Chapter 18 May

18

MAY

A man followed her home from Hal’s apartment. Not Hal himself, but an older fellow, one with a slight limp. A heavyset man with sloping shoulders. While May stopped to wait for a streetcar heading south, he lingered several yards away; when she got on and headed for a seat toward the rear of the car, he boarded as well and sat near the front. She watched, her pulse fluttering in her throat, as the man looked closely at everyone who departed at each station stop. A couple of times, he turned around, his dull eyes surveying the crowd at the back of the car, possibly to make sure she was still there. She couldn’t see his features—he had a muffler wrapped around his face, protecting his nose and mouth from the cold, but her imagination tried to convince her this was the man who’d attacked her.

May closed her eyes. Some of Hal was still with her, leaking into her drawers. If only she could wash herself, once she finally returned home, scrub him from her skin, but she wasn’t due for a bath for a couple of days.

A terrifying thought soured her stomach. What if Hal truly had left a piece of himself inside her, one you couldn’t rinse away, a cretinous little copy of its father? She felt as if she’d gone to bed with a human man, only to have him peel back his skin afterward and reveal the monster that had been lurking underneath all along. She squirmed, rubbing the backs of her thighs against the seat, desperate to rid herself of any trace of him. Perhaps another of the inmates kept a ladies’ syringe, in secret—but how could she ask?

Just in time, she remembered to pull the cord for her stop. The car had emptied, with only a quarter of its passengers remaining this far down Bryant; when she stood, she saw that the rotund man still sat near the front. The streetcar lurched to a stop, and she stumbled forward, slipping on the wet floor. She was too afraid to get a good look at him as she hurried for the door. A million pins pricked the back of her neck—she was sure he had followed her—as she stumbled clumsily down the steps and onto the sidewalk, toward the looming peaks of the Bethany Home, perched on its little hill. She heard the bell clang and the streetcar pull away. When she’d reached the home’s front gate, she allowed herself to glance behind her, one hand gripping the safety of the cold wrought iron.

No one else had disembarked. She felt a bit better—until she realized that anyone watching would have seen her climbing the steps to the gate. He’d know where she lived. She took a moment to catch her breath, snowflakes landing in her eyelashes. Night had nearly overtaken the street. The lamplighters had already been through.

Her boots heavy on her feet, she climbed the porch steps and hauled open the door. The lights in the parlor were dimmed. Most of the inmates had retreated to their rooms after supper, but the lamps blazed in the parlor. Tiptoeing, she took the stairs two at a time and reached her room unnoticed.

Or so she thought. She’d just walked in to find her room strangely empty, Faith’s bed stripped and belongings gone, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. With a gasp she spun to meet a gaunt face, framed by the dim light in the corridor.

“Leigh?” She put her hand to her heart. “You scared me out of my wits. Where’s Faith?”

Leigh peeled open May’s fingers and placed a folded square of paper inside. “That’s what I came to talk to you about. Miss Rhoades just had me bring her dinner, and she gave me this note for you. They put her up in the tower room for a spell. Remember Ida?”

May felt queasy thinking of Ida, who’d been known to shout curses uncontrollably, as though possessed by a wandering spirit. “Of course I do,” she snapped. “Why’d they send Faith there? Because of Pearl?”

“I reckon so.” Leigh gave herself a little hug, peering at Faith’s empty bed. “Seems harsh, doesn’t it? Pearl’ll survive.”

May pressed her knuckles to her breastbone, trying to quell her beating heart. “Yes, I suppose she will.”

“Some of us can’t help but feel Pearl got what was coming to her.” There was something else in Leigh’s words, something she wasn’t saying outright. It almost felt like an apology.

Still, May wished Leigh would leave, but she seemed to be waiting for May to read the note. May turned her back and scanned it quickly. Her throat tightened. Faith had offered her the very money May had just given to Hal.

Haward, as she called him, was no good .

How did she know? What had she to do with Hal? What had he done to her?

May would have to think before she went to see Faith. Perhaps it was good they’d put her in the tower; she’d be safe there, and May could avoid her questions.

