Читать книгу The Reluctant Bridegroom - Shannon Farrington - Страница 12
ОглавлениеHenry could not sleep that night. His conscience would not allow it. As he stared long and hard at the ceiling, the visit with Miss Van der Geld replayed over again in his mind. He had spent more time talking with her in one hour today than in all the years he had sat across the aisle from her in church.
She was quite a combination, a mixture of timidity, presumptiveness, austerity and elegance. Her dark blue eyes and the set of her mouth reflected suspicion, but they were also capable of displaying interest and affection. He had seen the latter when she’d spoken to Kathleen. She was taken with the child at once. For that, shouldn’t I be grateful?
When his own father had learned of the proposal, he’d said he was proud. “You are finally using every advantage to further your own well-being. You won’t regret it.”
Won’t I? He already did. Henry was intrigued by his betrothed, but he was not in love with her.
Wrestling with the bedsheets, he rolled to his side. If I had any honor, I would tell her the truth. Then I’d march down to the provost marshal’s office and tell Detective Smith what I know concerning John Wilkes Booth.
But his father’s warning echoed in his ears. “This nation won’t rest until every last person connected to Lincoln’s death, no matter how trivial the role, is brought to justice.”
He remembered Van der Geld’s words, as well, the ones that had ultimately caused him to shake the man’s hand. “They will suffer for their actions... ‘Arrest them as traitors, try them as traitors, hang them as traitors!’”
Henry’s guilt consumed him. I am hiding behind an innocent young woman, using her name to protect my own. I have become the very thing I swore I’d never become. I am no longer a public servant. I am a self-serving politician, just like my father.
Kathleen’s cry pulled him from his bed. Snatching his dressing robe, Henry hurried to the child’s room. Hannah and Sadie were already there. Hannah was cradling a now whimpering Kathleen, while Sadie rocked and cooed her startled infant sister.
The young maid looked as spent as Henry felt. Going to her, he took charge of the baby.
“I’ll go warm some milk for them both,” she said.
“Thank you, Sadie.”
It took only an hour or so to settle the children back to sleep, but you’d have thought the ordeal much more lengthy for the way they slept come morning. Though it was Resurrection Sunday, and Henry had hoped to take them both to church, he decided to let the children remain abed. Sadie, still sleepy herself, volunteered to keep watch over them.
Henry wasn’t the only one operating in mind-numbing confusion that morning. Although it was supposed to be the most joyous day of the Christian calendar, the mood of the service was somber. Men whispered newspaper details of Lincoln’s murder among themselves. Even women, who typically paraded new bonnets and laces this day, remained in black.
When the preaching began, Reverend Perry did his best to remind everyone that Christ had risen and because of that, one need no longer fear the grave. It wasn’t the grave that Henry feared. It was the path leading up to it. He believed because of Christ’s sacrifice his eternity was secure, but for some reason he couldn’t quite believe that same sacrifice capable of giving him protection, or provision for his nieces, this side of Heaven.
He prayed for forgiveness, for a cleansing of guilt, yet even amid his pleas his mind kept wandering. Here I sit like a pious worshiper, while the US Army combs the countryside for John Wilkes Booth and the rest of his accomplices. Where will the investigation lead?
The members of the Branson Boarding House were still detained. Henry was certain the army was giving the house quite a going over, looking for leads to other potential suspects. He hoped they would not find the calling card he had left there.
And if they do?
Loyalists everywhere were calling for swift execution of all those implicated in the president’s assassination. Is my own future to consist of a military tribunal and a hangman’s noose?
He glanced across the aisle. His soon-to-be father-in-law sat attentively in his pew, looking very much the self-proclaimed guardian of all that was noble and right. If Henry’s indiscretion became public knowledge, would the man be willing to overlook such in his son-in-law, or would he seek justice, as well?
The service now ending, Henry stood for the closing hymn. Once more he glanced across the aisle, this time looking at Miss Van der Geld. Her black bonnet, however, hid her face from view.
When her family filed out of their pew, Theodore Van der Geld stopped to inquire of Henry and his father. Miss Van der Geld stood silently at the end of the family line.
“Are you gentlemen attending the veterans’ ceremony tomorrow?” Van der Geld asked. It was to honor those returning from the war.
“I won’t,” Harold Nash said quickly, “but my son will.”
Henry had already agreed to be the city council’s representative at the event last week, but he had the impression that even if he hadn’t been committed to going, his father would have wanted him there anyway.
