Chasing Secrets (12 page)

“Wait!” I shout.

He doesn't look back. He joins a crowded table, but I'm
stuck outside. Billy could follow him in there. It is annoying to be a girl sometimes.

The curls Nettie worked so hard on are falling into my face, so I blow them away.

Peter clinks his glass. “Gentlemen, your health,” he toasts, slipping his shoes off under the table and settling in. I wave, hoping somebody will notice me, but no one looks my way.

A
t Gemma's table everyone has moved on to dessert. Hattie is taking tiny bites of chocolate cake; Gemma is dipping her fork in raspberry filling. “You're up to something,” Gemma whispers when I slip back into my chair.

Everyone stares at me.

“What makes you say that?” How I wish I could lie the way Billy does.

“Lizzie, you have to come with us. We can't dance without you,” Hattie announces.

I look at Gus. He seems to know what I'm thinking.

“I'm still working on dessert,” he tells her. I thank him with a smile.

When Hattie and her date are gone, I tell Gemma, “I want to talk to Peter—the man who announced us when
we arrived. Only, now he's in the bar and he doesn't want to come out.”

Gemma leans toward me, her eyes sparkling. “You want to go into the saloon?”

I nod.

“Let's go.” She grins, scoots out of her seat, and grabs her crutches, with Gus close behind.

I'm starting to see that this is how Gemma and Gus are: Gemma gets bored and comes up with a wild idea, and Gus helps her pull it off. This time it's my idea.

Still, they didn't even ask me why I want to talk to Peter. It's important to me, so it's important to them. Is this what it means to have friends? How could I have missed Gemma at Miss Barstow's before? Are there other girls there as nice as she is?

We stop and look around outside the bar. A tea cart is tucked against the wall. Gus borrows a tablecloth from a nearby table and drapes it over the top.

Gemma yanks up the cloth. “Can you fit under this?”

I squat down to see if I can get my ruffles and feathers underneath. Luckily, they've loosened up since Maggy laced me in. I nod.

“Gus can push the tea cart,” Gemma says.

“How are we going to explain pushing a tea cart in the bar?” I ask.

“I know,” Gus says, and disappears. In a few minutes, he's back with a white waiter's jacket over his arm.

“Where'd you get that?” I ask.

He grins. “I've been here with Papa. I saw where they
keep them.” He takes off his Prince Albert and hands it to Gemma, then slides his arms into the small waiter's jacket.

“Don't button it,” Gemma says. She turns to me. “What will you do when you get in there?”

“I'm going to make that man Peter answer my question.”

“How?”

How do you force someone to tell you something? Hmmm. Then I flash on his shoes. “By ransoming his shoes. He took them off.”

Gemma bursts out laughing.

I crawl under the tea cart. Gemma figures out a way to fold the cloth back so I can peek through. She tucks in my skirt. Gus pushes the cart and leaves me behind.

“Not so fast,” I whisper. “I can't keep up.”

We practice until we get it. Then Gus maneuvers the tea cart over the doorway bump into the bar.

“Sir,” Gus says when our cart is in line with Peter's table, “may I take your empties?”

Perfect. I'm liking Gus better and better. Peter doesn't notice Gus. A waiter is invisible to him. Is this why Jing doesn't want Noah working for anyone?

I lift up my tablecloth and the one on Peter's table and duck my hand under, trying to see the shoes in the dark tangle of legs. I manage to grab one shoe but brush a leg as I do. The leg jerks back. I freeze.

But no one calls out or peeks underneath. I crawl back under the tea cart, holding the shoe to my chest, then reach out and squeeze Gus's ankle.

Gus pretends to drop something and ducks his head under the cart. I nod vigorously, and he begins pushing the tea cart toward the door with all my ruffles underneath. I have all I can manage trying to hold the shoe and inch forward in this dress. I need both hands to crawl. I put the shoe under my armpit. That doesn't work. I hold the shoelace between my teeth. The shoe bonks my chest, flapping this way and that.

When we're safely over the doorway bump and around the corner, Gemma lifts the table skirt, and I hop out.

Gus and Gemma burst out laughing when they see the shoelace in my mouth.

“Good job, Lizzie.” Gemma straightens my dress and smoothes my hair.

We wait for Peter to discover that his shoe is missing. But Peter is busy toasting his buddies and knocking back shots. Gemma goes in search of more dessert. Finally Gus and I see Peter wiggle around in his seat, then duck under the table.

