The Spirit Room (33 page)

“
Children, I am going to send your father away. He’s in a terrible state. I don’t want him home until he is sober again. Stay here, especially you, Billy. If you go down, he might act worse.”

“
But I should go out. That usually settles him.” Billy finished buttoning his shirt, then pulled up his suspenders.

“
No. I think it would be best if you stayed here with your sisters. Light every lamp you have.”

She closed the door gently and it was dark again. Billy made some fumbling noises over at the pine table, then struck a match and lit the candle lantern they kept between the two beds.

“
Frank Benton. You leave my house this minute! Don’t come back until you are sober and reasonable!”

Clara had never heard Mrs. Purcell raise her voice before. It was low like a big brass tuba in a band. She was holding her ground at the top of the stairs. That was smart, thought Clara. It didn’t seem safe to go down. Billy got the oil lamps burning on the mantel.

“
Get dressed, both of you. Just in case we all might have to run for it,” Billy said.

Euphora scrambled to the armoire and threw it open. Billy darted over to his bed, perched on the edge, snatched his boots up, and began to tug them on.

“
Send my yella son down here! I need him at the canal!”

Billy scooted to the door, then swiveled toward Clara. “What’s at the canal?”

“
Don’t know.” Clara shrugged.

“
You are not taking anyone out of this house at this forsaken hour. Now please go!” Mrs. Purcell was still at the top of the stairs.

“
Billy!”

Papa sounded closer and Billy shot a nervous look at Clara.

Clara jumped from her bed and dashed the few steps to the armoire and seized the closest dress to her. Euphora was already squirming her way into her calico. Within seconds Clara was stretching up into the bodice of Mamma’s old gray everyday dress. Even though she and Izzie had altered it to fit, Clara never wore it. Just seeing it hanging there every morning in the armoire reminded her of Mamma. It made her heart tear into shreds each and every time.

As her head emerged through the neck of the dress, Clara winced at the sound of shattering glass. Was it in the parlor? Euphora jerked, looked up from her buttons, her blue eyes wide with terror, then covered her mouth with both hands.

As fast as her fingers could move, Clara started buttoning up the dress.

“
I’ll tear up your house, piece by piece, unless my son gits his skeered ass down here.”

“
No, you won’t. You will leave right now!”

The door opened again and Mrs. Purcell, looking like she had just seen a pack of giant rattlers, stuck her head in.

“
Billy, do you think you could make it to the ground from the front porch roof outside my room?”

He nodded.

“
Get Nathan Rose next door. Now.”

Before Mrs. Purcell had finished speaking, Billy scurried away using Papa’s bedchamber to get to the hallway. Papa couldn’t see him from downstairs that way. Mrs. Purcell closed the door again, leaving Clara and Euphora alone in the Blue Room. Euphora pulled on her boots.

A pounding noise, something hitting a wall, shook the house. Clara put a bracing hand on Euphora’s shoulder.

“
Frank Benton, I am telling you, get out of the house! You cannot stay here while you are like this. You are a danger to your children and me and the Carters. Now, go! Billy is not coming down.”

As Mrs. Purcell shouted out the last bit about Billy, her voice began to fade a little. Could she see Papa? Was he near the stairs?

“
What should we do, Clara?” Euphora snuggled into Clara’s side. Poor little dear was shaking like winter’s last leaf in a blizzard. Wrapping her arm around her sister, Clara held Euphora’s red-haired head against her shoulder.

“
It’ll be all right. Billy will be back in a minute with Mr. Rose.”

Footsteps thumped up the first few stairs.

“
Git out of the way, you old hay bag. You ain’t in charge o’ me and my kids.”

“
He’s going to hurt Mrs. Purcell.” Lips quivering, Euphora peered up at Clara. “We better do something.”

She was right. There was no telling how long Billy would be. Clara felt like a frightened deer about to bound. She glanced around the room. She could take a fire iron out there as a weapon, but Papa might get it away from her and really hurt her or Mrs. Purcell. She bit the inside of her mouth. What could she do to hold Papa off?

“
You stay away from me.” Mrs. Purcell said in a growl.

Papa’s footsteps were coming close on the stairs.

“
Clara, please. Do something.” Euphora’s whole face, brow to chin, was quivering. “Please. Do what Izzie would do.”

Papa could do something really horrible, something that no one could ever change. Euphora was right. She had to try. She darted to the washstand, picked up the white ceramic pitcher full of water, then flung open the door and rushed out. Papa was nearly to the top of the stairs, close to Mrs. Purcell. He was grasping the railing, veering, lurching. When he saw Clara, he stopped stunned in his tracks as though the water pitcher she held in her hands was a shotgun.

“
Go back into your room,” Gray eyes stern and scared, Mrs. Purcell looked intently at her.

Clara shook her head at Mrs. Purcell, then looked at Papa. “Papa?”

He was a vile mess, his greatcoat caked in mud, his hair all frazzled, his spectacles nowhere to be seen. The skin under his red eyes looked raw and he smelled like a dead fermenting squirrel. Leaning into the railing, he tilted his head and stared at her.

“
Thass her dress. Take it off. It’s hers.” He lunged toward her.

Gripping the pitcher tight, she drew it behind her, then slung the water out at him. It flooded over him, drenching and shocking him. Faltering backward down a step, then another, he lost his grip on the railing.
Blazes
. He was going to fall. Clara dropped the pitcher. As it broke into pieces, she clambered toward him and reached for his hand to catch him. But he wove toward the railing and caught himself. Bending over, he started to plow up like a ram leading with his dripping-wet head. Clara scrambled up backwards, away from him, to the landing, to high ground.