She crumpled the note into the tightest ball it could form. “You didn’t read it, did you?”

“I’m no sneak. Why, what’d it say?”

“Nothing.” May went to the wastebasket and stuffed the paper to the bottom, as Leigh watched. “She said to tell Pearl she’s sorry.”

—

For the next two days, May busied herself in preparation for Thanksgiving dinner, grateful for the distraction from her murky thoughts about Hal and Faith. Nobody seemed to notice that the money had gone missing, and no one mentioned May’s impending departure, not even Mrs. Mendenhall, who fretted about, looking grayish and wearier than usual.

The dinner, Cook told the kitchen crew, would be simpler than in previous years, what with the financial panic and the need to tighten their belts. The board members would not skimp on the turkey, because it was a nod to the pilgrims. Besides that, they’d serve oyster fritters with cranberry sauce, chestnut stuffing, celery salad dressed in mayonnaise, and mince pies with brandy butter, the children’s favorite. Only the donors and board would get mock-turtle soup, specially prepared by Cook, and the girls would have pumpkin pudding. The guests would be served in the first-floor drawing room, the inmates and children down in the cellar, as usual. Both were to be decorated with boughs of grass and red leaves, potted chrysanthemums from the Mendenhalls’ greenhouses, and garlands of dried apples and cranberries.

Wednesday afternoon, May sat in the parlor with some kitchen girls, Dolly and a few new arrivals, stringing dried cranberries with a needle and thread. The newer ones were all visibly pregnant, their stomachs bloated, their bosoms pressed high to their necklines. May tried not to stare at them, or at Dolly, who gave off a sweet, milky smell.

May sat apart from the rest, who whispered and snickered together. She felt her face turn the color of the cranberries she worked onto the string. How did a crop of new arrivals already consider her untouchable? She wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her hand and then caught a strange sound, a sort of moaning, coming from upstairs.

She stiffened. One of the new inmates, a girl called Carmen, looked up.

“That’s a strong wind,” she commented, as the house creaked and shifted.

“It isn’t the wind,” Dolly muttered. “It’s her.”

“Who?” Carmen replied. “The one in the tower?”

Their needles all stopped working for a moment as they looked to May, the ghost girl’s roommate. She could hear tendrils of wind whipping at the western side of the building, but beneath that, there was something else: a woman keening, the instrument of her grief plucking out a single note, over and over again: “May, May, May.”

“It’s nothing,” May said quickly and loudly. “Just the wind.” They blinked at her. “She doesn’t speak, remember?”

“That’s a lie,” Dolly said. “I’ve seen her speak to you.”

May gathered up her half-finished garland and trounced to the cellar steps, making as much noise as she could. “Cook said she needed more hands shucking oysters,” she called, by way of explanation. The others just stared at her.

The stairs groaned and creaked as she made her way to the kitchen. By the time she reached the bottom, she’d convinced herself she hadn’t heard Faith at all. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Cook said when she came in. Her stout forearms were coated in flour. “I’ve a can of eggshells and apple peels that need to go out before they set to stinking—would you mind?”

“Not at all,” May said, glad for a reason to step outside. She slipped her feet into a pair of loose, well-worn boots beside the back door and hauled the galvanized metal can up the back steps. She remembered with a lurch that Faith and Tuva used to sit out here, not so long ago.

The ground was icy, the walk to the larger trash bins coated with slush, and she had an eye on her boots, her tongue poking from the side of her mouth in her concentration, when she heard someone call her name.

“Well, there you are, Miss Lombard.”

Her eyes shot up. Standing beside the back fence, near the garbage bins, were Hal and Johnny Lundberg.

She set down the can and stared at them. The wind whipped through her thin calico sleeves, pressing the fabric to the skin of her arms.

“What in…” She swallowed. “How’d you know where to find me?”

Both men offered her a smile in response. Johnny’s appeared sincere, Hal’s more simpering. They looked infinitely warmer than she felt, both in top hats and thick wool overcoats, Johnny’s with a shearling collar. Snow crunching under their winter boots, they took a few steps forward. When she flinched, Hal held up both hands, the fingers of his white kid gloves spread wide to show he meant no harm, as though he were approaching a deer.