It isn’t a campaign stop, he thought, but he wouldn’t argue the point here in the house of God.
Van der Geld looked pleased. “Rebekah will be there, as well,” he said.
“Is that so?” Henry replied, gauging her response. There was that suspicious look again. Was it directed at her father or him?
Has she planned to attend the ceremony, or has she been told to do so? Was she told to accept me, as well?
He did not have time to ponder the thought further. Van der Geld closed the conversation and led his family away.
The following morning, Henry’s fiancée was standing on the platform alongside her other family members while her father, Mayor Chapman and a representative from the provost marshal’s office made their respective speeches to those on hand. Henry watched her from his position in the crowd.
He had brought Kathleen and Grace with him, wanting to give Hannah and Sadie a much-needed break and hoping the fresh air would do the children some good. Grace thankfully slept in his arms. Kathleen, recognizing Miss Van der Geld, tugged on Henry’s sack coat. “The lady,” she said.
He nodded but said nothing more. As speeches honoring fallen Union soldiers continued, Miss Van der Geld herself spied the children. The somber set of her jaw melted to an attractive smile. When she was freed from her position on the platform, she and several other women circulated the crowd. They presented the veterans’ female relatives and sweethearts with fresh flowers, a token of gratitude, an acknowledgment of the sacrifices they had made while the men had been away at war.
Their paths soon crossed. Grace, now awake, wiggled fitfully in Henry’s arms. Unable to lift his hat properly, he bid Miss Van der Geld good day.
She nodded formally to him but eyed Grace with a look of fondness. Then she smiled again at Kathleen. “She is just as pretty as her big sister.”
Kathleen offered the barest hint of a smile. “Pretty flowers,” she then said, having noticed the bouquet of jonquils in Miss Van der Geld’s arms.
A look of uncertainty darkened the woman’s face for the briefest of moments as she stole a glance in her father’s direction. He was still on the platform, speaking privately with those gathered around him. Turning back to Kathleen, Miss Van der Geld’s smile returned.
“These flowers are for ladies whose fathers or brothers or sons served in the army.”
Kathleen’s eyes immediately widened. “My daddy was in the army!”
“Yes, I know,” Miss Van der Geld said as she presented Kathleen with a jonquil. “And here is another for your sister. Since she is so little, will you take care of it for her?”
Kathleen nodded solemnly as if she considered the act a sacred duty. Henry was touched. His niece, thrusting one hand into the crook of his elbow, pulled the flowers close with the other and sniffed.
“You are very kind,” he said to Miss Van der Geld.
She lowered her eyes as if she were uncomfortable with the compliment. “It was only right,” she said.
Movement behind her caught his attention. Her father had exited the platform and was now shaking hands with the veterans. A few feet behind him was a man in a charcoal-colored greatcoat. Henry recognized that flat nose and pensive glare from anywhere. It was Detective Smith.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up, for the man was maneuvering through the mass of former Union soldiers, coming in Henry’s direction.
“...today, as well.”
He realized then Miss Van der Geld had said something else to him. Shifting Grace from one arm to the other, he tried to refocus. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
She offered him a shy smile, innocent and pretty. “I said, they should be honoring you today, as well.”
Henry was again touched. Rebekah Van der Geld was a lovely Christian woman, one who deserves the truth. Once more the call to confession rang through him, but he quickly squelched it. He told himself that in this moment, the truth would do more harm than good. Detective Smith was drawing closer.
Henry forced himself to look only at Miss Van der Geld. “Again, you are very kind,” he said.
“It saddens me, though, to think our soldiers’ homecomings are held under such dreadful circumstances.”
“Circumstances?”
“The president...”
That rock lodged again in his throat. “Ah, yes...”
Her father then approached. The moment he noticed Kathleen’s flowers, he frowned. Thankfully Henry’s niece was oblivious to the fact. Still captivated by the jonquils, she was humming to herself. It was the first time he had heard her do so. Henry wanted to take pleasure in this, but the situation would not allow him to do so. Detective Smith had stepped from his field of vision. Henry couldn’t locate him anywhere. Would the state delegate’s arrival be enough to keep the detective from approaching Henry and his nieces?
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Councilman Nash,” Van der Geld said, his face now reflecting an expression of cordiality. “I know you will be attending President Lincoln’s funeral procession. Will your father attend, as well, or will he be returning to Annapolis?”
“We will both attend,” Henry said. “Like you, my father is waiting until after the procession to depart.”