White hair streaming down, Mrs. Purcell raised the candle lantern up high like a torch, like it had some kind of magic power to keep evil away. Papa swiped at it. She snapped it away from him and held it even higher.

“
You old hay bag.” He recoiled his arm again.

“
Papa. Stop!” Clara flung herself between him and Mrs. Purcell. “I’ll do it. I’ll do what you want. Do you hear me, Papa?” She clutched his wet, grimy lapels and shook him. “I’ll do it. Stop. I’ll do it.”

He settled his arm down reluctantly and stood still, breathing hard. His stinking whiskey breath filled the air. The three of them waited there a long moment and in case he acted up again, she kept her grip on his lapels.

“
Do what, Clara?” Mrs. Purcell’s soft, steady voice came from behind.

“
None of your god danged business, hay bag.”

Papa’s chest pumped up under Clara’s hold on his coat. She turned her head part way back toward Mrs. Purcell, but kept Papa in her sights. “Papa wants me to start up the séances again. That’s all. I didn’t want to, but I’ve changed my mind.” She looked at him. “I’ve changed my mind, Papa. I’ve changed my mind. Do you hear me? Everything will be all right.”

Mrs. Purcell lowered the lantern. “Well, it’s not all right coming in here in the middle of the night threatening your children and threatening me, Frank Benton. You and I are going to talk about this tomorrow.”

His eyes watering up, Papa looked at her. “You’re the only one, Clara, the only one that—”

Downstairs, the front door opened. “Emma, you all right? It’s Nathan. You need help?”

Nathan Rose, a coat thrown over his long johns and holding a lantern and a rifle, stood with Billy at his side.

“
You coward boy. Betrayin’ your own father. Too skeered to stand up to me by yourself. Had to have women protect you, didn’t you?”

Clara tugged down hard on Papa’s lapels, hard enough that his shoulders caved a little. “It’s all right, Mr. Rose,” she called downstairs. “Papa is going to bed now.” She looked Papa straight in his foggy eyes. “Now Papa, leave Billy alone and go to bed.” She kept the downward pressure on his coat. “We’ll figure everything tomorrow.”

Papa pitched his arm back. Clara ducked, then felt a swift blow on the inside of her elbows, breaking her grasp on his coat. He shoved her aside, then Mrs. Purcell aside, and stumbled off to his bedchamber. Clara glanced around. Euphora was peeking out the cracked door of the Blue Room and the Carter sisters were peering from their room as well.

What she did wasn’t what Izzie would have done. Izzie would have wrestled with him even if she and Papa both careened down the stairs, even if one of them got hurt or broke a neck and died. Clara couldn’t do that, wasn’t brave enough or strong enough for that. At least she did something, though. At least it was over and no one was hurt. Euphora appeared at her side, wrapped her arms around Clara’s waist.

“
You did it, Clara.” Euphora embraced her tightly, tears in her eyes.

Euphora was beaming with pride at her, but Clara’s heart sank down to her stomach. Now she’d have to pay the price.

Twenty-Six

NIGHT WIND WAS BLOWING COLD OFF THE LAKE, stinging Clara’s face as she stood at the street corner waiting with Papa. The closest street lamp was half a block away but cast ample gaslight for them to see. Tomorrow would be Thanksgiving Day and Euphora was at home now baking pumpkin pies with Mrs. Purcell. Clara thought if only she could be there with them in the warm kitchen, beating eggs and rolling out crusts, or for that matter, if only she could be anywhere else but here, waiting to give up her virginity to Sam Weston.

Weston had called the place they were to meet a private hotel, one with only a certain clientele. She’d never heard of such a thing. It was just down the block and across the street from where she and Papa stood. It looked like a plain wood house set between the livery stable with its expansive sliding doors and Beach’s Furniture Manufacturing. She’d never even noticed the gray house before. It was probably a small inn or some kind of short stay boardinghouse.

Papa had told her what he and Weston had planned out. She and Papa were to go down to the waterfront at eight o’clock at night and before she entered the hotel on Water Street, they would look around and make sure that no one could observe her entering. If they had to, they would wait some distance away until the street was empty, then she would dart in. And indeed the street was not empty, so here they were waiting in the cold. Once she got inside, she was to ask for Miss Minnie Stewart who would escort Clara to a room where she would meet Sam Weston.

Papa blew into his cupped hands. “I need to ask ya somethin’. I want to make sure about somethin’.” Crossing his arms, he tucked his hands under his armpits, then began to shuffle back and forth. He wasn’t just cold. He seemed fidgety. But why? She was the one who had to go in there. He knew what was going to happen to her. She didn’t know, not exactly anyway. Maybe it would hurt, and if it did, it wouldn’t be hurting Papa.

Scraping his boots on the wood sidewalk, he blew at his hands again. His breath swirled into puffs in the streetlight. Watching him was turning her stomach as tight as the skin on an Indian drum.

“
What is it, Papa?”

He stilled himself, cleared his throat. “Did Isabelle or your mother tell you about the menses?”

“
Izzie did when it happened to her.”

“
Did it happen to you yet?”

“
No, Papa. Izzie was fifteen. I’m still fourteen.”

“
Fifteen?” He raised a brow. “That’s good. When are you fifteen?”

Clara waited to answer him as an older gentleman in a blue steamship uniform passed close by.

“
Why is it good?” she asked.

“
Because you can’t bear Weston’s child if you ain’t got it yet.”

She felt like he had socked her in her Indian-drum-tight stomach. Why the blazes was he asking her now? Why this late? Would it still have been all right if she had the menses? Would he have called it off with Weston if she had just told him yes? What if she ended up in the family way?
Hell-fire
. Then where would she be? Where would his scheme be? If she couldn’t make money for him, would he leave her and go out West?