The Solace of Stars, page 18
The image was chilling. One conclusion was clear: she could not spend another night alone here with Jacobine.
The bitter irony of that infuriated her. She’d always taken fierce pride in the fact that, if nothing else, her farm was indeed a safe haven for anyone who needed it. Now her own sense of safety was gone. She felt the loss dearly.
* * *
Hanneke woke at dawn, momentarily groggy and confused. Then everything flowed back—the intruder, her intent to keep watch, Jacobine.
Jacobine. Hanneke jerked upright when she realized that she was alone in the bedroom.
She found her ward sitting in the kitchen. No eggs or bread had been fetched. No fire had been kindled.
This was not good. Hanneke sat down and took both of the girl’s hands. “Jacobine? Listen to me. The Steckelbergs will be here soon. They’re going to take us both to Frau Ziedler’s tavern in town. It’s the safest place I can think of.”
No response. A fly buzzed at the window.
Hanneke tightened her grip, willing a bit of her own strength to seep through her palm. “Frau Ziedler can send Adolf for help if there’s any trouble. She also has many, many friends among her patrons. If she asked, I don’t doubt she’d soon have a small army ready to stand guard. Does that sound like a good plan?”
Jacobine finally looked up. Her eyes were shadowed with an uneasy mix of dread and confusion. “But I’m supposed to stay here.”
It had not occurred to Hanneke that Jacobine might balk at the plan. Was the girl afraid to leave the house? Or had she truly drifted beyond rational thinking?
“Liebchen,” Hanneke said gently, “keeping you safe is more important than anything else. Your mother entrusted your care to me. Whenever we have the chance to explain, I know she’ll understand and—”
She stopped abruptly and jumped to her feet. A vehicle had just rattled into the yard. Hanneke’s heart leapt to her throat as she scurried to the window, but—Danke Gott. Clara and Charles had arrived.
She jerked open the door and ran to meet them. “I have never been so glad to see anyone as I am to see you two.”
“What’s wrong?” Charles asked sharply.
In a calmer tone, Clara suggested, “Let’s talk inside.”
Hanneke shook her head. “Better to stay out here for now,” she said, hoping it was true. She didn’t want Jacobine to overhear their conversation…but she felt twitchy. Was the intruder hiding in the woods nearby, watching the house even now? Speaking quickly, in a low voice, she told her friends about hearing the window open, seeing the intruder reach inside.
Charles cursed and began to pace. Clara held up a palm to quiet him. “What happened then?”
“I slammed an iron skillet down on his arm.”
“Good,” Charles muttered. Clara’s steady nod suggested that the action was no more than what she would have expected.
“I don’t know if I did serious damage,” Hanneke added, “but the blow did scare the man away.”
“You ladies stay here,” Charles ordered. “I’m going to take a look around.”
Clara waited until he’d stalked out of earshot before putting a hand on her friend’s arm. “You two come home with us. At least until we can get word to Deputy Barlow.”
“The invitation is appealing,” Hanneke said sincerely, “but I think Jacobine will be safer at Angela’s place than out here in the countryside. I’d be grateful if you could drive us both to town. As soon as possible.” Hanneke heard a quiver in her tone, and swallowed hard. “Karoline trusted me, and I’m failing her. That man is still out there, and he came so close to—”
“You didn’t let him,” Clara reminded her. “All that matters is that neither one of you was hurt.”
“Not physically, but the incident took a frightful toll on Jacobine. She’s slipping away, Clara. Just as Karoline did before she disappeared.” Hanneke’s fingers fisted around folds in her skirt. “And I made mistakes. I didn’t think clearly.”
Clara gave a tiny snort. “Sounds to me like you did just fine.”
“I should have done better. I should have let him crawl farther inside.” Hanneke stamped one foot in frustration. “I might have been able to identify him, and end this horrid business altogether!”
Clara vehemently sliced the air with one hand. “Halt,” she advised. “You don’t have time to waste on regrets.”
* * *
The four of them traveled to Watertown without incident. Charles parked in the alley behind the Red Cockerel. “As soon as you’re inside, I’m going to find a lawman,” he said. “The Watertown police need to know Jacobine is here, and I’ll get word to Deputy Barlow as well.”
