The Bridegrooms (14 page)

“Eli,” she read, then held the note closer trying to make out the rest. What she first attributed to a problem of penmanship soon manifested itself to be another language entirely, and not a single word was recognizable to her.

“His name is Eli?”

Althea read over her shoulder and pointed out the last word in the letter.

“Katrina. The note is from someone named Katrina. What do you suppose it says?”

Althea gestured broadly, palms up, and resumed her place in the chair next to the sleeping man. The patient. Eli.

Vada turned back to the contents of the dish. The coins were American, adding up to less than a dollar. The key looked like any other, without any sort of chain or fob to identify its origin. She wondered if the pencil had been used to write a reply to Katrina—perhaps on the back of some postcard featuring two blushing lovers. And the buttons…

“Are the buttons from the shirt he was wearing?”

Althea got up and walked out of the room, returning shortly with the grimy shirt, probably retrieved from the bin in the bathroom. She inspected the cuffs first and then, seeming satisfied, ran her fingers along the buttonholes and then the buttons before presenting the garment like a piece of evidence.

“All intact,” Vada said, holding one of the buttons from the dish next to one on the shirt. They differed in size, shape, and color. Althea frowned, shrugged, and left to return the shirt to the soiled clothes bin.

Finally Vada looked at the stone. It was small—about the size of the end of her thumb—and gray. Smooth as silk. Moving over to sit in the bedside chair, she held it in her hand, running her thumb along the cool smoothness of it, wondering just how often this man—Eli—did the same thing.

“Now, Eli,” she leaned close, “if you don’t wake up, we’ll never know why you have these buttons.”

She sensed Althea behind her and turned. “You know, it might help him wake up if we talk to him. If we say his name enough, maybe he’ll hear us.”

Althea clutched the little notepad hanging on the ribbon around her neck.

“I know. It’s hard for you. But do you think, for him, you could say his name? Just his name?”

Now it was Althea’s turn to back out of the room and run down the hallway with a great clattering of heels.

Sighing, Vada turned her attention back to the man resting on her pillow.

“Eli? Eli.” She repeated his name over and over, drawing it out, “Eeeeeeeeeliiiiiii,” sounding like a mother calling her son home for supper. She leaned in close and whispered, sat back in the chair and sang it out like a yodel, all the while looking for any sign of change. The twitch of an eyelid. The slightest movement of a finger.

Nothing.

“Well, that’s it for now, then.” She rose to go downstairs for lunch. She walked over to the dresser to put the small stone in the bowl with the rest of Eli’s worldly possessions but then turned back, struck with an idea.

“I’m leaving you alone for a little while, Eli,” she whispered close to his ear, “but I’ll leave this with you.”

Though Molly had done a good job of scrubbing him down, Eli’s fingernails were rimmed with dirt. Still, his hands were pliant and warm as Vada lifted one off the sheet and curled the fingers around the stone.

“It’s good to have something to hold on to.”

“It’s Czech,” Doc said definitively after glancing at the folded note for only a few seconds. “I saw and heard enough of it tending patients in Maple Heights.”

Lunch that day turned out to be a special treat, not only because of the sausage with peppers and garlic tossed with macaroni, but also because it was one of the rare noontime meals when the entire family gathered together. Minus Lisette, of course, who insisted on taking only a piece of fruit and a waxed-paper twist of crackers to nibble on under the big oak trees in the school yard. The informality of the hour brought them to eat in the kitchen rather than the dining room, and often, like today, Molly bustled around, refilling and taking away dishes the minute the action was needed.

“Can you read it?” Vada asked.

“Shouldn’t be too hard to find someone who can.” Molly placed a dish of olives in the middle of the table. “City’s fairly crawlin’ with them people, fast as they can leavin’ the Church—”

“That’s enough, Molly.” Doc took the rare stand against Molly who was as stern about her Catholicism as she was about her kitchen.

Hazel was the last to enter the kitchen, popping an olive into her mouth as she took her seat. “We could take it to Moravek’s.”