Pleased, Van der Geld nodded and smiled. “I hope your father and I may have a chance to speak with one another. Thousands are likely to attend the president’s viewing.”
Henry couldn’t help but notice the look on Miss Van der Geld’s face just then. Had she, like him, picked up on the unspoken meaning of her father’s words? Thousands were likely to attend the president’s viewing. Thousands of potential voters. Van der Geld wanted the public to see he was making nice with his chief rival.
That’s the only reason he has any interest in me or my father, Henry thought.
Van der Geld was apparently eager to finish his rounds. “Come, Rebekah,” he said. “I’m certain Councilman Nash has other matters to attend to. We mustn’t keep him.”
She nodded respectfully, then bid Henry and the children farewell.
Henry couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her. It was becoming obvious to him that she had been groomed to be a sturdy, silent wife, one who would never even think of causing inconvenience to the man to whom she was bound or to the father who had arranged it. He despised himself for being part of such a plot. How can I continue to go along with this?
But he already knew the answer. There was an eight-week-old baby girl in his arms. Her four-year-old sister was standing beside him, and Detective Smith was still somewhere in the crowd.
* * *
Lincoln’s funeral train arrived in Baltimore on Wednesday morning. The weather matched the somber occasion. A cold rain poured down, yet, just as Theodore Van der Geld had predicted, thousands turned out to view the elaborate procession. The president’s coffin was removed from the train at Camden Station, placed in a rosewood hearse, then pulled by four horses through the city. Nearly every person who held a position of authority in Baltimore—military, political or clerical—followed the remains.
Henry and his fellow council members were no exception. They were placed just behind Governor Bradford and then the aspiring governor, Theodore Van der Geld. Henry drove alone in his carriage. The children were at home with Hannah and Sadie, while Harold and Miss Van der Geld were to meet him at the Merchant’s Exchange Building. It was there that the late president’s body would be available for public view.
It took nearly three hours to cover the short distance. Lining the cobblestone streets were grief-stricken faces. Sprinkled among them were those wearing various expressions of anger. Many were armless or legless Union veterans looking as though they would gladly sacrifice what remained of their bodies in order to capture those responsible for the death of their beloved commander-in-chief.
Henry shifted uncomfortably on the bench seat. He believed Booth and those complicit in his crime should be punished, but those who had nothing to do with the horrible deed should not be caught in the wake.
Yet am I not doing the very same to Miss Van der Geld? Sentencing her to a life of unhappiness, bound to a man who does not really love her?
Guilt surged through him and he decided right then and there to figure out some other way of protecting himself and his sister’s children. To avoid embarrassing Miss Van der Geld, he would go through the charade her father expected at the Merchant’s Exchange. He would not cause a scene, but before the day was through, he would end this matter once and for all.
I’ll speak with Miss Van der Geld before I speak with her father. I’ll tell her that it isn’t right for me to expect her to become mother to my sister’s children and that it appears to me that she may not have been given full choice. I will free her and face whatever consequences come.
His carriage crept forward. At the turn to Caroline Street, Henry spied that familiar charcoal greatcoat. His heart skipped a beat when he realized Detective Smith was waving him down.
God help me, he prayed as Smith commandeered the seat beside him.
“Dreadful rain,” the man mumbled crossly.
“Have you been standing in it long?”
“You could say that.”
A chill ran down Henry’s spine, but it had little to do with the cold downpour. Smith’s answer was vague. He knew exactly why. The detective had been working the funeral route.
“I appreciate you giving me a lift,” Smith said.
I didn’t, Henry thought. You stopped me. “Are you going to the Exchange?”
“Perhaps.”
Neither man said anything more for several moments. Rain continued its thunderous barrage while the president’s body continued its journey. Out of the corner of his eye, Henry could see Smith scouring the crowd.
He’s still working, he thought.
Henry knew he needed to acknowledge the fact that Smith had attempted to pay him a call. If he didn’t, it would bring further suspicion upon him. Swallowing hard, he hoped his voice remained steady.
“I understand you wished to see me the other day,” he said. “I apologize for not being at home. I had—”
“—business with the city council. Yes. I know.”
Henry swallowed once more. What else do you know? “Was there something particular you wished to see me about?”
“Not now,” Smith said.
Not now?
As the carriage continued its plodding pace, Henry could feel the man’s eyes upon him. The regimental band was playing a funeral dirge. Henry felt as though it was being played not for Lincoln but for himself.
The last thing Henry wanted to discuss was the manhunt for Booth, but he realized any normal, loyal man would be curious about the investigation.
