Compromise with Sin Read online

  For Louise, shrouded in a laudanum fog, the day was a blur of disjointed sounds and images. Sitting flanked by Dovie and J.D. on one side and Yonder and Giovanna on the other. Noticing flowers standing stiffly in vases, living things being leeched of their very life essence as she watched. Wincing as Reverend Harper hissed his s’s whenever he said Morrissey or salvation. Hearing Yonder eulogize his “best friend” and thinking, His best friend wanted to kill him. Trying to silence Frank’s last angry words ringing in her head─I’m coming home. Knowing her public tears of grief masked secret tears no one else could possibly understand. Weeping openly again when Mercy Maguire, the sheriff’s wife, sang “Amazing Grace,” a favorite of Frank’s, and when Bernard Feldman recited Marie’s signature poem, “The Wreck of the Hesperus.” Handkerchiefs coming out, reminding her of Frank’s pride when he told her about the first time an audience gave Marie the Chautauqua salute.

  Bernard visited Louise the next day. He offered a substantial lump sum for rights to the Whirlwind Maid. Louise would receive fifteen percent of all profits. He would honor Frank’s intention to convert Tom’s Bicycle Shop to a modern factory. In addition he would locate a second factory in the northeast.

  The offer fell on her ears as numbers that evaporated as soon as he spoke them. Recalling that J.D. had advised her to hold off on making any major decisions, she thanked Bernard and agreed to consider it. She tried to think about the Whirlwind Maid, what Frank would want her to do. But her stubborn mind fixed on Bernard as the last man to see Frank and Marie alive. What really happened that night? What does he know?

  24

  August 1905

  Four weeks after the accident, Louise awakened to the sound of Frank hammering something, then with the dawning of consciousness realized it was a dream’s cruel trick and someone was knocking at her kitchen door. After putting on Frank’s seersucker robe and her slippers, still half-awake, she shuffled to the door, opened it, and found Yonder standing there.

  “I’m sorry, Louise. Where’s Henryetta?”

  Glad to see him but not in her just-out-of-bed state, she said, “Come in, sit down. I’ll make coffee. Henryetta has a new job.”

  Instead of going to the breakfast room to sit, he followed her to the sink where she started filling the percolator with water. “You look─you don’t look well. Have you been ill?

  Embarrassed, she tried to push her hair into some semblance of order. “Do I look that bad?” No doubt he’d noticed her sallow complexion, a recent condition she’d been hiding with make-up. “It’s my morning look. You got me out of bed.”

  She spooned coffee into the percolator and set it on the stove, then sat at the breakfast room table. She reached behind her neck and straightened the collar of Frank’s robe.

  Sitting across from her, Yonder looked at her as though he were about to deliver bad news. “Are you still using laudanum?”

  “You think I’m still using laudanum?” The truth was that she had gone four days without the drug. “I know I look a fright, but the last three days I’ve been working overnight teaching Henryetta to make kolaches. She’s my new baker since the other one quit. I figured there wasn’t much for her to do now that she doesn’t have Frank and Marie to fuss over. I can get one of the hired girls to clean for me, and I can manage meals myself or pick up meals from the dining─Oh─” She slapped her hand on the table. “Now I know why you’re here. I was supposed to meet you in the dining room to go to the bank.”

  They drank coffee while she prepared the bank deposit. Yonder waited while she dressed and put on her face. Then they walked together to the car.

  As they turned from the Inn’s driveway to the street, Yonder said, “It’s a relief to know Lars is in jail,”

  “Yes. The sheriff came by yesterday.” Louise clutched the satchel in her lap with both hands.

  Along the way, a crew of men who were mulching young maple trees stopped what they were doing to look at the Cadillac, still a curiosity as one of the only closed-body cars in town.

  As Yonder turned onto Main Street, Louise fixed her eyes on his hands operating the steering wheel and gearshift, not wanting to see what she knew loomed in the distance: the Chautauqua’s main tent, which was to have been the scene of Marie’s hometown triumph.

