The Solace of Stars, page 19
Hanneke imagined feeling trapped, seeing the wavering torches through the windowpanes, wondering if the riders’ goal was a demonstration or something far worse. “Did the church report these things to the police?” she asked—then instantly regretted it. “Never mind.” It was very likely that city constables had been among the riders.
“When I was hired to clean, there were no flowers here,” Hedwig said. “After that incident, I asked for permission to create these gardens. Beautifying the church grounds is my offering. Tending the beds has given me peace. This is holy ground.” She set her shoulders, lifted her chin. “I will scrub until every trace of this desecration is gone.”
If the urge to get back to Jacobine wasn’t pulsing so stridently, Hanneke would have grabbed a second brush and knelt beside Hedwig. After a moment, she said, “I believe God will bless your effort,” and left the young woman alone.
* * *
As Hanneke walked back toward the tavern, she tried to put the Know-Nothings’ cowardly attacks out of her mind so she could focus on her immediate problem. She had learned something about St. Thomas Aquinas, but gained no insight regarding why August might have had such a medal. Of the options Hedwig mentioned, Hanneke mused, it seems most likely that August had kept the token because someone special had gifted it, and the image of St. Thomas was irrelevant.
On the walkway in front of a dry goods store, a toddler stood with little hands on his little knees, fascinated by a caterpillar. While waiting for the path to clear, Hanneke once again tried to imagine where August might have received such a gift. Maybe the mistress Hans Goetsch suspected August visited was Catholic, and she’d wanted August to have her own medal.
Much as Hanneke wanted to grasp at least one plausible theory about the Saint Thomas medal, that possibility felt wrong. August’s Lutheran upbringing would have instilled in him an instinctive distrust of all things Catholic. Just as mine did, Hanneke thought. She took pride in thinking for herself, but nothing in August’s recent past suggested any sort of religious introspection. Besides, Watertown’s German and Irish populations generally didn’t mix.
Her lips pinched with vexation. She felt as if she were trying to shoo a rambunctious flock of clucking chickens into a barn—going in circles, watching stragglers fly into trees. Deputy Barlow had not thought August’s medal warranted investigation. Perhaps, Hanneke thought, I should draw the same conclusion.
Even as the thought came, she knew she could not. Keeping Jacobine safe meant discovering the truth about August’s death. Hanneke simply could not set this enigma aside until she’d followed every avenue of possible information. She needed to visit the Irish church.
She paused, debating. Part of her wanted to go now. That would take more time, though, and she felt compelled to see how Jacobine was faring. Sooner rather than later.
The bell on the closest shop tinkled as a customer emerged. Glancing up, Hanneke realized she was standing in front of the German Confectionary. Usually, she was too parsimonious to indulge in sweets. Today, though, the idea of taking a sack of boiled peppermint sweets back to the tavern appealed. She didn’t expect the treats to cheer anyone up, but the gift would be an expression of love at a time when she had nothing else to offer.
The shop was quiet, and sweetly scented by the confections and medicinals for sale. Proprietress Emmi Bock smiled a welcome from behind the counter. As she fulfilled the request, Hanneke considered all of the confections arranged on glass platters or in bowls. “Your displays are always so pretty,” she remarked. “It’s a pleasure to simply—” She broke off with a gasp. Lying on the back counter among spools of string and paper doilies was a set of nesting hearts, crafted of tin.
“Are you well?” Frau Bock asked anxiously. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
Hanneke felt as if she’d seen a ghost. “May I please see those cutters? It’s important.”
The older woman looked uncomfortable. “Well…I suppose so.” She picked up the heart-shaped box and set it on the front counter.
Hanneke leaned closer and studied the pieces, not willing to touch. The craftsmanship was superb, but there was no sign of Karoline’s maker’s mark. “Frau Bock, did you happen to purchase these cutters from Caspar Wulff?” His name tasted sour on her tongue.
