Chapter Seven

She heard the groan before she felt it rasp her throat. Next came the realization that her thoughts were dragging, as if wading though deep water. And, her head ached with a steady throb. After that, the itching started, she raised an arm but saw no bites or insects. Still her skin needed scratching. Suddenly realizing she was near naked, clothed only in a thin cotton sleeveless shift, she yanked the tattered blanket to her chin despite the hot and stifling air.

The room she was in was dark except for the dim blades of light forcing their way through the curtain. It hung inside boards nailed across the single window. Why would someone nail boards over a curtain? An ordinary door was set in one wall. With a groan, she forced herself to slide her feet to the floor and sit up. Nausea swooped through her and her aching head turned dizzy. She gritted her teeth, rose on wobbly legs and made it to the door. When she got there, the door knob turned but the door wouldn’t open. She’d been locked in. Why was she locked in?

Making her way back to the iron cot, she eyed the meager furnishings—a narrow woven wire cot, a scarred wooden fruit box, and chipped ceramic chamber pot in the corner. Her blouse, skirt and shoes were nowhere in sight. Only her jacket, with its enameled rose lapel pin, was on the chair. She slipped it on despite the heat.

Sitting on the cot, she fought to remember how she’d ended up in this place. It was like she was telling herself a story with pieces missing. She remembered leaving the laundry. It had been so hot. She’d been looking forward sitting on the shaded porch tacked onto the back of the boarding house. Because it stood on stilts over the ravine, it was a few degrees cooler than their room. She thought that maybe she’d sit in the wicker chair and read a little before drifting off to sleep. It was such a luxury to be lazy on her free afternoon.

She never made it to the boarding house. She was certain of that. What happened after she dropped Rachel’s lunch off at the laundry? A recollection of Danny’s face brightening with pleasure upon seeing her meant she’d walked as far as the pencil stand. She always stopped to speak to him because he reminded her of her cousin Bennie—simple but sweet to the core, incapable of deceit. After that, she’d walked on, wanting to get out of the beating sun, to get home. She remembered the alley. The two-story building on its south side had cast it into deep shade that was a welcome relief.

She tried to remember what came next. There’d been hurrying footsteps, the jolt of being yanked back against someone’s body, something wet, cold, stinky covering her face, smothering her as she gasped for air. Then nothing. Now she was here. Someone had brought her here.

A tin pitcher of water sat on the fruit box beside a tin cup. She poured the water into the glass. Even in the dim light, she could see it was murky. Still, her tongue felt sore and dry, like cotton coated it. She was so thirsty. Against her better judgment, she drank the brackish water before lying back to ponder her situation.

Just before her thoughts stilled, a terrifying thought knifed through her headache. What happened to her, everything, from being grabbed off the streets and jailed in a room with her clothes missing, all of it exactly matched the newspaper stories she’d read. Cautionary tales they been, warning about the dangers of falling victim to white slavers. Had they stolen her in order to turn her into a prostitute? A strange lassitude overtook her limbs and her thoughts drifted into such vivid dreams that she no longer cared about the answer.

Sage stood at Mozart’s podium, smiling graciously at the customers arriving for the noon hour dinner when the street door opened slowly and an intense Chinese face peeked in. Once the man saw Sage notice him, he closed the door. It was one of Fong’s cousins with an urgent message. Urgent because, otherwise, the messenger would have knocked on the kitchen door and waited for Sage to be fetched.

Sage signaled for Homer, Mozart’s head waiter, to take Sage’s place at the podium. By now, Homer was accustomed to these abrupt and inexplicable departures and willingly stepped in to perform Sage’s role without a hitch. Casting a final glance at the elegant dining room, Sage grabbed his homburg and made his apologies to the waiting patrons.

Once outside, he saw the Chinese man again. This time, peeking at Sage from the alley. When Sage reached him, the man wasted no time, “Mr. Adair. Mr. Fong say hurry quick to Portland Hotel. Man you want, eating there right now.”

That was enough. Sage dropped a few coins into the man’s hand and headed toward the hotel at a near run. When he got there, Solomon’s eyes lit up and he tilted his head in the direction of a table near the window. Sure enough, there was Thaddeus Cobb sitting with a stranger. They were leaning toward each other over empty plates, obviously engaged in an earnest conversation.

“Oh, what the hell,” Sage told himself and he strolled in their direction. Upon seeing him approach, Cobb raised a palm before the other man who abruptly stopped talking. Cobb smiled widely as he stood to greet Sage, his hand outstretched. The other man also rose, expecting an introduction to someone Cobb clearly considered important.

“Mr. Adair, how nice to see you! This is my business associate, James Farley. He’s traveled here from New York,” Cobb said as he shook Sage’s hand. While Farley and Sage shook, Cobb explained Sage’s status to Farley, “Mr. Adair is the owner of the city’s most exclusive restaurant, Mozart’s Table. I will have to take you there before you leave town. We hope to acquire his future business for our laundry.”

Farley was a rotund man, with small stony blue eyes sunk deep beneath bristling gray brows. He had a button nose and a rosebud mouth that flashed an insincere smile. From the smile, Sage gathered his was an unwelcome interruption.