Althea held up a cautionary hand reminding everybody at the table that today, being Tuesday, was the one day of the week that Moravek’s was closed to the public.

“I’ll take it tomorrow then,” Vada said. “Early. I have errands to run for Herr Johann anyway.”

“Or,” Doc said, “perhaps the young man will wake up and tell us himself.”

Vada prayed for that very thing as she led the family in asking the meal’s blessing. In fact, the thought seemed to linger on everybody’s mind as they quietly loaded their plates and tucked in.

The spicy flavors of the sausage and peppers were a departure from Molly’s more reliable fare, and under other circumstances Vada would be
quick to rave, but now she could only think of that thin, pale mouth open to take in the smallest sips of water. She glanced over at Althea who speared a bit of pepper and was pushing it around her plate and knew they were sharing the same thoughts.

“Now what’s the matter wit’ the lot of ya?” Molly stood behind Doc’s chair glowering down at the table. “I try a new bit o’ somethin’ and I can’t get a word of thanks?”

“It’s delicious, Molly, really,” Hazel said, happily plopping a bit of sausage into her mouth.

“We’re just worried, that’s all.” Vada turned to her father. “It’s been twenty-four hours, hasn’t it? What does that mean?”

“What it means,” Molly said before Doc could answer, “is that the boy’s sleepin’ in the Lord’s hands, and none but He will wake him. Ain’t that so, Dr. Allenhouse?”

He looked up and over his shoulder. “No physician could have said it better, Mrs. Keegan. All we can do is watch and wait.”

“Right now all of ya need to eat and keep up your strength. I’ll go sit with the prince upstairs. And not that I don’t trust your doctorin’, mind you, or the good Lord Himself, but I might be sendin’ up a prayer at the church this afternoon.”

“That would be just fine, Mrs. Keegan,” Doc said, though the kitchen door was already swinging.

“I suppose this means we’ll have our little visitor this afternoon again,” Hazel said. “That kid hung around all morning, pacing around, close to crying. Nearly had me in tears too every time I tripped over him.”

Althea gave Hazel a look of gentle chastisement, and Vada, too, jumped to his defense. “I think it’s sweet he’s so worried about Eli. I notice the brute who swung the bat hasn’t given him a second thought.”

“Now, Vada darling,” Doc said, “we can’t assign any blame.”

“No, but we can measure compassion. I mean, yesterday he seemed so moved. So concerned. And today? He can’t even be bothered to darken the doorstep.” She shoved a forkful of peppers and macaroni into her mouth and chewed, patently ignoring the surprised expressions on the faces around her.

Indeed, she was a bit surprised herself at the outburst. Why should she care if Mr. LaFortune came by the house? In fact, maybe this was God’s own hand, keeping them apart by bringing him here to visit when she was locked away in prayer. Or maybe during the very moments she was meeting with old Mr. Messini, deciding which octogenarian would be assigned to what row, Louis LaFortune was in this very house—up in her very room—wringing his big, strong hands in grief.

Still, somehow, the thought of missing his visit was more upsetting than the idea that the visit had never taken place, and she swallowed her bite of lunch, fighting back the tears brought on by the spices.

“Actually,” her father said, “both Mr. Tebeau and Mr. Barnie telephoned my office earlier. They’re quite concerned.”

“Maybe about the scandal.” The conversation with Dave Voyant echoed in her mind.

“What scandal?” Hazel asked.

“Never mind.” Doc shot a warning look to Vada, who immediately returned to her lunch. “Both men have asked me to come and speak to their teams this afternoon before the game. To reassure them, if you will. Hazel, I don’t have anybody scheduled to come in, but could you call on a few patients at home for me?”

“Of course, Doc.” She didn’t sound the least bit enthused, and Vada alone knew just how much she hated calling on Doc’s patients in their homes.

“Very good. And Althea, you can sit with our patient until it’s time for you to report to the telegraph office?”

