Though Waters Roar (27 page)

Comparing her to his mother infuriated Bebe. She sprang to her feet. “Well, I’m not stupid! I know that Cooke’s was one of our country’s largest banks and that business loans are going to be hard to come by in the next few months. I know that if factories like yours can’t borrow money to purchase supplies, and if stores can’t borrow money to buy stock, then the store shelves are going to be empty by Christmastime and workers are going to be laid off and—”

“Stop it! I never said you were stupid. I said I didn’t want to talk about it at home!”

Bebe realized her mistake and softened her tone. “But why can’t you share your life with me? We could help each other.” She tried to take him into her arms again, but he fended her off.

“You’re not the man of the family—I am!” He snatched up his dressing gown and opened the bedroom door. “Go back to sleep. I’m sorry I awakened you.” He slammed the bedroom door on his way out.

Bebe sank onto a chair and lowered her face to her lap. She didn’t know what to do. She could hear Horatio wandering around downstairs, unable to sleep, but at least he wouldn’t find any alcohol. She sat in the chair for the rest of the night, waiting for him to return to bed, but he never did. In the morning, she saw dark circles beneath his eyes as he dressed for work.

“Horatio, I’m sorry for making you angry.” She wanted to hold him, but she was afraid to approach him after he’d pushed her away twice last night.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said. “About everything.” He reached out to her, and the sorrow she saw in his eyes nearly stopped her short. His grief seemed much deeper than regret over a marital spat. And what had he meant by “everything”? She went into his arms and held him tightly, afraid to risk another argument by questioning him.

“I won’t be home for supper tonight,” he told her. “We are very busy at work right now, and I’m needed there to handle things.”

He still held her tightly in his arms, so she couldn’t look into his eyes to see if he was lying to her. “Shall I have the servants save dinner for you?” she asked.

“No. I’ll be very late.” And he was. But Bebe didn’t detect the smell of alcohol on his breath when he did return home, and he didn’t appear to be drunk.

The following afternoon, Bebe was sitting in the parlor reading in the newspaper about the growing financial crisis when someone arrived at the front door. Lucy, who was supposed to be napping, barreled down the stairs, shouting, “For me? Is it another present for me?”

Bebe laid down the paper and hurried to the door. When she saw that it was the foreman from the tannery asking for Horatio, her stomach clenched in a knot. “Go back upstairs, Lucy. Right now.”

“But I want another present!”

Bebe stood aside and waited while the nanny scooped up the struggling child and carried her upstairs. The dread Bebe felt overwhelmed any embarrassment over her daughter’s tantrum.

“Won’t you come in, Mr. MacLeod?”

He shook his head, choosing to remain on the front step. “I’m very sorry to bother you, Mrs. Garner, but your husband is needed at work. I’m afraid it can’t wait until tomorrow.”

The knot of pain in her stomach tightened. “Horatio’s not here. . . . Isn’t he at the tannery?”

MacLeod’s face reddened with embarrassment. “Um . . . well . . . no, ma’am. He isn’t.” He began backing away, preparing to leave. “I’m sorry I bothered you with this.”

“Wait . . .” The foreman halted, but he wouldn’t meet Bebe’s gaze. “How long ago did Horatio leave?” She was trying to convince herself that he had simply gone for a haircut or a shoeshine.

“About three hours ago. . . . I’m sorry. I never would have disturbed you, but he told me he had another headache, and I thought he said he was going home. I must have misunderstood him. I’m sorry.” Once again, he began backing away. Once again, she stopped him as dread and suspicion billowed inside her like smoke.

“Wait! Does he complain of headaches often? Has he left work this early before?” MacLeod hesitated as if he didn’t want to reply. “I need to know the truth, Mr. MacLeod. I want to do what’s best for the tannery, and I want to help my husband. But I can’t do either one if I don’t know the truth.”

“He has been complaining of headaches for some time now,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “Lately, it has become a habit for him to leave work early. Usually around noon. I’m sorry.”

“Does he return to work, or is he gone for the remainder of the day?” She dreaded hearing his reply.

“He doesn’t return, ma’am. Listen, I’m sorry for disturbing you. I wouldn’t have bothered you if I had known . . . I’m sorry . . .”

