A Charm of Powerful Trouble (A Harry Reese Mystery Book 4) Read online

  Later that evening, we dined with him in his little cabin. Then about eight o’clock we went off to the spot we’d chosen for our rendezvous and donned our costumes. I pointed out that if things went as planned, there was no reason to dress as Chinamen. But Emmie insisted. I suspect she was simply not willing to admit she’d made a mess of her hair for no purpose.

  About eleven, the tug came into sight. I was relieved not to see either of the Chinamen on deck. At least until we saw the fellow with the dagger walking the tow path beside the canal boat.

  “You leap in front of him to draw his attention, Harry, and I’ll club him from behind.”

  I reluctantly agreed. Provided I was allowed to choose the club.

  12

  My leap got off to a bad start when my foot caught on a vine I later identified as poison ivy. But I did have the fellow’s attention. And no doubt Emmie could have swiftly carried out her end had the fellow not tripped over me, putting his head out of range of her club. I grabbed hold of him and we rolled about the tow path, each trying to get the better of the other, while Emmie landed random blows on whatever bodily appendage happened to come within reach.

  Suddenly he burst free of my grip and ran wildly in what I can only assume he thought was the direction of the tug, but in fact was that of a low-lying limb. He fell to the ground, unconscious.

  “I think my last blow disoriented him,” Emmie noted with satisfaction.

  “That’s only fair, given that the first five rendered me senseless.”

  “You looked so much alike.”

  “Yes, thank goodness you insisted we come costumed,” I reminded her. “If we ever find ourselves really hard up, the three of us could take that act on the vaudeville circuit.”

  We tied the Chinaman to a tree and then just barely made the leap onto the canal boat. Mrs. Stanton and family were expecting us and quickly freed the young women. Now time was of the essence. Our plan called for the quick transfer of one boat for the other.

  As we approached the junction with the Glens Falls Canal, we could see Mr. Polley on the deck of the Anything But. Mrs. Stanton’s son threw him the tow line and he secured it to his own boat. Then he waved good-bye and was taken off by the tug.

  It’s true that when day broke our subterfuge was likely to be detected rather quickly. But Emmie and I agreed that if Mr. Polley survived the encounter with the remaining Chinaman, we’d have to make it up to him in some way. Or his widow, if not.

  Then, for the second time that evening, inspiration gave me a thump.

  “Suppose, Emmie, that the rival tong we represent were to make away with the Sophie Arnould itself?”

  “Take it off into the woods?”

  “No. Go up the feeder canal to Glens Falls. Once we get to Glens Falls, there’s an excellent hiding place.”

  “I hope you’re referring to Mr. Cooper’s cave.”

  She meant the cave from The Last of the Mohicans, located just below the falls. But the truth is that the cave was something of a tourist destination and would make a very poor hiding place. As Emmie well knew, I was referring to Mrs. Butler’s euphemistic boarding house. Briefly, Mrs. Butler was an affable procuress who owed Emmie and me a favor from an episode two years earlier, when she and her lover covered up the accidental killing of a fellow who was terrorizing one of her charges.

  “We’re not saving them from the frying pan just to toss them into the fire, Harry.”

  There was no disputing that Mrs. Butler would, likely as not, see the girls as potential recruits. Nevertheless, Emmie agreed a trip to Glens Falls was as good a plan as any. And Mrs. Stanton was keen on any scheme that would delay her reckoning with the tong.

  As soon as the girls were once again hidden below deck, I went off to locate the man whose team of horses had brought Mr. Polley down the day before. He agreed to tow us up to Glens Falls, though only after his team had rested another couple of hours. Even then, it was anything but a quick escape. There were at least a dozen locks in the first mile, and the fellows working them were of the thorough, methodical sort. It took us six hours to cover the five miles to Glens Falls.

  By the time we arrived, Emmie had come around to appreciating that Mrs. Butler’s would offer at least temporary sanctuary. But she insisted that she would negotiate with the mistress alone, while I went to see about a conveyance for getting the girls discreetly from the lumber dock to the boarding house. I hired a covered wagon from a nearby stable and then waited outside Mrs. Butler’s. A little while later, Emmie appeared.

