Chasing Secrets

  Gus takes me by the hand, which stops me cold. Sweat drips down under my corset. “Do we have to dance?”

  Gus smiles at me.

  We stand at the edge of the dance floor full of glittering dresses and dark pressed suits. It smells of perfume and perspiration. Spencer and the girl in the evening-sky dress look as if they’ll never come off the floor. If we’re going to talk to him, we’ll have to dance out there.

  I close my eyes and pretend Gus is Noah and this grand courtyard is my cozy room at home.

  Gus’s hand is on the small of my back. His touch is lighter than Noah’s. He’s taller; we’re eye to eye. Where do I look? Gus’s steps are quick as he steers me over to Spencer. I’m a half beat behind him. He slows down; I speed up. Where are his feet? I barely miss stepping on them. My face gets hotter.

  “Can I talk to you?” Gus murmers to Spencer.

  Spencer tries to swing the evening-sky girl away.

  Gus repeats his question, boldly.

  Spencer frowns. “Now?”

  “Yes.” Gus cuts in. He takes the hand of Spencer’s partner.

  Oh no! I have to dance with Spencer? I stand stock-still as Gus and the girl dance away.

  Spencer offers his hand to me, as if mine is covered in snot. He holds me with stiff arms so our bodies don’t touch. His feet move in a square, his eye on the girl, his every move meant to say how irritated he is to dance with the likes of me.

  I screw up my courage. “I thought you were here with Gemma.”

  “She’s on crutches. How am I supposed to dance with her?” He swirls me closer to Gus.

  “She can still dance.”

  He snorts.

  “Why’d you ask her, then?”

  “Our mothers arranged it,” he says. He and Gus switch partners again.

  A smile darts across Gus’s lips as he takes my hand. He’s happy to have me back! Maybe it wasn’t Gemma’s idea for him to ask me to La Jeunesse. Could it have been Gus’s?

  “I don’t like Spencer,” I say. Billy and the pretty dark-haired girl float by.

  “He’s full of himself.”

  “He said it wasn’t his idea to ask Gemma.”

  “That’s true. Gemma’s always plotting. It backfired this time. I just hope she doesn’t fall again. She’s accident-prone when she gets upset.”

  A waiter in a white jacket announces, “Dinner is served.”

  We follow the flow of the crowd into the dining room. A band plays, and girls in sweeping dresses and boys in black jackets load their plates with oysters and creamed lobsters, sizzling soups and sourdough bread. Crab cakes and crumb-crust pies. Pork chops, pear tarts, and Parmesan potatoes. Bear meat and beef bourguignon. The tables of food go on and on.

  We fill plates for ourselves and for Gemma, then join Hattie and her partner at Gemma’s table. Spencer’s hat and gloves sit on the chair next to Gemma, but that’s all we see of him. With Hattie here, I stiffen. She says nothing about my dress, but her eyes judge me.

  “Lizzie, I’m surprised to see you here,” she says. “Have you ever even been to a cotillion dance before?”

  “No,” I say.

  “Did you dance?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m so sorry I missed it.” Hattie puts her lipstick in her tiny beaded purse.

  I think about what Noah would do. He’d tell the truth. I look Hattie straight in the eye. “I’m not half the dancer you are, Hattie. None of us are. But I like dancing with Gus.”

  Gus turns bright red, and so do I. Why do I have to be so awkward? Still, it’s true. And saying this makes Hattie back off. I can’t wait to tell Noah.

  I concentrate on my food, which I have been shoveling in. When my chest feels like a furnace packed with coal, I set my fork down and look around. That’s when I notice Peter walk by.

  “I’ll be right back,” I whisper to Gus, then charge after Peter as best I can in my long ruffly skirt and high heels. “Excuse me, sir?”

  Peter ignores me.

  “Sir…Peter,” I practically shout, nearly tripping over a brocade-covered table.

  He glances back. “Lizzie Kennedy, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.” I hurry to catch him. “I’m sorry I only know you by Peter.”

  “Indeed. What can I do for you, Miss Kennedy?” He’s picked up speed.

  “I want you to tell me the truth, sir.” I scramble after him.

