Bloody Lessons (3 page)

Chapter Three

Wednesday, late evening, January 7, 1880

"Mrs.
Upham Hendee, Business Medium, 207 Kearny street. Circles Tuesday and Friday evenings, Sittings daily." ––
San Francisco Chronicle
, 1880

“What the hell? Why would anyone…was she hurt?” Nate stopped, feeling like he had been punched in the gut. His little sister, attacked. He couldn’t breathe.

Annie slid closer to him on the parlor settee and squeezed his hand, saying, “She’s fine. She will probably have a few bruises, but Kathleen who attended her at her bath reported that she didn’t see any cuts or swelling.”

He put his other hand over hers, its warmth providing a small comfort. He took a deep breath and said, “Good, good. And this happened in the back alley? When?”

“Yes
, Nate. I told you. Laura and Jamie were coming back from school a little before five.”

Nate thought about the thick fog he had waded through this evening on his way from his law offices to Annie’s house. How dark it had seemed
walking the half a block up from where he got off the horsecar at Taylor. The alley would have been pitch black. He imagined how frightening it would be for his sister to have a man lunge out of the darkness at her.

He felt a new spurt of anger. “It would have been dark by then; why the devil did they come the back way?”

“Since he doesn’t have a front door key, Jamie is used to going that way when he comes home. Honestly, I would never have considered the alley dangerous before. Kathleen takes that route all the time when she leaves the house, and I do when I am planning on going south to Market Street.”

“In the dark?” Nate realized how sharp he sounded, and he tempered his tone. “I mean, what kind of lighting is back there?” He knew questioning Annie’s judgment on safety issues would just get him into trouble, given their past history. But hang it all, this was his precious little sister!

Annie stirred and pulled her hands away, fiddling with the small brooch at her neck. “The houses on each side of the alley do provide some illumination. However, I see your point. With night coming on, in the fog, I would probably not have chosen to go that way, and Kathleen is usually being escorted by Patrick when she comes home that way at night.”

Nate sighed. “I suppose Laura wouldn’t have thought anything about going down a dark alley
, since that is the condition of most country roads. Even San Jose isn’t that well lit, not like San Francisco.”

“Jamie was very upset. Not just that it was his idea to go that way but that he ran ahead to the house, leaving Laura alone in the alley for a moment. He felt he’d failed to act the ‘gentleman!’ Sweet boy. Frankly, if he hadn’t gone right back to the alley, and Dandy hadn’t made a racket attacking the man, I am not sure the outcome would have been as benign.”

The memory of Annie struggling last fall with an unknown assailant filled Nate’s mind, and he blurted out, “Do you think this had anything to do with the Framptons and what happened in October? Could the man have been after you?”

Annie shook her head slowly. “I hadn’t thought of that. I don’t see why it would. Laura is taller than I am, and her hair is much darker, although in the fog that might not be obvious. Oh Nate, I would feel awful if she had a fright because of me! What are we going to tell your parents? I promised so faithfully she would be safe with me!”

Nate pulled her into his arms and said, “Now, Annie. We don’t know that you were the target. I just can’t think why Laura would be. It was probably just some ruffian looking for a few coins. I imagine Laura is going to have something to say about whether we can tell my parents about this. She didn’t have any idea who the man was?”

“No, she said she couldn’t see him because he grabbed her from behind, so she had no idea what he looked like or who he was. But…”

Nate looked down at Annie, who was fingering one of his lapels, a mannerism he had come to associate with her when she was worried. When she didn’t go on, he said sharply, “What is it? Do you think she knew who he was?”

Annie shrugged. “I don’t think so. I just felt there was something odd about her reaction. Of course she was shaken up, but I expected her to be more outraged. I guess I had built up this image from all you had told me about her, that she was fearless…”

Nate chuckled softly, pulling her tighter. “Annie, my love, just because you are capable of facing down murderers and assailants with aplomb doesn’t mean every woman is as brave or as foolhardy as you are.”

Annie laughed, turned further into his arms, and rested her head on his shoulder. As they sat entwined, Nate breathed in her distinctive spicy scent, rubbed his chin against the silk of her hair, and welcomed the comfort of having the woman he loved in his arms. He had met Annie Fuller last August, less than six months ago, when the death of one of his law firm’s clients brought them together. At first
, he’d been confused by how attracted he was to a woman who flouted societal norms left and right. Annie was independent to a fault and an assertive advocate of women’s rights. She had even been educated in the masculine world of high finance by her father, a famous stock broker. Yet none of this had protected her from the financial ruin and death of her husband that had left her an impoverished widow, dependent on her in-laws back east.

