Papa shuffled to the cupboard, took a cup and poured himself some cold coffee. As he swigged it, he turned his back to everyone, and gazed out at the back garden. Then he started for the dining room door. When he passed Clara, with his red shot eyes and whiskey-stinking skin, she held her breath.
Suddenly Mrs. Purcell blurted out, “Billy’s run away. He left this morning.”
Papa stopped but didn’t turn around. “When did he go?”
“
Early,” Mrs. Purcell said.
He took a slow sip of coffee, then looked up at the ceiling. That was
tarnal
strange. Why wasn’t he throwing the cup across the room? Why wasn’t he yelling? Clara felt a prickle at the back of her neck.
He took a second sip of coffee, then crooked himself around and looked straight at Clara. “He’s got to get back here. He’s got to help the family. He can’t go runnin’ off. Where’d he go?”
“
How am I supposed to know?” Clara’s throat tightened around her words.
Blinking and squinting, Papa looked up at the ceiling again. The Carter sisters, who must have heard the hubbub, appeared in the kitchen doorway. Everyone had their eyes on Papa waiting for him to explode. The longer it was that he didn’t explode, the more petrified Clara was. Mrs. Purcell had an arm around Euphora a good distance away, but Clara was right there near him.
He stepped close to her. “Because he tells you things. Did he go to your sister’s?”
“
No, he said he was going to Kansas Territory, to find John Brown’s men, like he always said.” Clara felt Euphora staring at her.
“
John Brown’s executed.”
“
Billy said his men were still fighting for freedom. He said he was going to fight with them.”
“
You wouldn’t lie to me about that would you? Because I can take a train right up to Isabelle in Rochester and haul him home by the collar.”
“
Kansas.”
“
Kansas,” Euphora repeated.
He glanced around at everyone. “What’re you all looking at? Damned females.”
Striding to the back door, coffee cup in hand, he thrust the door open and staggered outside onto the crusted snow. Clara closed the door and they all scuttled to the window to watch him. In the middle of the frozen garden, he swiveled around every which way, maybe trying to decide where to go, but then he stayed put, his shoulders hunching over. His cup dropped from his hands, spilling coffee onto his shoes and turning the snow brown in a small circle. Then his shoulders began to heave and shake. Everyone, Euphora, Mrs. Purcell, the Carter sisters, all stood huddled together with Clara staring out at Papa, stooped and shuddering.
“
I didn’t know he’d be sad.” Euphora looked up at Clara. “I thought he hated Billy.”
“
I don’t think he hated him, dear.” Mrs. Purcell pushed back a few wandering strands of Euphora’s red hair. “Your father has been twisted into something mean by the liquor, but it’s not hate.”
After some time, Papa stood up straight and calm. He looked up toward the sky and stayed like that for a long time. Finally, his gaze still fixed upward, he sank to his knees in the coffee drenched snow. Was he talking to Mamma? To God? Clara felt a piece of her heart bend toward him like a divining rod toward water, but she didn’t run out to him. She took Euphora’s hand. When he finished talking to the sky, he got up, took off his spectacles, wiped them with a handkerchief, put them back on and walked away—no coat, no hat, no scarf—around the side of the house where they couldn’t see him anymore.
Never come back, Clara thought. Go search for Billy but never find him and
never
come back.
<><><>
BUT HE DID COME BACK
.
The very next night he sauntered into the Blue Room just as Clara and Euphora were going to sleep, and sat down on Billy’s bed by candlelight. Her heart sinking to the bottom of a gully just at the sight of him, Clara listened to him describe all the taverns, homes, alleys, depots, and factories where he had searched for Billy. He asked everyone he could find where Billy might be.
“
Kansas maybe. Kansas I’ll bet. That’s what everyone said,” Papa told her and Euphora. “I ain’t goin’ that far right now. It’s too dang cold, too much snow and ice. Nearly got frostbite without my gloves. You seen my gloves?”
Clara shook her head and was relieved that Euphora shook hers too.
