Red House Blues (6 page)

“I’m Howard Ash. Doctor by profession, but
people call me Doc. Mr. Broadrick asked me to get you settled in
lodgings he arranged for you up the hill. I’ve got a wagon right
over there.”

Tess wondered if he was a horse doctor. He
certainly didn’t look like any physician she’d ever seen. “Doc”
indicated a two-horse buckboard wagon, more appropriate for hauling
sacks of feed than young ladies.

“I expected Mr. Broadrick to meet me.” She
wasn’t sure she wanted to trust this strange man.

“He’s in Portland on business," he said as
he picked up her suitcase and started toward the wagon. What could
she do but follow? It took a few minutes for him to heft her
suitcase and steamer trunk into the back of the wagon. Tess
scrambled up to the driver’s bench without help. Not that any was
offered. Doc Ash reined the team into a brisk walk, almost jolting
her off the box.

The boarding house turned out to be a short
six blocks up the hill from the station. The first thing Tess
noticed about the house on Fir Street was it garish deep red color.
There must be a mistake, she thought. It looked like a house of ill
repute. Surely not!

But her misgivings proved to be unfounded.
The landlady was a pleasant, motherly woman named Mrs. Jacobs. She
welcomed Tess with a tour of her boarding house, then settled her
in a bright cheery room at the top of the stairs.

“I serve supper at six but if you’re hungry
there’s soup left over from lunch still hot on the stove.” said
Mrs. Jacobs.

Suddenly Tess was famished. As well as
exhausted and disappointed.

“Mrs. Jacobs, did Mr. Broadrick leave any
message for me? I had expected he would want to be here for my
opening at his theater. Frankly, I’m rather confused.”

“Don’t know anything about a message. Doc
will be by tomorrow to take you to the theater. Mr. Broadrick asked
him to show you around.”

Mrs. Jacobs went downstairs, leaving Tess to
unpack her clothing and get settled into her room. It was a nice
enough room and she saw that the window overlooked a pretty garden.
Far beyond the garden Tess could see a crescent of harbor. Jamison
Broadrick had found her comfortable lodgings. Perhaps, she thought,
that thoughtfulness reflected his feelings for her. At least if he
couldn’t be there when she arrived, he had provided for her.

Broadrick’s Madison Street Theater was
magnificent on opening night, a palace dripping with gilt
embellishments, crystal chandeliers, and lavish velvet draperies.
The packed theater greeted Tess with wild enthusiasm and bouquets
of beautiful flowers. She sang as she had never sung before,
determined to live up to Mr. Broadrick’s faith in her. But as much
as she was excited and gratified by her reception, it was a
bittersweet experience. She kept glancing to the wings, praying he
would be there watching her. But he did not come to the opening.
After the performance, champagne flowed in the lobby as the cream
of Seattle society congratulated Tess Jones on her performance.

It was dawn before Tess returned to the
boarding house on Fir. And in spite of a triumphal opening night
she shivered with loneliness, and if she could be honest, a feeling
of defeat.

Still, she was determined not to let him
down so each night as the weeks sped by she sang her best songs and
smiled graciously as the audience gave her standing ovations and
showered her with more flowers than she imagined obtainable in
Seattle.

Three weeks after opening, as she was
beginning to despair of him ever coming to see her perform, there
he was standing in the wings, more handsome than she remembered.
Tall and elegant, dressed impeccably in evening wear, his silver
hair and beard shining like moonlight. Oh, his noble face, his
presence! She felt she would faint seeing him there watching her.
As she came off stage toward him he offered her a slight bow.

“Brilliant performance, Miss Jones. If
anything, more accomplished than Chicago," he said as he grasped
her hand and kissed her fingertips.

She could barely breathe for wanting to
throw herself into his arms, yet horrified at the impulse
overtaking her.

“Thank you, Mr. Broadrick. Your kindness
embarrasses me.”

“Surely not. You merit better treatment from
me. I apologize for not being here to welcome you to Seattle.
Business frequently calls me away. Have my people treated you well
in my absence?” he asked.

