Dorothea planned a quiet dinner at home. But then, things don’t always go exactly as planned. It all started off well enough. The master of the house deigned to put in an appearance. It would seem Aunt Tilly had put him on a leash only a little longer than the ones she snapped on Fanny and Sissy.
Obadiah Koock was a handsome man with gray sideburns and a little brush of a gray mustache. He was past forty but not gone to fat, not even around his midsection. Jemmy thought he would be equally at home at a senator’s desk or a poker table.
A gold charm of a railroad boxcar with “MKT”—for Missouri, Kansas, Texas—spelled out in rubies dangled from his watch chain. He looked well-oiled and well-heeled as he presided over pre-dinner sherry in the front parlor.
The portiere drapes of green velvet, pulled back and tied with gold tassels, provided a stage for Aunt Tilly to display the talents of her new charges. With the little girls in front and the maid trailing behind, the quartet stood framed like an oil painting under gold web and fringes. She pushed the young ladies forward to make awkward curtsies first to Dorothea, then to their father, and last to Jemmy.
Dorothea beamed. Obadiah nodded as though he expected salaams as daily routine in the Koock household. At the touch of Aunt Tilly’s hand on her shoulder, Fanny dutifully recited, “Goodnight, Mother dear, Father, Miss McBustle. I wish you all a pleasant dinner.”
Sissy recited her well-rehearsed lines. “Goodnight. I wish you all a pleasant evening.” They curtsied again and allowed themselves to be escorted upstairs by the maid without the slightest fuss.
When they had disappeared from sight, Dorothea couldn’t hold back a tear or two. “How wonderful! Going to bed—and already fed. Oh, Aunt Tilly, how will I ever thank you?”
“You may thank me best by following my teaching. Tomorrow, I will allow you to observe in the nursery—provided you do as I say. You must not interfere or even say a single word unless I speak to you first. Have I your promise?”
Dorothea raised her chin as she dabbed her eyes. “Yes, Aunt Tilly.”
“Remember, a parent must have backbone to raise children properly. Since you don’t have one, I mean to provide you with a few artificial ones—corset stays of steel—if you’ll pardon the indelicate comparison.”
Obadiah rang the bell. To Jemmy’s amazement, the server was none other than her own photographer-bodyguard, Hal. In answer to Jemmy’s wide-eyed stare, Hal flicked his head in the direction of Aunt Tilly. It would seem Aunt Tilly didn’t think Hal was pulling his weight; so she put him on her leash along with everyone else in the household. Hal had become temporary butler.
If Obadiah noticed a new face among the minions of his household staff, he registered no surprise—just glanced at his watch and queried, “Is cook ready to serve?”
Hal answered. “Dinner will be delayed a few minutes while the gardener brings in fresh tomatoes. The young man threw the others at the stove.”
Obadiah’s words came clipped and cold as a northern gale. “Which young man?”
“Young Marmaduke, Mr. Koock.”
“Do you know why he would take such idiotic action?”
“Perhaps he can tell you himself better than—”
Obadiah cut in. “I expect straight answers from a person in my employ.”
Hal’s ears reddened. “Mr. Koock, sir, Mr. Marmaduke did not explain his actions to me.”
Obadiah spoke to the ladies in eerily soft tones. “Please go in to dinner as soon as it is ready. I may be somewhat delayed.”
In silence all watched him walk with firm step up the stairs. Burnie flattened himself against the wall under the portrait of some ancestral Koock to let his father pass. Mr. Koock didn’t even acknowledge his younger son’s presence on the steps. Burnie hastened down and turned to gawk with his hand on the newel post.
Aunt Tilly shooed Dorothea and Jemmy in the direction of the dining room. When she couldn’t catch Burnie’s eye, she grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him down the hall. She closed the dining room door behind her and announced, “I expect everyone to be deaf until I give permission to regain hearing.”
Jemmy knew what Auntie meant. Victorian homes forbade family quarrels when guests were present. For a guest to show the slightest knowledge of such familial disharmony was even more taboo.
Aunt Tilly tried to initiate conversation. “I wonder, Dorothea, as to the significance of the boys’ names. Certainly I am aware both came from notable governors of Missouri. But why did Mr. Koock choose these two particular governors?”