  “I never had an opportunity to see her on stage,” Louise said. “I missed the most important part of her life. She was growing, making friends, becoming a confident performer. Her Chautauqua family─” Her voice broke, and the tears came. She fumbled in her handbag for a handkerchief and blotted her eyes and nose. “I lost my daughter before the accident. I lost her when she joined the Chautauqua family and no longer needed me.”

  They were still several blocks from the bank, but Yonder steered the car to the side of the road and stopped. He placed a hand on hers. “Louise, you were always the single most important person in Marie’s life. You prepared her to live in the world and then did the hardest thing a mother can do: you allowed her to try her wings.”

  She shook her head. “But I wanted her to need me. Am I being selfish?”

  Yonder patted Louise’s hand. “My mother’s gone, but I still need her.”

  Grateful for his touch and words, nevertheless she could not shake the sense of having been displaced by Frank, Bernard, Helen Keller, and the Chautauqua.

  Yonder withdrew his hand, shifted gears, and drove forward. With his turn onto Main Street she took a deep breath and regained her composure. She entered the bank wearing the face of the widow who was “missing them terribly but managing to get along, thank you.”

  September came, nearly two months since the accident, and Louise struggled to bring some order to her days. She could point to little she had accomplished. She’d hired a man to refurbish Morrissey’s Folly. And she’d gone out with Yonder for driving lessons, something Frank hadn’t had the patience to see through.

  Now looking out a window of the Burlington depot, she watched a burly switchman at work in the driving rain. Gripping a long lever that protruded from the ground, he thrust it forward to move a set of tracks. Probably the tracks that would take Yonder away from Riverbend.

  At one end of the depot where people waited on wooden benches sat a trio Louise presumed to be a grandmother with her daughter, who was a younger version of herself, and granddaughter. The child and elderly woman, her cane propped beside her, were playing cat’s cradle, the little girl patiently waiting for grandma’s bent fingers to manipulate the strings.

  Louise stood close to the stove, hoping to warm her wet feet. She noted the peeling paint on the walls and buckling floorboards that attested to years of neglect. Wind whistled through poorly sealed windows, an accompaniment to the buzz of conversation.

  Yonder returned from the ticket window. He carried just a satchel and overnight bag, having shipped his other belongings earlier in the week. “You needn’t wait, you know.”

  Louise looked past Yonder at the clock on the wall and the relentless movement of the second hand. I don’t want to lose you, too. She inhaled his Ivory soap scent and gazed at his face with the intention of committing to memory its features, lines, and color. “This is what families do. See their loved ones off with good wishes for a safe journey. You’ll always be family no matter where you go.”

  “Thank you for taking me in.”

  A polite goodbye. Why could he not have said, “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to marry Giovanna. This is my home.”

  “Marie always had to get French burnt peanuts when we came to the depot.” She nodded toward the row of dispensers that held candy and nuts.

  “We could sit down,” he said.

  A train was pulling into the station.

  “It won’t be long. There’s your train.”

  “You’ll be all right?”

  “I shall be fine.”

  He looked down at her figure. “You’ve lost weight. Promise me you’ll eat proper meals?”

  His concern came close to bringing tears. “Pro
mise.”

  “If you ever need anything, you have Giovanna’s address.”

  Louise looked through the window at people departing the train. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “With this early cold snap, Harley should start putting up storm windows.”

  Louise considered the meaning of the moment. Together they had been two people who had always been comfortable with periods of silence, but in parting they kept chattering as though a string of words might bind them together. And as though a pause in the conversation might break the bond. “I understand the climate in San Diego is very pleasant year-round.”

  Passengers from the arriving train entered the depot. Several were met by friends or family with hearty slaps on the back or embraces.

  “I didn’t have a chance to tell Henryetta good-bye,” Yonder said. “Tell her I’ll miss her kolaches.”

  “I know she’ll miss you. With both you and Frank gone, there’s no one to tease her about the strings on her fingers.”