Two years ago, Annie had inherited this house in San Francisco, turned it into a boarding house, and created the role of Madam Sibyl, clairvoyant. She’d explained to him that, while she didn’t believe in the palmistry and star charts she used with clients as Madam Sibyl, this was the only way men would take a woman’s business advice seriously, and she needed the money to supplement the income she got from the boarding house. He pictured how she had looked as she defended herself, her cheeks flushed, her delicate chin thrust up, her brown eyes darkening with defiance.

Nate had come to admit that some of the very characteristics that made him uncomfortable also made Annie more attractive to him. They were some of the very same characteristics she had in common with his sister, whom he teasingly called his little Susan B. Anthony. Annie was correct; he would have assumed that Laura would respond to a threat, particularly one by a man, by getting angry. But he wasn’t sure he still understood her; she’d seemed different over the holidays, more subdued than usual. That was, until she got the letter about coming to San Francisco. Then the old Laura had reappeared.

He said, “Annie, do you think that Laura is hiding something? She didn’t write to me very often last fall. Normally, when we are apart, she writes about once a week, letters filled with all her doings and little enthusiasms.”

“Oh Nate, from some of the things she has said to me this week, she didn’t feel her first teaching assignment went at all well. She might have been embarrassed to admit this to her big brother. At her age, you often think you are invincible, that you can do anything. Then you hit your first obstacle. It can knock the stuffing out of you.”

Nate smiled, thinking of his first trial. What a disaster. Thank goodness his Uncle Frank had finally brought a new partner into the firm. Able Cranston was a first-rate defense attorney, and Nate had already had the opportunity to second him in two trials. He was learning a good deal that only practical experience, not law books, could teach him.

Annie continued. “I felt like she was just getting her confidence back. Last night, she told me all about her students and new assignments she had planned. Then tonight, I saw her standing in the kitchen, huddled like a small scared animal. Well, I could wring the neck of that man, whoever he was, for doing that to her.”

This image of Laura rekindled Nate’s anger. He pulled back from Annie and started to rise, saying, “Look, I need to see her. Make sure she is really all right. Maybe she will tell me more than she told you…maybe she has remembered something. Can I go on up to her room?”

Annie stood up and put out a restraining hand. “Nate, no. She is probably already asleep. She needs her rest to be ready for school tomorrow. Don’t worry, I will look in on her before I retire.”

“But what if the attack wasn’t random? I need to know what to do to keep her safe.”

Annie squeezed his arm. “There isn’t anything you can do tonight. I have already spoken to Mr. Stanley, our local patrolman. He promised to start making the alley part of his beat, and Kathleen is going to get Patrick to find out if any other women have been assaulted recently in the area. And of course, none of us are going to use the alley at night anymore.”

“But even if she stays away from the alley…”

“I know. But we can’t keep her in the house like a prisoner. We don’t even know if she was the particular target of the man. Barbara Hewitt has already volunteered to make sure that she and Jamie always accompany Laura to and from Clement Grammar. Barbara usually walks with Jamie since it is on the way to Girls' High, so it won’t be a bother. I am sure I can convince Laura that it is best for none of them to walk home unescorted once it is dark, and David Chapman has offered to walk with them on Wednesday nights when Barbara has to stay late.”

“David who? Oh, that’s right,”
Nate said, as he remembered. “Chapman. I’ve met him in the hall a few times. One of your boarders. Tall, thin scarecrow of a fellow. What’s he got to do with this?”

Annie told him about how Chapman had come down to the kitchen after work and then gone out and found Laura’s satchel. “He works for
Mitcherson’s as a purchasing agent, makes a decent salary,” Annie continued. “From what Kathleen says, he is quite smitten by Jamie’s mother, Barbara, although there is no indication that she returns the sentiment.”

“Ah, hence the offer to escort everyone home on Wednesday nights! Well, as long as he’s not after Laura. Mother is determined she meet and marry a doctor or lawyer. I think this is the main reason she agreed to Laura moving up to San Francisco,” Nate said.

He looked down at Annie and watched the play of emotions across her face. He knew she would be upset by the idea that Laura’s primary motivation for coming to teach in the city should be to catch a husband. However, since Annie was being courted by Nate, a lawyer, she couldn’t really say anything about this without sounding insulting. He kept quiet and watched her struggle with how to respond. He had learned his lesson last fall, when his too-ready tongue had gotten him in real trouble. He had almost lost any chance he had with Annie. The past few months, they had slowly been moving towards a better understanding, and he didn’t want to do anything to disturb this new equilibrium.
There it is, that smile.
One of Annie’s most endearing qualities was her sense of humor.