A sprinkling of white powder from the plaster rosette around the chandelier followed a loud thump from upstairs.
Dorothea tried to ignore it. “Mr. Koock is a believer in rugged individualism and personal achievement. He greatly admires Governor Meredith Miles Marmaduke’s staunchness during the Civil War. The governor stood up for the Union against his own children. All ten of them were rebels, you know.”
If Aunt Tilly noted a similarity to the rebel children of Mr. Koock, she refrained from mentioning it. “I understand Governor Marmaduke began the fight for a state-sponsored insane asylum.”
“Yes, and he presided over the first state fair. You know, we Sedalians have hopes for building the state fairgrounds here—if we should fail in our campaign to move the state capitol here from Jefferson City.”
“Sedalia would be an excellent choice for the state fairgrounds. It is centrally located and convenient to rail transportation from every corner of the state. Even if the capitol building should burn to the ground, I would not approve of rebuilding anywhere except Jefferson City.”
(Thump, thump.) Demanding sounds from overhead boomed down.
Aunt Tilly soldiered on. “And you, young Lilburn, what is the significance of your name?”
“I was named for Governor Lilburn Boggs. He stood up against the United States government. He said he would never let Congress take one inch of Missouri soil. That was in the Honey War of 1839 over the boundary between Missouri and Iowa.”
(Whump, smack, thump.) The sounds from upstairs grew louder.
The diners needed masterful self-control to keep from jumping at the turmoil overhead. Jemmy couldn’t. She could find no way to shut her good ear to Obadiah’s booming baritone. Reverberations from above grew louder until the demand, “Unlock this door” came through clear as thunder on the wind. Then came two loud thuds and the wrenching grate of splintering wood. Dorothea bit her lip and pulled her hanky from her sleeve to dab at her eyes.
Jemmy wished she could be almost anywhere else. Even scouring pots on a muggy summer day back home would be better. Who could pretend to be deaf when the patriarch was tearing down the doors? Duke’s unseemly behavior brought punishment to everyone and everything on the premises.
Thundering feet down the stairs followed by the slamming of the front door left a silence more deafening than the sounds of fury. No words had come from the pair descending the stairs. No words came from the group in the dining room.
Hal broke the tension by excusing himself and escaping to the kitchen, but not before Aunt Tilly asked him the question he had twice refused to answer. “Mr. Dwyer, I appreciate your sense of honor and discretion in allowing young Marmaduke to speak for himself. However, the rest of the Koock family and I would be in a much better position to proceed with civility if you were willing to tell us what you know.”
Hal examined the faces around the table before he gave in. “The cook yelled at him for not wiping the horse sh—manure off his boots before he walked through her kitchen. He lobbed tomatoes at her. She ducked. The tomatoes hit the stove.”
Aunt Tilly dismissed him with a nod and took control in the dining room. “Since we’re in the dining room, we may as well be seated.”
Jemmy wiggled her jaw from side to side to unclamp it. She had heard family quarrels. When her father came stumbling home late, her mother’s voice often penetrated to the bedrooms above. But never had she heard anyone break down a door.
Hal appeared from the kitchen to announce, “Dinner is ready.”
Dorothea gave a sideways glance to the hall door before she said, “Please ask Pélagie to keep it warm.” Hal disappeared again.
This evening, Burnie needed no prodding to seat the ladies according to rank. Aunt Tilly endeavored to keep the conversational ball rolling. Actually, not rolling—deflating by slow leak. “Dorothea, I understand you took Jemima and Lilburn on an outing this afternoon.”
“The outing was Lilburn’s idea. He imagined Miss McBustle might have little opportunity to practice shooting in the city. He thought she might enjoy rustic sport.”
Aunt Tilly turned to Jemmy. “And did you find the experience to your liking?”
“Indeed, Auntie. I found it most instructive.”
“Please tell me what you learned.”
“To wear shoulder protection, to lean with one foot forward in a firm stance, to aim low.” She glared at Burnie. “To go shooting only with people I trust.”
Burnie fired back, “And to avoid shooting the dog.”
Dorothea scowled. “Lilburn, apologize. Had Miss McBustle actually shot the dog, the fault would have been yours.”