  “If the car needs work, have Tom look at it. He’ll take care of you. And I reinforced the trellis just to make sure it can withstand a high wind. Your clematis should thrive this year.”

  The ticketmaster announced boarding for Yonder’s train. About a dozen people shuffled toward the exit to the platform. As they passed through the door, each person in line turned to the one behind and said, “Watch your step.” Louise noticed they were referring to a broken floorboard in front of the door.

  Yonder inclined his body in the direction of the door but seemed reluctant to leave.

  Perhaps he’s changed his mind.

  He set his bag down, and Louise hoped for an embrace, but instead he simply opened his coat and retrieved his train ticket from the inside pocket. “I can’t tell you how much your friendship has meant to me.”

  “To me, as well,” she said.

  “The Sioux language has no word for goodbye. So in parting we prefer to say, ‘I’ll see you again someday.’”

  “I like that sentiment.” Louise held her hands to her breast. “I’ll keep it here.”

  “Last boarding call,” the ticketmaster said.

  Yonder picked up his bag, turned, and headed toward the door where the old lady with a cane was preparing to exit. He took her arm. She turned, looked tearfully at her daughter and sobbing granddaughter and blew a kiss. Taking her arm, Yonder guided her over the broken floorboard and through the door.

  The mother, tears flowing, picked up her daughter, patted her back, and jostled her in a futile attempt to comfort her. The scene had all the markings of a forever goodbye.

  Tears welled in Louise’s eyes.

  25

  September 1905

  Nothing seemed to matter. Once a paragon of efficiency, Louise now moved as though slogging through quicksand. Each morning began with sincere but vague intentions that by afternoon left her immobilized with indecision.

  This morning, she shoved aside the clutter on the breakfast room table to make space for a cup of tea and a slice of toast. She noticed and dismissed stains on the sleeve of her coral chenille robe, the one Frank favored. He had loathed the widow’s customary public attire of mauve and black.

  She started a list of minor repairs the Inn needed, but then her ragged fingernails caught her attention. She got her manicure set from the bedroom. But in the midst of filing her nails she spied the unfinished stack of “thank-you” notes to people who had helped with the funeral. After writing just one note, it occurred to her she should mend the hem of her robe where the stitching had come loose. She stood up, but stunned by the absurdity of her behavior dropped back into the chair and buried her head in her hands.

  The first night that Henryetta took over the baking alone, Louise could not sleep. Drinking warm milk didn’t help. As soon as her head hit the pillow, her mind began playing a continuous litany of sins. She got up. The short distance from her bed to the hall closet was the path of indecision. Opening the closet door and seeing the little brown bottle in its place on the shelf was always the point of no return. But tonight, holding the bottle in her hand conjured horror stories of laudanum fiends, brilliant women like Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Ada Lovelace who succumbed to the bottle and lived in a stupor night and day. She set the bottle down. A nearby shelf held boxes of photographs that needed organizing.

  Opening a box, she saw the photographs from Marie’s birthday party. Marie in the pony cart before she fell, the children at the table before the cake was cut, Marie feeding a carrot to the pony. She shuffled through the remaining pictures until one caught her eye. Frank was measuring Marie. They stood in front of the kitchen door, and he held the ruler on top of Marie’s head. He looked so proud, and Marie stretched to her full height and beamed with expectation. Louise had an idea, one so satisfying that she slept through the night without her bitter medicine.

  The following Monday Louise and Dovie took the early train to Omaha to meet with A. B. Fremont, a metal sculptor. A statue would be expensive, but Louise had amassed a sizeable rainy day fund.

  A taxi dropped the women off at the studio where bronze gargoyles, children, and animals appeared to be at play behind a tall iron fence. The women went inside the enclosure and inspected the figures.

  “Look, Louise.” Dovie pointed to a sneering gargoyle. “He looks like . . .”

  A squat, big-boned woman wearing a leather apron came out to greet them.

  “We’re here to see Mr. Fremont,” Louise said.

