City of Liars and Thieves (10 page)

The room had grown shadowy, and I lit a lamp as if it might illuminate her explanation. The bits of conversation I had heard seemed to support what she was saying. I looked down at the floor where the pitcher had spilled. Loose strands of Elma's dark hair floated in the murky puddle like tendrils.

“And then what?” I asked.

“And then Burr's sham will be clear. Elias, and everyone else, will know the truth.”

“But will Elias suffer? I can't allow that.
We
cannot allow that. Our home is at risk.”

She squeezed my finger and looked into my eyes. “You have always said I should listen to the voice inside me, the one that knows right from wrong. That's what I'm doing. This might not be the most expedient solution or the most obvious, but right will prevail. Caty, trust me. I am following my conscience.”

The expression made me pause. Elma never attended meeting, and it was rare for her to cite Quaker principles. Part of me resented her for using them to defend Levi and his lies. Still, I did not doubt her sincerity. She believed in Levi and was following her heart. I vowed I would speak to Elias if the truth did not surface in a week's time. Until then, I needed to trust Elma. How could I deny her that?

The usual assortment of women, children, and servants of all color, shape, and size were gathered around the dilapidated pump when I went to collect water the next day. Elma normally fetched the water now, but I wanted to see the ruse for myself.

Elma's explanation was so outlandish, I'd been reluctant to believe her, despite my misgivings about the Weeks brothers. But I knew that even the most sinister imagination could never concoct such an elaborate scheme. Elma had deceived me by omission, but she would never truly betray me. I didn't fully understand the details, nor did I grasp their ramifications. And I certainly did not foresee the danger that would soon engulf our family. Trying to be optimistic, I told myself that Levi's confiding in Elma proved his affection. Still, like a scratch in my throat, an irritant I could not swallow, I could not shake the notion that theirs was an intimacy built on lies.

“Well's dry,” I heard a man grumble as I wound my way through the throng. People were milling about, as stagnant as the water. It had been an unusually warm autumn. Leaves were crumbling to dust on trees before falling into brittle heaps. Charles leapt from pile to pile, crunching foliage underfoot.

“How are we expected to live?” a woman beside me cried. She held an infant in her arms. He was quiet—sickly, not content.

“That one's working on it,” said another woman, whom I recognized from Greenwich Street. She pointed into the crowd and there, amid the shabby group, stood Ezra Weeks.

Ezra was not tall, though he seemed to tower above everyone else. I hung back, observing, as he directed a dozen workers. Some were digging a trench the size and depth of a grave. Others tossed logs from a wagon, narrowly missing people.

“What's happening?” I asked the woman I recognized.

“Laying pipes,” she said.

A haphazard assortment of misshapen logs lay scattered across the congested street. Some had large knobs or bits of bark reaching out like human limbs. They clearly would never be coaxed into forming a straight line to Greenwich Street or anywhere else.

“Wooden pipes?” I asked.

“Cheaper than iron,” a man chimed in. “They hollow logs out, then seal them with tar.”

There was no tar in sight, and very little water. “But the well is dry,” I said.

“Pipes have to be connected so Burr can tell his stockholders that work's been done.” He passed me a handbill.

To the Public, was printed in large letters on the top of the page. “Notwithst
anding the intervention of a malignant fever, which occasioned so great and so large a desertion of the city, the waterworks have never been suspended….” My eyes skimmed the page: “…a single well will yield a quantity excellent for drinking and good for every culinary purpose.”

My stomach sank as I looked from the bold announcement to the dusty trench. So Elma had told me the truth. Sealing wooden pipes had to be exacting work, yet the workers tossed logs about with little care. The ones in the trench pitched shovels of dry dirt up onto the street, where it swirled in a funnel of dust and blew back into the pit.

Ezra stood downwind. He had tied a kerchief across his mouth, but that did not stop him from shouting orders. Levi was among the men, knee-deep in dirt, nodding attentively at his brother's commands.

An older man, stooped and balding, shoved his way through the commotion. “They don't give a damn about water, just about fattening their purses, and to hell with the rest of us.” His voice sounded familiar, yet I could not place him. “There's nothing here but pestilence and plague,” he hollered, grimacing as if in pain.

All at once, I recognized the passionate voice and wounded expression. It was the man named Lispenard, the one who'd spoken so fervently at the water meeting.

Lispenard pointed to Ezra, then kicked a log. “You destroyed my land,” he said, loud enough for all to hear.

People who had paid no heed stopped talking and looked. An angry crease formed across Ezra's brow and spread to the rest of his face as he turned around.

Fascinated, I edged closer. It was refreshing to see a man of modest means defend himself. Lispenard had lost most of his hair, his face was marred with lines, and his forehead was discolored with spots, but he spoke with conviction. His very presence seemed to confirm everything Elma had said.