“Nate, you are teasing me! I can’t imagine your mother plotting any such thing. You’ve always told me how important it was to her for Laura to get an education and a profession of her own,” Annie said, laughing. “Besides, Laura just turned nineteen, much too early to be thinking about husbands.”

Nate saw Annie’s smile disappear, and he wondered if she was remembering that she had been Laura’s age when she’d married. He didn’t know many details about her marriage, besides the fact that her husband had lost all of Annie’s fortune in the panic and stock market crash of 1873 and then committed suicide. Mrs. Stein, one of Annie’s boarders, had intimated to him that the marriage itself had not been a happy one. He wished Annie would be more forthcoming about her past, even though it made him jealous even to think of another man putting his arms around her or kissing her.

Nate dismissed that thought and drew the now somber Annie back into his arms, saying, “You know, my dearest, I would be very glad to encourage her to think about anything, including being courted by some young doctor, if it would take her mind off of what happened this evening.”

*****

Laura heard the quiet knock on the bedroom door, and she hastily blew out the candle and scrunched under the covers. She could sense the door open as the light from the hallway hit her eyes, which she squeezed shut. Annie softly said her name, and then Laura heard the whisper of clothing and the door close, extinguishing the light. Annie had been true to her word and had gone down to see Nate without her. He was probably gone now
, and she was safe.

She’d been so afraid that if she saw her big brother
, she’d spill out all her fears to him.

Instead, she was here, alone in the dark, with those fears. Her fear she wouldn’t be able to sleep and would make a mess of her teaching tomorrow.
Her fear that her parents would insist that she come home if they heard what happened. And the worst fear of all, that she might know who the man was who attacked her and that she might be responsible, in small part, for his rage.

Chapter Four

Friday afternoon, January 9, 1880

"Miss Mayo, Medium. 327 O'Farrell––Sittings daily, 10 to 9 P.M." ––San Francisco Chronicle, 1880

Annie sat in the small back room that had been her Uncle Timothy’s private study on the first floor. She had taken off the wig of massed black ringlets, and she was massaging her temples. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, savoring the faint apple scent of her uncle’s pipe tobacco that still clung to the thick velvet curtains and carpet. She remembered him as a big bear of a man, with warm hugs and a cache of peppermint candies he hid in his desk, especially for his young niece. His desk was now stacked with the newspapers, almanacs, and correspondence that she, as Madam Sibyl, consulted in order to give advice to her clients.

The last time she had seen her Uncle Timothy was fifteen years ago
, when the telegram arrived telling of her mother’s death. He’d been the one to take her to the train heading south to her home outside of Los Angeles, and she never forgot the comfort of his arms. She had no premonition she would never see him or her aunt again, that her father would flee from his grief, dragging his twelve-year-old daughter with him all the way around Cape Horn to New York City. It was during that long ship voyage that her father introduced her to the mysteries of high finance, an education that continued even after she started attending the snobbish Ladies Academy in their new home. Every night for the next five years, they sat together, poring over year-end financial statements, local farm reports, weather forecasts, and transportation bills before Congress as he taught her how to use these disparate bits of information to predict the future prices of stocks and bonds.

Then she had married John Fuller, a troubled young man who viewed her unusual talents as unwomanly and refused to take her advice. To make matters worse, when her father suddenly died, she’d discovered he had left all her assets in the hands of her husband, forcing her to watch helplessly as John gambled away her fortune and her future happiness, leaving her at the mercy of in-laws who blamed her for his subsequent suicide.

Annie grimaced, impatient with such thoughts. At least her aunt and uncle had never forgotten their little niece, leaving this house to her when they died. In the past two years, she had been able to turn this legacy and the business aptitude her father had fostered into two separate sources of income, the boarding house and Madam Sibyl, earning enough so she would never have to be dependent on anyone ever again.

Annie stood up and went to look at her reflection in the washstand mirror, chastising herself for once more going down the dead-end path of anger and resentment. As she carefully wiped the red off her lips and removed as much of the white powder from her face as she could, she repeated to herself that she had her house, her dear friends, and a man courting her who, miracle of miracles, respected her, despite her unconventional occupation and independent ways. She was happy now
, and she needed to let the past be the past.

