Parlor Games (26 page)

“Yes, but there were extenuating circumstances.”

Powers rushed in. “You signed this contract, did you not?”

“Yes, but I didn’t understand it.”

“Do you deny this is a simple contract, understandable to a layman?”

Sawyer rose. “Objection, argumentative.”

“Sustained,” said Flanagan.

Powers forged ahead. “What didn’t you understand, Miss Shaver?”

“I was very ill at the time; I couldn’t take it all in.”

“Did you know the word ‘everything’ was in it?”

“No, I didn’t know what was in it.”

“You signed without carefully reading it, without noticing the word ‘everything’?”

“I was ill.”

“If you were ill, why did you entertain signing a contract?”

“Even when I’m ill, I can always write. And talk.” Frank gripped the sides of the witness box and pitched forward. “The fact is, I trusted May and she tricked me.”

With a sigh, I relaxed in my chair. We had a signed release. No amount of squirming or wheedling on Frank’s part could undo that.

A JOURNEY OF SOUL SEARCHING
TOKYO TO VANCOUVER—JUNE 1891

A
s the crew pulled up ropes and the ship drifted away from Tokyo’s harbor, I sought a perch at the rear starboard. The lumbering
Maiden of the Seas
turned and headed for open water, destined for Vancouver, Canada. I leaned over the ship’s rail to study Tokyo’s bustling shoreline and the buildings rising beyond its piers. Johnny was back there, at the Imperial Hotel. And I, standing apart from my fellow travelers in mourner’s black, already grieved our loss.

By now he’d probably awakened and discovered my note and the engagement ring (for I could not keep sweet, innocent Johnny’s ring under the circumstances): “Forgive me, Johnny. I love you, but we cannot be together. I am not who you think I am. Though I will treasure your memory always, I beg you, for your sake and mine, to forget me. I am leaving Tokyo—and you—today, because I am not good enough for you. Yours, Pauline.”

All I could think of was Johnny reading my words, crying out in anguish, and racing out of the hotel in search of me. Even now he might be standing at water’s edge, watching my ship dwindle on the horizon.

Tears, unbidden, streamed down my cheeks. I hated writing that farewell note, wrenching myself away from Johnny. Only the necessity of my sacrifice spurred me on. My poor, dear Johnny. He wouldn’t understand, couldn’t understand. Even if Dougherty broke his promise and told Johnny everything he knew about me, it wouldn’t have mattered to him. Sweet, naïve Johnny would have told me he loved me just the same. But I knew his family would never accept me, and I refused to condemn Johnny to a life apart
from them. My love for him compelled me to save him from my mistakes. If I’d allowed my selfishness to prevail, I would have ruined the man I loved—my trusting, loyal Johnny.

The ship picked up speed, its propellers churning the waters in its wake and heaving it over the waves. The chill, damp air misting my face and neck sent shivers through me. With each lurch of the ship, my stomach writhed. I believed I had found my one true love in Johnny. But now the cold, hard metal of the ship parted the waters, speeding me out onto the deep sea, dispatching me to an uncertain future. A future without Johnny.

Dirty smoke belched from the ship’s two stacks, roiling into a murky trail pointing back to Tokyo’s harbor. Might Johnny check the boat departures and discover I’d taken this ship to Vancouver? Would he board the next ship, the one sailing for America, and try to track me down?

Much as I hoped he would find me, I knew I couldn’t allow it. I would spend only one day in Vancouver, long enough to purchase a train ticket and continue my eastward journey. Even if Johnny took the next ship out of Tokyo, he’d never make it from San Francisco to Vancouver in time to stop me. Nevertheless, fantasies filled my mind: I imagined Johnny finding me, swooping me into his arms, insisting we need never, ever part.

Still, in numb conviction, here I was, rushing away from him. How it stung my heart to know that each day at sea and each mile of rail would take me farther and farther from Johnny.

All I had ever wanted was a respectable and happy life. Yes, I admit, I desired the ease that wealth brings, but not money simply for money’s sake: money so that I might enjoy travel, fine dining, and exotic sights in the company of someone I loved.

Had I ruined my chances for such a life? Were my prospects doomed ever since hunger and destitution drove me to Carrie Watson’s in Chicago? After all, my association with Miss Watson had given Reed Dougherty the ammunition he needed to break up my engagement to Dale, my hopes for a life with Johnny. Had I erred in joining forces with Sue Marie? If I’d never met her, I wouldn’t have been seduced into the plot that landed us in jail. Could I ever live these things down?

How different my life would be if I’d never crossed paths with the
Pinkertons. I could hardly believe Dougherty had tracked me down in Tokyo. How incredible that he’d managed to foil me with the only two mistakes I had ever made in my life—being desperate enough to enter Miss Watson’s employ, and being foolish enough to allow Sue Marie to use me for her schemes.

