Sweeter than Birdsong Read online

  Men were heavy. She could tell he was trying not to lean on them, but they strained to support his larger frame. Even after they cleared the wreckage, it was slow going. They were all out of breath by the time they emerged from the tent into the gray daylight. An overcast day had never seemed so friendly and safe—she took a deep breath and felt all the fear of the tent dissipate in a long sigh.

  Ben removed his arm from around her. She inched away. She could not look him in the face, and he seemed preoccupied with the dust on his coat.

  Mrs. Hanby kept hold of her son, as if afraid to let go. “Ida and Cornelia will come for us with a doctor.”

  “What happened?” Kate asked Mrs. Hanby. “Why did the stands collapse?”

  “I don’t know,” the older woman said, her brow tightening. “I think the noises were the wood splitting. Perhaps the stomping was too much.”

  “They must have been rotten,” Kate said. “Wouldn’t the circus inspect the supports for safety?”

  “Whether they did or not, they will claim so,” Ben said. “No one will be able to tell, not with everything in a heap in there. Unless the papers somehow discover the cause and report it.”

  “Those poor people inside. We must pray no one was killed,” his mother said.

  Ben closed his eyes for a moment. His expression fascinated Kate—so calm, even in pain. What was he saying to God?

  “You should sit,” Mrs. Hanby said. “Let us help you over there.” A cut-out log had been fashioned into a public bench a few yards away.

  “I can manage.” His skin was drawn and pale as he stood with one foot barely touching the churned-up ground, his shoes crusted with a line of mud above the sole. “Someone else will need the seat more. Too many are injured.”

  “No one has come for it yet.” Mrs. Hanby spoke with the long practice of a mother’s persuasion. “You may give it up should another require it.”

  But even as she said so, a little knot of three men stumbled out of the tent, cradling an older woman in their arms as if she sat in a chair. Her head drooped to the side; her eyes were closed. They shouted to one another in German, a few fragments audible. “Das ist gud.” “Ja, da sind.” One jerked his head toward the log bench and they passed Kate to lay the woman’s limp body on it.

  More spectators streamed out: Chinese folk in caps, small children with tears on their cheeks, some brunette, fair-skinned women in humble clothing speaking in a musical language.

  Ben let his head fall back and made a strangled sound of frustration.

  “Is it your foot?” Mrs. Hanby asked.

  “No. I’m thinking of my friend, whom I had planned to meet in Cincinnati.” He and his mother exchanged a look Kate did not understand.

  “I will not give it up,” Ben said to Mrs. Hanby. “This may be a mild sprain only.”

  What did he mean about Cincinnati? It dawned on Kate that she had missed her opportunity to leave. But of course she could not leave the Hanbys here in such a circumstance. But there might be another way. “What was your errand?” she asked Ben. “Perhaps Mrs. Hanby and I can accompany you.”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

  Mrs. Hanby released her grip on Ben’s arm, reached into her handbag, and withdrew a lacy handkerchief. “Turn toward me, Ben.”

  He did so, and she gently rubbed the grime from his cheek. He flashed a look at Kate, like a chagrined schoolboy.

  Mrs. Hanby balled up the handkerchief and said with perfect calm, “Well, I think I shall go with you, as Kate suggests, just in case you need my assistance. She and the Lawrences will travel back to Westerville and I will go on to Cincinnati with you.” The set of Mrs. Hanby’s chin made her look very like her son for a moment.

  “Mother. I hardly think—”

  “Someone must go in your place if you have not healed.”

  “Please—” Kate rushed it out. “Please let me go with you. I might be able to help in some way.” And what an additional wonder it would be, if she could get all the way to Cincinnati with their help before setting off on her own. Her shoulders tightened— she must not show her agitation, or the guilt winding her up inside like a spring clock.

  “My dear, I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” Mrs. Hanby said. “We don’t even have your mother’s permission to take you to Cincinnati. You must go back with the Lawrences.”

  Ben spoke up behind Mrs. Hanby. “I don’t think either of you should go, Mother. I don’t think it a safe errand for a woman.”