Besides, this autumn she had discovered that being too independent could be equally dangerous to her well-being
, a lesson that Nate’s little sister might need to learn. Annie was glad to see that Laura had looked rested this morning when Annie caught her in the hall before the younger woman left for work. Laura had skillfully avoided every attempt Annie made, last evening and this morning, to talk further about the attack on her.

The clock in the study chimed the quarter hour, and Annie carefully pulled off the net she wore under her wig and re-pinned the strands of hair that had escaped from the coiled braid at the top of her head. Two years ago, when she first started her business as a clairvoyant, she had rather liked putting on the wig and makeup and speaking in a faintly foreign accent. She’d felt like an actress in a play, not a charlatan fooling people into believing she had gotten her ideas from reading their palms or casting their horoscopes. Then, about six months ago, she’d begun to feel uncomfortable with the artifice.

Today, for the first time, she would meet with a client, Ruthann Hazelton, without assuming the role of Madam Sybil, using the excuse that the wig frightened Ruthann’s four-month-old daughter, Lillian. Last week, as Lillian squalled, Annie asked Ruthann if she could try not being “in costume” during their next meeting.

The young woman had laughed and said, “Oh
, what a good idea. Anyway, I don’t expect how you look has anything to do with the quality of your advice, and we both know that advice doesn’t come from the stars!”

Annie gave her hair a last pat and turned to go into the adjoining parlor, wondering if other clients would be equally sanguine if she told them that clairvoyance or palmistry or their horoscopes had nothing to do with her advice, either.
Well, one step at a time.

*****

“
I am so frustrated, Madam Sibyl. I thought Mother Hazelton wanted me to take over the management of the house, including the ordering of the food and planning meals, but all she has done is complain. No matter what I do, it’s wrong.”

Ruthann Hazelton was a tall, spare woman in her early thirties, with thick, wavy hair the color of deep mahogany, smiling brown eyes that were huge behind her steel-rimmed glasses, and a mobile mouth that was currently turned down. Her rosy-cheeked daughter gurgled and made a grab for her mother’s spectacles, immediately turning that frowning mouth into a smile.

They were sitting in the small front parlor where Madam Sibyl met her clients. This room was Annie’s pride and joy, with its dark green curtains open to let in the pale winter light, wood-paneled cabinets filled with curios from a sea-faring ancestor, and small lace-covered tables holding bowls of fresh-cut flowers delivered daily by a local flower peddler. She spent most of her days here, meeting businessmen in the morning and late afternoons, offering them brandy from Uncle Timothy’s old crystal decanters while guiding them skillfully to financial success. From mid-morning to early afternoon, it was tea and some of Mrs. O’Rourke’s pastries that were offered to women like Ruthann, who had their own set of domestic concerns. This morning, a wood fire burned with a satisfying snap and crackle, and for once, Annie felt comfortable turning up the flames on the oil lamps scattered around the room. Today, she didn’t need shadows to add to Madam Sibyl’s mystery. Ruthann sat in a comfortable armchair across from Annie, a round velvet-covered table in between them.

Annie leaned across the table to wave her fingers at the child. She noted with pleasure when the small olive brown eyes shifted and focused first on Annie’s waving fingers and then on her face.
This time, the result wasn’t a startled expression followed by tears. Annie, without wig, was clearly a more acceptable vision to the young Lillian.

She sat back and said, “Ruthann, do call me Annie. That is my real name, Mrs. Annie Fuller. If we are going to banish Madam Sibyl’s wig, let’s get rid of her completely!”

When Ruthann smiled, Annie said, “First of all, do you want to take over managing the kitchen with all it entails? Or were you doing it just to please your mother-in-law?”

“Well, you know that Bertram and I lived in a boarding house until right before Lillian was born. Since I have boarded out my entire life, first at school in Colorado and then when I came to San Francisco to teach, I confess I’ve never had to take care of a whole house, much less direct servants or order groceries.”

“Yes, but you haven’t answered my question. Is this something you are anxious to learn how to do now while Lillian takes up so much of your time? Did your mother-in-law even ask you to do more?” Having been over Ruthann’s relationship with her mother-in-law before, Annie suspected the answer would be in the negative.

“I guess not in so many words.” Ruthann let Lillian encircle her index finger with her chubby hand. “But she’s started complaining about how tired she is. She made me feel guilty. And now that Lillian is sleeping through most of the nights and I am getting my energy back, I thought I ought to make an effort. I am going to have to learn how to keep house eventually.”

“But is this something you would like to learn from your mother-in-law?”