Gus grins. I put my hands over our mouths so we won't laugh out loud.

“I'll tell him you have it,” Gus says, and marches in wearing his own jacket. He whispers into Peter's ear.

Peter's head swivels in my direction. He stomps out, one shoe on, one shoe off.

His breath stinks of whisky. His jacket is off. A perspiration stain marks his white shirt. He glares. “I do not appreciate your high jinks, Miss Kennedy. Why have you chosen me to persecute?”

“You know what I need to know, sir.”

He groans. “Is this about the monkey?”

“Yes, sir. I'm sorry to bother you, but it's very important.”

He sighs. “Dr. Kinyoun, a misguided physician with an inflated view of his own worth, believes he has conclusive evidence that the plague has come to our city. He claims to have proven this by injecting the plague pathogen, supposedly culled from a dead man, into a rat, two guinea pigs, and a monkey. The rat and the guinea pigs died. We're waiting to see if the monkey survives.”

“That would prove the plague is here?”

“That's the claim of Dr. Kinyoun—also known as the wolf doctor.”

“Why is this a secret?”

“It isn't, exactly. Your uncle is opposed to giving ink to such shenanigans. We leave that sort of scurrilous reporting to Hearst's
Examiner.
Now, my shoe, please.”

“And what about the quarantine?”

“The dead man who allegedly had the plague was found in Chinatown. The wolf doctor called the quarantine, and now he's trying to prove to everyone it wasn't a mistake.”

“Will you tell me if the monkey dies? Please, sir?”

“
Will I tell you?
Miss Kennedy, I have indulged you beyond what any prudent gentleman would, could, or should. Now, shall I get word to your aunt and uncle of your behavior, or will you kindly return my property to me and let this be the end of it?”

I hand over his shoe. “Thank you, sir.” I bob my head.

When I turn around, Gus is standing by the table taking this all in. Gemma is hobbling along on one crutch, holding a plate piled high with cookies.

“You did it!” Gemma offers me a cookie.

“With your help. What a team you two are!”

Slowly, we drift to the courtyard to wait for our coaches, letting others go in front of us. None of us wants to leave.

When I get home, Maggy and the parrot are waiting up for me. “Miss Lizzie, have fun?” Maggy asks.

“Yes, actually,” I say, thinking how I must remember every detail to tell Noah.

In my room, she unlaces the corset. The stays and ties have left red impressions on my skin. It feels wonderful to be out of it. I pull on my soft flannel nightdress and crawl into bed. Maggy turns out the gas lamp. Only the moon's light remains.

W
hen I wake up the next morning, I think about what Peter said. The entire quarantine rides on a monkey? How can that be true? What will happen if the monkey dies? Will they make it a real quarantine, with doctors and nurses and yellow plague flags? Why isn't it a real quarantine now?

All I have is questions. I want to go back to Noah with answers. I take out the feather Nettie wove into my hair. I was so tired last night, I fell asleep with it in.

My eyes find Jing's gifts. I've been out having fun in my white-feathered dress while Jing has been locked in Chinatown. Why is it I've never given Jing a gift? I don't even know when his birthday is. I have to get him out of there, and I'm not going to wait around for a stupid monkey.

I'm still trying to figure out a plan when Billy knocks on my door.

“C'mon,” he says. “I need to teach you something. Now, before church and before everyone gets up.”

I stare at him, not moving from where I'm curled up in my quilt. It's been so long since Billy taught me anything.

“You may not realize this”—his face turns red—“but you're…All dressed up last night, you…Look, you need to know how to defend yourself.”

“Against what?”

“People. Men. The world isn't what you think.” He frowns. “Put on your old clothes. Meet me at the barn.”

He shuts the door, and I slip into an old skirt. When I get down to the stable, Billy has his boxing gloves on. He's practicing punching the air. He sees me and stops.

“Okay. Let's say it's dark and you're walking in from the barn, and someone comes at you like this.” He lunges for me. “What would you do?”

“Kick him in his reproductive apparatus?”

“Not a bad idea. But what happens if he has you like this?” He stands behind me, his arm around my throat.

I shake my head. Or try to, anyway. I can hardly move with my neck in the vise of his arm.

“I'm going to keep it simple, and then we're going to practice. Did Papa ever explain to you how to defend yourself?”

“No.”

