Girl Waits with Gun (26 page)

We used to argue that the school would not question a woman in her late forties with a young daughter, but Mother was convinced that someone would put the puzzle together. Although we had adoption papers, which should have made these matters easier, we had never told Fleurette that she was adopted, so the papers did us no good. This left us in a difficult position. It seemed easier—at least in Mother's mind—not to discuss it at all and to just keep the child on the farm.

To explain Fleurette's birth to the family, my uncles were given the impression that our father had returned briefly to our lives and then left again. Fleurette must have had the same general idea, although we almost never spoke of our father.

Nothing about the situation seemed odd to her, until one day when she was about nine and had been told to read aloud from a book of pioneer stories for children. She was reading about Daniel Boone. None of us were paying much attention, as the sound of Fleurette reading her lessons aloud was such a familiar part of our day that we only pretended to listen as we went about our work.

I was balancing our ledger books and had my back to Fleurette as she read, “‘At last they turned to go home, when suddenly two fierce-looking Indians sprang out of the woods and seized the boat.'” I looked over at Mother, alarmed, but she was intent on her needlepoint and didn't seem to hear. Mother thought nothing of letting children read the most terrifying tales of ogres and witches and adventures gone terribly wrong. It was one of our points of disagreement about Fleurette's upbringing.

“‘Betsey fought with her own oar,'” Fleurette was saying, “‘but it did no good: the Indians carried them off through the woods.'”

I put down my pencil and made ready to say something. Fleurette was a sensitive and imaginative child. She'd be up half the night after a story like this.

“‘Betsey reached up and broke the bushes as she passed along. She knew that her father would look for her, and she hoped that he might follow her by seeing the broken bushes.'”

That was enough. “Mother, don't you think—”

Mother looked up, but before I could finish, Fleurette had closed her book and was standing in front of her. “Where is our father,
maman?
”

“What have you been reading?” she said, fumbling with her needlepoint.

“Pioneer stories,” I said. “I was about to say that they're too much for a little girl.”

“Don't we have a father?” Fleurette said, climbing into Mother's lap. “Doesn't Francis have a father?”

Mother pushed her back to the floor and smoothed her skirt. “Of course,” she said. “Everyone has a father.”

“Where is he?”

Mother looked at me for help. But she was the one who refused to speak of our father, and who seemed determined to make sure that he never heard about Fleurette and never knew where we lived.

“I'm afraid he's . . .”

I shook my head. It seemed unfair to Frank Kopp to say that he was dead. She'd called herself a widow before, but never in front of Fleurette. Besides, the man could appear at our front door someday, and what a shock that would be!

“Gone?” Fleurette said. “Gone to fight the Indians?”

Mother smiled and patted her hand. “That's right,
chéri.
He's very brave.”

I couldn't believe how easily she lied to the child. Then again, what else would she have said?

“Is he coming back?”

“I'm afraid not. He's gone very far.”

IN SOME WAYS
, we all raised Fleurette. She was a wild and unpredictable child who was as happy stomping through the creek in search of frogs as she was in a dancing frock on a make-believe stage. It required the attention of all three of us—and Francis, before he married—just to keep her working at her lessons and her chores. As she got older, Mother couldn't match Fleurette's energy and abdicated more and more of the responsibility for bringing her up to me and Norma.

But for the first ten or twelve years of the girl's life, I stood by and watched my mother raise her. When she had a fever, Mother took care of her. On her birthday, Mother planned the party. And if she skinned her knee or got chased by one of the roosters, it was Mother she ran to with her tears.

It was never me. Fleurette never needed a thing from me—until now. I would stand on the corner with a gun all night if that's what it took to keep those men away from her.

“MISS KOPP
, is it your assertion that the attack was entirely unprovoked?”

I sat at a table placed in Sheriff Heath's office for my use. He had wanted the reporters to come to the courthouse so he could parade them right past the prosecutor's office. But every room at the courthouse was occupied. The reporters milled around in the hall until the sheriff was satisfied that they'd attracted enough attention, and then he walked them across the lawn to the prison.

