Chapter 15 Abby

15

ABBY

“The simplest explanation,” Euphemia said the next morning, “is that Faith was paid to perform demonstrations in Mesmerism, or some other unspeakable tasks, and somebody cheated her.”

Abby sat at her desk in the office, her fingers at her temples. Faith’s money lay in front of her. The gold bullion, coins adding up to seventy-two dollars, was real—that they’d established. You couldn’t counterfeit gold.

The greenbacks were the problem. They were all five-dollar notes, totaling fifty dollars. Or they would have been worth fifty dollars if they weren’t phony. When Euphemia had tried to spend them the day of the picnic, the grocer had refused the payment—wouldn’t take “green goods,” as he put it—and Euphemia had had to pay him from her own pocket. She’d then tried the banknotes at her local branch, where the teller examined them closely, declared them counterfeit.

“The Bank of Mishawaka uses brown ink on their seal, not blue,” Euphemia had explained, turning them over so that Abby could see. “Besides that, the serial numbers on all these bills are the same. Someone used a stamp.”

Abby had felt a sort of release upon learning she couldn’t spend Faith’s money. A chance to atone for her lies and tell Euphemia the truth: that it hadn’t been a donation at all, not unless they considered this Faith’s donation to the home. Faith hadn’t asked for any of it back, after all; she’d seemed glad to be rid of it.

“Someone out there wants to get his hands on this money,” Abby told Euphemia now. “That man told Tuva that Faith had stolen from him.” And there’d been the bruises at Faith’s throat.

Abby felt like tearing the paper to shreds, although that wouldn’t have helped them find answers. She glared at the clumsily copied serial numbers, the smudged face of James Garfield. The wrong-color ink! How cavalier, how stupid. It filled her with rage that hucksters had fooled her, had swindled Faith, and now, very likely, were trying to track the girl down.

“We’ll have to place another grocery order for Thanksgiving. Donors are coming. Will we have the money for it, Abby?”

“We have enough.” Abby began to pace, back and forth across the simple rug, a braided oval donated by a former inmate. “Something about that gold, in conjunction with all this useless paper—it doesn’t sit well with me, Euphemia.”

Euphemia nudged her bifocals higher on her nose. One of her husband’s textbooks lay open in her lap. “Listen to this. ‘Mesmerism, or animal magnetism, presupposes that the movements of the planets, as well as magnetically charged elements running through bodily humors, exert powerful influences on the movements of people and objects. A “Mesmerist” may refer to one attuned with these magnetic forces and instructed in their manipulation; these individuals wield great power and can present a danger to their fellow man.’?”

She removed her glasses and rubbed an eye. “There have been criminal trials, haven’t there, where men used this as their defense? ‘Someone made me do it, I was hypnotized.’ I’ve always considered it a bunch of poppycock, haven’t you?”

“Of course,” Abby replied. She was still thinking about the money. The gold and the green goods. The prince and the pauper. They’d been exchanged for each other in the story, the prince for the pauper, and vice versa. The word “exchange” was turning in her mind when May Lombard burst through the door.

“You have to come at this instant,” May said, out of breath. Her gaze fell to the gold, shining under the light of Abby’s lamp. “Pearl’s gone after Faith.”

“Gone after her?” Abby said. “What do you mean, gone after her?”

May’s eyes were still trained on the money. “She’s liable to kill her, Mrs. Mendenhall. Please, hurry.”

Now, with the office door open, they could hear shrieks coming from upstairs. “Oh dear,” Euphemia said, quickly shutting the book.

As the three of them climbed the stairs, they heard more shouting, then a thud as something fell. Beth Rhoades’s voice, and what sounded like Cook’s, spoke in low tones, as they tried to restore order. The seamstress and her apprentices were spilled into the hallway, peering down at the rooms at the end of the west wing. “Return to your work, please,” Abby told them, catching the seamstress by surprise; she blushed and tugged her girls away. As Abby and Euphemia made their way down the hall, the screaming intensified, coming from Faith and May’s room.

Cook stood in the hallway, clutching a corner of her apron to her mouth. “Oh, thank goodness, you’re here. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’ll be all right, Mrs. O’Rourke.” Abby turned to tell May to run outside and fetch the gardener, in case they needed a set of male hands, but May had disappeared. Only Euphemia stood behind her, eyes wide with worry.

Inside the room, they found Miss Rhoades holding Pearl tightly, as Pearl covered her face and cried. The white globe of a gas lamp had shattered on the floor, leaving the flame dangerously exposed on the desk, the room lit brightly, the shadows harsh. Faith cowered on the bed, one leg bent up in front of her, one hand raised as if she might be struck. Pearl let out a moan and whirled back toward Faith, poised to slap or tear at her as Miss Rhoades struggled to keep her contained. Euphemia rushed to Faith to place her own body as a shield; incredibly, Pearl still lifted her hand to strike.

“Enough!” Abby bellowed.