Cobb, however, didn’t seem to mind, because he snapped his fingers at a waiter and motioned to an empty chair at a neighboring table. The waiter carried the chair to their table and Cobb gestured for Sage to take a seat, saying, “Please, sit with us. Unfortunately, we have finished our luncheon but would love to have you join us for coffee.”

Sage would have liked the conversation to reveal Farley’s purpose for being in Portland, but Cobb had other ideas. “Look here, Adair. Have you had anymore thoughts about moving Mozart’s laundry business to the Sparta? I understand you are still using that Chinese laundry down on Second. Surely, they can’t get your linens as clean or sharply pressed as our steam laundry. ”

Somewhat taken aback by the knowledge that Cobb was so familiar with Mozart’s business, Sage hesitated before answering, “Well, I’ve been using that laundry on Second for three years and they’ve never let me down. Always done a fine job. So, I do have some loyalty to them.”

That comment brought a snort from Farley who said, “You have loyalty to a Chink. Ha! That’s a new one!”

Cobb glowered at his companion before turning to Sage. “Yet, you did request a tour of the Sparta. Surely that means you are contemplating making a change?”

“Yes, the owner of the laundry informed me that it is likely that he will close up shop and move out to Hillsboro to take over his cousin’s washhouse. He says the rents are getting too high here in the city and that the steam laundries are taking too much of his business.”

That answer brought a fleeting smile of satisfaction to Cobb’s face but he said nothing. The waiter brought Sage’s coffee and refilled the other men’s cups during the ensuing silence. Once he’d departed, Sage turned toward Farley, “So, Mr. Farley, what brings you to our fair city?”

For a moment Farley was speechless, clearly flailing for an acceptable answer. Sage was aware that Cobb was holding his breath as if concerned that Farley might say the wrong thing. After taking a hurried swallow of coffee to stall for time, Farley said, “I had heard that there are some business opportunities here. I have some funds to invest and thought I’d see what I could find.”

Sage felt Cobb relax at his side and decided to play along, “Oh, yes. Portland has been growing by leaps and bounds. And, now the city fathers are planning a Lewis and Clark Exposition for 1905. The business community is certain that event will attract hordes of people who will remain in the city.” Both men eagerly nodded, happy to have dodged the uncomfortable question about Farley’s presence.

Sage decided to goad them a bit. “Though, I am sure that Mr. Cobb has informed you that this is a highly unionized town. Labor carries a big club here. Isn’t that right, Cobb?”

Cobb cautiously nodded. Farley waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Oh, those damn unions can be handled. Fellow just has to know how to put them in their place.”

“What place is that?” Sage couldn’t help asking. He could tell that Cobb had gone rigid, likely fearing that Farley’s arrogance would lead him to slip.

“Why, in the ground or jail, if possible. If not, at least in a place that leaves them toothless. Either way, I’ve lots of experience in that regard, so I’m not worried.”

Sage hid the clenching of his own teeth behind the edge of the delicate china cup. We’ll just have to see about that, he thought to himself.

Exiting the laundry, Mae paused to look around for Eich or Sage. Neither was in sight. She’d have to walk to the trolley and ride it home. She’d gotten soft working in Mozart’s because she found herself dreading the trip. Far better to snooze in the cab whilst Sage dealt with the driver.

She started the six block walk to the trolley stop but soon paused to think. If she went home, without knowing what had happened to Rachel, tomorrow would bring that same uncertainty. Besides, the women needed to know where their union representative had gone. Nothing could hurt their spirits more than Rachel’s continued absence. That thought brought an involuntary shiver at odds with the still pressing heat of what had been another unbearably hot day.

Her decision made, Mae turned east, away from the river. Rachel had told everyone where she lived. Finding the boarding house should be easy because there were few on the east side of the river. Mostly it was still farmland although the areas between the villages of Buckman, Sunnyside and Mt. Villa were rapidly filling with houses. Two things were at work to make that happen. First, was that a trolley now rattled its way between the little settlements. And secondly, union activity in the city had raised people’s wages. For the first time, regular working people could afford to buy their own homes. Small builders flocked to take advantage of these eager new homeowners, often constructing pattern houses from Sears and Roebuck. So many family homes were being built that folks had taken to calling the area “Union Town.” That idea made her smile until she noticed passersby looking at her like the heat had stupefied her head.

The boarding house was easy to spot despite the deepening night. It was a two-story clapboard building with wide verandas front and back. As she advanced, she saw that most of the building sat upon stilts anchored in the sides and bottom of a ravine. Streams, ravines and swamps riddled the eastside. Now that the city had annexed it, the developers and landowners were hoping to exploit the area. Men were encasing streams in pipes while fill dirt was eradicating the ravines and swamps. She tried to imagine what the area would look like in another twenty-five years and couldn’t. She’d miss seeing the farmland climbing up the gentle slopes of Mt. Tabor to the east and the milk cows meandering along the dirt roads.

Her thoughts screeched to a halt at the familiar sight of the ragpicker’s cart parked across the street from the boarding house. Her eyes sought Herman and a momentary pang of fear grabbed at her heart. He wouldn’t just abandon his cart. Then, a relieved gasp escaped her. There he was, sitting on the porch. And, next to him, sat Rachel her hands clenched tightly in her lap. The strained look on the young woman’s face said that something was very wrong.