“Of course not.” He snorts. “Look, you should never do this if you're kidding around, but if you're in danger…there are points on a person, Lizzie, that will kill them. Temple, armpit, liver, groin. Behind the ear.”

He spends an hour making me practice different moves until I have mastered them. It's so nice to have the old Billy back. He could be instructing me on how to dig for turnips and I'd be happy.

The next morning after Maggy comes down, I sneak up and leave Noah supplies on the bottom step. He knows to watch for them now.

I want so badly to go up and see him. Maybe later the cord will be down. Maybe I will have found Jing by then. Wasn't Papa supposed to be back by now?

I gather clean towels, cloths, bandages, gauze, Papa's contagion gloves, a mask, and a medical coat. I roll them into a tight ball and put them in the bottom of my book bag. The bag is overstuffed, which Aunt Hortense is sure to notice. I head down the long path to the Sweetings' stable. If I climb into the carriage here, Aunt Hortense won't see my bag.

Ho is in the back, shining bits. “Excuse me, Ho,” I say. “I need to go to school.”

Ho jumps. “Yes, miss.” He hurries to the black horses already harnessed to the buggy.

Aunt Hortense comes out when she sees us. She peeks into the carriage. “Eager to get to school, are we?”

“Yes, ma'am,” I say.

“Happier at Miss Barstow's, I take it?”

All along Aunt Hortense has said I would grow to like Miss Barstow's. I can't admit she's right. I don't meet her eyes.

“Glad to hear it. Have a good day.” She taps the carriage, and Ho drives on.

All during school, I can barely concentrate. After elocution, Hattie brings up Spencer.

“Spencer? Spencer who?” Gemma sniffs. “But
you-know-who
is totally smitten.”

“I noticed that,” Hattie says, and waggles her eyebrows at me. “The question is…how does Lizzie feel about him?”

Hattie and Gemma look at me.

“Gus? Of course I like Gus,” I say.

They nod, waiting for more.

“I had fun, okay?”

“That's it?” Gemma asks. “That's all we're going to get?”

“Yes.” I hurry down the front steps in such a fluster, I forget to check my slip. There are mirrors hung everywhere because Miss Barstow can't stand it when your slip is showing. “Lizzie, a penny, please.” Miss Barstow holds out the orphan jar. I fork over a penny. You have to contribute every time she catches you with your petticoat hanging. The money goes to the McKinley Orphanage.

I run back inside to fix my slip.

“What's the matter with you today?” Gemma whispers as we gather our books.

“Nothing.”

“I don't believe you,” she announces.

If only she and Gus could help me with this. If only
I could tell her about Jing. But it's one thing to play a ransom game with a shoe, another thing to sneak into the quarantine zone of Chinatown.

When Ho comes after school, I dive into the carriage.

“Um, Ho.” I clear my throat to control the trembling. “Could you take me to a friend's house?”

“Yes, miss. Where is that?”

I hold my breath. “Down by Chinatown.”

Ho's Adam's apple slides up and down. He steals a look back. “Mrs. Sweeting knows about this?”

“Of course.” I try to sound convincing, but mostly I'm just loud.

I've put him in a bind. He doesn't want to displease me, as I can report him to Aunt Hortense. But if he goes along with what Aunt Hortense calls “Elizabeth's harebrained plans,” she'll have his head.

I watch which way he steers the horses. Toward home or Chinatown? I hold my breath.

Chinatown!

We're getting close. I can see the barricade up ahead. Ho fidgets, stealing glances back at me.

I spot a nearby building with paint peeling from the posts, blinds down and one boarded up window. “Here,” I say.

He pulls the horses up. “Miss? I don't think—”

I jump out of the carriage. “Tell Aunt Hortense I'll be home before dark.”

“Miss, are you sure Mrs. Sweeting—”

“Yes, yes. She knows.” I slip around a corner and wait.

When he's gone, I tie on the protective mask, the cap,
the coat, and the gloves. For once, I'm glad I'm tall. With the mask on, I can pass for an adult.

Papa says there are woman doctors, but since I've never seen one, I'm going to pretend to be a nurse. It would be better if I had a proper uniform underneath the medical coat, but no matter. I head to the quarantine zone. My hands sweat in the gloves. I untie the bottom of the mask so I can breathe.

Here the quarantine line is nothing more than a wire across the road. Surely I can get through that.

Two policemen patrol the wire. “Excuse me! Excuse me, sir!” I wave. “I have to get inside. I have to see patients.”