Pearl stopped and turned around, her eyes swollen from crying. Abby drew her breath in sharply.

One of Pearl’s eyebrows was missing. The skin above her right eye looked puckered and bloodied, plucked nearly bare.

“She put spiders in me,” Pearl said through tears. “All night, they bit me and bit me, here…” Her shaking fingers went to her missing eyebrow. “I’m deformed now. I was finally going to take the baby to meet Cooper. We had plans to see each other next week.”

“Shh, shh. Come on, dear.” Miss Rhoades shot Abby a look of alarm, then softened as she rubbed Pearl’s back. “It’ll grow back.”

“Not before I see Cooper!”

“I thought we decided seeing him wouldn’t be a good idea,” Miss Rhoades replied. “Come on, I’ll help you wash your face.”

She and Pearl left the room, the threat of violence quelled. “Close the door behind you, please,” Abby murmured to Miss Rhoades, who nodded. She bent to turn down the lamp, softening the light in the room, before going to kneel, her knees complaining on the hard floor, in front of Faith.

Euphemia had her arms around the girl, rocking her slightly, her lips pressed to Faith’s forehead. Faith had her eyes closed.

“I’m not sure what you did to her,” Abby said quietly. “But you did something.”

Faith’s expression contracted as she squeezed back tears. Her shadow loomed large on the wall behind her. She nodded.

“You’ve done it before, haven’t you?” Abby didn’t care to imagine Priscilla Black’s bloated body, hair and skin drained of color, clogging the river mill. Its missing eyebrow, the lurid detail provided by Tuva. What was it Swede Kate had said about Priscilla?

Can’t say her lot were sad to see the back of her.

Faith contemplated her own palms. The top of her hair shone in the gaslight, her straight part a strip of white. The skin on her forehead was creamy and clear, not a whisper of a wrinkle. She wasn’t much more than a child.

Abby repeated the question, more quietly this time. “It’s happened before, has it?”

A tiny movement, the chin bobbing up and down. Euphemia stopped rocking her. She looked at Abby with a mix of curiosity and dread.

“Listen,” said Abby, taking Faith’s hand, “I could call the police.” Sharp intake of breath from Faith. “But I won’t put you in their custody. We’ve long held that any slate, no matter what is written on it, may be wiped clean. Still. Some sins…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word “murder.” “Some sins are unforgivable. Is there anything you’d like to tell Mrs. Overlock and myself, anything in your defense? It will stay in this room.”

Faith cut her eyes in the direction of Pearl’s room and shook her head.

“I meant as regards Priscilla Black.”

Euphemia jolted, like a spooked cat. Her dark eyes searched Abby’s face, then Faith’s.

Faith’s posture changed, almost imperceptibly. Her shoulders crept up an inch, as though to protect her neck. Her fingertips met over the tops of her knees, quivering.

Abby waited. If only the girl would say something, anything, to explain herself. But she didn’t. Instead, Faith watched her own hands tremble, curling further and further in on herself.

Abby grasped the footboard to hoist herself up. She indicated Faith’s pillow and blanket, her hairbrush. “Gather your belongings, child. Don’t worry, you aren’t leaving the Bethany Home. Give us a moment; I’d like a word with Mrs. Overlock in the hallway.”

“Priscilla Black?” Euphemia hissed as soon as they’d shut Faith in. “Where does she come in?”

In a hushed tone, Abby explained what Tuva had told her and Miss Rhoades, about the body’s missing eyebrow. “It can’t be a coincidence, can it? The girl just confirmed as much. She as good as confessed to Black’s murder.” Abby worried her own hands together, to stay their trembling. “She must have worked there.”

“The poor girl.” Euphemia shook her head slowly, studying Faith’s door. She rubbed her upper arms against the hallway’s chill, looking very pale, her eyelids translucent and bluish, like seashells. “What do we do?” she asked Abby.

“She can’t go on living among the rest of the inmates. Poor girl or not, we simply cannot put the others in danger.”

“We don’t know for certain she’s killed anyone.”

“We know she did something wretched to Pearl. Though how she did it confounds me.” These individuals wield great power and can present a danger… Suddenly, something seemed to be crawling, on spindly legs, up the back of Abby’s neck. She swatted the base of her hair.

A gust of wind hit the building, making its joists strain, its bones creak.

“Glory be,” Euphemia muttered. “Can it be real? Mesmerism?”

“You know better than that, Euphemia.” Abby stood shorter than her friend, but her voice was louder. “We shall take her to the tower room. She’ll be safe there while we decide what to do.”

They found Faith with her face set in an expression of resolve, holding her bedding and change of clothes. Quietly, the three of them walked past the nursery; its open doors revealed a nurse bouncing a mewling baby, and, behind her, rows of soft cots with sleeping infants inside. Abby looked over her shoulder to see Faith peering at them.

The stairs to the third floor were narrower than those to the second, turning at an octagonal window inside the tower. Behind her, Abby heard Faith reach the window and pause, looking out over Bryant Avenue with a sigh.