  “You’ll never guess at the greeting I received, Harry.”

  “A friendly one, I hope.”

  “Oh, most friendly. ‘So you left him, my dear,’ she said. ‘Quite right, if you ask me. He wasn’t the man for you.’”

  “Mrs. Butler said that?”

  “Yes, just before she offered me a position in her shop, as she called it.”

  “You?”

  “Why do you find that so unbelievable, Harry?”

  Well, I’d put my foot into it. Emmie was hurt and bitter in equal measure. At least it started out that way. With her, bitter usually gets the upper hand in no time at all. It took a good ten minutes of supplication before we were on speaking terms again. And even then she was pretty cool.

  “What did she say about hiding the girls?”

  “She agreed to one night—unless she was allowed to make the girls an offer. In which case they could stay as long as they like.”

  “Well, I may have a solution for tomorrow. But I’ll need to send off a wire to Aunt Purlina.”

  “You never mentioned an Aunt Purlina.”

  “Great-aunt. She doesn’t mix much with the outside world.”

  “And she has ample accommodation?”

  “That’s what I need to find out.”

  “How far away is it?”

  “Ten, fifteen miles, just up the Hudson. A place called Corinth.”

  I sent off a wire to Aunt Purlina and another to Carlotta back in Brooklyn asking if Nell had reappeared. When we returned to the Sophie Arnould for the girls, Mrs. Stanton told us she’d found a buyer for her boat.

  “You’re giving up your business?” Emmie asked. “But I thought you enjoyed it.”

  “I liked helping out the poor Chinamen. But now they’ve made me a white slaver.”

  “What will you do?”

  “My brother-in-law’s been wanting me to marry him and move to Spokane. I’ve decided to take him up on it.”

  She showed us a picture of her future husband. While the bride-to-be was not what you would call comely, there was no question the groom would be getting the better end of the stick.

  We bade her and her family farewell, loaded up the girls, and made our way to Mrs. Butler’s. A lavish luncheon had been prepared. The proprietress and her lassies, decked out in their finest clothes and jewelry, treated the Chinese girls like honored guests. The sales pitch was on.

  Emmie drew me away. “We have to get them out of here, Harry.”

  “All right. But if we leave before hearing back from Aunt Purlina, we can’t be sure of a favorable reception.”

  “We need to take that chance. She wouldn’t turn us away, would she?”

  “It’s difficult to say with any certainty.”

  Immediately after the meal, we loaded up the girls and headed up the road to Corinth. While the girls chattered behind us, Emmie questioned me about Aunt Purlina. I kept my answers vague, but finally her frustration became too much.

  “What is it you’re not telling me, Harry? Is she mad?”

  “Well, that’s a matter for debate. But it’s not the crux of it. What do you know about the Oneida Community?”

  “Utopians. They’re still around, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, they’re still around. Did you ever hear of their marriage practices?”

  “Didn’t they practice free love?”

  “Something like that. ‘Complex marriage,’ they call it. No one woman is tied to any
one man, and vice versa. All part of the communistic spirit.”

  “But they gave that up years ago.”

  “Some did. Some didn’t. The Great Betrayal of 1879, Aunt Purlina calls it. It caused a bit of a schism. Most of the community agreed it was time for a change. But there were a few who found complex marriage too compelling a theosophy to be tossed aside so easily. They set up on a farm outside of Corinth.”

  “How many of them are there?”

  “Last I heard, five. Aunt Purlina, Aunt Lavinia, Aunt Liz, Uncle Hiram, and Uncle Tim.”

  “But you aren’t related to them all?”

  “Only by marriage. Apparently, after the schism it became even more complex. But I’m not sure how many are still with us—they were pretty old last I saw them.”

  “When was that?”

  “Seven, eight years ago. When I was at college. I made the mistake of bringing some of the boys up here. Whatever you do, Emmie, don’t make light of their arrangements. Aunt Purlina nearly put out Jim Olcott’s eye with a poker.”

  “Just how old are they?”

  “Uncle Tim must be seventy, at least. He’s the youngest.”