“Left nothing but a maze of holes,” he shouted. “Last week, one of my cows broke her leg and I was forced to put the poor creature down. Now I hear the legislature has approved Burr's company. Stock's trading and I've come to collect my due.”

Levi pulled himself up from the ditch and went to his brother's side. “Stock's all gone,” he said, grinning as if Lispenard should be pleased by the company's good fortune. “No one could have predicted its superlative success.”

“No one?” Lispenard asked. “How much do you own?”

The workers, who had stopped digging, set their shovels down and watched with wary expressions. Some moved closer to listen.

“Take a break,” Levi called, dismissing them with a wave.

Ezra Weeks pulled down the kerchief, revealing a frown. “Surely we would all be more comfortable discussing this matter in private. Perhaps over a bottle of Madeira?”

“Fresh air doesn't bother me,” Lispenard said.

Ezra ran his hand over his mouth as if trying to sculpt his grimace into a more amiable expression.

“I heard the Manhattan Water Company raised two million dollars,” Lispenard said. “You folks are getting rich while the rest of us don't have a literal drop in the bucket.”

The crowd pressed closer. My eyes darted to Levi, wondering what he stood to gain.

“They're gambling with our livelihood!” hollered a man, tossing his empty buckets to the ground with a crash.

“They're gambling with our lives!” Lispenard said, jabbing a finger inches away from Ezra's nose.

Ezra shifted his weight onto his heels, and his voice became measured and low.

I crept forward and caught a few words.

“Damages,” he said. “And rewards.”

The lines in Lispenard's face softened.

Ezra pointed north, then made a wide arc with his arms that seemed to encompass a range of possibilities. “Albany…” His voice grew louder, although I still couldn't hear everything. “A prestigious position…forge valuable connections.”

Lispenard watched Ezra intently, his gaze occasionally shooting to Levi, who nodded while his brother spoke. Gradually, he leaned toward the brothers, his shoulders softened, and he took a single step forward.

In one swift movement, Ezra Weeks wrapped an arm around his shoulder and the trio walked away from the crowd. When they were nearly at the carriage, Ezra turned to his workers. “Come back tomorrow,” he said.

The men shuffled their feet. “Tomorrow's Sunday,” one called.

“Then the next day,” Ezra said. He seemed not to care. A dog barked at his heels and he kicked it away.

The crowd was not as easily dispersed. “What about our water?” the woman with the ailing baby cried.

I pulled my shawl up over my head and moved closer, ears primed to the men's hushed voices.

Ezra guided Lispenard into the carriage. “The Manhattan Company,” I heard him say. It was impossible to ignore that this time he omitted the word
Water
.

Suddenly there were shouts on the outskirts of the crowd.

“There's been a duel! Colonel Burr has fought a duel at Hobuck Ferry!”

All eyes turned toward the new commotion. “Aaron Burr?” someone hollered. “Who'd he fight?”

A sole voice escaped the din. “Is he dead?” Ezra asked. “Is Colonel Burr dead?”

The days shortened. News reached New York that General Washington had died in his Mount Vernon home. The first snow of the season fell. The rooftops and streets were blanketed in white. When morning arrived, the sky was brilliant blue.

“It's too beautiful to remain cooped up,” Levi said, stomping snow off his boots as he entered the parlor where Elma and I sat sewing. “Come along, Elma. I've harnessed Ezra's sleigh. Shall we go for a ride?”

“I'm not dressed for the weather,” Elma protested, though she set the bonnet she was mending aside and allowed Levi to pull her to her feet.

Levi reached for her shawl, wrapping it, and his arms, around her shoulders. “There.”

Elma laughed, looked at me, then bit her lip.

All at once, I felt old and matronly. Sour, like Elias, or Mother. Levi and Elma clearly cared for each other. Who was I to stand in their way? I smiled at Elma. “It's cold out there. Dress warmly.”

Elma's eyes sparkled. It was impossible to deny: They were a beautiful couple, well matched in that regard. “I'll just be a moment,” she said, hurrying upstairs.

Levi walked from the window to the hearth, then back again. He tugged at his collar, said he was warm, and went to wait outside.

When Elma came down, her hair was held back with the delicate ivory comb.

“Was that a present?” I asked, increasingly frustrated each time she wore it without revealing its provenance.

Elma put her hand to her head, dreamily running her fingers through the silky ribbon, just as she had the night Levi slammed the bedroom door on me. She nodded.

“From Levi?”

“Yes,” she said, shutting me out just as effectively as he had. “Is he outside?” She went to the window, then took a step back. “Look at the women. They're all dressed in black.”

“They're mourning General Washington,” I reminded her. Had I been too judgmental from the first time Levi entered our house? Is that what drove Elma away and kept her from my confidences even now?