  “The truth, is it?” He glances back. “Always a dangerous prospect.”

  “About the monkey.”

  “Ahh, yes. What, if I may ask, is your great interest in primates?” I’m trying my best to keep up.

  “Well, sir, there’s something going on with a monkey. People aren’t talking about it, and I don’t know why.”

  “Ah, my dear, there are many things people don’t see fit to discuss. Surely you’ve learned that in your fourteen years.”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Even so.”

  Now I see that he’s headed to the bar, where women aren’t allowed. “You know what I want to know.”

  “My fair lady, you give me far more credit than I deserve.”

  I jump in front of him, trying to prevent him from going inside.

  “Miss Kennedy, I’m sorry I can’t be of more help. If you’ll excuse me.” He dips around me.

  “Wait!” I shout.

  He doesn’t look back. He joins a crowded table, but I’m stuck outside. Billy could follow him in there. It is annoying to be a girl sometimes.

  The curls Nettie worked so hard on are falling into my face, so I blow them away.

  Peter clinks his glass. “Gentlemen, your health,” he toasts, slipping his shoes off under the table and settling in. I wave, hoping somebody will notice me, but no one looks my way.

  At Gemma’s table everyone has moved on to dessert. Hattie is taking tiny bites of chocolate cake; Gemma is dipping her fork in raspberry filling. “You’re up to something,” Gemma whispers when I slip back into my chair.

  Everyone stares at me.

  “What makes you say that?” How I wish I could lie the way Billy does.

  “Lizzie, you have to come with us. We can’t dance without you,” Hattie announces.

  I look at Gus. He seems to know what I’m thinking.

  “I’m still working on dessert,” he tells her. I thank him with a smile.

  When Hattie and her date are gone, I tell Gemma, “I want to talk to Peter—the man who announced us when we arrived. Only, now he’s in the bar and he doesn’t want to come out.”

  Gemma leans toward me, her eyes sparkling. “You want to go into the saloon?”

  I nod.

  “Let’s go.” She grins, scoots out of her seat, and grabs her crutches, with Gus close behind.

  I’m starting to see that this is how Gemma and Gus are: Gemma gets bored and comes up with a wild idea, and Gus helps her pull it off. This time it’s my idea.

  Still, they didn’t even ask me why I want to talk to Peter. It’s important to me, so it’s important to them. Is this what it means to have friends? How could I have missed Gemma at Miss Barstow’s before? Are there other girls there as nice as she is?

  We stop and look around outside the bar. A tea cart is tucked against the wall. Gus borrows a tablecloth from a nearby table and drapes it over the top.

  Gemma yanks up the cloth. “Can you fit under this?”

  I squat down to see if I can get my ruffles and feathers underneath. Luckily, they’ve loosened up since Maggy laced me in. I nod.

  “Gus can push the tea cart,” Gemma says.

  “How are we going to explain pushing a tea cart in the bar?” I ask.

  “I know,” Gus says, and disappears. In a few minutes, he’s back with a white waiter’s jacket over his arm.

  “Where’d you get that?” I ask.

  He grins. “I’ve been here with Papa. I saw where they keep them.” He takes off his Prince Albert and hands it to Gemma, then slides his arms into the small waiter’s j
acket.

  “Don’t button it,” Gemma says. She turns to me. “What will you do when you get in there?”

  “I’m going to make that man Peter answer my question.”

  “How?”

  How do you force someone to tell you something? Hmmm. Then I flash on his shoes. “By ransoming his shoes. He took them off.”

  Gemma bursts out laughing.

  I crawl under the tea cart. Gemma figures out a way to fold the cloth back so I can peek through. She tucks in my skirt. Gus pushes the cart and leaves me behind.

  “Not so fast,” I whisper. “I can’t keep up.”

  We practice until we get it. Then Gus maneuvers the tea cart over the doorway bump into the bar.

  “Sir,” Gus says when our cart is in line with Peter’s table, “may I take your empties?”

  Perfect. I’m liking Gus better and better. Peter doesn’t notice Gus. A waiter is invisible to him. Is this why Jing doesn’t want Noah working for anyone?