  “I’ve been on such errands since long before you were born, son.” Mrs. Hanby’s tone was dry.

  It was all very mysterious. Would Ben have to venture into some unsavory part of town as part of this errand?

  The cab drew nearer, the rings on the harnesses jingling.

  Mrs. Hanby placed a hand on Kate’s sleeve. “Miss Winter, I do understand. When I was a young woman, I also wanted to see more of the world. But what would I tell your mother?”

  “The truth.” If Kate did not hurry, the coach would pull up before she could make her case. “Tell her young Mr. Hanby has been injured and we must go on an errand with him.”

  Ben lowered his voice so only Kate could hear. “You don’t know what you’re asking.” He held her gaze.

  She flushed and looked down. Her conflicting emotions blurred into a single wild spin like the shapes and colors on a child’s toy top.

  “Ben!” a familiar male voice called. Frederick strode out of the tent doorway, apparently unharmed, his father a few steps behind. In half a minute, they crossed the yard.

  “Are you hurt?” Frederick peered at Ben’s foot. “You are!”

  “It’s nothing,” Ben said.

  “What a fright,” Mr. Jones said. “Have you ever seen the like? Thank heaven we’ve all been spared. Or, mostly.” He looked at Ben with regret.

  If Kate did not seize this chance, she would lose any opportunity to escape. She must hazard everything, now, while the situation was dreamlike and confused. “Mr. Jones, we have a dilemma.” Her words were halting, but she forced herself to go on. “Mr. Hanby is temporarily unable to walk.” She took a quick breath. “Mrs. Hanby and I have offered to assist him to travel to Cincinnati, where he has business. But he is reluctant to accept our offer.” A pulse pounded in her temples as if it might burst out like a river through a weak dam.

  Mrs. Hanby darted a shocked glance at Kate before assuming a polite mask.

  The expression of the elder Mr. Jones sparked to interest. “But why not, Mr. Hanby? Do you not wish the company of such charming ladies on your journey?”

  “Of course,” Ben said. “But Miss Winter doesn’t have her mother’s permission.”

  Frederick grinned. “Mrs. Winter will have nothing to fear if her daughter is with you paragons of respectability.”

  “Frederick,” said Mr. Jones. “Perhaps we should all go with Ben and make a party of it. We have nothing pressing at home, and Mrs. Winter would be quite sanguine if she learned half of Westerville was accompanying her daughter.”

  “But we have no way to inform Mrs. Winter in time,” Mrs. Hanby said, her tone final, her posture stiff.

  “Oh, but we do,” Kate said. “Mrs. Lawrence can tell her about it when she and Cornelia return, so my mother will not worry.”

  Ben paused for a long moment. “I would be glad of your company,” he said to the Joneses, to Kate’s surprise. “My errand is a drab business affair and you may entertain the ladies while I accomplish it.”

  His mother turned away toward the street.

  Victory! Kate did not like to distress Mrs. Hanby, but it would all be perfect now. The Joneses’ company would ensure the Hanbys would not take all the blame should Kate disappear. Relief made her weak in the knees, but there was nowhere to sit.

  “That may be the Lawrences,” Mrs. Hanby said in a tight voice. She pointed to a cab that turned the corner at the end of the street and headed toward them. The team of horses moved at a swift trot as the driver urged
them on with a wave of his whip.

  The cab halted and the horses stamped next to them.

  Mr. Jones grinned. “Then it’s settled.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Jones, for your kind offer.” Kate let a hint of her hidden elation creep into her tone. “I have always wanted to see Cincinnati.”

  Fourteen

  BEN’S MOTHER HAD BEEN SILENT AND CONTAINED EVER since their departure from Columbus, and even the impressive courtyard of Cincinnati’s Red Stag Inn did not seem to break through her mute contemplation. The hired hackney cab had pulled in, everyone had stepped out of the coach, and servants in livery ran this way and that carrying luggage. Still, his mother remained rooted to the ground in the middle of the yard.