Pink spots appeared on Frau Bock’s cheeks. She ducked her head for a long moment. Then she glanced about as if to be sure she wouldn’t be overheard. “Herr Wulff made them,” she murmured, “but I didn’t buy them.”
“Then how….” Hanneke let the question dangle.
“The set was a gift.”
“The set was a gift?” Hanneke repeated blankly. “I don’t understand.”
“What happened is….” Frau Bock hesitated again, twining her fingers together. Then she nodded. “Normally, I would never gossip about such things, but we widows must look out for each other. Don’t you think?”
“I do indeed.”
“Herr Wulff has developed feelings of a personal nature for me.”
Hanneke couldn’t make sense of that statement, either. “He’s…what?”
“I do not reciprocate those feelings.” Frau Bock’s tone left no room for doubt. “However, I have not been able to dissuade him. He’s taken to visiting the shop frequently. The last time he came, he brought me these cutters.” She leaned closer. “I didn’t know how to refuse the gift. He has shown me nothing but courtesy, and I believe his romantic affection is sincere.”
The very notion made Hanneke feel queasy.
“Nonetheless, he makes me uneasy.” Frau Bock bit her lower lip. “I do not wish to anger the man.”
“That would not be good,” Hanneke agreed fervently. “I have some experience with Herr Wulff, and as a fellow widow—” she caught and held Frau Bock’s gaze—“I strongly advise that you keep your distance. If he persists, speak to the police.”
Frau Bock’s expression was grave. “I will do so.”
Hanneke felt confounded as she left the shop. Karoline hadn’t been sure if Wulff had stolen her piece just to bedevil her, or if he’d planned to profit by copying her design. He might yet replicate more sets, but according to Emmi, he’d seen the unique design as an ideal courting gift.
A shudder rippled over Hanneke’s skin. Emmi Bock believed that Wulff’s affection was sincere. She was, however, a successful businesswoman. Perhaps Wulff was pretending affection in hopes of marrying her and seizing control of her property.
Wulff’s motive for pursuing Emmi Bock didn’t affect the Ketzlers’ problems directly, but the story did reveal something important. Wulff’s confectionary courtship suggested that the frequency of his recent Watertown visits had nothing to do with Jacobine or her parents after all.
* * *
Hanneke returned to the tavern in the late morning, just as the midday rush was beginning. In the kitchen, Angela was dishing up bowls of steaming fish soup. Tendrils of brown hair were plastered to her forehead, and the noise from the taproom was growing, but she paused to give Hanneke a reassuring look. “I was just upstairs to give Jacobine something to eat, and to nurse Liesel. Everything is calm.”
Before Hanneke could do more than exhale, someone knocked on the back door. “It’s John Barlow,” he called, and she unlatched the door. “Excuse me, Frau Ziedler,” the deputy said as he stepped inside, but his gaze was fixed on Hanneke. “I just got word of the incident at your farm last night.”
They went outside for privacy. The narrow alley between the tavern and stable was quiet, and at this hour, sunny. “So.” The deputy folded his arms. “Tell me.”
Hanneke did. Barlow listened in silence, which was unlike him. She leaned against the wall, which was unlike her, but she was too tired to care. The sound of groaning wheels rumbled from the main street—an overloaded freight wagon, most likely.
“I have to ask,” he said. “Are you certain that the window had been pegged before this happened?”
“Absolutely,” she said firmly. “I hadn’t opened any windows in the past couple of weeks. I have a clear memory of making sure that every one was closed and securely locked in place.” She didn’t mention that her dread of the coming winter had heightened her need to make sure the cold house was shut up tight.
“I’m very sorry this happened.” His hands fisted, but he held her gaze. “And I apologize for being short-tempered yesterday. Obviously, you were right to be alarmed for the girl’s safety.”
“I take no pleasure in that, I assure you.”
His anger quivered in the autumn air. “The man who murdered August must believe Jacobine is a threat.”
Hanneke nodded. “I think so too. Her memories of that night have been returning very slowly. Perhaps one day she’ll be able to recall who was there.”
