City of Liars and Thieves (13 page)

Joseph Watkins answered the door after a few knocks. “Caty Ring?” he said, stroking his beard. “It's a cold day to venture out.”

The front door opened directly into the parlor. My eyes searched the room. Joseph and Elizabeth had three grown boys, and the house looked orderly and tame. Pewter plates and candlesticks adorned the mantel. An open almanac lay on a bench by the window next to a fat calico cat. The sight sent my thoughts flying back to the mangy stray Elma brought home the afternoon Levi arrived. We had made him a warm bed in an old soapbox and fed him table scraps. But within a week, he had disappeared. Heartbroken, Charles had searched every corner of the house before losing hope.

Icy fear seeped into my bones as I faced Joseph Watkins.

“I've come to collect Elma,” I said, as cheerily as possible.

Watkins's fingers closed around the end of his beard. “Elma?”

Elizabeth appeared by her husband's side. Buxom, and a bit of a busybody, she had a warm smile.

“Caty,” she said. “Don't stand out in the cold!”

I allowed her to lead me to a fire blazing in the hearth. The room, which backed onto Joseph's workshop, smelled of sawdust. There were a handful of wood chips on the floor and dust in the air, which made the place cozy. A sanded piece of pine—the makings of a whistle or toy—lay on the table. Each item seemed a testament to contentment.

“Please, sit.” Elizabeth stretched one arm out toward the room's most inviting chair and fixed her cap with the other. She wore a stained wrapper and tattered slippers. If I had not been so preoccupied, I would have felt embarrassed for intruding.

“Did Elma spend the night here last night?” I asked.

“Elma?” Elizabeth ran her hand over her chin in a manner very like her husband's. “Charles was here to borrow the muff. He's grown so! I told Joseph I thought he'd be taller than his father and—”

“Was Elma here?”

Elizabeth met her husband's gaze. “No. Caty, please sit. I'll make cocoa, or coffee?”

I was unable to stop from chattering. “Elias suggested she might have visited and spent the night….” As the words tumbled out, I heard their hollowness. The Watkinses lived exactly one door away. Our homes shared a wall. If Elma were here, she could have banged on the partition and I would have heard. “The truth is,” I said, “we had a bit of a quarrel. A small one, really, but, well, she's young.” I sighed, hoping they would not ask any questions. “I'm afraid she may have taken offense. I thought in her anger she might have stayed last night, as Elias told me she did last summer.”

Watkins's bony fingers dug into his beard. “What did Elias say?” His voice trembled. His sudden anger confused me and made me wary.

“Elma slept here while I was away during the yellow-fever scare. Elizabeth, remember?”

Elizabeth turned toward the hearth and began fiddling loudly with the kettle.

A kind man, Watkins seemed reluctant to deliver a blow. “Elizabeth and I are fond of Elma, but we've never had the pleasure of entertaining her overnight.”

I heard myself gasp. I had trusted Elias's explanation. There was no other explanation.

A second day passed without Elma.

I searched every corner of her room, turning over and examining each hairbrush, ribbon, and doily as if seeing it for the first time. I looked under the mattress and in the wardrobe, rifling through dress pockets and rummaging inside shoes, and spent long minutes studying her knitting as if its pattern might reveal some clue. More than once, I pulled aside the lacy curtains and gazed out onto the snowy street, half-expecting to see Elma in her green muslin gown. I recognized her posture and dress in countless girls, but she was nowhere.

The temperature dropped and dropped again. Frozen sewage lay in the gutters. Sleighs that dared negotiate the treacherous terrain coated our home with a foul spray. As many times as I wiped the windows, the sludge returned, exactly like the bitterness that refused to leave my heart.

Restless and whiny, Charles roamed the house. It had been horrible enough when he asked about Elma and I had no explanation. Now he'd stopped asking, and it was worse. Patience refused to nap. I tried to mend a blanket but looked up at the door so many times that I pulled more stitches than I sewed. Beds were left unmade and dishes piled up. Shivering, I threw more logs on the fire, as if it might rekindle my hope. The fire hissed and smoke choked the room.

My eyes were teary from the smoldering ash and from exhaustion. I went to the door to get some air. It was a bone-chilling day. The snow, so pristine just nights before, was now pockmarked and gray. Wind stung my wet cheeks.

A faint sun poked through the clouds. From the corner of my eye, I spotted the tiniest scrap of something fluttering inches off the ground. Stepping forward, I could see that it was a tattered ribbon, as weather-beaten as the snow. Without thinking, I followed as it danced in the breeze, leading me farther astray. It dodged and evaded me, drifting toward the center of the street. I pounced to catch it as if it were the most precious gift. The instant I had it in hand, I knew what it was: the silky ribbon that had dangled so seductively from Elma's ivory comb.

“Look out!”

A sleigh came barreling toward me. Hooves clamored and ice sprayed. I felt a horse's breath hot on me and heard blades inches away. Leaping out of the way, I slipped and fell. My skirt blew up, snaring me in fabric, and I lay on my back for what felt like minutes but could not have been more than a second.