  I lift up my tablecloth and the one on Peter’s table and duck my hand under, trying to see the shoes in the dark tangle of legs. I manage to grab one shoe but brush a leg as I do. The leg jerks back. I freeze.

  But no one calls out or peeks underneath. I crawl back under the tea cart, holding the shoe to my chest, then reach out and squeeze Gus’s ankle.

  Gus pretends to drop something and ducks his head under the cart. I nod vigorously, and he begins pushing the tea cart toward the door with all my ruffles underneath. I have all I can manage trying to hold the shoe and inch forward in this dress. I need both hands to crawl. I put the shoe under my armpit. That doesn’t work. I hold the shoelace between my teeth. The shoe bonks my chest, flapping this way and that.

  When we’re safely over the doorway bump and around the corner, Gemma lifts the table skirt, and I hop out.

  Gus and Gemma burst out laughing when they see the shoelace in my mouth.

  “Good job, Lizzie.” Gemma straightens my dress and smoothes my hair.

  We wait for Peter to discover that his shoe is missing. But Peter is busy toasting his buddies and knocking back shots. Gemma goes in search of more dessert. Finally Gus and I see Peter wiggle around in his seat, then duck under the table.

  Gus grins. I put my hands over our mouths so we won’t laugh out loud.

  “I’ll tell him you have it,” Gus says, and marches in wearing his own jacket. He whispers into Peter’s ear.

  Peter’s head swivels in my direction. He stomps out, one shoe on, one shoe off.

  His breath stinks of whisky. His jacket is off. A perspiration stain marks his white shirt. He glares. “I do not appreciate your high jinks, Miss Kennedy. Why have you chosen me to persecute?”

  “You know what I need to know, sir.”

  He groans. “Is this about the monkey?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s very important.”

  He sighs. “Dr. Kinyoun, a misguided physician with an inflated view of his own worth, believes he has conclusive evidence that the plague has come to our city. He claims to have proven this by injecting the plague pathogen, supposedly culled from a dead man, into a rat, two guinea pigs, and a monkey. The rat and the guinea pigs died. We’re waiting to see if the monkey survives.”

  “That would prove the plague is here?”

  “That’s the claim of Dr. Kinyoun—also known as the wolf doctor.”

  “Why is this a secret?”

  “It isn’t, exactly. Your uncle is opposed to giving ink to such shenanigans. We leave that sort of scurrilous reporting to Hearst’s Examiner. Now, my shoe, please.”

  “And what about the quarantine?”

  “The dead man who allegedly had the plague was found in Chinatown. The wolf doctor called the quarantine, and now he’s trying to prove to everyone it wasn’t a mistake.”

  “Will you tell me if the monkey dies? Please, sir?”

  “Will I tell you? Miss Kennedy, I have indulged you beyond what any prudent gentleman would, could, or should. Now, shall I get word to your aunt and uncle of your behavior, or will you kindly return my property to me and let this be the end of it?”

  I hand over his shoe. “Thank you, sir.” I bob my head.

  When I turn around, Gus is standing by the table taking this all in. Gemma is hobbling along on one crutch, holding a plate piled high with cookies.

  “You did it!” Gemma offers me a cookie.

  “With your help. What a team you two are!”

  Slowly, we drift to the courtyard to wait for our coaches, letting others go in front of us. None of us wants to leave.

  —

  When I get home, Maggy and the parrot are waiting up for me. “Miss Lizzie, have fun?” Maggy asks.

  “Yes, actually,” I say, thinking how I must remember every detail to tell Noah.

  In my room, she unlaces the corset. The stays and ties have left red impressions on my skin. It feels wonderful to be out of it. I pull on my soft flannel nightdress and crawl into bed. Maggy turns out the gas lamp. Only the moon’s light remains.

  When I wake up the next morning, I think about what Peter said. The entire quarantine rides on a monkey? How can that be true? What will happen if the monkey dies? Will they make it a real quarantine, with doctors and nurses and yellow plague flags? Why isn’t it a real quarantine now?

  All I have is questions. I want to go back to Noah with answers. I take out the feather Nettie wove into my hair. I was so tired last night, I fell asleep with it in.