After a brief introduction from Sheriff Heath, I told my story in as straightforward a manner as possible. Every small newspaper in Passaic and Bergen County had sent a reporter. Many of the larger papers had news bureaus nearby, so reporters from New York, Philadelphia, Newark, and Trenton papers were present too.

The men sat quietly and scribbled notes as I gave a short and carefully rehearsed account of the events. But as soon as I finished, they unleashed a volley of questions that I was entirely unprepared to answer.

“Miss, had you ever fired a gun before Sheriff Heath gave you lessons?”

“How do three girls manage the running of a household on their own? Is there not an uncle or some other male relation who could take you in?”

“Haven't any of you received a proposal of marriage in all these years?”

I looked to Sheriff Heath for help. He'd been reclining in a chair behind his own desk, appearing entirely relaxed, as if he spent every afternoon being questioned by twenty reporters. But when I caught his eye, he jumped to his feet and took over.

“The Kopp sisters do just fine on their own,” he said. “They live in the countryside and already knew how to handle a hunting rifle, and have proven quite competent with a revolver. And of course the attack was unprovoked, Simon. How would three girls in a buggy incite an oncoming automobile to plow directly into them?”

A rumble of laughter went through the room, then it fell silent as the reporters scribbled in their notebooks.

“I believe that answers your questions,” Sheriff Heath said, returning to his seat.

A brawny Italian man in the back of the room said, “No, sir, I didn't get an answer to my question about marriage proposals.”

I jumped up before Sheriff Heath could. These reporters needed to see that I could speak for myself. “The presence or absence of suitors in the lives of the Kopp sisters has no bearing on this matter,” I told them, “and I see no men here today who would stand a chance with any one of us.”

That got loud, appreciative guffaws from the men and a grin from the sheriff.

The questions lasted only a few more minutes, and then Sheriff Heath briefed the reporters on his role in the investigation and the lack of cooperation from the prosecutor's office. He gave them the particulars about the meeting with the woman in black planned for the following night, and distributed handwritten copies of the threatening letter so that they could reproduce it in full in their papers. He had arranged for any reporters who wished to be present on Saturday night to assemble in a garage on Broadway just a few blocks away from the meeting place. They were warned to arrive early and remain hidden until released by the sheriff or one of his deputies.

Every man in the room seemed eager to go along. There was a current of excitement in the air. It was the anticipation of a pack of hunting dogs waiting to be turned loose on their prey, or the nervous excitement of a posse rounded up in the night to go after a horse thief. Even I felt it.

But as soon as the reporters left, Sheriff Heath turned somber again. “This is only a game to them,” he said. “I'll need to station a deputy at the garage to keep them from rushing out and bungling the whole operation.” He stood to open the door for me. “But that's not your concern. Get some rest and be ready for tomorrow. Dress warmly and wear sturdy shoes. Bring a handbag for your weapon. I'll call for you at seven.”

He'd polished his badge and put on a fresh collar. When I stood at the door, I could smell the dry, chalky laundry starch his wife used. “Thank you for coming to my aid. With the reporters, I mean. I'm not used to being interrogated like that.”

He gave me the briefest of smiles and then said, “You did just fine, Miss Kopp. You gave it right back to them. They just wanted to see if you can handle yourself, and you can.”

“SHOULDN'T I BE THE ONE
to meet the girl and give her the money?” Fleurette said.

“No one is giving anyone money,” I answered. “We are not about to take their demands seriously. The only item of value I'll be carrying is a revolver.”

I was sitting on Fleurette's bed, watching her search her wardrobe for the proper ensemble in which to rendezvous with a blackmailer. She produced a cape with a fur collar and red velvet lining, and a hat that had a hidden pocket in the band.

“That cape would look ridiculous on me,” I said, “and, besides, the sheriff wants me in dark, sensible clothes. It's going to be freezing tonight, and who knows how long I'll be standing out there.”