Althea nodded, the slightest smile at the corners of her mouth.

“And Vada? You can come with me to assess their level of remorse. That is, unless you have more pressing matters at the theater.”

She thought of Herr Johann’s tuxedo, the “Reserved” seat coverings, the final housekeeping briefing, and the host of other duties littering her desk, not to mention the afternoon rehearsal.

“No, Doc. Nothing at all.”

Although most of life for the Allenhouse family was confined within a comfortable walking distance of their home, Doc still owned a fine pair of horses and three carriages, which he housed at Darvin’s Livery on Huntington Street. There Mr. Darvin was free to rent them out in exchange for the fee he would otherwise charge Dr. Allenhouse, and whenever Doc needed conveyance, one of Darvin’s sons would drive it right up to the front door.

Today it was Darvin’s youngest, Pete, a slow, lumbering boy of fourteen who stood on the front step, chewing what was left of his thumbnail.

“Brought your two-seater and the bay.” He never once took his thumb away from his mouth and, oddly enough, his thick lips never budged.

“Very good, Pete,” Vada said. Doc followed her out onto the front step and gave Pete such a generous tip the boy was still staring at it as Doc handed Vada up into the backseat of the carriage.

“Tell you what, boy,” Doc said, his foot on the running board, “how’d you like to make twice that?”

“Yessir?”

“Hop up and drive Miss Allenhouse and myself to League Park.”

“Yes sir, Dr. Allenhouse.”

Doc settled in beside Vada, and they’d barely pulled away from the house before she began peppering him with questions. First about Eli: How long could he live in this condition? What damage would linger
after he woke up? What would they do if, God forbid, he were to die? To each of these, Doc answered with some weary variance of “I don’t know.”

They spoke quietly, knowing the noise of the street would drown their conversation from the prying ears of Pete. The boy’s cheerful whistling further protected their conversation, as it seemed unlikely he could drive, whistle, and listen all at once.

“I still don’t understand why you need to go to the park.” Vada tilted her head away to hide her face from the woman out tending the lilac bush Garrison raided the afternoon before.

“I call on all my patients, Vada. Not only to care for them, but also to give reassurance to their loved ones.”

“Yes, but the patient is back at home, and we have no idea who his loved ones are.”

“It’s a difficult situation.”

“But why? I don’t understand why we have the need for such secrecy. This was a simple accident, and everybody’s acting as if we’re covering up a crime.”

“That’s precisely why I wanted you to come with me today, so I could get you alone and explain. Hazel doesn’t spend much time outside the house, and we know Althea won’t…tell.”

“And Lisette is hardly aware of his existence,” Vada added, grinning.

Doc responded with a rare chuckle. “Exactly. But I know you are often out in the community, and it could well be that someone might ask you about the incident. There were, after all, spectators who saw the, er…accident. And they may well assume—correctly—that the young man was brought to my home for care, and they may ask—”

“That’s just it, Doc. What if they do ask?” Her mind flashed to the image of Dave Voyant tapping his pencil against his flirtatious smile. “What could it possibly harm to tell them what happened? We might encounter someone who can tell us who the man is.”

“I gave Mr. Tebeau my word that I would protect him. At least until we have an outcome.”

“Protect him from what?”

“Publicity, mostly. You know how cutthroat the newspapers can be. Can’t you just picture the headline?” He positioned his hands as if holding an imaginary newspaper. “Anonymous Immigrant Killed in the Stands.”

Something told Vada that Dave Voyant would come up with something infinitely more clever.

“Tebeau’s worried it’ll make the team look bad. Scare people out of the stands. The more attention called to it, the more people will examine what led up to the moment the boy got hit. And then they’ll pin blame on the player, and that could ruin him.”

She thought of those massive arms, muscles bulging as he gripped the bat, slamming the ball through the air and straight between young Eli’s eyes. “Oh, that poor Mr. LaFortune.”

“No,” Doc said, “it’ll fall on Cupid.”