“But they're so fashionable,” she said. Her skirt rustled as she smoothed it down. “Those feathers must have been dyed.”

I joined her at the window. Despite the solemn procession, Greenwich Street was crowded with revelers enjoying the fresh snow. Sleigh bells rang. A group of boys tossed snowballs. Levi packed a handful and threw it at them, laughing when they returned fire. I had never seen him so handsome or so happy.

Spotting us at the window, he waved for Elma to join him.

She shook her head, more coquettish than shy.

“Don't worry about these ruffians,” he called, firing a last shot at the boys. “I'll protect you.” The wind colored his cheeks, and his eyes glistened as he came to escort Elma outside.

Harness bells jingled as a stylish black sleigh led by a handsome chestnut cut a path through the street. Runners whistled and snow sprayed. Elma was right in its path, seemingly oblivious.

I ran to the door and called, “Elma, watch out!”

The tall horse came to an abrupt halt. His nostrils flared as he tossed his head and whinnied in protest. With his statuesque posture, ginger coloring, and impatient manner, the driver much resembled his high-strung horse.

“Mr. Hamilton,” Levi said, approaching the sleigh.

Alexander Hamilton raised the reins as if he would happily plow straight through him.

“Taking the fourteen-mile round?” Levi asked, tipping his hat at Hamilton's well- appointed companion. They sat snugly under a thick mohair blanket. The woman wore a black velvet helmet-like hat with a large red feather that protruded like a beak. I had heard many favorable things about Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton. Her mother came from one of New York's most esteemed families; her father was a general and a senator in the first Congress. She was mother to five or six children. Instinct told me that the woman with the bouncing red feather and matching ruby lips was not Elizabeth Hamilton.

“We were heading that way,” Hamilton said, looking past Levi, clearly ready to move along.

Levi blocked his path. “I'm surprised to see you out today,” he said, “what with news of Washington.”

“I'm much indebted to the general's kindness, but I don't believe he would have wanted us to sit inside on such a glorious day.” The blanket rose and fell as Hamilton patted his companion's thigh.

“Will you be attending the funeral?” Levi asked.

Hamilton's mouth pinched closed, and for a moment it seemed that he might simply refuse to answer. “Our
esteemed
president has declared Washington's birthday a day of”—he lowered his voice in an imitation of Adams's New England accent—“ ‘devotion and prayer.' ” He cracked a whip, urging his horse forward. “I'll pay my respects then.”

“Mind you pay the toll,” his companion called over her shoulder, laughing loudly as the horse pranced off.

Elma stood a bit taller, but then her shoulders scrunched together and she shivered. Was it the cold, or had she drawn the same conclusion about Hamilton's cheerful companion?

“What toll?” she asked. “What did she mean by that?”

“Tradition says couples need to pay a toll at the kissing bridge,” Levi said, placing a hand in the hollow of Elma's back and helping her into the sleigh. “Do you think you might pay?” he asked, hopping in beside her. I couldn't hear her response, but she laughed as a gust of wind tunneled down the street, swirling feathery-light snow, and the sleigh vanished in a cloud of white.

“Hamilton's on the warpath,” said our neighbor Joseph Watkins, who had been eavesdropping as he shoveled his walkway. I turned toward him and raised my eyebrows.

A stout man with a gray beard that rose and fell with his heavy breaths, Watkins looked relieved to set his shovel aside. “Burr tricked every member of the legislature, and Hamilton to boot.”

“What's that got to do with Levi?”

“Levi works for Burr and Burr's company.”

A pair of dogs raced past us, scattering snow. One stopped to bury his muzzle in a drift, while the other wagged his tail and barked.

“But I thought Hamilton was for the water company,” I said, recalling the boisterous toasts at the committee meeting.

“Hamilton supported the water company. But as soon as the legislature approved its charter, the Manhattan
Water
Company became the Manhattan Company,” he said, stroking his beard and shrugging. “It's not a waterworks: It's a bank.”

“A bank?” Still completely focused on the idea of freshwater, I pictured a bucolic riverbank before realizing what he meant.

“Money's more precious than water to our friend Burr. The country's only got two banks: Both were created by Hamilton; he controls them, and only his supporters get loans. But Burr managed to dupe Hamilton and create a Republican bank. That's what the duel was about.”

“If Hamilton is so angry, why didn't he face Burr himself?”

“Hamilton sent his brother-in-law because he's a better shot.”

“I heard Burr had a button clipped off his coat, the men shook hands, and they rowed back to town.”

“No blood was shed this time.”

Off in the distance, the tracks from Elma and Levi's sleigh blended into the wintery sky and disappeared.

I was clearing the supper plates when Elma and Levi crept inside. They closed the door so softly and stepped so lightly that had I not been listening for them, I would not have heard. I stood just off the entrance, inside the parlor and away from the light.