Fleurette wrapped the cape around her own shoulders. I had to admit that it suited her. She looked like a woman of mystery, someone who might carry a thousand dollars to a lady in black and live to tell about it. She fixed her bright and lively eyes on me.

“Would you shoot her?” she asked.

“Who?”

“The girl in black. The one who's coming to collect the money. Would you fire at her?”

“No! I'm not going to shoot a girl who's been roped into this mess. Besides, the sheriff and his deputies will be all around me. All I have to do is stand in a conspicuous location and wait.”

Fleurette twirled around and the cape flew about like a wild bird coming to land on her shoulders. “I would do a much better job of standing in a conspicuous location,” she said.

I smiled. “I know you would.”

Norma walked in, eyeing the frivolous garments Fleurette had thrown on the bed.

“You aren't wearing any of that,” she said.

“Of course not,” I said.

“I don't see why we bother employing deputies if the women of this community have to go out and catch their own criminals.”

“They can't do this without me. You know that.”

Norma frowned and crossed the room to look through a pile of handbags that Fleurette had tossed on a chair. She discarded a fringed teardrop-shaped bag of yellow silk, a beaded purse made to look like a butterfly, and a velvet pouch meant to hold binoculars at the theater. “These won't do for carrying a revolver,” she said. “You'd get all tangled up in these frills if you needed to fire it.”

“I won't need to fire it. Why are you two so convinced that I'm going out to gun down an innocent girl tonight?”

Norma looked at me sorrowfully, as if it pained her to see how little I understood about my own situation.

“He wouldn't have you carry it if he didn't think you might need it.”

I'D BEEN PACING THE HOUSE
for an hour by the time I heard the sheriff's tires in the drive. There were two deputies riding along, and two more would stay with Norma and Fleurette. Before he let me in the car, Sheriff Heath asked to have a look at my shoes to make sure I could run in them. I lifted my skirt and he looked down, then gave me a half-smile when he saw that I was wearing the boots I usually wear to muck out the barn.

“Good girl,” he said quietly.

He reached for my handbag—a sensible leather traveling bag we'd found in Mother's closet—and inspected its contents. It was empty save for the revolver, which he pulled out and checked for bullets.

“You have nothing else of value? No jewelry around your neck or combs in your hair? No money tucked away?”

He was standing so close to me that I thought he might start rifling through my coat pockets.

“Nothing at all.”

We gave each other a level stare. I had the feeling he was sizing me up one last time.

“All right,” he said. “Then let's go.”

No one said a word on the drive to Paterson. We parked at City Hall, several blocks away from the meeting place. We disembarked and I stood shivering in the garage, looking around at the ghostly old timbers and wondering what these walls had seen over the years. Had they ever watched anyone do what I was about to do?

“We can't get too close without attracting attention,” Sheriff Heath explained. “You'll walk from here.”

“From here!” Never in my life had I walked down a city street at night unaccompanied. But I regretted saying it. Sheriff Heath looked worried suddenly, as if he just realized he'd made a mistake in asking me to do this.

“I'll be fine,” I said quickly.

He shook his head. “No. You're right. Someone should be with you. Here's what I'll do. I'll send my men with you, but they'll each walk one block over. Morris will stay a block to the east, on Fair, and English will walk a block to the west on Van Houten. I've got a deputy stationed on Auburn in front of the garage where the reporters are. He knows to watch out for you. You'll pass him on the way, but you'll walk on the opposite side of the street, and you won't look at him or signal to him unless you're in trouble.”

I agreed to that and the three of us set out for Broadway. Deputy Morris went first and cut to the left, which would take him down a narrow street occupied mostly by cobblers and tailors and other such shops whose doors had closed hours ago. Deputy English waited a few minutes and then followed him, cutting over to the right to walk down a street populated with small churches and a girls' school. When Sheriff Heath gave me the nod, I left too, but he called after me in a whisper.