’ll come and get his things, and then he’ll be gone. That’s all there is to it.”

Ollie is startled by her brittle change of demeanor. He can see that hurting Daniel’s feelings was difficult for someone as sensitive and caring as Mary. He takes a deep breath—the way Herbert always did with headstrong Anne—and chooses to say nothing. Mary stares at the floor for a moment, then looks up at Ollie and puts her hands on his chest.

“I’m sorry I spoke to you that way,” she says. Then she kisses him on the cheek. “I’ll be back this evening. We have so much to talk about.”

Mary turns and leaves. Ollie moves to the window and watches her walk across the front yard in her white dress, leghorn hat, and parasol.

So be it. A day alone.

Ollie decides to enjoy the sunshine.

Sunday mornings in New York are unusually quiet. Work has stopped, all commerce has ceased, even the shops and taverns are closed. The incessant beating of the presses on Nassau Street is mercifully stilled by the closing of the newspapers on the Sabbath. The streets, on other mornings choked with people, are deserted except for the occasional early stroller or churchgoer. Ollie likes the solitude. The silence, filled only with birdsong and the rustling of leaves, transports him back to the grounds of Chillington-hall.

Feeling loose and free now, he lunches at a small tavern on Warren Street, then visits Scott’s Bazaar on Dey Street. After an hour or so of inspecting the odd conglomeration of merchandise, he walks up Broadway to James Street and yields to an urge to read the newspapers at Mr. Bickford’s. He finds an old issue of the
London Times
and searches for Herbert’s byline but finds none. His mentor writes very little news these days.

Ollie finds a copy of the
New York Herald
and begins to work his way through it. Here, on these crackling pages, is chronicled the sleaze and vice of a city teeming with lust and crime. On page one, a picture of yet another hanged murderer—
Jonathon’s work?
—and on page two a collection of small stories about murders, robberies, prostitution, beatings, rapes, and other inventions of evil.

Page three catches his eye. At the top begins an article by James Gordon Bennett, the slime-mongering owner of the paper. It describes the progress of a self-declared Prophet in Illinois named Joseph Smith who has founded an “empire guarded by his own militia, the likes of which may greatly outnumber the State’s own military and most certainly provides the superior kind of training that is so often lacking in American militias.” Ollie detects a sly derision in the article as he continues reading:

The astonishing Mormon mixture of worldly prudence and religious enthusiasm, of civilized reason with ancient ideas of religious observance and military organization, is without parallel in the history of nations since the time of Mohammad. In two years the Holy City of God, Nauvoo, has risen from a few houses to possess 10,000 souls, besides much cattle.

So—America has its own Qa’im—or perhaps just an apprentice. From what Ollie can tell, this Joe Smith does not claim to be a Manifestation of God, the return of Jesus, or the Promised One of Islam. He claims to be only a modern-day Christian Prophet who has delivered to the world sacred texts long hidden until this most auspicious moment in time.

Ollie makes a mental note to visit this village of Nauvoo on his journey to the center of the nation. What an interesting piece this would make for the
London Times
. He envisions his headline:
America Invents Its Own Religion
.

Ollie smiles at Bennett’s language. “Without parallel in the history of nations since Mohammad…10,000 souls, besides much cattle.” It sounds like one of the garish posters promoting the
Surrey’s
latest spectacular. Only the depiction of the mighty Mormon militia rings true. Is not the history of religion always tied to a warring God? Ollie can imagine how the Mormon’s neighbors are reacting to an exotic new “temple” and an army of self-righteous zealots rising up among their farm fields.

Oddly, next to this “religious” piece is the salacious account of a “sex trial.” An infamous New York abortionist, Madame Restell, had been convicted on July 20 of “administering to one Ann Maria Purdy certain noxious medicine drugs or substances unknown, she being at the time pregnant—thereby procuring her miscarriage by the use of instruments—the same not being necessary to preserve her life, and not having been advised by two physicians to be necessary for such purpose.”

Ollie notices that the accompanying drawing of Madame Restell is attributed to
Jonathon Fury
. The man is an artist—and an editorialist. The macabre etching shows a somber woman about Ollie’s age. Her hair is parted unbecomingly in the middle and she is clothed in dark bunchy garments. A smirking, bat-like demon with outstretched leathery wings hovers in front of her belly, and in the demon’s gruesome grip is a dead infant.

According to the article, on the same day as her conviction Madame Restell’s attorney filed an appeal on grounds of entrapment and “procedural illegalities.” The appeal was immediately granted and after one day in prison Restell was released pending a new trial. Anti-abortionists called this legal maneuvering “quite literally a miscarriage of justice.”

Ollie reflects on the eerie juxtaposition of these two articles. How many religions, he wonders, have been aborted by the threatened adherents of other faiths? How many “prophets” have been slaughtered during the formative stages of their work to preserve the viability of the religions from which they were born?

Ollie has lost track of time. It’s now late afternoon. He leaves Mr. Bickford’s and heads back to Broadway. As he walks toward downtown, he enters the fringe of a gathering crowd. Ollie watches couples holding hands, stealing kisses, laughing and dancing. He longs to be with Mary, but now his heart is as heavy as the storm clouds that are accumulating in the west.

Before he can settle down, Ollie knows that he must complete the mission that brought him to America. He will have to leave New York soon. Will Mary wait for him?