“Stop apologizing and tell me how long he has been doing this.”

He cleared his throat. “For about two weeks.”

Two weeks.
What had Horatio been doing all that time? Where had he been going? The pain in Bebe’s stomach grew so fierce she wanted to double over. Instead, she held her head high.

“Horatio hasn’t been coming home with these headaches. And he didn’t come home last night until well after dinner. He told me he was working late.”

“I’m sor—” He caught himself and stopped. “I worked late last night and . . . and he wasn’t there. Listen, I guess this can wait one more day, Mrs. Garner. I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow morning. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“No, wait!” He halted again, and this time Bebe paused until he finally looked up at her. “You need to know the truth, Mr. MacLeod. The reason that Horatio isn’t here and the reason he’s been lying to you about his headaches is probably because he is down in a men’s club or a saloon somewhere, getting drunk.”

MacLeod didn’t reply. Nor did he appear surprised. His emotions were easy to read on his plain, honest face, and Bebe guessed from his expression that many of Horatio’s other actions had begun to make sense to him.

“You aren’t surprised, are you, Mr. MacLeod?”

“It does explain some things that have happened lately.”

“Like what?”

“I would rather not say.” He lowered his gaze again to stare at the ground.

Should she go looking for Horatio? Bebe felt so angry and betrayed that she wanted to storm into his club and confront him. She knew that she should wait until she could let go of her anger and could confront him in love, but she felt no love at all for him at the moment. She had given up everything for him, had agreed to all of his wishes—and he had deceived her.

“You mentioned that you came here on important business, Mr. MacLeod. I would like you to come with me now and help me find my husband. That way, Horatio will know that he can’t lie to us anymore.”

“I’m sor—” He stopped and cleared his throat again. “Listen, nearly five years have passed since your father-in-law died. Your husband has already made it very clear that I will be fired as soon as the time is up. He was forced to keep me on as foreman according to the terms of Mr. Garner’s will, and . . .” He looked very uneasy. “And when he fires me, I’ll need a recommendation from him if I hope to find another job. I don’t want to do anything to make him angry.”

“Horatio can’t run the business by himself,” Bebe said. “I think you already know that. Especially if he has begun drinking again. And I believe you know what might happen to the tannery during this economic crisis if you’re not at the helm.”

He didn’t reply. His unease grew as he continued to rub his jaw and shuffle his feet, his gaze directed at his shoes. Bebe admired his unwillingness to speak ill of Horatio, even if his motivation was fear of unemployment. But she could no longer disguise her fear from him.

“I know about the banking crisis in this country,” she told him. “If Horatio doesn’t sober up, we stand to lose everything, don’t we? The tannery, all of our income, our savings?”

“Please don’t ask me to confront your husband, ma’am. I’m very sorry for disturbing you, but I need to get back to work.”

This time he turned around and kept walking without looking back. Bebe closed the front door. It required a great effort on her part to remain calm and not burst into tears of rage and fear and disappointment. Instead, she went out to the carriage house to find the driver. Bebe made up her mind that if Horatio was using the carriage, she would walk downtown alone, searching every men’s club in town until she found him and dragged him home. But the driver and all of the horses and vehicles were in the carriage house.

“I need to find my husband,” she told him. “He isn’t at the tannery. I need you to drive me around to some of the other places he frequents.”

The driver didn’t reply, but his pained expression told her what she needed to know. He didn’t want to be in the middle of this confrontation any more than Mr. MacLeod did.

“I know that you must feel a great deal more loyalty to Horatio than to me,” Bebe continued, “but I need your help. If Horatio is drinking during the daytime instead of working, and if we lose the tannery because of it, you could be out of a job.”

He lifted a set of reins from a hook on the wall and slowly opened one of the horse stalls to lead the animal out, his reluctance displayed in his every movement. He silently harnessed the horse to the vehicle, then helped Bebe into the carriage. He paused before climbing aboard himself. “I’ll take you to a place where he sometimes goes, ma’am.”

Bebe closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly.

They drove to one of the poorer parts of town and halted in front of a two-story brick building with a striped awning in front. The sign read
Logan’s Tavern.
Horatio was frequenting a common saloon. In the middle of the afternoon.