“Same view as before,” Abby told her. “Come along.”

The tower room felt drafty, with slat flooring and a narrow bed. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all painted the same shade of pale gray. The tall window did offer a pleasant view facing east and would provide warming sunlight in the morning, and there was a lamp and a little table with a Bible inside the drawer.

Euphemia stood in the middle of the floor, still rubbing her arms. Faith set her things on the bed.

“I shall ask Miss Rhoades to bring you water, and an apple or two from the cellar,” Abby said. Her voice felt overly noisy. It echoed in the bare space. “And a rag rug. That’ll help.”

Faith sat on the bed and studied her shoes. Looking at her huddled, narrow shoulders, Abby had to remind herself that this person was likely a murderer and that this room far surpassed the comfort of a prison cell or, heaven forbid, the grip of the hangman’s noose.

“I’ll tell Cook she’ll be down another set of hands in the kitchen for a while. It’s for the best,” Abby said when Faith appeared alarmed. “Miss Rhoades will bring you supper later.”

Faith licked her lips. Then her mouth fell open and she gasped, remembering something. “May,” she said.

It was the first Abby had ever heard her speak, her voice soft, unexpected, more than a little infuriating—why hadn’t she deigned to say anything in her defense a moment ago, only to use her breath on her roommate’s name now? “We’ll tell May, don’t worry.”

But where was May? Abby opened the door and peered down toward the empty staircase. May had been the one to come and get them, and then she’d disappeared. Abby turned to say farewell to Faith and saw the girl holding Euphemia’s skirt and crying.

“May,” Faith said, shaking her head. “You must find May. Don’t let her leave.”

“What do you mean?” Euphemia asked, her face stricken.

“It’s all right, child,” Abby told her, trying to sound soothing. “We’ll make sure you have a chance to say goodbye to May before she moves on.”

Faith buried her face in her hands.

Abby could still hear her sobbing as she went out with Euphemia and closed the door behind her. For a moment, she hesitated, wondering if she should lock it. She and Euphemia stared at the keyhole. Something told Abby that Faith would not be tempted to escape.

Finally, Euphemia let out a breath. “This is one of the saddest mornings I’ve spent here. I feel used up. Need to go home and lie down.”

“Mrs. Mendenhall? Mrs. Overlock? What have you done with Faith?”

Abby looked up to see Beth Rhoades charging up the stairs, her brows pinched together in concern. Her hand went to her heart when she came closer and could hear Faith moaning: “May, May! May! May…”

“She’s in the tower room. She’ll be safe there.” Abby began walking down to the second story, Euphemia in tow. Euphemia had her fan out, wafting air at her face. “Please, bring Faith a pitcher of water and some spare linens.”

“The tower room?” Miss Rhoades followed them. “Where we put Ida Leeds when she was hearing voices? Why would you send Faith there? Bad spirits in that tower.”

“Beth.” Abby stopped, now that they were out of Faith’s earshot. “The eyebrow.”

Miss Rhoades’s eyes shifted. “I know, Mrs. Mendenhall. It’s troubling. If we could hear her side of the story…”

“But we can’t hear her side of the story, that’s the problem. That’s why I’ve decided to keep her sheltered in the tower.”

Miss Rhoades looked pained, no doubt thinking of her mute sister. But her sister had never committed homicide! How could Abby make Miss Rhoades see this her way? Everyone benefited from Faith’s isolation, even Faith herself. Abby felt comforted by the idea of her sequestered—relieved, even. The girl she’d worried over the most these last several weeks was now safely ensconced, like an insect in amber. The tower afforded privacy, and the gift of time.

The matron’s lower lip trembled. “It’s just—it’s gotten so cold. The tower…”

“The tower is perfectly comfortable.”

“In her condition?”

“Her condition isn’t something we’ve been able to verify. Perhaps there’s some truth to the rumors, and this is another ghost pregnancy.” Was this actually what Abby believed? She swallowed hard, her own words like a bitter medicine she had to force down.

“Just because you’ve gotten that wrong in the past,” Miss Rhoades said quietly, “doesn’t mean you’ve done so now.”

The words were like a slap. Abby felt her knees nearly buckle beneath her.

“Miss Rhoades,” said Euphemia curtly, “remember your station.”

“My apologies, Mrs. Mendenhall,” Miss Rhoades said, her face scarlet.

“Quite all right,” Abby said in a hurry. She thought about what Euphemia had said, about wanting to lie down. Another blast of wind hit the house, along with a peppering of freezing rain, the sound like buckshot. “Miss Rhoades, make yourself useful and find May Lombard. Let her know she can stay a little longer. We don’t need Room Sixteen sitting completely empty, now, do we?”

The matron nodded, an enthusiastic affirmative. Euphemia looked relieved. They’d be keeping May close, giving Faith what she’d asked for.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Abby said, the joints in her legs still threatening to give out, “I must retire for the afternoon.”