I couldn’t undo my past, but I could learn from it. I would go someplace where no one knew of my mistakes, find the dignified and cultivated life I longed for, and live it honorably, albeit without Johnny.

I’m sorry, Johnny. So sorry my mistakes cost us a future of bliss. May you find happiness with someone more worthy than I.

FROM MENOMINEE TO NEW YORK
1891

I
spent the rest of the summer in Menominee, basking in the acceptance and easy amiability one can find only with family. Young Gene had sprouted into a lean fourteen-year-old, rambunctious as a colt raring to run the range. Maman still took in sewing orders, but only for people she was “partial to.” As for Paul, he rose with the roosters six days a week to slave away at the lumber mill.

Over those late summer months, thoughts of Johnny rushed into any empty space in my mind, every idle moment of my time. I hashed and rehashed the events leading to our forced parting—the incredible happenstance of it all, how Reed Dougherty had robbed me of the love of my life. Could I have done anything differently? Should I have called Dougherty’s bluff? No, no, I always answered the same way: I’d done the right thing for Johnny. Young and well educated, he had the assurance of a position in an established business and the welcoming society of his well-to-do family. How could I have allowed him to turn his back on this bright future? No, if I had stayed and permitted Dougherty to tell Johnny of my past, Johnny would have clung to me all the same. But the cost to him would have been more than he could or should have borne.

As the leaves in Menominee took on red and pumpkin hues and fall’s chill tinged the air, my thoughts turned to travel. Before the funds I’d acquired from Mr. Carlyle in Hong Kong ran out, I resolved to explore London. And to get to London, I would have to journey through New York. Johnny was most certainly settled there by now.
Perhaps I could catch a glimpse of him—undetected, of course—just to assure myself that he had adjusted to his new life. Still, I knew I’d need to stay on alert for Dougherty, in case he expected me to resurface there.

I would require a companion for my travels. Upon arriving in New York, I placed an advertisement in the “Women Wanted” employment section of the
New York Herald
. I knew exactly what I wanted in an assistant: She must be competent, worldly, well versed in fashion, and not overly serious. In my room at the Gilsey House, I interviewed the candidates, dismissing one after another of the dreary lot. Late in day two of my search, yet another applicant knocked at my door.

“Yes, come in,” I called, too disheartened to rise and open the door after hours of wearying exchanges with the most humdrum creatures.

The door opened to reveal a young woman dressed in a rather daring outfit for an October day, albeit an unseasonably sunny one: a cream-colored blouse and matching skirt, tawny lace-up shoes, and a toque decorated with a few slips of purple aster. Her broad mouth, close-set eyes, and longish face suggested an alert pensiveness. The whole effect—her fashionable but out-of-season dress, the self-assured look on her plain face, and a hint of expensive gardenia perfume about her well-proportioned figure—was as incongruous as a rose blooming in snow.

I rose to greet her. “Hello, I’m May Dugas.” I had chosen to use my real name again, since I had nothing to hide from anybody in New York. Besides, if Johnny—or Dougherty—hoped to find me here, they would not be searching for May Dugas. And, after all, I had resolved to make a fresh start.

“Pleased to meet you, miss.” Her torso dipped in the slightest approximation of a curtsy. “Belle Emmett at your service.”

“Please, have a seat.” I directed her to the overstuffed chair I’d had installed for the interviews and took my seat opposite her. “Tell me, have you had any experience as a lady’s assistant?”

“Yes, I have.” She sat upright, with hands folded on her lap, and her expression danced with lively intelligence, as if she were on the verge of delivering some brilliant nugget. “Here in New York. For the past three years.”

“And what were your duties?”

She unclasped her hands and patted her fingertips together.
From the pink flush of her smooth complexion, I estimated her age to be eighteen or nineteen. “Anything and everything. I was maid to Mrs. Edmund Swinburne.”

“Was? Are you no longer in her employ?”

“No, Mrs. Swinburne will be leaving the city.”

“And you’ll not accompany her?”

Miss Emmett cast her eyes to the side a moment and tilted her head back in a prideful pose. “Mrs. Swinburne is going to live with her sister and brother-in-law. Mr. Swinburne was just sent to prison for insurance fraud.”

I nodded. “And you are all honesty, I should say.”

“I hope my employer’s ill-chosen deeds won’t disqualify me.”

Who was I to hold such a thing against her? Besides, the girl had spunk. I smiled at her. “I should think a weeklong trial is in order. Would that be satisfactory?”

Miss Emmett accepted the terms of my offer, and I asked her to begin the very next day by taking me on a tour of New York. As she gripped the doorknob to let herself out, she turned and asked, “What of New York have you already seen?”

“I’ve walked Central Park and the Brooklyn Bridge. Seen the shops on Fifth Avenue. And dined at Delmonico’s.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Would you like to see the other New York, then? Its people and merchants?”

“I should like that very much.”