“Caty!” Levi had jumped down from the sleigh and was panting beside me. “Are you hurt?” Bystanders paused to watch as he helped me sit up.

“I'm not sure.” I had fallen hard. The collision had made my heart race and left me drained and confused. I looked into Levi's eyes, which were as dull as the sullied snow. My fingers closed on the discarded scrap of ribbon. In the absence of fact, it seemed vitally important.

Ezra shouted from the sleigh. “Are you insane? You could have been killed.”

I pulled myself to my feet. “Ezra Weeks?”

Like a foreigner with no understanding of English, Ezra turned to Levi.

“Catherine is Elias Ring's wife,” Levi rushed to explain. “Remember?”

Ezra's thin lips flickered in recognition.

“Caty?” Elizabeth Watkins was standing by my side. “I saw the accident. Can you stand?” She helped me to my feet, bending to brush snow off my skirt. “Oh, your dress is ripped.” She glanced angrily at Levi as she tried to lead me away.

“I'm fine.” The hem of my skirt was torn and dragging, but it was the ribbon that held my attention. I could not understand how it had become separated from the ivory comb. “It's El-Elma,” I stuttered. “She still hasn't come home.” I wove the soiled ribbon through my fingers, exactly as Elma had when it was new. Even now it was silky and smooth. She would never have discarded it intentionally.

“Perhaps you should lie down,” Levi said. Though he sounded concerned, his demeanor was brusque as he took me by the forearm and began to walk purposefully toward our house.

I pulled away. “Ezra Weeks, it's important I speak with thee immediately,” I said, hoping Ezra could inspire Levi to tell the truth.

“I'm afraid it will have to wait,” Ezra said. “My brother and I have important business.”

I thought about the water-company fraud. The Weeks brothers' business seemed more suspect by the moment. “It's of the utmost urgency,” I said.

Ezra held a horse whip high in the air as if he might strike. “Very well,” he said, though he barely lowered the whip.

Now that I had his attention, I hardly knew where to begin. “My cousin, Elma, a young woman who has dined in thy home—she's been missing for two days.”

Bystanders, who had been watching since I toppled in the street, stepped closer to listen.

Ezra's expression remained inscrutable. “I am sorry for your worry, but I hardly see what that has to do with me.”

“Thy brother,” I said, my voice more strident than I had intended. “Levi knows where she is.”

“Out of the way,” shouted a chimney sweep, pushing a cart overflowing with ash. “Time and tide wait for no man!”

As if winding a clock, Elizabeth began twisting a button on her dress. “A young girl is missing,” she said. The phrase
missing girl
rippled through the crowd, its anxious energy intensifying as it spread.

“Caty,” Levi said. He looked sideways at his brother and began again, “Mrs. Ring, this is not the place for this.”

“Where is the right place?” I asked. “I tried at home, but thou refused to answer.”

“But, Caty—”

Ezra held up his hand and Levi bowed his head, hiding his face. “Mrs. Ring,” Ezra said. “My brother and I will accompany you home and we'll get to the bottom of this.” His voice was steady and confident, and he nodded at the sea of onlookers as if to assure them as well.

Charles was seated at the table, reciting arithmetic, and Patience was asleep in her cradle. Elias stood and opened his mouth to speak, surely ready to complain about my absence, but as Levi and Ezra followed me into the parlor, he stepped forward and offered his hand.

“Ezra, what a pleasant surprise,” he said. I couldn't help but smirk. Elias hated surprises.

Ezra kept his hands in his coat pockets, and Elias, visibly taken aback by the slight, shifted his weight and rested his extended hand on Charles's shoulder.

“Mr. Ring,” Ezra said. “Your wife made a scene in public not five minutes ago.”

Elias covered his eyes. If he could have, I believe, he would have plugged his ears as well.

“I've asked Levi repeatedly about Elma's whereabouts, but he refuses to answer,” I said.

“My brother knows nothing of your accusations,” Ezra said.

I was on the verge of screaming—or crying.

“Friend,” Elias said, “
accusation
is a strong word.”

“Your wife accosted us publicly. What would you call it?”

Elias's brow furrowed. I had never seen him look so tired or so old. “Her cousin is missing, and she believes Levi knows where she is.”

I took my first true breath in days. Elias was not exactly coming to my aid, but he wasn't discounting my fear. In his own systematic way, Elias was striving to get to the root of the mystery. And for that I was grateful. He recounted Levi's and Elma's friendship, explaining the attention Levi paid her. At a certain point, he stopped and looked at Charles. I could see that he was debating whether to mention the incident with Elma's clothing, but he skipped over it, merely concluding that the couple was “well acquainted.”

Levi fidgeted while Elias spoke, but Ezra stood perfectly still. He held his hat behind his back with one hand, his other thumb hooked in his waistcoat pocket. When Elias explained that Levi and Elma had taken a drive together around the fourteen-mile round, Ezra's shoulders jutted backward and the fabric of his waistcoat grew taut.