“Everyone has been kind and helpful, thank
you. It is such a pretty city and the people have been friendly. I
am so pleased you invited me to sing here.” I can’t believe I’m
babbling on like a brainless fool. He must think I’m an utter
idiot. Her face flamed. To her relief, he didn’t seem to
notice.

“I am glad to hear you approve of our little
town. But it occurs to me you can’t have seen many of its better
amenities. Please, Miss Jones, say you will join me for a light
supper this evening. I know of a place that rivals the finest
restaurants in Chicago and has the advantage of a splendid view of
the bay.”

“I would be honored, Mr. Broadrick.” she
managed to say without stammering.

“And I would be honored if you would call me
Jamison. Believe me, I am the honored party, my dear,” he said.

The next weeks exceeded her most fevered and
fervent dreams. Jamison Broadrick met her every night after her
performance. He took her to the best supper clubs the city offered.
And finally he took her to his penthouse in the Second and Terry
Building, where he toasted her with champagne and told her he loved
her. After that night they went to the penthouse every evening,
where they let passion sweep them away from all care. And each
night he either drove her back to her rooms on Fir Street or called
a cab for her, careful of her reputation. How she adored him for
his consideration, his devotion. Soon, she was sure, he would
propose to her. Soon. And she would accept of course. She
envisioned their wedding. He would build her a fine house in
Chicago. There was no need for them to remain in Seattle. She would
return home to her family as a beloved and wealthy bride.

A week later he went to San Francisco on
business. She must understand, he told her, he had many business
interests. He would return before she was to return to Chicago. She
thought he was secretly planning to surprise her with a ring from
San Francisco.

How could she bear a separation from
Jamison? Her body and soul ached for him. Now her misery and
longing entered her, resonating through her songs, lending her
performances more depth of emotion than she had thought possible.
Seattleites thronged to the theater to hear her. But without
Jamison there at her side her success was joyless.

It was more than two weeks before he
returned, every minute an agony. By the time he returned she knew
she was with child. He would be so happy. They would marry
immediately. He would insist. She could hardly contain her joy
until they arrived at his penthouse, eager to tell him the
wonderful news, yet wanting to wait for the perfect moment when
they were alone. And then they were alone. And he was pouring her a
glass of champagne. She thought that any moment he would bring the
small box containing her ring from his pocket. He would place it on
her finger and kiss her.

He spoke of his business in San Francisco,
about renovations to the theater there. He asked about her future
plans when she returned to Chicago. She replied, coyly, that she
hadn’t decided, expecting that at any moment he would ask her to
stay with him and never go back to Chicago, that her future was
with him. But he said no such thing. Finally, she told him her
happy news.

“You are not to worry, Tess, my dear,” he
said. “You may depend on me to help you in any way I can. I’ll
arrange with Doctor Ash. Doc is skilled in such matters. He will
help you out of your difficulty in no time at all. He’s done
procedures of this nature many times before.”

It was as if he had stabbed her through the
heart.

“You can’t mean this, Jamison! You can’t
mean what I think you are saying. We love each other. We can be
together. Marry. People will just assume an early baby.” It is the
shock of it, she thought. He is taken by surprise.

“Tess, you are a sweet and charming girl and
I enjoy your company more than I can say,” he said. “I would not
hurt you for the world, you know that. Still, I think you have
misunderstood our situation. I cannot marry you, even if I thought
that were wise. I already have a wife in San Francisco, and two
children I love very much. So you see, my dear, we must address
your situation another way. The only possible way, as I see
it.”

He was sorry. It was regrettable. He would
take care of the arrangements. Words. All words that reverberated
in her head as she made her way from the penthouse, down in the
elevator to the street, hired a cab to take her back to Fir
Street.

The next morning after the other boarders
left for work Doctor Ash came up the broad steps to the porch
carrying a large carpetbag. Mrs. Jacobs met him at the door. Her
face was grim, already knowing the occasion for the call. She was
to assist. Doc led the way up the stairs to Miss Jones’ room off
the upper landing.