“Please forgive me, Miss McBustle. My attempt to make a joke was ill-considered.”
Jemmy nodded toward him, then tactfully changed the subject. “Mrs. Koock is a superb shot, Sedalia’s own Annie Oakley.”
Aunt Tilly surprised Jemmy with a declaration of her own. “Indeed. I once was a passable shot myself. If you plan another outing, I would be pleased to be included.”
Dorothea apologized. “Oh, of course, Aunt Tilly. How could we be so thoughtless?”
“No matter. I could not have accompanied you today in any case. Attending to the girls demanded my full energies.”
The sound of the front door closing and boots clomping stopped all idle chatter.
The diners braced for whatever calamity was approaching from the hall. The door swung open. Mr. Koock entered behind his eldest son. Duke’s acne glowed orange and angry like coal embers stuck in a glob of bread dough.
Mr. Koock’s jaw set in hard angles. With hands on the boy’s shoulders, he escorted his son to the table.
A clap on the shoulder told Duke to recite his speech. “I am sorry to have inconvenienced everyone. It was most ill-mannered of me. I regret my actions most deeply.” His words sounded sincere, but clenched fists betrayed his resentment.
Obadiah’s anger, Duke’s sullenness, and the electric tension between father and son sat like a dark unholy cloud over the table. No one felt like eating despite the heavenly aroma from Pe´lagie’s dishes. The only relief from the poisoned atmosphere came from Hal’s less-than-stellar debut in domestic service.
With every course he chalked up another faux pas—each one worse than the last. He was hopelessly inept at serving oysters with two spoons pincer-fashion. He trembled so around the formidable Mr. Koock that he dropped a half dozen oysters in his host’s lap. Mr. Koock took it in stride—which is to say he kicked the fallen oysters rattling across the wooden floor boards. Dorothea insisted her husband should eat her oysters since she had never cared for them anyway.
Hal spilled pumpkin soup on Jemmy’s skirt. Dorothea promised to have the maid clean the spots that very night. Jemmy lied, “I wasn’t planning to wear this after today anyway.”
When lemon sorbet intended for Burnie’s gullet slid down the back of his collar, he yipped. “You great awful . . .” He stopped short of uttering words that would have earned him his own trip to the woodshed.
Is Hal trying to be an equal opportunity slob? Jemmy began to think no one could be so clumsy except on purpose. An unexpected lamb chop landed atop Duke’s head. Hal removed it, but the damage was done. Three tablespoons of mint sauce added to Duke’s oily locks made him look like a leprechaun with chicken pox wearing a green tam-o’-shanter.
Dorothea cringed when Hal brought in salad. She ended up wearing a spinach corsage.
The worst mishap of all came with the pièce de résistance. For dessert, Pélagie had created a magnificent bombe. Homemade peach ice cream frozen in a half-football shape atop a white cake base, then slathered in whipped cream and dotted with brandied sugar cubes.
Hal bore it in on a silver tray. Eyes shining with her triumph, Pélagie herself lit the sugar cubes with a flourish. Jemmy searched the faces around the table. All smiled—even Mr. Koock—even Duke. Dorothea beamed. This magnificent dessert might save this night from full-blown disaster.
Whether it was alcohol fumes from the burning sugar, uncontrollable muscle tic, or yet one more caprice of fate, triumph turned to ruination. Hal lost his grip on the tray at just the wrong moment. Fingers of flame teetered above Aunt Tilly’s head and poised on air for a tantalizing moment. Then the bombe slewed forward and skittered off the tray to land atop Aunt Tilly’s topknot like a flamboyant summer hat ignited by sparks from fireworks.
In tears, Pélagie ran through the kitchen door. Hal stood statue-still as if shocked from his senses. Mr. Koock had the presence of mind to rise and give assistance. He spooned out the flaming sugar lumps and dumped them on his plate. With a flourish, he doused the flames with water from his goblet.
Aunt Tilly stood with the rest of the bombe balanced regally upon her head and turned toward the dumbstruck Hal. How she managed without tipping the ice cream from her head mystified all who watched. Golden rivulets of peach trickled down her brow as she faced the guilty freckle-face.