“And,” I added, “Levi has spent time alone with her in her bedroom.”

An ugly smirk flitted across Ezra Weeks's features. “That tells you all you need to know about the girl, I should think.”

“How dare thou.” I raised my arm and might have slapped him but remembered Charles still in the room. Without taking my eyes off Ezra's, I said, “Charles, please go sit with thy sister.” He scurried off without his usual protest.

The room was quiet for several moments before Ezra spoke. “Certainly,” he said, his voice eerily calm, “the girl must be found.” Like the politicians with whom he consorted, he managed to agree and disagree at once, acknowledging the urgency of the situation but not Levi's involvement. “Tell me, could she be visiting friends or family?”

My pulse raced at the realization that I would have to notify my aunt; somehow, I had avoided all thoughts of her until this moment. It was possible that Elma had returned to Cornwall, but not at night, during a snowstorm, without a word to anyone. No, there was only one explanation. Elma had told me that she and Levi were going to be wed. I had watched her dress, had heard her leave.

“She left here with Levi on First Day evening. See this,” I said, brandishing the tattered ribbon as if it were proof.

Levi looked away, but not before I saw him flinch.

Elias lowered my arm. “Caty,” he said, his voice filled with sorrow. “Thou have not slept in days.”

Charles emerged from the doorway, where he had been hiding. “It's Elma's,” he said, snatching the ribbon. “See?” He waved it as high as he could reach in front of Levi's startled face, and Levi stepped back as if it were a snake.

“Levi knows where she is,” I said. “They left this house together the night of the storm.”

Ezra Weeks offered a polite smile, but it did not extend to his sharp gray eyes. “If you are referring to last Sunday, I can assure you that Levi was at my house. We were discussing the next day's business, as we often do in the evenings.”

Panic rose in my stomach like bile and turned sour in my mouth. “That's impossible. Elma told me that they were going to be married that night.”

“Elma and Levi are married?” Charles asked.

Ezra opened and closed his palms, Elias glared at Levi, and Levi stared down at his boots.

“She would not be the first girl claiming to be
involved
with my brother,” Ezra said, as if this were a source of pride. Levi shot a sideways glance at him, but Ezra continued, unimpeded. “There was even an incident a few months ago that forced him to leave New England.” He laughed. “He must be a fascinating fellow.”

At his laugh, my distress turned to rage. “Levi is hiding something. The two of them have been keeping secrets from the start. They even knew each other before they moved here,” I said, as if it were damning evidence.

“Levi was at the dock when Elma came,” Charles said.

“That was Ezra,” I said, remembering Levi's explanation. Now, as I gazed between the two brothers, their features and affects so utterly separate, I saw how flimsy the story had been. “Thou
were
at the dock when Elma arrived,” I said to Levi, wondering why I had ever trusted his word over Charles's. “Thou lied this whole time.”

“Elma forbade me to say anything,” Levi said. “She said you would put her right back on that boat if you knew we had traveled together.”

“And thou?” I said, turning to Elias. “Thou said it was Ezra who asked after a room for Levi.”

“It was Ezra I spoke with,” Elias said.

Was it my imagination or did he shoot Levi a challenging glare? I looked from Elias to Ezra and Levi. They were all liars. “Levi,” Elias said with a sigh. “Where is Elma?”

“I miss Elma,” Charles cried. He was tugging at his hair, combing it incessantly with his fingers. When I looked closely, I saw that he was pulling it from the roots, and there was a bald spot above his left ear.

“Oh, my Charles,” I said, leaning down to hug him. My pain was unendurable, but seeing Charles suffer was worse. “Charles, I'm so sorry.”

Levi's eyes darted to and from his brother. “I don't know where she is, but—”

“But what?” I snapped, standing up again.

Elias put his hand on my wrist. “Caty, let him speak.”

Levi looked down at Charles and his eyes glazed over. “I've often heard Elma say that she wished she'd never had an existence.”

I drew a sharp breath. “It's an expression. I acknowledge that it is wrong, but I've said it myself. At this very moment, I could say, ‘I wish I never had an existence to witness a scene such as this.' ”

“Mrs. Ring.” Ezra Weeks shook his head. “Sarcasm won't help us find the girl.”

“Elma!” I said. “Her name is Elma.”

“Caty,” Elias said. “Ezra is right.”

Bolstered by their defense, Levi continued. “Elma and I sometimes had occasion to speak of private matters. She told me more than once that she believed she was a burden, that her frail health was an imposition, and that she was more harm than help in your home.”

“That's ridiculous,” I said. I had never considered Elma an annoyance, but Elias was conspicuously quiet. I was once again reminded of all the people in Elma's life who had called her useless. Was it any wonder she had learned to believe it?

Levi sighed. “I once heard her—Elma—t
hreaten she would swallow laudanum.”