“You're in no position to judge us, Elma,” Levi snapped. He was trying to be quiet, but there was more to it than that. He sounded angry. I tucked my hands in my pockets to stop them from shaking.

Elma sounded bewildered and a bit cross. “I was simply repeating what you yourself have said: Digging wells in the snow is useless.”

“Our work doesn't concern you.”

“It concerns everyone! Summer is around the corner, and with it comes fire and fever. Levi, you could die. Or I—”

“But to say that to Ezra. To his face!”

“Someone has to! I told you if you did not say something, I would.”

“Elma,” he said. His voice was low and cold, nothing like the caring man who had caressed her face so lovingly. “Don't threaten me.” Steps creaked as he started upstairs.

Her footfalls trailed his. “If we don't do something, we're as guilty as they are,” she said.

“Elma?” I called.

There was a perceptible pause.

“Elma, please.”

Elma entered the parlor, looking distracted. Her eyes were red, and she twirled the comb's ribbon around a finger as if reassuring herself of its presence.

I waited for Levi's steps to grow faint. “It's late,” I said, glancing across the entranceway at the store where Elias was working.

“Levi and I dined with his brother.”

My heartbeat began to slow. A meal at the Weeks residence was a valid excuse for missing dinner at home. If Levi was introducing Elma to Ezra, it legitimized the attention he paid her and eased my concerns about her reciprocation.

“And?” I asked.

She did not look nearly as pleased as I would have expected. “The house is grand and the furnishings are fine. There are three Negro servants. One served us.” Her voice had an edge, making her sound more slighted than sad.

“And Elizabeth Weeks?” I asked, treading as carefully as Elma had when she entered the house.

“She has a hooked nose and large earlobes.”

I fought back a smile. “I wasn't asking about her appearance. What was she like?”

“She's from Boston and very well-bred. The entire dinner, she addressed me as if she were speaking to a child.”

“Perhaps she was being polite?” Like me, Elma was not accustomed to society, and her fear of committing blunders made her overly sensitive.

Elma stopped playing with the silky ribbon and her hand fell to her side with a dull slap. “Ezra hardly spoke at all. At least, not to me. All he did was criticize Levi.”

“On what account?” I asked. Levi always struck me as annoyingly well mannered, at least in proper company.

“A thousand things. It was all I could do to keep quiet. Finally, when it seemed Levi would never defend himself, I simply said that the Manhattan Company really ought to uphold its promise and provide water. Ezra practically leapt from his seat, and Levi was furious the entire ride home. I thought he might even…” She trailed off. “It was as if he was doing everything he could to contain his rage. He said he told me about the company's plans in confidence and I should keep my opinions to myself.”

The hair on my neck stood a bit straighter. I heard the frantic cries of the woman searching for her daughter as flames engulfed their home, and I saw Lily Forrest and her bloodstained curls, rotting in a pit in potter's field.

“He's wrong. Without the water we were promised, people—chi
ldren—will continue to die in horrific ways, and he and his brother are…” I tried to make sense of everything I had heard. “Elma, what
are
they doing?”

“Levi is already livid.” She hesitated and looked toward the doorway. “He swore me to secrecy.”

“It's not a secret anymore. Joseph Watkins said the charter passed and that the Manhattan Water Company—” I stopped and corrected myself. “The Manhattan Company is now a bank. But what does that mean?”

Elma walked toward the fireplace, nodding at me to follow. “Burr knows we are desperate for water, and no politician could afford to speak against him.”

“This city is parched, Elma. That's why Hamilton supported the plan. Everyone did.”

“But Burr never intended to provide water,” she whispered. “The water company was a sham.” She bit her lip, then spoke in a rush. “At the very last moment, when the legislature was about to approve the water company, he added one final clause. Levi said he wrote it in invisible ink.”

“What did it say?”

“That the company could use its profits to start a bank. The problem is,” she leaned closer, “there are no profits. All the money that was invested is being used to fund the bank.”

“Why not just provide water?”

“Caty, don't you see? It's not only a bank, it's a Republican bank. The first of its kind. If people can borrow from a Republican bank, they can vote for a Republican president. Because of this, Jefferson may win the next election.”

I was simultaneously impressed by the depth of her understanding and increasingly alarmed. “Why would Ezra Weeks risk his reputation to help Burr?”

“Levi says Ezra's been working toward this his entire life. If Jefferson becomes president, Burr will be his vice president. Ezra will be rewarded.”

“So it's money again.”

“And prestige. Ezra may meet Jefferson. He could become an ambassador or receive a cabinet post.” Elma shook her head, smiling through her tears. “Fancy me at a state dinner! No wonder he thinks I'm a bad match for Levi.”