The driver hopped down to help Bebe, but she couldn’t seem to move. Lively piano music drifted out of the open door, but the saloon’s interior looked very dark, as if the people inside were trying to hide. A deliveryman had propped the door open as he hurried in and out, carrying blocks of ice.

Bebe finally climbed down and went up to the door for a closer look, pausing before entering, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness so she could recognize her husband. Through a haze of cigar smoke, she saw a bartender standing behind a long, wooden counter, wiping glasses. Dozens of liquor bottles filled the shelves behind him, and Bebe fought the urge to pick up the brick that held the door open and hurl it at the shelves, smashing every bottle in the place. She drew a breath to calm herself, inhaling smoke and the yeasty aroma of beer. The row of men who leaned against the counter wore filthy work clothes, their faces smudged with soot and grease, as if they had just finished a day of work and had stopped off for a drink on their way home. Horatio wasn’t among them.

Her eyes adjusted a little more and she watched the iceman shove the dripping blocks inside a wooden icebox beside the bar. A rotund man sat on a little round stool, playing an upright piano that sounded as though it needed to be tuned. In between the tinny notes she heard the clink of glasses, the rumble of voices and laughter. The saloon had smoke-stained walls and a wooden floor and a tin ceiling.

In the rear of the long, narrow room, groups of men sat hunched around tables while a woman served drinks to them. One of the men was Horatio. He had a glass in one hand and a fistful of playing cards in the other. He had slung his suit coat over the back of the chair and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He looked happier than Bebe had seen him in months, laughing and tilting his chair back on two legs.

The iceman brushed past her and shoved aside the brick he’d used to prop open the door. Bebe caught the door as it slowly closed, but before she could step inside, the bartender rushed over from behind the counter.

“Whoa, whoa! You can’t come in here, lady. Women aren’t allowed.” He held up his hands to block her path.

“Then kindly send my husband out. His name is Horatio Garner, and he is needed at home.”

The man stroked his bushy mustache and shook his head. “I never disturb my customers in the middle of their euchre games. Go home, little lady.”

“I said he is needed at home! This is an emergency!” She had raised her voice, hoping Horatio would hear it above the chatter and the music. She hadn’t lied about the emergency; Horatio was putting his family’s future at risk by neglecting his work at the tannery.

“Sorry, but you’ll have to send your driver in to get him. No women allowed.” He pushed the door closed in her face.

Bebe returned to the carriage, where the driver stood waiting for her. “I’m sorry,” she told him. “I hate to make you take my side over Horatio’s, but as I said, you could lose your job if the tannery goes bankrupt. Kindly fetch Mr. Garner for me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He shuffled through the door and disappeared inside. Bebe climbed into the carriage to wait. Several minutes passed before he returned with Horatio, and while she waited, Bebe thought of her cigar box full of newspaper articles describing the new women’s temperance movement. She felt much too angry to ever kneel in front of this saloon and quietly pray the way those women did. Instead, she envisioned herself throwing bricks through the windows and smashing all the tables and chairs to pieces in anger.

Horatio finally emerged with the driver, wearing a silly grin on his face, as if he wasn’t the least bit concerned. “What’s the emergency, Bebe?”

“Your foreman came to the house. He needs you at the tannery. You have to come home and sober up so you can go back to work.”

He stood staring at her as if he hadn’t understood a word she’d said.

“Please get in, Horatio. We need to go home.”

The driver had to take his arm and help him climb in. Bebe’s tears began to fall as the carriage jolted up the hill toward home. Horatio had brought along an unfinished bottle of vodka, but when Bebe tried to take it from him, he became as stubborn and petulant as Lucy did during one of her tantrums.

“No! You can’t have it, Bebe. This is mine. I need it.”

She glared at him in disgust and his silly smile vanished.

“Don’t look at me like that, Bebe.”

“How should I look at you? You’re drunk, Horatio. You broke your promise to me.”

His eyes filled with tears. “Remember the first time we met in the army hospital? You looked at me as though I had just hung the moon in the sky. I saw it on your face . . . in your eyes. . . . You never look at me that way anymore.”