Hanneke and Clara hurried Jacobine to the kitchen door. “Inside, quickly,” Hanneke urged. She felt better as soon as she’d bolted the door behind them. “Hello?” she called—and then wished she hadn’t. She hadn’t noticed Angela’s daughter Liesl cocooned in a wooden crate in one corner. The baby had apparently been asleep, and the disturbance set her to fussing.
Angela hurried through the taproom door, wiping her hands on a rag. Her expression turned somber as she assessed the refugees, but she quickly rallied. “Welcome, friends. You must have had a chilly drive this morning. I’ll build up the fire.”
She shot Hanneke a private look of concern as she turned to the woodbox. Hanneke shook her head grimly to say, The situation has gotten worse. I’ll explain when we’re alone.
The kitchen smelled of fresh coffee grounds, lard, and fish. A basket of glassy-eyed pike and bass sat on the table, which meant fish soup for lunch. Hanneke had often made the meal during the weeks she’d lived and worked at the tavern. The mundane memory was welcome. I found shelter here, she reminded herself. Jacobine will as well.
Liesl’s complaints grew more strident, and Angela eased her from the makeshift bed. “Gerlind is visiting a sick friend,” Angela explained. “I don’t like having Liesl in the kitchen while I’m bustling about. Jacobine, I’d be very grateful if you could help watch her today.”
Hanneke wasn’t sure this was a good idea, but Angela shifted Liesl to one arm, took Jacobine’s hand, and led her from the room. Hanneke followed them to the upstairs bedroom, where Angela pointed Jacobine to a rocking chair and deftly snuggled the unhappy child into her arms. “She’ll stop fretting if you rock a bit.”
Jacobine set the chair in motion. Liesl’s vocalizations began to subside, and after a few moments, her body relaxed. Jacobine settled herself more comfortably and laid her cheek ever so gently against Liesl’s downy head.
A salty lump rose in Hanneke’s throat as she and Angela tiptoed from the room. This was what Jacobine should be thinking about—a husband, a family, contentment. Hanneke sent up a quick prayer, hoping that it wasn’t too late.
Back downstairs, Clara peeled potatoes while Hanneke told Angela what transpired. “So I brought Jacobine here,” she concluded. “I don’t think we were followed.”
Angela’s eyes had narrowed. “Of course she can stay. I’ve already talked to Adolf. He understands the situation.”
“Charles went to report what happened to the constables and Deputy Barlow,” Clara added. “And I’ll tell Elizabeth and Hans Goetsch what happened when I go to the sauerkraut bee at their place this morning. They’ll help in any way they can, I know.”
“I have friends who can help keep watch here at night,” Angela added. “Men I trust.”
Hanneke looked from face to face, each concerned, each also resolute. I’m not alone, she reminded herself. I’m not in this alone.
Clara said she would stay until Charles got back. “I need to go out,” Hanneke told them. “I must return a book to Dr. Rausch.”
“Before you go….” Angela placed one trout on a cutting board, held the tail, and began scraping away its scales with a knife. “I found a German Catholic woman who is willing to speak with you.”
“Oh my!” Hanneke had almost forgotten about the favor she’d asked the day before. “That was quick.”
“Hedwig is a widow who keeps food on her table by cleaning and gardening at St. Henry. She comes in here every once in a while. I don’t know her well, but….” Angela shot Hanneke a sardonic look. “We understand each other.”
“You,” Hanneke said simply, “are a wonderful woman.”
“You can find Hedwig at the church,” Angela added, waving away the compliment. “And don’t worry about Jacobine while you’re out. She will be fine.”
Since speaking with the physician was most pressing, Hanneke walked first to his home, where his wife ushered her into his office. Hanneke announced without preamble, “I think I found something.”
“Guten tag, Frau Bauer.” Dr. Rausch’s tone was disapproving, as if disappointed she hadn’t offered an appropriate greeting. He was sitting behind his desk, polishing his spectacles with a monogrammed handkerchief. “What was that you said?”
