Sweeter than Birdsong (13 page)

Ben leaned over the piano and peered beneath its raised lid with an absorbed expression. His appearance had taken a turn for the better since his rather comical appearance with their luggage at their door earlier. She repressed a smile. He should have let the footman help him, but she liked him for the determination that had filled his face as he stood there damp and out of breath in the hall.

He looked up at her, and she turned away quickly to find a seat. Mrs. Hanby had taken one near the piano, next to Mrs. Lawrence. Kate seated herself, admiring the intricacy of the brocade chair back. Even one chair like this would ornament a family’s parlor, but in this grand room there were thirty or more, all equally beautiful.

From the right side of the room, a familiar voice greeted others, and she found it was Frederick Jones in his evening attire, his hair shining. He smiled at her, but she dropped her gaze—it would be improper to communicate across the room. Ben’s black-coated figure passed through the edge of her vision as he left the piano and joined Frederick. They greeted one another and stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the way of friends in strange places. Frederick leaned to mutter something to him and Ben laughed, his eyebrows lifting and eyes brightening. But she should not be watching the gentlemen.

Mr. Neil walked to the piano, his hair smooth with pomade and his beard trimmed. He addressed them in a resonant bass. “My friends, I am delighted to present Miss Lawrence, who comes direct from Paris to honor us with a piano recital.”

A polite smattering of applause followed and grew louder as Cornelia appeared in the parlor door. Her gown could have been made for European royalty, black with silver threading in the bodice and tiny silver ornaments hanging from each of its three tiers like an exquisite fringe. Its heavy folds trailed behind her as she rounded the piano stool, nodded to the guests, and sat down. Extraordinary that someone Kate’s own age could be so self-assured. If Cornelia was nervous, she did not show it, her eyes dreamy as she laid her fingers on the keys, palms arched. One lock of reddish-brown hair curled down over her collarbone.

Then Cornelia lifted her hands and brought them down in a rush of sound, and Kate lost herself in the music.

Ben stood against the wall to the side of the ladies’ chairs. It was good to have Frederick here—his sense of humor would increase the pleasure of an evening of entertainment.

The music was entrancing. Ben should let it carry him away, just as Kate Winter was allowing herself to be swept up in the melody’s spirals and dips. Her eyes were closed in her delicate, pale face, luminous as an artist’s Madonna, lifted in a moment of profound peace. She deserved some respite from her cares, and no earthly thing had more power than music to enfold a soul and deliver it from trouble.

But the music was not delivering Ben, despite its rare virtuosity. Cornelia’s long fingers sent the notes out effortlessly, her head first lowered and then lifted, her body swaying ever so slightly with the undulating rhythm. An admirable musician, she held the rest of the audience spellbound in her sensitive hands.

Even this fine music could not move him until he knew about the letter and his deeper purpose here.

He should not have left Joseph’s Nelly in captivity for so long on the assumption he could do nothing. The scripture would not let him rest.
Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me
. There must have been a greater reason for why Joseph had died at their home—a chance to bring good out of tragedy. He could not bear the thought of anything less.

When Cornelia finished her first selection on a resonant final chord, Ben took advantage of the applause to move to the parlor door. Its bronze knob was warm against his palm as he slipped out into the hallway, where sound from the parlor melted away into red-and-cream carpet and dark wood walls. Cornelia began her next piece: Mozart.

He would go downstairs and inquire again for his mail with the hotel clerk. By the time he returned, she would be finished with the Mozart and he could rejoin the audience.

The staircase was as empty as the hallways as Ben went down to the front foyer. The clerk, a runty man with mustache waxed to points, sat on a stool and scrawled figures in a ledger.

He looked up and rose at Ben’s approach. “Good evening, sir.”

“Good evening. Have you any mail for me? I am Benjamin Hanby, guest of Mr. Neil.”

Recognition sparked in the clerk’s eyes. “Yes, sir. One moment, please.” He pushed through the swinging double doors behind the clerk’s desk and returned with an envelope in hand.

“My humble apologies, Mr. Hanby.” The clerk bowed. “It appears the envelope has been damaged in the post.” He placed it in Ben’s outstretched hand.

One half of the envelope was mangled, with a jagged tear as if it had caught on the projecting spur of a careless express rider. But that was mere fancy, as the mail had surely come by stagecoach.

Ben maneuvered the letter from the envelope and opened it to inspect the damage. Good. It was all still legible. He folded it again. “No serious harm done. The letter itself is mostly intact.”

“Thank you, sir.” The clerk was visibly relieved. Perhaps other guests were not so understanding.

Ben shoved the letter in his inside pocket and mounted the stairs again. A few yards down the wide hall, a chair nestled in a secluded alcove. He made his way to the nook and sat down to read the letter in private. The Mozart tune still rippled, muted, through the closed double doors of the parlor. He had a minute or two before it ended.

The paper was crumpled and torn on one side, but he smoothed it back together.

John Parker
Ripley, Ohio
May 23rd, 1855
To Mr. Benjamin Hanby
In care of the Neil House
Columbus, Ohio

Dear Mr. Hanby
,

Ireceived your letter yesterday and made inquiries. The errand you wish is possible. The woman in question is still at the plantation across the river. Meet me at The Red Stag in Cincinnati on Friday the first of June, at the noon hour
.

Cordially,
John Parker

Ben read it once more to be sure he had the details by heart. He refolded it slowly, then placed it back in his pocket with a rush of exhilaration.

Now, at last, he could go enjoy the music.

Thirteen

T
ODAY WOULD BE THE DAY
K
ATE ESCAPED TO A NEW
future. Her hands moistened inside her light gloves with each twinge of nerves.