  “If they’re that old, isn’t the matter moot?”

  “I doubt that’s the case. Not as long as at least one of them is ambulatory. They take their religion pretty seriously.”

  As we drove up to the house, we saw an old fellow splitting wood.

  “That’s Uncle Tim, Emmie. He’s always liked me. I better broach the idea to him first.”

  As we approached he turned toward us. I could see that he recognized me. But he went right on with his work.

  “It’s me, Uncle Tim. Harry.”

  From then on, he wouldn’t even look up. Just swung the ax with increasing ferocity. We walked back to the wagon.

  “That doesn’t bode well, does it, Harry?”

  “No. I wonder what’s gotten into him?”

  “People do lose their reason as they get older.”

  “Well, let’s hope Aunt Purlina hasn’t lost hers.”

  We found her in the kitchen, dressed in black. Fortunately, she seemed genuinely happy to see me. And to meet Emmie. She had us sit down and gave us coffee and cake.

  “Your Aunt Liz passed away, Harry.”

  “I’m sorry. I noticed you were in mourning.”

  “Oh, that was three years ago. Then your Aunt Lavinia left us the year after that. But that’s not what we’re mourning now. It’s the edict of August 26th. We have thirty days of mourning each year to memorialize the Great Betrayal.”

  “It must have been quite unsettling for you,” Emmie said sympathetically.

  “Unsettling is hardly the word, my dear. But it exposed the hypocrites for what they were. The edict was announced on the 26th, effective the 28th. There were two days of unbridled lust, then they went to pretending belief in monogamy. Just like all the others.”

  “Yes, that’s certainly true,” Emmie agreed. “An institution more honored in the breach than the observance.”

  “The Reverend Noyes realized it, of course. In his letter to the Corinthians, he wrote, ‘Without love, I am nothing.’”

  “How aptly put.”

  I was relieved Emmie was handling Aunt Purlina so adroitly. Though later that evening I began to suspect she might have been revealing some of her own feelings on the subject.

  “What’s the matter with Uncle Tim?” I asked. “He wouldn’t even say hello when we drove up.”

  “Well, you had to expect that, Harrison. Taking on a job like that. We’re all disappointed in you.”

  “Which job? Working for insurance companies?”

  “Working for the Pinks! Your cousin Carlotta told us all about it, a year or two ago. She came through town doing some show.”

  “I’ve never worked for the damn Pinkertons!”

  “Harrison!”

  “Sorry. I’ve never worked for the damn Pinks. Carlotta keeps spreading that rumor just to irritate me.”

  “It’s true, Aunt Purlina. Harry has never expressed anything but enmity for the Pinks. Perhaps Carlotta was just being mischievous.”

  “I suppose that does sound like her. She was a devil as a girl.”

  “One thing Harry hasn’t explained is why the family so despises the Pinks. I know, of course, how contemptible they are. But why does Uncle Tim feel so strongly about it?”

  “It’s a long story, my dear. Do you remember the Molly Maguires?”

  “Oh, yes. Irish nationalists. I’m a McGinnis.”

  “Yes, that’s right. But you’re too young to remember the battles in the coal fields of Pennsylvania. It was in the ’70s. The miners, always treated like slaves by their miserly employers, were told their wages would be cut. They rebelled, naturally. Tried to organize a union. But the bosses called in the Pinks, and the Pinks and their venomous spies wove a great web of lies and slander. Said the men were bloodthirsty Molly Maguires. They framed them for murders they’d never committed. Then the innocents were arrested by coal company police, and tried by coal company judges. They hanged six men. But our Tim escaped.”

  “I see. Then it’s no wonder. What an ordeal to have lived through.”

  “Oh, that was just the first. Tim wandered north, and when he heard about us Oneidans, he saw at once our way was the true way. He joined us, on August 19th, 1879. Just one week before the Great Betrayal!”

  “Poor Uncle Tim!” Emmie cried. “But he’s so lucky to have found kindred spirits.”

  “Yes, he has learned to accept things as they are now. Provided no one mentions the Pinks. Why don’t you go out and explain the matter to Tim, Emily? It might be dangerous for your husband to approach him while he has the ax in his hands. Don’t mention your marriage—just tell him you’re a McGinnis.”