Jemmy concluded Aunt Tilly was right about one thing—breeding tells. The bombe stayed in perfect equilibrium until a discreet ducking of her head plopped it onto Hal’s outstretched tray. Burnie clamped his lips shut as he raced around the table to open the door for Auntie. A snicker or giggle might have been fatal.
Hal disappeared into the kitchen with the ruined dessert. Aunt Tilly swept majestically into the hall and upstairs, no doubt to reclaim her coiffure. Her composure she never lost—not for a single second.
From that moment on, Hal maintained melting ice cream as the slipperiest substance known to man. His exact words were “Slipperier than snot.” Jemmy didn’t dare let a chuckle escape.
Later Aunt Tilly confided to Dorothea and Jemmy her belief the “accidents” at table were evidence of Hal’s bad breeding. Did he use food as a weapon to vent his spite at being coerced into butling. Surely he isn’t vicious enough to dump dessert on Aunt Tilly’s head on purpose—or is he?
Mr. Koock made the devastation complete by decamping even before coffee. He excused himself to attend to “urgent business.” He towered over Duke. “Consider what I’ve said. Do not leave the house this evening. When I return, we shall discuss your future.”
With her plans for the lovely evening ruined, Dorothea went to her room—probably to weep. Still sticky from the lemon ice, Burnie was off to change his shirt; and Duke was just off. Jemmy’s conscience pulled her in two directions. She knew she should go upstairs to comfort Dorothea. Her hostess must be in a state of despair. No one could have done more to ensure her family and her guests would have a splendid evening. The debacle was none of her doing, but the weight of it fell on her slender shoulders.
Jemmy pushed aside her guilt and promised herself to console Dorothea as soon as might be, but first she had to see Hal. She walked into the kitchen where Pélagie was banging pans and clucking over the waste wrought by Hal’s incompetence. The cook hollered at the would-be butler in French. He took the abuse in a resigned way, as though he recognized the music even if he couldn’t follow the lyrics.
Jemmy stifled her laughter behind her hand while she and Hal slipped out the kitchen door into the backyard. “How did you get to be butler?”
“Aunt Tilly—Miss Snodderly—says Dorothea doesn’t have enough help. She must hire a nanny and a butler at the very least. Dorothea asked me to take the job notices to the newspapers. It seemed like a good idea. Why shouldn’t I buttle—whatever that means—as long as I’m here? At least until they find somebody permanent.”
He sighed. “Miss Snodderly said until they find ‘suitable’ candidates, she guessed I would have to do.”
“She guessed wrong.”
“I never thought anybody but a bank would have so much silver as the Koocks, and I polished it all. How can people keep straight in their heads about which fork goes with what dish and where the bread plate goes? So many courses. At home we don’t have courses. We have food—all at once—just plain food.”
Jemmy patted his arm in sympathy.
Hal gave a sad, puzzled shake of his head. “Who would have thought it would be so hard to do a simple thing like put food on the table?”
“You mean, besides the millions who don’t have enough to eat?”
“Don’t try to make me feel better.” He waved off her arm and hung his head. “I was never meant to dish up lamb chops with two spoons. My mother sets the platter down in the middle of the table, and we spear the meat with our forks. If I had used a fork, I wouldn’t have dropped the chop on Duke’s head.”
“I’m sure forks would have saved my skirt and Aunt Tilly’s hair, too.”
His head sagged even lower. “That’s right. Rub it in.”
“I’m trying to cheer you up. I can’t imagine anyone would want you to serve up another calamity like this one. I expect you’re glad to get out from under.”
“Yes and no. I’m not one to turn down making a few bucks on the side. I don’t have a rich family to support me.”
Jemmy stepped back with a little cough of disbelief. “If you’re implying my family is rich, you’re crazier than I thought. My mother runs a boardinghouse. You call that rich?”
“To people from Kerry Patch, yes.”
She dismissed the argument with an impatient wave of her hand. “Enough of this. Tell me about your pictures. Do any of them warrant a story?”
“Maybe, maybe not. I don’t know what to look for.”
“What have you been doing when you’re not bombing Aunt Tilly’s head?”
“Finding out about the wrong side of the tracks.”