  My eyes find Jing’s gifts. I’ve been out having fun in my white-feathered dress while Jing has been locked in Chinatown. Why is it I’ve never given Jing a gift? I don’t even know when his birthday is. I have to get him out of there, and I’m not going to wait around for a stupid monkey.

  I’m still trying to figure out a plan when Billy knocks on my door.

  “C’mon,” he says. “I need to teach you something. Now, before church and before everyone gets up.”

  I stare at him, not moving from where I’m curled up in my quilt. It’s been so long since Billy taught me anything.

  “You may not realize this”—his face turns red—“but you’re…All dressed up last night, you…Look, you need to know how to defend yourself.”

  “Against what?”

  “People. Men. The world isn’t what you think.” He frowns. “Put on your old clothes. Meet me at the barn.”

  He shuts the door, and I slip into an old skirt. When I get down to the stable, Billy has his boxing gloves on. He’s practicing punching the air. He sees me and stops.

  “Okay. Let’s say it’s dark and you’re walking in from the barn, and someone comes at you like this.” He lunges for me. “What would you do?”

  “Kick him in his reproductive apparatus?”

  “Not a bad idea. But what happens if he has you like this?” He stands behind me, his arm around my throat.

  I shake my head. Or try to, anyway. I can hardly move with my neck in the vise of his arm.

  “I’m going to keep it simple, and then we’re going to practice. Did Papa ever explain to you how to defend yourself?”

  “No.”

  “Of course not.” He snorts. “Look, you should never do this if you’re kidding around, but if you’re in danger…there are points on a person, Lizzie, that will kill them. Temple, armpit, liver, groin. Behind the ear.”

  He spends an hour making me practice different moves until I have mastered them. It’s so nice to have the old Billy back. He could be instructing me on how to dig for turnips and I’d be happy.

  —

  The next morning after Maggy comes down, I sneak up and leave Noah supplies on the bottom step. He knows to watch for them now.

  I want so badly to go up and see him. Maybe later the cord will be down. Maybe I will have found Jing by then. Wasn’t Papa supposed to be back by now?

  I gather clean towels, cloths, bandages, gauze, Papa’s contagion gloves, a mask, and a medical coat. I roll them into a tight ball a
nd put them in the bottom of my book bag. The bag is overstuffed, which Aunt Hortense is sure to notice. I head down the long path to the Sweetings’ stable. If I climb into the carriage here, Aunt Hortense won’t see my bag.

  Ho is in the back, shining bits. “Excuse me, Ho,” I say. “I need to go to school.”

  Ho jumps. “Yes, miss.” He hurries to the black horses already harnessed to the buggy.

  Aunt Hortense comes out when she sees us. She peeks into the carriage. “Eager to get to school, are we?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say.

  “Happier at Miss Barstow’s, I take it?”

  All along Aunt Hortense has said I would grow to like Miss Barstow’s. I can’t admit she’s right. I don’t meet her eyes.

  “Glad to hear it. Have a good day.” She taps the carriage, and Ho drives on.

  —

  All during school, I can barely concentrate. After elocution, Hattie brings up Spencer.

  “Spencer? Spencer who?” Gemma sniffs. “But you-know-who is totally smitten.”

  “I noticed that,” Hattie says, and waggles her eyebrows at me. “The question is…how does Lizzie feel about him?”

  Hattie and Gemma look at me.

  “Gus? Of course I like Gus,” I say.

  They nod, waiting for more.

  “I had fun, okay?”

  “That’s it?” Gemma asks. “That’s all we’re going to get?”

  “Yes.” I hurry down the front steps in such a fluster, I forget to check my slip. There are mirrors hung everywhere because Miss Barstow can’t stand it when your slip is showing. “Lizzie, a penny, please.” Miss Barstow holds out the orphan jar. I fork over a penny. You have to contribute every time she catches you with your petticoat hanging. The money goes to the McKinley Orphanage.

  I run back inside to fix my slip.

  “What’s the matter with you today?” Gemma whispers as we gather our books.

  “Nothing.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she announces.

  If only she and Gus could help me with this. If only I could tell her about Jing. But it’s one thing to play a ransom game with a shoe, another thing to sneak into the quarantine zone of Chinatown.