  “Yes, all right.”

  She went out and we watched from the window. At first, Uncle Tim just kept chopping as she talked. But at last, he laid down the ax and listened.

  13

  It was then that Uncle Hiram made his entrance, leading a half dozen cows up to the barn. The girls—still hidden in the wagon—must have resumed chattering. Uncle Hiram walked up and just stared for a while. As did the cows. Then, curiosity having gotten the better of him, he gingerly approached the back flap and lifted it. His expression reminded me of a child on Christmas morning who runs to the tree and finds exactly what he’s been praying for.

  The cows, Uncle Tim, and Emmie all joined him and I could see she was trying to explain things. Meanwhile, the two old boys began helping the girls out of the wagon.

  “Harrison! What have you done?”

  “I was about to broach the subject. It’s a rather complicated story. Perhaps it would be better to let Emmie explain.”

  “Just when the community had settled into perfect harmony.”

  “Oh, they aren’t here as converts.”

  Luckily, Emmie soon reappeared.

  “I was just about to tell Aunt Purlina about how we rescued the girls from unspeakable servitude, Emmie.”

  “Oh, it’s true, Aunt Purlina.”

  She then told the whole lurid story. Emmie has no problem creating lurid stories from whole cloth, but this one hewed fairly closely to the facts, which were plenty lurid on their own.

  “I suppose we have no choice, as Christians, but to give them refuge. But arrangements must be made.”

  “Yes, of course,” Emmie agreed. “I’ve already formulated a plan. We run a marriage bureau.”

  “What do you mean, a marriage bureau?”

  “Well, there are thousands of Chinamen here, but very few Chinese women. The tong wished to capitalize on this in their own brutal way. But what if we exploit it to the good of the girls? We make men compete for them. They must prove themselves, both financially and to the satisfaction of the girl in question.”

  “These men would pay a fee?” Like all Oneidans, Aunt Purlina had a pretty keen business sense.

  “Oh, yes. I would think there wo
uld be a handsome return for the community.”

  “One hates to sound mercenary about such matters, but the truth is, things have been difficult for us.”

  “Oh, it isn’t in the least way mercenary,” Emmie assured her. “We are saving souls here.”

  To see Emmie work a person like this always gives me pause. I can’t help wondering which of my own resolutions were reached similarly.

  Dinner was an amusing clash of cultures, the two old gents showing great deference to the girls and they in turn matching them courtesy for courtesy. It made for an agreeable, if excessively inefficient, table. It took twenty minutes to pass the potatoes from one end to the other.

  Early the next morning I borrowed ten dollars from Uncle Hiram, leaving him an I.O.U. in the jar under his workbench that served as his bank. Then Emmie and I said good-bye to the Corinthians, and the girls, and started on the drive back to Glens Falls.

  “You know, Harry, if they’d do a little proselytizing they’d have no trouble winning converts.”

  “You among them?”

  “Perhaps. At least I could be sure I’d be appreciated.”

  “Not by Aunt Purlina.”

  “No, she seems rather determined to minimize the competition. You don’t think she did in Aunt Lavinia and Aunt Liz, do you?”

  “They weren’t exactly the competition. Remember, I told you things had gotten pretty complex there at the end. One of the two had given up on men entirely. At least that’s what Carlotta told me.”

  “But I wonder how Uncle Hiram and Uncle Tim feel about sharing one older woman.”

  “Well, there is a positive for them.”

  “What’s that? Familiarity?”

  “There’s no longer any need to practice male continence. It always struck me as the kink in their divine plan.”

  “The Oneidans appear to have the ideal system. Much more equitable than the Mormons, certainly.”

  “I suppose. But it seems to me they both expound the same basic principle.”

  “A rejection of traditional marriage?”

  “No, something a little more rudimentary. Both sects were founded by middle-aged men, and what middle-aged man doesn’t find compelling a religion that allows him to have multiple, younger lovers? The only difference is that the Oneidans included middle-aged women in the program. You see, it was a tenet of complex marriage that the older members should teach the young.”