  “Mother,” he called. “Come out of the way or you will be run down.” Several coaches and a delivery wagon vied for wheel room, and a few horses champed their bits or dozed at hitching posts studded around the yard. Mr. Jones and Frederick had already gone inside to see about the rooms and dining. Miss Winter lingered by the hired cab, her blue eyes filled with uncertainty as she glanced first at the veranda of the hotel, then at his mother.

  His mother did not move, but beckoned to him, so he limped out into the open space with the help of the temporary crutch the doctor in Columbus had given him.

  “What is it? We need to go inside. This is not safe—there is too much traffic.”

  “I could not be sure of having another moment alone with you, not while I am boarding with Miss Winter and you are with the Joneses.”

  “What is it?”

  “Your father and I have never discussed Mr. Jones with you because of your friendship with his son. We did not want to prejudice you should our suspicions prove unfounded.”

  “What suspicions?” A buggy drove past them, too close, at speed, so he felt the wind of its passing. He flinched away on his good foot. “Mother, this is not the place for a protracted conversation. Let’s go on the veranda before we are run down.”

  “Just one minute more. If we go up there, Miss Winter will follow, and she must not hear either.” His mother’s straw hat shielded her worried face from the young lady’s view. “Be careful not to reveal anything about your errand to either of the Joneses. Remember when they lived near us back in Rushville?”

  “Yes.” He had played with Frederick at frog catching and raft building. After the Hanbys moved away, Ben had not seen Frederick for ten years. But the Joneses moved to Westerville two years ago to give Frederick proximity to Otterbein for his studies, and their remembered boyhood adventures had drawn the two young men together in camaraderie.

  His mother whispered, “Did you notice that we never dined with the Joneses, nor they with us?”

  “No.”

  “You were too young to observe such things. But your father always suspected Mr. Jones was responsible for the failure of one of our Railroad missions. Two fugitives who had just left our home were recaptured because someone told the slave-hunters where to find them. Your father thought Mr. Jones might be watching us.”

  It couldn’t be true. “That’s all speculative.” Other arguments flashed in his mind but vanished, like a lit twist of gunpowder in paper. His parents did not mean to insult Frederick’s family— Railroaders did need to show caution.

  “That’s why we never told you,” his mother said. “But I don’t like it at all that they came here with us.”

  “Frederick and I are good friends. And they are wealthy, and his father does indulge him. They probably wished to have a lark with all of us in the city. I don’t think we should rush to judgment.”

  “Perhaps not. But be especially careful, please.” Her gaze held his. “You know Mr. Jones is very friendly with the U.S. Marshal in Columbus. The marshal has even come to Westerville before—he went to Sunday services with Mr. Jones. Mr. Lawrence saw him.”

  That was worth knowing. “I will be discreet.” A needle pricked his conscience, as if agreeing to keep his own counsel was an admission of doubt in his friend’s honor.

  “Thank you. Now, if you don’t mind, you can go escort Miss Winter into the inn, and I will tell that porter where to put our bags.”

  Ben used his crutch to hitch his way over to the young lady, while his mother walked to the back of the coach on the street side, where the luggage had been piled.

  “Is everything all right?” Miss Winter asked, only just meeting his gaze before looking away, twisting her gloved hands together. Maybe she regretted her request to join them, though it had been a pleasure to see her ardor for travel give her a moment’s boldness. And now that Frederick was here, Ben did not have to worry about the ladies at all while he went on his errand.

  He smiled at her. “I am to help you into the inn, my mother says, though I won’t be of much use with this.” He waved the crutch a few inches off the ground.

  Supper was far above the average roadside inn fare: roast squab, soft rolls still warm and buttery, and a strawberry-rhubarb pie with just enough crumbly topping to balance the jellied fruit. Miss Winter wielded her fork with grace. Mr. Jones shoveled in pie without ceremony, between jovial comments to Frederick and compliments to Miss Winter that made her blush. Ben’s mother was still uncommonly quiet, which troubled him.

  “Ben, you must come out with us this evening to my friend’s club,” Mr. Jones said. “Mrs. Hanby and Miss Winter will no doubt wish to retire early, after their travel. But we can take a hack to the club and introduce you to our friends.”