Barlow began, “I need to speak with her again—”
“I can’t permit that at this time.” She held up one palm to ward off any ire. “After what happened last night, her melancholia has grown severe. She’s afraid of you. I’m certain that being questioned now would only plunge her deeper into despair, and gain you nothing.” She softened her voice. “Please, Deputy Barlow.”
Barlow glanced away as a raucously cawing crow landed on a barrel nearby. Then he met Hanneke’s gaze again. “Very well. I respect your judgment.”
She tried to hide the astonishment provoked by his admission. “Danke,” she murmured. “And I have more to tell you. It’s almost certain that Oma Pearl died of arsenic poisoning. I presented my conclusion to Dr. Rausch this morning, and he concurred.”
“Arsenic,” Barlow repeated grimly.
“I think the fatal dose was meant for Jacobine. She spent some time with Oma Pearl at the Erntedankfest. Perhaps plates got mixed up, or Oma Pearl sampled some tidbit before Jacobine got to it.”
He rubbed his chin with thumb and forefinger. “That is certainly plausible.”
A door in the next building opened, and someone tossed the contents of a pail that Hanneke hoped held dishwater into the lane. “I’ve been wanting to ask—have you found any evidence that August was having an affair?”
“None whatsoever.”
Another dead end, Hanneke thought. “Have you learned anything more about Declan?”
“I was finally able to track down the woman he claimed was with him the night August died,” Barlow said. “She backed up his story.”
“Did you believe her?”
“I don’t put any faith in her story one way or another.” His mouth twisted sideways. “I had to follow through, but it was a complete waste of time.”
“It was worth exploring,” Hanneke said firmly. “What do you plan to do next?” She needed to know that he did indeed have a plan. That weariness and frustration weren’t lessening his zeal.
He drummed his fingers against his thigh. “I think I need to speak with everyone who was at the Erntedankfest.”
Remembering the crowd gathered at the Steckelbergs’ that day, Hanneke winced. She agreed with the plan, though. “Perhaps someone will remember an important detail. Something that seemed unimportant.”
“Perhaps. But that will take time, and….” He left his final observation unspoken. “Do you have anything else to share?”
“Nothing helpful, I don’t think.” She told him about her conversation with Hedwig Fischer. He muttered something in English when she recounted Hedwig’s experience with the Know-Nothings, but otherwise listened in silence. “That tells us nothing.”
“You asked me to share everything,” Hanneke reminded him tartly, “and so I am. However…I admit that I am no more enlightened. My next step is to speak to someone at St. Bernard.”
The deputy frowned. “I don’t believe that is wise.”
“For heaven’s sake! What could possibly be the problem with such a simple errand?”
“The problem is that it’s not a simple errand.” He made an exasperated gesture. “Frau Bauer, you surely know better than I that you are roiling murky waters. You can’t keep secrets around here. Many of your own people would be aghast to learn that you visited the German Catholic church. Visiting the Irish one might ruin your reputation for good.”
“I’m trying to help solve a man’s murder! Others’ opinions do not concern me.”
“It’s not just that. Your visit might even spark more trouble.”
His perspective left her incredulous. “One short conversation? Surely not.”
“Again, as you well know, tensions have been running high for months. People are clannish about politics and country of origin and religion too. It took two constables to break up a street brawl between Irish and German Catholic boys a few days ago. One accused someone else of worshipping in a barnyard, and the other accused him of praying in a henhouse, and fists started flying.”
It took Hanneke a moment to understand. St. Bernard—the barnyard. St. Henry—the henhouse. “Boys of a certain age do ignorant things.”
“It’s my job to anticipate problems.” The deputy rubbed a palm over his face. “It wasn’t boys who carried torches to Frau Fischer’s church, but grown men capable of violence. I am weary of hearing such stories.”
“And I am weary of men’s anger. However, I do appreciate your point. I will keep your concern in mind.”
Deputy Barlow sighed. He was much too savvy to misinterpret her words as an agreement to stay away from St. Bernard. “I wish I could at least escort you, but I can’t. The sheriff has already instructed me to reduce the time I’ve been spending on August’s death.”