His manner with Tess was agreeable and
confident. He had performed this procedure numerous times. It was
his stock in trade on the Seattle waterfront. The girls that worked
there all knew they could count on him to do what needed doing and
with complete confidentiality. Tess wasn’t to worry about that. And
Mr. Broadrick was paying for everything. Nothing to fret about.

Tess spoke not one word as the doctor spread
his instruments out on the bedside table. He didn’t think anything
of that. The girls are embarrassed and frightened sometimes. Mrs.
Jacobs brought in an armload of newspapers and clean rags. The girl
didn’t acknowledge either of them but she got up on the bed and
drank the brandy Doc offered her. He explained about the opium. She
wouldn’t feel a thing.

All went exceptionally well at the outset.
Doc thought of the tidy bonus Broadrick had tucked into his pocket
after their meeting the night before. All he had to do was this
simple thing, then make sure Miss Jones caught the eastbound train
in the next few days. When she was able. No use rushing it. Poor
young thing was upset. Understandable. These things happen, though.
“We’re men of the world, Doc. These things happen,” was what Mr.
Broadrick had said. “I’m depending on your discretion. Here’s some
traveling money for the young lady, and a little bonus for
yourself.”

The doctor was putting his instruments back
in his bag while Mrs. Jacobs tidied up the unconscious girl.

“Doc, there’s something wrong!”

He rushed back to the bed where Mrs. Jacobs
was trying to staunch the flow of blood. Too much blood and too
fast. Together they tried to stop it. The rags and papers were
saturated, and then the sheets. It only took a few moments before
they both knew their efforts had failed.

“Oh dear lord, what are we going to do?”
said Mrs. Jacobs. “What are we going to tell Mr. Broadrick?”

“Nothing. We can’t tell him anything, Mrs.
Jacobs. If this got out, if the newspapers found out, it would ruin
him,” he said. “Think of the scandal right after he opened the new
theater. Broadrick would make sure we suffered for messing this up.
You can be sure of that. He would take the high road and blame it
all on us. We’d go to jail. Or worse. No, we can’t say anything
about this. Not to anyone.”

“Then, what about ...”

“How much time do we have before your
boarders return from work?” he said.

Mrs. Jacobs went out to the garden shed for
a shovel and an old pick ax. Together she and Doc carried the body
downstairs, through the kitchen and from there down a dark flight
of wooden steps to the cellar. They spelled each other off digging
a hole the shape of a well in the earthen floor. It took them most
of the afternoon to dig it deep enough to contain the body and
bloodied rags, papers, and sheets - any sign of what had happened.
Mrs. Jacobs was weeping the whole time but as long as she kept
digging Doc left her to it. When it was deep enough they stuffed
the body in the bottom and threw everything else in on top of it,
then filled the hole. No one was likely to go into the cellar
except Mrs. Jacobs but to be on the safe side they slid some wooden
apple boxes and canning supplies over the scar in the floor.

Six months later a Pinkerton detective
arrived in Seattle looking for Tess Jones. Her mother had Mr.
Broadrick’s letter assuring her Tess had left for home after her
singing engagement. Broadrick proclaimed ignorance of why Tess had
not arrived there. Still, Mrs. Jones knew enough about the world
not to trust the word of a fast-talking, slick gent like him. The
detective was her last, best hope of discovering the truth of what
happened to her daughter. The detective was thorough. He
interviewed Broadrick and the landlady of the boarding house where
the Jones girl had been staying. Their stories seemed convincing
enough, that Tess had packed her things and left in a cab, they
assumed to Union Station. He checked with the stationmaster. There
was no record of her there. So he checked the steamship companies
along the waterfront.

On the third try he found a booking for Miss
Jones on the steamship Priscilla bound for San Francisco departing
three days after Jones’ last performance. She had boarded, as
verified by two of the crew who remembered her. Yes, they agreed,
she was wearing a veiled hat and long coat, which matched the
description Mrs. Jones gave him of her daughter’s traveling
costume. The woman they saw was weeping and holding a handkerchief
to her face through the entire boarding process. But no one
remembered her at the San Francisco end. No sign of Tess Jones was
ever unearthed in San Francisco or anywhere else.