Ruthann responded with a chuckle. “Heavens above, no! I would much rather learn later, after she’s gone, when I won’t have to suffer her constant criticism. Bertram doesn’t care two hoots about a few late meals or if there aren’t enough meat courses or if the dessert cake falls flat. And
you
won’t mind, will you my sweet angel?” Ruthann kissed the wispy curls on the top of Lillian’s head.

Annie leaned forward to stroke the baby’s tiny hand. Ruthann had come to see Madam Sibyl in the fall of ’78, full of despair after her second miscarriage. She was past thirty when she met and married her husband, Bertram Hazelton, an engineer employed by the San Francisco Gas Light Company, and she had wanted Madam Sibyl to forecast whether she would ever have a successful pregnancy.

She’d said to Annie, “I just need to know. Before I met Bertram, I’d resigned myself to being an old-maid school teacher, never being loved by a man, never holding a child of my own. If I have to accept that my fate is to be childless, so be it. I’ve so much to be thankful for already. But it isn’t fair to my dear husband to keep putting him through this. He frets so over my health.”

Of course
, Annie hadn’t been able to give Ruthann the answer she wanted since Madam Sibyl wasn’t really clairvoyant. What she could do was give her sympathy and some simple advice. First, she had used her examination of the lines in Ruthann’s hands as an excuse to ask her questions about her past, her present, and her hopes for the future. As Annie had discovered with others, Ruthann found a level of peace just from being able to spend an hour every week talking to someone else about her problems.

Concluding that Ruthann was bored, which gave her too much time to worry, Annie encouraged the former elementary school teacher to get involved with some charitable enterprise. Ruthann went on to help with the children living temporarily in the home run by the Ladies Protection and Relief Society. Later, when Ruthann again became pregnant, Annie suggested she not tell her husband until she had felt the baby quicken
, since her previous miscarriages had occurred before the fourth month. This way, he wouldn’t drive her to distraction with his fears.

Whether it was a coincidence or not, after following Madam Sibyl’s advice, Ruthann successfully carried the baby to term, and now she swore the $2 weekly fee she paid for Madam Sibyl’s advice was the best investment she’d ever made. In turn, Annie had become quite fond of Ruthann and was glad that the arrival of little Lillian hadn’t ended her visits. Until her experiences this past fall with the mysterious
Maybelle, Annie hadn’t spent much time with children, yet she found herself distinctly drawn to the young mother and her child.

Annie watched Ruthann jiggling Lillian on her lap and brought her attention back to the matter at hand, saying, “Again, if you don’t really want to take over running the house now and your mother-in-law didn’t ask you to do so, what is it you really want?”

“I want her to leave,” Ruthann stated with such vehemence that Lillian’s little face scrunched up, and she gave a tiny cry. Deftly distracting her child by shaking a small rattle, Ruthann went on. “Oh, Madam…Annie, that sounds so selfish. I do appreciate that Mother Hazelton’s help permitted me to devote myself to this sweet little bundle these first months. But my own mother, God rest her soul, always said, ‘You should go along as you want to get along,’ and I want to be responsible for my household as well as my child.”

“When she was invited, was there a definite time set for her to leave?”

“Invited! We didn’t invite her. She invited herself, and Bertram didn’t feel he could say no. Although I don’t think he had any idea she would stay on so long.”

“They had a close relationship?” Annie asked.

“Mother Hazelton
says
they did. And I guess since he still lived with his parents in Chicago well into his early thirties, she has a reason for thinking so. She has two older daughters, but they married years ago and moved away from Chicago; one is in New York, the other Atlanta.”

“Bertram’s father is deceased?”

“Yes, he died about two years ago. Bertram
does
say he was close to his father, who was also a mechanical engineer.”

Lillian began to fret, and Annie found herself rising and holding out her arms for the restless child. Ruthann handed her over willingly. As Annie took Lillian, she was amazed at how sturdy the young child felt, despite her small size. Lillian leaned back as if to check out this new giant was who was holding her, and Annie instinctively put her right hand behind the baby’s head, which still tended to wobble, tightening her grip with her left arm. Lillian blew a bubble and then jerked forward to nestle her head against Annie’s shoulder. Carefully pulling the baby blanket around the child and breathing Lillian’s sweet milky scent, Annie felt a fierce ache fill her chest.

Until very recently, she’d never experienced a strong desire to be a mother, even during her own failed pregnancy. But what if her own miscarriage hadn’t been caused by the shock of her father’s death? What if she had inherited some essential barrenness from her mother who had only conceived one child? Did she dare tell Nate of her fears? Would that change the way he saw her? Annie began to rock Lillian side-to-side, as much to comfort herself as to comfort the child.