She stood on the walk in front of a canvas tent the size of a cathedral, supported by a tall center pole and tethers. Bright square banners announced delights within: Circus and Menagerie, Elephant Show, The Oldest Woman in the World, Lovely Equestriennes.

Whatever had inspired Mrs. Lawrence to suggest a trip to the circus, there could be no more perfect venue for Kate to lose herself in a crowd and simply fail to return. She had given up on the idea of taking her valise, but her one gold necklace lay warmed by her skin under her high collar. Luck or Providence had brought her to Columbus and granted her free lodging. Now she would have to rely on the price of the necklace and her ingenuity to take her to Cincinnati. Her heart thumped under her bodice. She must not think of all this yet. The perfect moment would be after the show, when the crowd streamed out
en masse
. Her companions would assume they had been separated by accident and would not sound the alarm for at least half an hour or more.

“My goodness, a real elephant,” Mrs. Hanby said, leaning forward for a better look at the strange creature whose head dominated the center of one banner.

“And Royal Roman Hippodrome with Other Singular Curiosities,” Cornelia read from another sign. “Oh, I can hardly wait.”

“Endorsed by the clergy, to boot.” Mrs. Lawrence pointed to a third, the feather on her hat bouncing as she nodded in satisfaction.

Cornelia took Kate’s hand. “Let’s go in, shall we?” At her motion toward the entrance, Ben moved ahead to clear the way through the thick crowd gathered. Maybe it was his gentlemanly appearance, but the mob was remarkably polite, as several people stepped to the side to let their small party through.

Ben stood in the cavernous entrance and surveyed the interior. “This side of the ring looks more genteel.” He removed his hat. “Perhaps up there?” He indicated an open space high in the steep tower of wooden seats.

When his mother agreed, he led them up the stairs. The stands were rickety, and Kate lifted her skirts to clear each worn plank step without revealing an ankle, ignoring the curious stares of some of the spectators. At the top, she turned and seated herself beside Cornelia on one of the wooden folding chairs. Now she could sit back and enjoy the view, as jugglers performed for the crowd. Her spirits lifted like the pins that flew high in the air, each suspended for a heartbeat above life’s cares and even what the future might hold. She had never been to the circus. She wanted to see at least a little of it before her escape.

An organ grinder stood with his cart at the end of the ring and cranked the handle with vigor. His jaunty march played at a breathless pace and occasionally twanged out of tune. Visible behind the others’ backs, Ben leaned back in his seat. He winced and squinted his eyes as a jarring flat note pinged at the top of the organ’s range. When she flinched in tandem with him, he turned toward her, amusement flaring in his brown eyes. Another sour note sounded and her shoulders hunched in discomfort before she forced them back down. His mouth curved—it was almost a smile—and she wanted to laugh. She would be gone soon—the strangeness of it made her light-headed and almost carefree in his presence.

The organ grinder finished and pulled his cart out the side exit. The seating was filled to capacity, ladies and gentlemen, children and roughnecks elbow to elbow. All around the tent, men shrugged out of their coats as the temperature rose with the body heat of the spectators. Ben kept his coat on, but dampness edged his hairline.

It was better to be seated here at the top edge of the stand, where one could breathe. Ben had chosen their location well.

Cornets blasted a salute. A band in blue, brass-buttoned uniforms strutted into the tent. The audience clapped and whistled with the blare of their music.

Kate peered around in the murky dimness of the spectator area. People still trickled through the entrance below her and to her left. A cooling breeze blew in from that direction.

A big man strode in through the wide door, casually inspected a pocket watch, and then dropped it back in his waistcoat pocket. He did not remove his silk hat and stood off to one side. But she knew that gray hair and stout build. It was Mr. Jones, and Frederick behind him. They turned into the stands and sat in the lower tier.

It would have been polite to invite them along, Kate supposed, but she was glad the Lawrences had not done so. Frederick’s clear courtly interest made her nervous, but with the Hanbys and the Lawrences, conversation was less loaded. She glanced at her companions, but they were rapt in the charge of six white horses across the ring. Women in vivid red costumes stood on their backs as if it were the most natural thing in the world, their slippered feet secure in two small rings over the horses’ withers.

The equestriennes vaulted from one horse’s back to another, changing places with astonishing precision. A clergyman had endorsed this act, with women in their knee-length tutus and exposed legs in tights? It was no different from the ballet, she supposed. Nonetheless, she sensed Ben’s shyness from the determined set of his head, as if he dared not even glance at any of his lady companions while such a display of limbs occurred—not just ankles, but entire calves, practically even knees when the tutus bounced.

Still, something called to her in the boldness of the equestriennes. What would it be like for a woman to stand atop two horses as a Roman rider? Exhilarating, quickening the senses. And they traveled from town to town across the entire country, seeing all the lovely and strange sights of America.

The act ended with a human pyramid of three young girls perched atop the shoulders of the women as the horses raced side-by-side around the perimeter of the ring. The crowd rose to its feet, cheering and stomping on the planks of the stand. Kate’s companions stood up to maintain their view over the shoulders of the people in front of them, so she rose as well. The equestriennes took a triumphant lap around the ring.

The vibration from the stomping sent shivers up from the soles of her boots. She sat down with relief when the cheering finished. It was exciting, to be sure, but so loud. Now the music gentled into a waltz.

A huge beast shambled into the ring, its long trunk curled up to its forehead. The crowd fell silent. What a sight—she had never seen an elephant save in pictures. The elephant’s keeper raised his arm, and the gray giant reared on its hind legs and trumpeted. Again, the crowd to her right rose to its feet and yelled and stamped on the wood.

A sharp crack echoed like a gunshot through the cheering. Kate jumped and grabbed Cornelia’s arm. The noise had issued from directly beneath them.