“Are you looking for him?” Henry asked. He did not need to elaborate. Smith would know exactly to whom he was referring. “Do you think he’s here in Baltimore?”
“He was here,” Smith said, now eyeing the crowd. “That I do know. Just hours before the assassination, trying to recruit more conspirators.”
Henry’s grip on the reins tightened. His horse threw back its long golden mane in protest.
Smith turned from the crowd and looked directly at him once more. “But why should that be any business of yours right now, Mr. Councilman?” he said, voice devoid of any expression, any way to read his mood. “Haven’t you other matters on your mind?”
“Have I?”
“Taking a bride? I should say so.”
In spite of turn in the conversation, Henry felt no relief. “How did you know of that?” he asked. “We’ve yet to announce the engagement publicly.”
“I make it my business to know such things,” Smith said, and he gestured toward an upcoming lamppost. “Let me off here.”
Henry slowed to do so, and without further word, the detective disappeared into crowd. The man’s words haunted him. “I make it my business to know such things.”
Henry couldn’t help but wonder just what else Detective Smith had uncovered.
He obviously suspects something. But what Henry couldn’t figure out was why the detective didn’t simply ask him what he wanted to know. Is he waiting to see where else I might lead him?
He told himself Smith would get nothing. He was no conspirator. He hadn’t done anything wrong, at least not as far as it pertained to President Lincoln.
* * *
Rebekah stood silently in the place reserved for dignitaries and family members as President Lincoln’s coffin was carried inside. A great sadness welled up inside her. She had never met the president, although she had always wanted to do so. Her younger brothers Teddy and Gilbert had been given the privilege once, when their father had traveled to Washington on business.
Rebekah had asked to go, as well, but her request had been denied.
“Politics is no place for you,” her father had said, but what he’d meant was, it was no place for her unless it served his purpose. If he needed a lady to hand out flowers or nurse wounded soldiers so his family could be known for assisting the war effort, then she was called upon.
Otherwise I am expected to keep out of the way. Be seen but not heard, she thought.
The president’s coffin was opened. The mourners began to file past, first the generals and military commanders and Governor Bradford, then her father and the rest of the state legislature. Each displayed a stone-like, somber face of dignity.
How ironic, she couldn’t help but think. Some of those same men had despised the president. Have they undergone a change of heart or are they simply seizing an opportunity to be present in front of voters?
Rebekah then spied Councilman Nash. He had not voted for the late president, either, but the look in his eyes and the set of his mouth revealed he was clearly troubled by his death. He passed Lincoln’s casket respectfully, then came to where her mother, her brothers and now her father stood. He greeted them formally, but with the same heartfelt expression still on his face.
She studied him. He was taller than her father, with a strong build. While she still would not call him handsome, there was something winsome about his face, something honest, tender.
He certainly cares for his two young charges, and he is kind to the servants employed in his household. The question, however, begged to be asked. But is that simply what he wants me to think?
Rebekah wanted to believe him a good, caring man, one who would always treat her and the children in his care with kindness, but she knew firsthand how deceiving appearances could be. Once more her promise to herself came back to her.
I will not give him my heart. I will share it with the children, but I will not allow him the opportunity to wound me.
The councilman approached. “It is a black day,” he said.
“It is indeed.” After a moment of awkward silence, she then asked. “How are the children?”
“Well, thank you. Or, rather, as well as they can be, given what they have just gone through.”
She nodded in agreement. At least he is attuned enough to realize such. Little Grace had looked so fragile, so restless when she’d seen her. Even a baby knows when something isn’t right, and as for Kathleen, what emotions lie behind those vivid blue eyes? Does she know the circumstances surrounding her parents’ deaths? Was she present in the house during her sister’s birth? Rebekah sighed. For all her upcoming marriage would be lacking in love between herself and her husband, she hoped she’d be able to bring a measure of peace, of happiness to the children.
Councilman Nash claimed the place beside her and offered his arm. Rebekah hesitated to take it at first, but knowing that her father was watching, she did so. She then returned her attention to those coming to pay their last respects.
State Delegate Nash entered the room. After making his way past the casket, he came to where Rebekah’s father stood. The bitter rivals shook hands, exchanged words, then stood shoulder to shoulder so the rest of the room could witness their unity.
Sickened by what she considered a display of political grandstanding, Rebekah chanced a glance at the man beside her. Their eyes met only briefly, but he looked exactly as she felt.