“What? Who are you?” the tall policeman with shiny buttons asks. The other policeman is eating a sandwich.

“I'm Dr. Kennedy's assistant,” I say.

“Who's he? What you got all that on for?”

“In case of contagion, sir.”

The tall policeman steps closer. He looks me up and down. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” I lie.

“Twenty-two?” He snorts. “How old are you really?”

“Twenty-one,” I try again.

He laughs. “Lost a year already. Don't you know it's a crime to lie to a police officer? Ben, how old you think this one is?”

The other officer squints at me.

“Take the mask off,” the first officer says.

I untie it.

He shakes his head. “Even younger than I thought. Fourteen at most. That right?”

A drop of sweat slips down beneath my shirtwaist.

The policeman crosses his stiff arms. “You don't have any business in there.”

I stand stupidly, unsure if I should keep pretending or tell the truth.

The policeman turns away. “Ben, you got another one of them sandwiches?”

Now what? Maybe I can try again on the other side of the quarantine area. I'm marching that way when I hear the wheels of a carriage creak behind me.

Gemma's head pops out. “Lizzie! Lizzie, is that you?”

The Trotters! Gus, Gemma, and their driver.

“What in the world are you doing?” Gemma demands as their carriage pulls up beside me.

“What am
I
doing?”

Gus and Gemma exchange a look. “You were acting weird at school,” Gemma explains. “We decided to follow you. And it's a good thing we did.”

“I was not acting weird,” I say.

“You were. Why are you dressed like that?”

“Our cook, Jing, is stuck in the quarantine. I'm trying to get him out.”

“Quarantine for what?” Gemma asks.

“The plague,” Gus tells her.

“For goodness' sake, Lizzie, take that stuff off and get into this carriage right now.” Gemma pats the seat next to her.

I look over at the policeman patrolling. I didn't fool this one. What makes me think I'll fool the next? Will they take me to the police station next time? Put me in jail? No
telling what Aunt Hortense will do if she has to bail me out.

I climb up into the Trotter carriage.

Gemma helps me get the mask untied. “If your cook has been in the quarantine, he'll be contagious.”

“It's not a real plague outbreak,” I say.

“Why else would they have a quarantine?” she asks.

“It has to do with a monkey,” Gus explains. “We're waiting to see if a monkey dies. And if the monkey dies, it might really be the plague.”

“That is the craziest thing I've ever heard,” Gemma tells me.

“I know, but it's true.”

“Why is Jing so important?” Gemma asks as I settle in between Gemma and Gus.

“He's our cook. He's a member of our family,” I say as we pass a row of run-down buildings. Laundry hangs out the window to dry. Pigeons coo and scurry around buckets of old crab shells, the air thick with the smell of fish.

Gus nods, his brow furrowed. “Wouldn't it be better to try to get him out than try to get you in?”

“I just…haven't been able to figure out how.”

“We'll help you.” Gus smiles at me.

I look from Gus to Gemma. They actually seem excited to be a part of this. Did anyone ever have better friends than these two?

The Trotters live in a yellow house with a witch's cap turret and big bay windows that look clear down to the bay and the little island of Alcatraz. The Trotters' garden
is filled with yellow, pink, peach, and lavender roses. Mrs. Trotter is on the porch with a big floppy hat and pruning shears.

Gemma takes me up to her room. It's larger than mine, with pale yellow striped wallpaper, a wicker back rocker, a hat stand filled with hats, and a table jammed with music boxes.

When Gus comes in, he has a pen, paper, and an envelope. He sits down at Gemma's writing desk.

“What are you up to?” Gemma wants to know.

“Writing a letter.”

I glance over at the stationery:
TROTTER, BLACK, AND JESSUP, ATTORNEYS AT LAW
.

“On Papa's letterhead?” Gemma asks.

“Yep,” he mutters.

We watch as Gus dunks the pen into the ink, taps off the excess, and begins writing. Gemma leans over his shoulder.

“It has come to my attention,”
Gemma reads,
“that the cook in the residence of the esteemed and revered Dr. Kennedy has been unable to see to his duties. Dr. Kennedy's work has been impeded by his cook's absence. His absence has caused heartache and hardship of great magnitude for the Kennedys, and it is important, imperative, and essential that he be released at once….”

Gemma's mouth drops open. “You're not going to sign Papa's name.”