“Don’t murder me, but I had you followed,” he said. “I know, I could have just asked where you live, but I wasn’t sure I’d get the answer. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, my darling; plenty of fine girls come through here. We’ve known some.”

“You…” May began breathing very quickly, her lungs a set of bellows. “You had me followed.” She hadn’t been imagining it, on the streetcar. She didn’t belong in the loony bin. She wanted to grasp the cold metal lid of the garbage can and use it to smash his face.

Hal stood right in front of her now, close enough for her to see his pale eyes reflect the flat white clouds overhead. “I’d grown impatient, you see, having to wait to see you at church. May, darling, you look well!”

Her hand went to her cheek, surely ruddy from the cold, and smoothed her hair in its plain knot. She could have kicked herself for caring what she looked like to Hal.

“Also, I wanted to give you this.” He reached into his jacket, inside the overcoat, and pulled out a long, thin ticket, which he laid in her bare hand. He grinned, his eyes twinkling. “An early Christmas present, darling. We’re going to the theater next week.”

“Pence Opera House,” May murmured, reading the scrolly words aloud. “A special evening performance of A Trip to Chinatown. ”

“You can tell your friends it’s no cheap seat,” Hal said. “Go ahead and boast: your man Hayward’s taking you out to a fine evening. You see, May? I’m not ashamed of you, no matter where you live.”

May thought of the girls inside who wouldn’t speak to her or even glance at her, of the look that would pass over Pearl’s face when May sauntered out to the opera. Then she peered up at Hal, his handsome face framed by the silk brim of his hat. He was beaming, absolutely elated with himself, believing, as he did, that he could tell her he’d beaten a man to death and had her followed and that she’d still drop everything for the chance to take his arm.

“No,” she replied.

Hal’s mustache dropped an inch. “Excuse me?”

“No, thank you.” She handed him back the ticket, then gently nudged him aside so that she could haul the trash to the bins. If her father could see her now, she hoped he’d be proud. “Why don’t you take Kitty Ging instead?”

Hal seemed enraged to hear Kitty’s name. He thundered after May, the snow crunching under his boots, while her blood pounded so mercilessly in her temples that she almost couldn’t see. “What an ungrateful bitch you turned out to be, May Lombard, or Susannah Green, or whatever the hell your name is. I take you out to eat, I give you a ruby ring, I book you prime seats at the opera, and how do you repay me?”

May’s teeth were set on edge. She tried to do her job and dump the contents of the can into the bin, but only succeeded in dropping slimy eggshells into the snow as Hal yelled in her face, spraying her with spittle. Johnny threw an arm in front of Hal, whispering for his friend to back down, go easy.

Hal shrugged Johnny off and straightened his sleeves, his collar. “You’re making a grave mistake, May. Who are you without Harry T. Hayward?”

May’s neck went hot. He was right, she was nothing without him, she had nowhere to go after this, and no friends. But maybe she’d be less than nothing with him. She’d taken a big gulp of air, trying to steady her heart before she replied, when Johnny cleared his throat.

“Forget the opera,” he said in a low voice. “What I need is to see Margie. I know she’s hiding out here.”

“Margie?” May searched the corners of her mind. She wanted them to leave so vehemently, she might have told Johnny anything he wanted. “There are no Margies here.”

“I think you know her. Dark hair, freckled, doesn’t say much?”

A lead weight dropped in May’s stomach. She hesitated a beat too long, shook her head.

“So you do know her,” Hal said, smiling, his pale eyes locked on hers.

“Please, May,” said Johnny, who reached for her wrist and clamped down with more force than she’d expected. “Margie’s in serious trouble. I only want to help.”

“I told you,” May said, trying to shake his grip. “I don’t know a Margie.”

“I see what’s happened here.” Hal took a step forward. “She’s got you under one of her spells, doesn’t she?”