A loud clap of thunder raises everyone’s eyes to the clouds. Some begin to drift home but many remain on the street, tempting the weather to rain on their promenade.

The storm hits within minutes of his arrival at the boarding house. The rain slices downward like knives, obscuring from sight even the homes across the street.

I hope Mary is safe at her aunt’s
, Ollie thinks. He goes upstairs and changes clothes, coming back down just in time for Phebe’s dinner. Only three boarders are present—Ollie, Arthur Crommelin, and William Kiekuk—the others presumably having been caught somewhere trying to get home.

“
We have so many seats empty, why don’t you and Phebe join us tonight?” Ollie suggests to Beatrice, the servant-girl, who is carrying platters of food. The invitation is accepted and the five of them sit down for a quiet dinner.

“I’m sure everyone is quite safe,” Phebe says, sensing Ollie’s concern. “It’s just a summer storm. As for Mary, she’ll be home in the morning, I’m sure.”

The rain continues to pound down. Ollie goes to bed early, but an hour later he hears footsteps on the stairs. Hoping it is Mary, he gets out of bed and opens his door.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” barks Daniel Payne. He is soaked.

“Thought it was Mary,” Ollie says.

“She’s not home? She was supposed to be home by nightfall.”

“We think she stayed with her aunt because of the rain.”

With a huff, Payne enters his room and slams the door.

Chapter 14

Ollie sleeps fitfully. The rain continues to pour until early morning. At daybreak, as the sun begins to peek through the scattering clouds, Ollie rises and finds Phebe in the kitchen preparing breakfast. The old woman volunteers nothing about Mary, so Ollie asks.

“I fell asleep early. What time did Mary get home?” His tone is casual. He doesn’t want to betray his concern.

“Oh, she never got home. Prob’ly spent the night at her aunt’s as we thought. I expect we’ll see her before long. She’s due at Anderson’s by ten, and she won’t be going there in that little white cotton dress.”

Breakfast is quiet. Daniel Payne enters the dining room without a word, eats silently, and begins to leave.

“Payne!” Ollie shouts. “Any idea where Mary might have gone?”

“Her aunt’s is what she said.”

There is a long pause, and then Payne steps closer to Ollie, his jaw firmly set. His whole body seems tightly clenched, like a fist. “You seem mighty concerned.”

“Lot’s of things could happen to a girl out there alone, that’s all.”

“Well it’s my worry, not yours. She’s my girl.”

Ollie wants to call his bluff and explain that he knows about the break-up, but he remains silent. “What are you doing about it?” Ollie asks.

“I’m goin’ to her aunt’s to fetch her. Costin’ me two hours pay, want you to know. That’s what I’m doin’ about it.”

“Look, there’s no reason to lose pay. I can go.”

“You stay outta this! It’s none o’ yer business. An’ you stay away from Mary, too. She wants nothin’ to do with you!”

Payne wheels and struts away. The man, Ollie decides, is desperately trying to save face. Or else he has utterly denied Mary’s decision to call off the engagement. What will Payne do when Mary returns and he has to own up?

Ollie feels powerless to do anything but wait. He walks down the street and back but never leaves sight of the boarding house. He tries to read a copy of
Last of the Mohicans
pulled from the sitting room bookshelf and is astonished at the scribbling on the title page:
To Beautiful Mary, Anderson’s most exquisite import. Your captivated servant, James Fennimore Cooper.

Is there anyone who did not know Mary Rogers, the segar girl?

Ninety minutes after leaving, Daniel Payne returns pale and shaken. Ollie greets him expectantly at the front door.

“She never arrived at her aunt’s,” Payne says. Then he smashes his fist into the door casing and says, “If she’s seein’ someone else, I’ll…” He doesn’t finish his threat.

“Her aunt has no idea where she went?”

Payne shakes his head.

“Well we’ve got to find her,” Ollie says.

“What d’ya think I been doin’? Her aunt’s house is only fifteen minutes away. I been askin’ questions in the neighborhood.”

“And?”

“No luck. Thought I’d get a picture of her to show. Her mother had a drawing.”

Ollie remembers the daguerreotype. “I know where there’s a picture.” He races up to Mary’s room and finds the daguerreotype on her dresser but suddenly realizes that he can’t give up this precious image to Daniel Payne. He turns and walks down the stairs prepared to lie. In the sitting room he finds Phebe handing a small drawing to Payne, who looks up at Ollie with a pleading expression.

“I’m not good at thinkin’ this kinda thing through,” Payne says.

“All right,” Ollie replies, placing the daguerreotype into his pocket. “Phebe, we need to think of all the places she might have gone.”

Within minutes, Ollie has a plan. Daniel will travel to Harlem at the northern end of Manhattan, then to Williamsburg in Brooklyn. Ollie will recruit Jonathon to help and they’ll make inquiries in the Hoboken area and on Staten Island. They’ll talk to hospitals, ferry pilots, carriage drivers, shopkeepers, anyone who will listen. Mary could not have just
disappeared
on a quiet Sunday.

Ollie’s first stop is at the offices of the
Sun
where he places a missing persons notice for Tuesday’s edition.

Left her home on Sunday Morning, July 25, a young lady, had on a white dress, black shawl, blue scarf, leghorn hat, light colored shoes and parasol light colored; it is supposed some accident has befallen her. Whoever will give information respecting her at 126 Nassau Street shall be rewarded for their trouble.