  “Mr. Fremont was my father.” The woman spoke without a smile. “I’m A. B. Fremont.” She extended a hand as leathery as her apron and shook hands first with Louise, then Dovie. “I’d be living on canned beans if I’d tried to make a career as Anna Belle Fremont.”

  They went inside where Louise and Dovie took seats across from Miss Fremont at a small table. Louise took the photograph from her handbag and handed it to the sculptor.

  “Don’t say anything.” Miss Fremont studied the image and inhaled deeply, seeming to draw it in to become part of her. She exhaled audibly and set the picture down. “Bronze, no less than three-quarters life size. That’s the only way I’ll agree to do it.”

  Louise hesitated, having a hard time fitting the crusty woman across from her with the joyous sculptures outside. “Those are examples of your work out front?”

  “Of course. Now tell me about the photograph.”

  “That’s my husband, Frank, and my daughter, Marie Alouette, on her ninth birthday. They were killed in an automobile accident. This picture was made not long before the happiest time in Marie’s life. You see, she was blind and rather lost until her father got her a part as the child elocutionist with the Chautauqua. They were touring—”

  “I saw the newspaper item.” Miss Fremont appeared to be moved. “I’m very sorry.”

  “I don’t want to tell you how to do your work,” Louise said. “I know you’re a great artist, but I have an idea about how this should be interpreted.”

  “Go on.”

  “The picture cuts off the doorway just above their heads and shows the kitchen door closed. I envision the statue as the whole doorframe with the door open behind Frank and Marie. The open door suggests the opportunity that awaits her.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Frank’s hair is too long. He needed a haircut.”

  The sculptor pushed her chair away from the table and leaned back. “Mrs. Morrissey, I’ve earned a reputation that allows me to work primarily on public projects—well-funded, I might add—and I’ve earned a reputation that, within certain parameters, allows me considerable artistic freedom. I rarely accept private commissions, and I’ll tell you why.”

  Louise felt a nudge from Dovie’s knee.

  The sculptor went on. “Too much interference. I might have concluded the same thing myself with respect to the doorframe and open door. But I’m an artist, not an order taker. I can’t work feeling like you’re looking over my shoulder. I’m not the person for this project,
but I appreciate your consideration.”

  Louise stood up and thrust the picture into her handbag. “Well, Dovie, I guess it’s time for us to leave. Miss Fremont, I appreciate your candor, but I know what I want. Now, will you please direct me to someone who will welcome the opportunity to work with me?”

  “Go see August Potemkin. He’s young. Still eating canned beans.”

  “And where might we find Mr. Potemkin?”

  The sculptor pointed. “A couple of miles. The artists colony in back of the Venetian Café.”

  Once they were in the taxi and headed to the artists’ colony, Louise and Dovie looked at one another and laughed until tears made little rivulets in their makeup.

  “’I’m not an order taker,’” Dovie mocked.

  “I do agree with her on one thing—two, in fact. Bronze, no less than three-quarters life size.”

  “Be sure to include that in the order you give Mr. Potemkin.”

  After a successful meeting with the young sculptor, Louise and Dovie went to the Paisley Tea Room, where they enjoyed mint tea and dainty cucumber sandwiches served on plates garnished with tiny, edible flowers.

  Dovie asked Louise, “Where do you intend to place the statue? Not in the cemetery I hope.”

  “No, at the Inn. Morrissey’s Folly stands on the south side of the walk, so it will have to go on the north side.”

  “But it will be dwarfed by that shipwreck.”

  “The shipwreck stays. I just had her refurbished at considerable expense.”

  “No offense intended, but she’s still no great beauty.” Dovie nibbled a flower.

  “Give me another idea.”

  “I know just the thing,” Dovie said. “Chautauqua Park.”

  Louise took a moment to picture the scene. “Here’s the edge of the bluff.” She placed her palm on the table edge to her right. “And the floor represents the Chautauqua grounds. It could go on the edge of the bluff so that when you look at Frank and Marie at the doorframe you see the Chautauqua grounds below through the door opening. Dovie, you’re a genius.”