May shook her head, hard. Johnny tightened his fingers on her arm, twisting the skin the way her cousin used to. “Indian burn,” he’d shout when she cried out in pain.

“May.” Hal had come close enough to touch her cheek again. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He bent down so that his lips touched her ear, his mustache tickling the lobe. “I taught her everything she knows.”

May’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. Faith really had known him. Before her eyes, May could see Faith’s childlike handwriting: No good, no good, no good.

He pulled back, but he was still holding her right arm, and Johnny had a grip on her left. Hal wore a satisfied expression on his face, smiling down smugly at her. He brushed a stray hair out of her face. “Now I know you’ll bring her to me. You’re a good girl, May, and you’ll bring her to me. She’s in danger, Margie. She’s done something very bad. Only we can help her.”

Hal’s eyes were the exact same color as the sky. May had never noticed that before. It was as if he had two holes bored into his face, and she was looking straight through to the clouds beyond. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. She was so tired.

A warning bell sounded somewhere far away, deep in the recesses of her soul, but she couldn’t heed it.

“You’ll bring the girl to me, May. I know you will. You know you will.”

The back of her scalp tingled at the sound of his voice, followed by a rush of gooseflesh trickling down her spine and the backs of her arms. She found that she was nodding.

The back door of the home banged open, and rapidly both men let go of her. May staggered backward. Through her blurred vision, she watched a sturdy figure dressed in black step outside.

“Mr. Lundberg.” Mrs. Mendenhall, her voice like a cool glass of water. “Mr. Hayward?”

The men transformed, brushed off their coats. May’s jaw dropped an inch upon hearing their names in Mrs. Mendenhall’s mouth. Her presence, nevertheless, would be May’s salvation. Johnny turned to tip his hat. Hal tugged at his collar, gave May a final sinister glare, then swung his wide shoulders toward the house, smiling.

“Mrs. Mendenhall,” he cooed. “Season’s greetings to you.”

“It’s not Christmas yet,” Mrs. Mendenhall retorted, eyeing them warily. Heart pounding, skin still flecked with gooseflesh, May snatched up the metal trash bin lying on its side, and its lid, then ran down the cellar steps to stand behind Mrs. Mendenhall.

“What can I do for you?” Mrs. Mendenhall called. “I hope you aren’t still after that tour.”

Tour? May trembled uncontrollably. Now that she stood closer to Mrs. Mendenhall, she could hear a slight tremor in the older woman’s voice; she, too, was nervous. Her bony hand shook a little as it gripped the iron stair rail.

“Oh, no,” Hal replied smoothly. “We were simply in the neighborhood and thought we’d see if our money’s been put to good use.” He pointed up. “You’ve swifts nesting in the eaves. Wouldn’t want them to cause any damage.”

“Thank you. I’ll have my husband, or the gardener, take a look. They’re here all the time. Good day, gentlemen.” Mrs. Mendenhall turned abruptly, shooing May inside, and both hurried into the kitchen. Cook and Leigh had gone silent as they watched Mrs. Mendenhall lock the door, their work momentarily forgotten.

“What did those men say to you?” Mrs. Mendenhall asked May. Wires of her white hair spewed from her cap, and a web of pink capillaries stood out in her wan cheeks. “I don’t like them nosing about.”

“They said…” May’s head spun. She wanted to tell Mrs. Mendenhall that Faith might be in trouble, but something stopped her.

It wasn’t real—Mesmerism—it couldn’t be. Yet she felt as if Hal had tied strings to her limbs, to her tongue. A stream of lies snaked from her mouth as though they’d been charmed by a flute.

“They said they left something here, last time they visited.” May’s mouth felt dry. Now Mrs. Mendenhall might tell her why she’d encountered Hal and Lundberg before.

Mrs. Mendenhall’s rheumy eyes narrowed. “Their donations. Perhaps they meant to retrieve them, now Pratt’s been elected. Those serpents.” She blinked at May, as though she’d forgotten May was here. “That’ll be all, Miss Lombard; hurry along.”

May turned and bolted back up the cellar steps, her face on fire.