“I see.” She regarded him with dismay. And truthfully, with admiration too. Despite that order, Deputy Barlow had pledged to question everyone who’d attended the harvest festival.
He changed the subject. “Will you be staying here as well?”
“I have livestock to tend. I will sleep at the Goetsches’ house, though, or the Steckelbergs’.”
“That’s a good idea.” He settled his hat more firmly on his head. “We’ll talk again soon.”
She watched Barlow stride down the alley. Only then did she realize that she’d lied outright to the deputy. You asked me to tell you everything, and so I am. But she was keeping an enormous secret from him. Secrets, actually. She’d never told the deputy that Jacobine had left her farm the night after August’s murder. Much worse, she hadn’t revealed Jacobine’s confession that she knew her mother was alive.
After hearing that revelation, Hanneke had dreaded her next conversation with Barlow. She’d intended to choose her words carefully and evade difficult questions. Now, it was shocking to realize that Karoline’s status hadn’t even crossed her mind.
She still believed that those lies of omission were irrelevant to the actual murder investigation. Nonetheless, she thought darkly, I should not have been able to look the deputy in the eye.
Chapter Nineteen
Liesl was laughing when Hanneke opened the bedroom door, and the sound turned her heart to warm flannel. The baby lay belly-down on the bed, her head lifted and feet kicking. Jacobine sat beside her, making a wooden doll dance. “Three months is a sweet age,” Hanneke murmured. She sank gratefully into Angela’s rocker. “You’re good with her, Liebchen. How are you feeling?”
“It was nice to rest this morning.” Jacobine kept her gaze on Liesl. “I’m sorry I worried you, Frau Bauer. I’m fine.”
Hanneke’s eyes narrowed. She was glad Jacobine was speaking again, but those two little words—“I’m fine”—were as worrisome as they were unexpected. She tipped her head, waiting. When Jacobine reluctantly looked up, her countenance was flat. Her eyes appeared devoid of depth or emotion.
I don’t know her, Hanneke thought. The sweet girl with whom she’d shared chores, and contented hours knitting and chatting, wasn’t there.
She swallowed hard. “I need to go back to the farm, but Angela is happy to have you stay however long is needed. With Gerlind away, I’m sure she’s truly grateful for your help with Liesl. Is that all right with you?”
Jacobine nodded. Liesl made baby sounds, smacking the quilt.
Hanneke fetched the carpetbag she’d hastily packed for her ward that morning. It appeared untouched. “Have you looked inside? I tried to think of everything you might need. Your nightgown is here, and a book if you care to read. And I brought your knitting.”
“Danke,” Jacobine murmured politely.
Hanneke hesitated. She had one thing at hand that might provoke an honest reaction from Jacobine, but was this the moment to present it? Had she done the right thing to even bring it? She was very much afraid of making things worse…but what else could she do? I have to try, she resolved, even if I must pick up the pieces later.
She loosened the drawstring on her reticule and brought out the small handkerchief-wrapped gift she’d tucked there earlier. “I found this by accident. You can tell me about it another time.” She wanted to forestall what could only be a complicated conversation. “However, I thought you might want to have it with you.” She handed over the delicate braided heart she’d seen first on the barn wall and later tucked beneath Jacobine’s pillow.
Jacobine gasped. Her mouth opened. Her eyes went wide and glazed with tears. When she finally looked up from the token, her face glowed with a gratitude so heartfelt, so true that Hanneke’s throat swelled with emotion. She felt better about leaving Jacobine here.
Hanneke stood and cleared her throat. “I need to go now, but I’ll be back in the morning.” She smoothed an errant strand of Jacobine’s hair into place and caressed Liesl’s downy head with a gentle finger, regretting the need to leave either one of these precious girls.
Her hand was on the door latch when Jacobine spoke. “Frau Bauer?”
Hanneke turned back. “Ja?” Receiving no quick response, she sat down beside her young friend. “What is it?”