He, too, knows what it is like to be the child of an ambitious man, she thought.
The councilman turned his attention back to the queue of mourners. So did she. The heartbroken public was now filing past the slain leader.
The hour passed in strained silence. Then the president’s body was prepared for the northbound train. Citizens who had not made it inside in time for the viewing, or those who simply wished to continue the pilgrimage, would follow the horse-drawn hearse to Northern Central Station. Lincoln would lie in state in Harrisburg, Philadelphia, and a host of other stops before reaching his final resting place in Springfield, Illinois.
“Are you going to the train station?” her fiancé asked her.
She’d been told by her father that she was to go only if Councilman Nash did so. “Are you?” she asked.
“No.”
“I see,” she said. “Neither am I.”
Both her father and his were remaining, as well, evidently to make certain the lingering citizens had opportunity to speak with their state representatives if they so chose. To Rebekah’s surprise, many did. They came expressing their appreciation that in a time of national tragedy, the two rivals could put aside their differences for the good of the nation.
When the news began to circulate of their engagement, the councilman suddenly looked very uncomfortable. The news held no joy for her, but he had instigated this event. Why, then, was his jaw so tight? Why was he tugging at his tie?
“Are you unwell?” she asked.
“This day should be about President Lincoln,” he muttered.
“Indeed.”
He looked as if he were about to offer something more but hadn’t the opportunity. Rebekah’s friend Elizabeth Wainwright and her husband, David, came then to greet them.
Apparently the councilman was well acquainted with the couple, who both worked at a local newspaper—Elizabeth as a sketch artist and David as a journalist. He asked them about their recent time spent in Washington.
“We were there to cover General Grant’s return from the war and Lincoln’s celebratory speeches,” David said. “We had no idea we’d be witnesses to his assassination.”
Rebekah gasped. “You were at Ford’s Theatre?”
Elizabeth nodded grimly. “We were seated in the second row. John Wilkes Booth landed on the stage right in front of us.”
Rebekah felt her fiancé’s arm tense. She wondered if he was imagining the horrific scene just as she was. “To come that close to such an evil man...” she said to her friends. “What did you do?”
Elizabeth exchanged a sad glance with her husband. “At first I thought it was part of the play,” she said. “I had never seen Our American Cousin performed before.”
“But I had,” David said, “and I couldn’t figure out why they had added gunfire and an additional character to the scene. I recognized Booth right away. I had seen him act.”
“I could tell he had injured himself leaping from the presidential box,” Elizabeth said. “He limped as he ran from the stage, but I still didn’t recognize what had actually happened until someone shouted that the president had been shot.”
“We realized then,” David said, “that we were no longer witnessing a theatrical production, but an act of murder.”
Rebekah drew in a shallow breath. She thought of her time spent serving as an army nurse. She’d seen the cruel damage a bullet could do to many a soldier, but she’d never witnessed a shooting actually take place. Cold chills ran down her spine. “What did you do?” she asked.
David told her how panic had erupted, and described the devastating scene that followed when the president was carried away. Elizabeth shuddered at the memory. Rebekah watched as David slid his arm protectively around Elizabeth, steadying her, offering unspoken encouragement. His wife drew strength from the action. The two of them seemed fashioned for each other, complete.
How Rebekah longed for the same. Yet I stand beside a man I barely know and will have little opportunity to learn about before I am bound to him for life. A shiver again ran through her.
The councilman must have felt it, for he laid his free hand atop hers. The gesture was not as intimate as the comfort Elizabeth had received, but the touch was gentle and conveyed compassion. Rebekah allowed herself to look into his face. Dare she think he would not always be a stranger?
The councilman turned back to David. “Will you return to Washington?” He asked.
“No. Our editor wishes us to remain here, to cover the effects the assassination is having on the city.”
“I see.”
“In fact,” David said, “if I may be so bold, I’d like to interview you. It would be good to have a councilman’s perspective.”
“I don’t know how much help I could be...”
Listening, Rebekah marveled. Her father would never turn down an opportunity to get his name in the paper, and yet Henry Nash humbly hesitated. She was so struck by the difference that she couldn’t help but smile. When he gave her one in return, her heart quickened.
Elizabeth pulled her aside.
“I believe you have made a very wise match, Rebekah,” she whispered.
“You do?”
“Indeed. Henry Nash is a respectable, honest man. David has told me so.”
“He knows him well?”
“He’s met with him several times. According to him, the councilman is a committed public servant. He has a true heart for the people of Baltimore.”