  Ben glanced at his mother. “Do you wish me to stay with you tonight?”

  “No,” she said. “You should go. We will occupy ourselves for the next day or so with shopping and sightseeing. Is that agreeable to you, Miss Winter?”

  The young lady nodded, her expression more alive than he had ever seen it before. The change of scenery suited her.

  “Very well, Mr. Jones,” he said. “I’ll go with you.” He didn’t have to meet John Parker until noon tomorrow, and he was curious about these gentlemen’s clubs. He had only read of them in the papers, and they seemed to be places where much business was done amidst cigar smoking and card playing, but without vulgar drunkenness or immorality. Gambling seemed to be the worst vice of the upper-class clubs, and Ben did not have to play cards if he did not wish.

  “Capital!” Frederick grinned and sipped his ale, then blotted his mouth with a napkin. “Let’s meet in an hour at the front steps.” He got to his feet. “Shall we dress, Father?” Mr. Jones also rose and they made their farewells to the ladies, Frederick bending low over Miss Winter’s hand and smiling at her. She probably liked his look, though she was too shy to return his open admiration. Well, what if she did? She was an exceptional young woman, and Frederick was a good man who would make any girl a fine husband. No reason to be disconcerted by any of that, or to be bothered by Frederick’s courting of her. Ben should not feel any jealousy—he was merely concerned for a young woman away from her home. So why did he feel disgruntled as Frederick and his father whisked around the end of the dining room and up the stairs?

  He went to meet them downstairs after a few minutes, bowing over Kate’s hand as Frederick had. He liked to see her soft smile when she felt at ease. She was a mystery, but a very enjoyable one. And Ben had at least one advantage over Frederick—Ben understood her passion for music. Frederick liked all pursuits equally, because his open nature ran calm and smooth. To him all things were agreeable but none sublime. Miss Winter had a more closed nature, like Ben’s own, and Ben knew all too well that such private natures channeled their passions more fiercely.

  Kate watched Mrs. Hanby as the older woman finished her pie and laid down her fork. She took her time with her meals— but Kate did not want to be impatient after all Mrs. Hanby’s kindness.

  A stout maid came in to clear away their dishes, her red hair bound under a clean white cap. “Are you Mrs. Hanby, ma’am?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “I have a message for you and Mr. Hanby from the Negro man.” />
  “Who?” Mrs. Hanby laid her napkin on the table.

  “He said his name is Mr. Parker.” The maid’s sideways flick of her eyes suggested she did not think a black man’s name of much import. “He wants you to meet him by the stable.”

  “Now?”

  “He said as soon as you can, ma’am.” She piled the last dish on her arm and waddled away.

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Hanby said. “And Ben is already gone.”

  “Shall I come with you?” Kate asked.

  “I think Mr. Parker may wish to speak in private—yet I cannot go without another person, or it will be . . . awkward.”

  She knew that what Mrs. Hanby meant was not “awkward” but “scandalous.” A woman could not go meet a man alone.

  “I do not mind. I can stand outside of earshot, if he wishes to speak in private,” Kate said.

  “Thank you. Then let us go down.”

  When they arrived in the stable, with its earthy smell of leather and horses, Kate stood at the entrance. Mrs. Hanby walked to the end of the barn, where a tall black man waited by the end stalls. Ben’s mother looked even smaller in her trim dress and straw hat next to this stranger’s giant frame and muscular build. He and Mrs. Hanby stood a good four feet from one another, for propriety’s sake, talking in low voices. From the motion of her hands, Mrs. Hanby seemed to be concerned.

  When she turned and crossed the swept stone floor to Kate, her pretty features were set, her eyebrows drawn in resolution Kate had never seen before.

  “What is it?” Kate asked.

  “We must bring our bags downstairs.”

  “We are leaving?”

  “Mr. Parker needs my help this evening, right away. And I cannot leave you here alone, without a chaperone, nor can I go with him without a companion. You must come with us, and we will just catch the steamboat on its last run for the evening. When we get to his house, you may stay with his wife, which will be safe.”