“
I’m goin’ up to Isabelle’s first minute this cold streak lets up. There’s a good chance he’s there. I’ll haul him back, but I ain’t goin’ ta freeze myself to death over his no good antics. He ain’t worth that. But I’m goin’ right soon and if you two write each other any secret letters, you tell your twin brother that there’s no hidin’ from me.” Papa stared into the candle a moment. “And tell him all will be forgiven if he comes back.”
Thirty-Two
FOR THE NEXT SIXTEEN DAYS after Billy ran off, Papa kept Clara to her regular schedule with Sam Weston and got her with John Reilly whenever Reilly wanted. On the seventeenth night, Clara pushed aside the table and chairs and rolled up the rug in the Spirit Room. Kneeling down, she wedged a knife into the crack between the floorboards and wrenched up the loose board. She heaved it over, sending it clattering. Reaching underneath the floor, she found her firemen bandbox, then took three dollar coins from her dress pocket, two from John Reilly and one from Sam and placed them inside beneath the colorful ribbon remnants.
John Reilly had come back after she’d made her demands that first afternoon. Reilly had come six times total and added to her secret savings. Clara lifted the ribbons out of the box and spilled her money jingling onto the floor. Twelve dollars from Reilly and eight from Sam. Twenty. She hadn’t spent a red cent of it. Papa had promised her half of Reilly’s five dollar fee for each visit, but he hadn’t given it to her yet. He said he had some catching up to do on expenses, but in a week or so he’d make good on his promise. He wouldn’t do it, though. Maybe he’d give her some of it, but never all of it.
She felt a chill and glanced at the fireplace and clock. Seven. She’d better get the fire going now so the room would be warm when Sam arrived at eight. How much money would she need to run away? Fifty, a hundred? Maybe she could find Billy. After scooping up the gold coins and dropping them back into the box, she took each ribbon one by one and rolled them into coils. Then she set them color by color—pinks, blues, reds—in layers on top of the money. She placed the lid on the box and ran her fingertips over the troop of firemen and their wagon.
She remembered the struggling firemen and other townspeople back in Homer when Papa’s gristmill had burned to the ground. As the flames reached toward the sky, he and his partners had celebrated by getting drunk and hooting at the inferno. When Clara asked Mamma why he was happy that his business had burned down, all Mamma said was “insurance,” then walked away. Later that night, the Homer sheriff came looking for Papa and then it was only a few weeks before Papa disappeared and found his way to Geneva.
Seventeen days since Billy had run off. How far could he be by now? Seventeen days of the sickest heartache she’d ever known. She felt like her arm was cut off and she didn’t know where it was. If she did run like him, where would she go? Could she find him and live with him? She couldn’t leave Euphora behind. She’d have to take her. That meant more money to be saved. She hid the box away in the floor again and replaced the floorboard.
Suddenly, a pounding noise rammed at the door.
“
Oh.” Heart slamming, she covered her mouth.
“
Clara, it’s Mrs. Purcell. May I come in?”
Jo-fire
. She took a deep breath. It was just a knock. Just Mrs. Purcell. She glanced around.
Lawks.
The rug. The furniture.
“
Just a minute.” Clara unrolled and spread the rug quickly, then opened the door. “I was cleaning.” As proof, she held out her hands, grimy with floor dirt.
Bundled up in her cape, gloves and scarf, Mrs. Purcell was alone. She rarely went out at night in the cold unless a friend or neighbor came along. She lifted a plate covered with a white cloth towards Clara. “I brought you some supper. You’re missing too many of your evening meals. Am I interrupting your preparations? I know you have a spirit circle on Fridays.”
Clara stiffened. Of course there was no spirit circle. There would only be Sam. Mrs. Purcell had better be gone by the time he arrived.
“
Thank you. It’s not until eight o’clock. I just have to start a fire and…” She looked around. “…fix the furniture.”
“
I’ll help you.”