Stifling impatience, Hanneke placed A Medical Treatise On Poisons on the corner of his desk and thumbed to the appropriate page. “I believe Oma Pearl died of arsenic poisoning.”
“Arsenvergiftung?” Dr. Rausch perched his spectacles back on his nose and leaned over the book.
Hanneke realized that a professional man likely wouldn’t appreciate an impertinent woman hovering over him, so she perched on the chair in front of his desk. “You said Oma Pearl’s general symptoms could be caused by a number of ailments, correct?”
“Ja. That is correct.”
“When I studied the book last night, the entry for arsenic was the first one I found, noting that a victim might develop unusual markings on their fingernails. I saw the beginning of that on Oma Pearl’s.”
“I remember you saying so,” he allowed, frowning. “I hadn’t known that was a symptom, however. I’ve never treated such a case before.”
“No one can know everything about everything,” Hanneke said mildly.
He looked mollified. “Let me check a more detailed reference.” He carried another book to his desk and read the appropriate section, nodding thoughtfully. “The marks are uncommon and generally believed to emerge after a period of exposure,” he said and looked up with dismay. “I shudder to contemplate the dose Oma Pearl received. It must have been high.”
Hanneke gritted her teeth.
“Most deaths caused by arsenic poisoning are accidental. Sadly, it is not uncommon.” He leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers below his chin. “It’s used in many things. Paints and dyes, toys, candles….” He spread his hands, suggesting the list was too long to enumerate. “It’s also used to make ladies’ face powder, as you may know.”
Hanneke refrained from mentioning that she had no experience with, or interest in, anything so ridiculous.
“Arsenic is also an ingredient in certain medicinals,” Dr. Rausch told her. “Tiny doses are safe. I prescribe a powdered form for people to rub into their hair to repel vermin. I’m not aware that anyone in the Steckelberg household has had that problem, however.”
Hanneke tapped one impatient finger against the polished walnut chair. “It seems there is no way to know the source.”
He looked away for a moment, as if trying to focus on something. “I read an article a year or so ago, written by a physician investigating arsenic deaths. He theorized that under certain conditions, arsenic in paints can create a poisonous miasma. I don’t remember any bright paint in Oma Pearl’s bedroom, though.”
“The walls throughout the Steckelberg house are whitewashed.” Hanneke sighed. “However, I don’t doubt that we could find some form of arsenic in the farm.” She thought of the large gathering at the Erntedankfest. Anyone who’d attended might have slipped into the stable’s storage room and grabbed some rat poison. “How difficult would it be for someone acting with malicious intent to taint food?”
“Since arsenic is odorless and tasteless, it would not be difficult at all. The substance is impossible to detect.” The physician stood abruptly and walked to a window that overlooked a flower garden, purple and gold in autumn glory. “As a doctor, I know all too well what harm one person can inflict on another. Nonetheless…I am not immured to it. Contemplating such evil horrifies me.”
Such a personal admission was both surprising and touching. “I feel exactly the same way.”
One of the nearby church bells tolled the hour. Dr. Rausch startled and turned back. “Forgive me for speaking so.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” Hanneke stood, smoothing wrinkles from her skirt. “I’m grateful for the loan of the book, sir.”
He picked up a silver letter opener, turned it in his fingers. “Frau Bauer, I must admit that when I agreed to let you borrow such a dense medical tome, I couldn’t imagine you finding anything useful.” The opener made another rotation. “And yet…you did. You very likely identified the poison that killed Oma Pearl.”
With a nod of acknowledgment, Hanneke left Dr. Rausch to ponder the unexpected usefulness of a curious woman.
Chapter Eighteen
Saint Henry Church was a tidy frame structure across the Rock River from the Irish Catholic congregation. When Hanneke approached, a woman was kneeling among clusters of blue monkshood and late daisies in a flower bed beside the building. Instead of gardening, however, she was scrubbing the stone foundation with a brush.
“Guten Morgen,” Hanneke called, not wanting to startle her. “Are you Frau Fischer?”
“Ja.” She dropped her scrub brush into a nearby pail and got to her feet. “You must be Angela’s friend.”