A true heart... Rebekah couldn’t explain the feeling that flittered through her own heart upon hearing those words. Yes, she was still nervous about becoming a bride, and she was still resolved to guard her heart carefully, but was it possible—might she indeed one day have the kind of marriage of which she had always dreamed, one grounded in love and mutual respect?
It seemed almost impossible...and yet she desperately hoped so.
* * *
The moment he saw her smile, Henry felt as though a dagger had been run through his chest. He knew he’d given Miss Van der Geld all the indications that tenderness lay at the root of this match on his part. He had held her hand. He had smiled at her. He was slowly convincing her that he wanted her, when in reality what he truly wanted was the protection her father and his connections could offer him and his sister’s children.
And he was more and more certain he was going to need that assistance. Detective Smith had entered the room. After circumspectly navigating the lingering crowd, he once more singled out Henry. As soon as the reporter and sketch artist bid their farewells, Smith stepped forward.
“So this is the lovely bride,” he said.
The detective was eyeing his fiancée in a way that any gentleman would not like. Henry protectively threaded her arm through his. Though disinclined, he introduced them.
“May I present Miss Rebekah Van der Geld...”
Smith nodded cordially. She very promptly thanked the man for his dedication to duty in locating John Wilkes Booth.
“Rest assured, miss,” Smith said. “Booth and every other traitor who dared conspire against our beloved late president will soon be brought to justice.”
Every traitor... Henry’s collar felt even tighter than before. He dared not tug at it again, however, for fear Smith would read something into the gesture.
Theodore Van der Geld then came to them. Smith acknowledged him with a nod.
“Rebekah, I am leaving now,” her father said. Then he turned to Henry. “Councilman, would you be so kind as to escort my daughter home?”
A blush immediately colored her cheeks. Henry wasn’t certain if she appreciated the request or was disconcerted by it. Likely the latter. A carriage ride unchaperoned? So Van der Geld trusts my character, but she does not. Wise girl. He drew in a shallow breath. Tell her, his mind insisted. Tell her you’re doing this to save your own skin. Tell her before she gets hurt.
Detective Smith was watching the entire exchange with a look that made Henry even more uncomfortable. What should he do? If he spilled the entire story here and now, he’d embarrass Miss Van der Geld in front of everyone. She deserves better than that.
“Well,” her father said. “Off you go.”
Henry was not in the habit of taking orders from others, but not knowing what else to do in the present moment, he offered Rebekah his arm. “Shall we?”
The blush on her cheeks darkened, but she allowed him to lead her toward the building’s exit. Outside the rain had stopped, but puddles covered the cobblestone.
“If you’ll wait here, I’ll fetch the carriage,” he said.
“Oh, that isn’t necessary. I don’t mind walking.”
So they started off. Henry had to resist the urge to look behind him, to see if Smith was following them.
“I cannot help but think of Mrs. Lincoln,” Rebekah said. “Of the pain she must be suffering. Her entire world has been turned upside down.”
Henry forced himself to focus. “I have heard she will remain in Washington for the next few weeks, until she is better able to make the journey back to Illinois.”
“Her heart must be broken.”
“Indeed.”
“I wonder if she knew what she was getting herself into when she married him.”
“I suppose not,” he said. And neither do you.
She looked up at him. Henry saw a myriad of emotions reflected in her eyes. Uncertainty. Vulnerability. Hope. Fear. He couldn’t take it any longer. Stopping in his tracks, he looked her square in the eye.
“Miss Van der Geld, there is something that I need to tell you—”
A passing news boy clipped his confession short. “Extra! Extra! New conspirator named! Right here in Baltimore!” A crowd rushed to devour the details of the latest suspect’s fate. Most of them had already pronounced sentence.
“There’s another one to hang...”
“...and it can’t happen soon enough.”
In his haste to grab the latest edition, a particularly bullish man was barreling down on Miss Van der Geld. Henry pulled her aside and shielded her from contact. Secure in his arms, she was close enough that he could smell the lavender water she had combed through her hair, close enough that he could feel her trembling. When she looked up at him, however, eyes wide with innocence and fear, Henry did not see her. He saw Kathleen.
Her future and that of her sister’s is still so uncertain.
“You were saying?” Miss Van der Geld asked.
Henry drew in a breath, once more letting anxiety override his conviction. Steering her away from the burgeoning crowd, he said, “It isn’t important right now. The streets aren’t exactly safe. I’d best get you home.”