Mrs. Purcell came in and set the plate on the table. Together they hoisted the table and chairs into place. While Clara struck a match and lit the kindling under the coal, Mrs. Purcell made clunking sounds as she set things on the oak table. Taking down the bellows from the mantel, Clara blew at the flames. When the fire was going, she looked around. There was a plate with ham, a stewed apple, and a hunk of brown bread set tidily with silverware and a napkin. In the rear corner of the room, Mrs. Purcell was tilting back the bottle of Old Peach Brandy on the pewter tray and eyeing its label.
Clara twirled toward the fire and pumped the bellows again even though the kindling had taken nicely. She didn’t want the meal. She was never hungry before one of her engagements with Sam or Reilly. She hardly ate on those days at all.
“
When did you get this exquisite red piece?” Mrs. Purcell asked, stroking her hand over the silk upholstery. “I haven’t been here for months. You’ve got all kinds of new things—the washstand, the whiskey and brandy and glasses. Do you serve your seekers potations at the séances? I didn’t think that liquor and Spiritualism were compatible.” She raised a brow.
Mrs. Purcell looked comfortable and grandmotherly there on the sofa in her brown jacket and skirt. It wasn’t what Clara was used to—a sweet, older, rose-and-lavender smelling woman resting there, rather than Sam or Reilly jittery and eager, wanting to do the other thing with her.
“
Oh, you know Papa. He takes a drink when he is being host with the seekers. It’s just for him. I wish he wouldn’t, but you know how he is.”
Mrs. Purcell paused a moment. Could Mrs. Purcell tell absolutely everything she said was a lie? Could Mrs. Purcell hear it in her voice, see it on her face? Could Mrs. Purcell see her drinking brandy with Sam by the fire?
“
Aren’t you going to eat? You have lost weight this winter and you are pale as a ghost. Try the ham. Euphora and I baked it with cloves.”
“
Maybe later. I’ll set it aside and eat after the circle.” Clara covered the plate with the napkin and took it with the silverware to the shelf with the liquor. She ogled the peach brandy, imagined the delicious fruit coating her tongue and throat. A libation now would relax her before Sam came, but she couldn’t take one in front of Mrs. Purcell.
“
Clara, come and sit with me on the sofa.” Mrs. Purcell patted the red silk. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you in a long time.”
Clara nodded, then sat near her. It had better not be a long talk, though. Sam would be here soon.
“
You’ve had to become the oldest female in the family when you weren’t that at all just a year ago. Now Billy is gone. Your family is getting smaller and smaller. You and Euphora must be lonely.” Mrs. Purcell tapped her hands softly on her lap.
“
Yes.” Clara slumped back into the sofa. “I’ve been trying to get Izzie to come and visit, but Doctor MacAdams always needs her for something. She wrote me she would come for certain last week.
“
Did you write her about Billy?”
Clara bit the inside of her mouth. “Not yet. I don’t think anything I could say would make her visit. I’ve given up writing to her.”
“
You write her and tell her about Billy. She’ll come then. I know she will.” Mrs. Purcell settled a warm, wrinkled hand on Clara’s wrist. “With your mother passed away and Isabelle in Rochester, I feel I should have kept a better eye on you and Billy and Euphora. But I have kept my distance because your father hasn’t wanted my attentions on you children and he is your rightful parent.” She grasped Clara’s hand. “But there are some things that only a mother or older sister, or an aunt perhaps, can offer guidance on.” She cleared her throat. “I could be that for you if you want. Would you like that?”
Clara nodded.
Mrs. Purcell smiled and squeezed her hand harder. “Is there anything you would like to speak to me about, anything that you have been wrestling with?”
Yes, Clara thought.
Lawk-a-mercy, yes
. Get me away from Papa and his schemes. He is killing me. Killing me. But she couldn’t betray her promise to keep it all secret, couldn’t take the risk. She felt her shoulders pinch up, her jaw lock. She shook her head.
Mrs. Purcell’s gray eyes grew gentle and worried. “You can confide in me, Clara. Whatever you tell me will be between us and no one else, especially your father.”