Jemmy cocked her head to the side and waited.
Hal backed away. “Not anything I want to tell you about, but I will say this. There’s a fellow down at the Maple Leaf Club plays piano like you never heard. Name of Scott Joplin.”
“Perhaps you could take me there.”
“Not a chance. Your mother would skin me alive—not that I would be alive once Aunt Tilly found out.”
“Killjoy.”
“Some joys deserve killing.”
“I wanted to see you because we have to get some real work done tomorrow. Prove to Hamm we are worth the money he’s spending on us.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Burnie says the day before the Wild West comes to town is a big holiday. Lots of country folks come in to see the show, and lots of out-of-town dudes and slickers come in to relieve country folks of their spending cash.”
“Is that news?”
“When will you learn that you and I must find big stories? Sensational stories sell papers. So far we’ve been producing them. That’s the only reason Hamm doesn’t fire us.” Jemmy shook her head. “Just take pictures when I tell you to. We have to earn our keep.”
Hal nodded. “What time?”
“Right after breakfast.” As she walked back toward the house, she called over her shoulder, “And sharpen up your nose for news. Maybe there’s a story in that piano player Joplin fellow.”
Burnie nearly ran her over as he burst out the back door buttoning his clean shirt. He mumbled an apology as he swept past Jemmy in his rush to get to Hal. “Do you know where he’s going?”
“Your father?”
“Duke.”
“Duke?”
Burnie nodded. “I tried to stop him. I told him Father would probably beat him half to death.”
“What makes you think I know where he’s going?”
Burnie jiggled with impatience. “Don’t play stupid. I know he took you around town last night.”
Hal drew up his chin in indecision, then relented. “I know where he planned to go tonight, but what’s the problem?”
“He stole a bottle of Jack Daniels.”
“He wouldn’t be the first young buck to get drunk and sleep it off at some place other than his home.”
Burnie lowered his voice and tugged Hal toward the back door with Jemmy trailing behind. “He also took a gun.”
“I thought the guns were locked up in the gun case in the study.”
“He broke the glass. I don’t like him much, but he’s the closest thing to a brother I have.”
“What does he want with a gun?”
“I think he means to kill Father.”
“You think so because—?”
“Because that’s what he said. He said he was going to kill Father.”
Jemmy offered, “Maybe you misunderstood. What were his exact words?”
Burnie thought a while then repeated slowly, “He said, ‘I’m going to kill that monster. I won’t let anybody ruin my life.’ ”
Considering the recent broken doors and forced apologies, Mr. Koock seemed the logical target for Duke’s anger.
Still, something in the back of Jemmy’s head said the boy might resent the interference of women who had changed everything in his world in the space of a single day. Maybe to him “monster” meant Aunt Tilly, or Dorothea, or Jemmy herself.
Inside the stable Burnie stood with his hands on his hips. “How are we going to catch him? Both the saddle horses are gone.”
Hal pointed toward the tack room. “We’ll have to take the carriage. Not as fast as horseback, but faster than walking.”
The commotion drew Jean Max down from his lodgings above the stable. He helped with the traces. Meantime, Jemmy installed herself in the carriage.
Hal must have forgotten about her because when he opened the door, he looked surprised. “Get out. I don’t have time to mollycoddle you.”
“Get in. I require no mollycoddling, thank you.”
Hal stuck his face up to hers. “Get out. Sometimes bystanders get hurt when guns are involved.”
“Get in. Sometimes bystanders write news stories like our employers expect us to do.”
“Get out. We’re going to the dangerous part of town.”
“Get in. You’re my bodyguard. Protect me.”
“Get out. I guard you when we’re on a story, not when we’re on personal business.”
“Get in. We are on a story.”
“Get out. We’re not.”
“Get out. We are, too.”
“Get in. We are not.”
“I’m already in, thank you.”
A how-did-that-happen frown came over Hal’s face as he realized he’d been tricked.
Burnie climbed in and took advantage of the quarrel to sit by Jemmy. “How much time are you two going to waste griping at each other? If she stays in the carriage, she won’t get hurt.”
Still grumbling, Hal clambered in and hollered out to Jean Max, “Main Street, the Maple Leaf Club.”