“I’m Hanneke Bauer. I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Call me Hedwig.” She cocked her head toward a sunny bench. “Let’s sit.”
Hedwig was a stocky, round-faced, rosy-cheeked young woman. No more than a few years older than Jacobine, Hanneke thought, and already a widow. A quick glance might suggest a cheerful girl on her way to a husking bee in search of a beau. Only her gray eyes revealed deeper depths of experience.
The two women settled on the bench. “I’ll only take a few moments of your time,” Hanneke began. “Vielen Danke for allowing me to visit.”
“Angela has been kind to me.”
Hanneke pulled the St. Thomas Aquinas medal from her reticule. “Can you tell me anything about this?”
Hedwig’s eyebrows rose as she took the medal. “Where did you get it?”
“I found this among the possessions of a friend of mine who died recently. His family is Lutheran, and I’m trying to discover why he’d tucked it away.”
“Have you inquired at the Irish church?”
“My English is still limited,” Hanneke hedged. “I thought it would be easiest to start here.” Although Hedwig’s dialect was not Pomeranian, Hanneke had no trouble understanding her.
Hedwig fingered the medal pensively. A shrill laugh drifted across the yard from two well-dressed women strolling together. Hanneke wondered if any of her particularly pious Lutheran friends might pass by. They’d be horrified to spot her sitting on heathen ground.
“I’m sorry. Such medals are common gifts among Catholics, but I can’t imagine why your friend might have had this.” She handed it back.
“Are there certain occasions when someone might give such a gift?”
“It varies. I received mine when I was baptized.” Hedwig touched the spot on her bodice where a similar medal might rest beneath the fabric. “It reminds me of my faith and devotion.” Her face softened. “It helps me to know that so many saints faced terrible struggles and still led good lives.”
“That’s lovely,” Hanneke said quietly. She didn’t want to pry any further into this kind young woman’s personal life. “Am I correct in my understanding that Catholics recognize many saints?”
“Oh, yes. Hundreds and hundreds. Maybe even thousands.”
Thousands? Hanneke was taken aback. Gracious.
“Different people pray to different saints. Sometimes they feel an affinity to a particular saint. My father, who is a shoemaker, wears a Saint Crispin medal because he’s the patron saint of cobblers. My mother wears one that she inherited from a dear friend.”
“Do you happen to know anything about St. Thomas Aquinas?”
“He’s the patron saint of education,” Hedwig said promptly.
Hanneke’s eyebrows rose. “The patron saint of education?”
“He’s famous because he was so learned.” Hedwig noticed a spider on the bench and brushed it away. “He wrote books. Did your friend like to read?”
“He did not,” Hanneke acknowledged. “Well, I’m very grateful for your help. I won’t keep you from your work any longer.” Rising, she gestured toward the church. “The congregation is fortunate to have your diligent care. Most cleaners, no matter how meticulous, would not take the time to scrub a foundation.”
“I can’t take such credit.” Instead of returning Hanneke’s warm smile, Hedwig set her jaw in a hard line. “Let me show you.”
Back at the flower bed, she crouched and pulled aside stalks. Black marks—paint? tar?—were visible on the rough stones. Hanneke frowned. “What left such stains?”
“Not what. Who.” Hedwig stood. “Know-Nothings.”
Hanneke took a deep breath. She’d had her own frightening encounters with the hate-filled nativists last spring. Know-Nothings feared the arrival of all European immigrants, but held a heightened contempt for Catholics.
“They painted ugly words on the walls.” Hedwig rubbed her palms on her skirt. “You can’t tell now because the church men painted over them, several coats. But I hate knowing the messages are still there. And it sickens me to see bits of them still visible on the foundation stones.”
Hanneke felt sickened as well. “I’m so sorry. Have you had problems with Know-Nothings before?”
“Last spring the Notre Dame Sisters in Milwaukee sent two nuns here to help plan a church school.” Hedwig began pleating her skirt in her fingers. “They arrived in time for evening vespers. As we gave thanks for the day, we heard a commotion outside. Torches flared just beyond the windows. A group of mounted men began riding around the church, shouting dreadful things at us.” She shuddered.
