CANIS MAJOR
CANIS MAJOR
AFTER LEAVING THE SHOP, Hetty found herself standing in the alley not far from the spot where Charlie had been lying the night before. Despite her earlier conversation with Benjy, she had not planned on returning. But with hours she suddenly had to spare, her boots brought her here as if by an enchantment.
Her eyes skimmed along the grime and the dried brown spots that speckled the ground.
No footsteps broke up the grime. Although, it was hard to say if someone had returned. The chaotic mess appeared unchanged, and there were no magic traces after her work of the previous night. The band around her neck didn’t even prickle against her skin. This wasn’t a trap waiting for her.
Hetty almost wished there had been.
A feeling of unease had kept her up most of the night. Charlie being dead was troubling, the carved sigil in his chest worse, but it was downright terrible how they found him.
Strewn in an alley, dressed in ragged and torn clothes and mistaken for a drunk. Yet despite the wounds on his face, he was not unrecognizable. Anyone acquainted with him would have known him at once.
So why the alley?
Why not leave Charlie in a more public place, like a park? If he was meant to be found, why tuck him somewhere to be stumbled upon by accident?
What did the murderer want?
As always, the answer to that pertinent question was the thing they found out last, even if it would be the most useful starting point.
Tired of staring at garbage, she left with no helpful insights. Hetty crossed over a few streets to avoid passing Marianne’s house. This turned out to be a wise move, because once she did that, she realized it was only a few blocks to Cora’s home.
Most days following work, she spent a moment or two speaking with her old friend, exchanging the latest news and gossip. Sometimes they spoke of the past, and more often than not, she came here for reassuring words as soothing as any balm.
When Hetty first arrived in Philadelphia she stayed with Pastor Jay Evans and his wife, Cora. As station masters for the Underground Railroad, they took in runaways, but they did more than just provide shelter and safety. They gave directions, they found jobs, and they taught the interested how to read. Hetty herself had been one of their many boarders, but instead of staying for a few days or weeks, she called the snug attic room her own until her marriage.
She had thought both Jay and Cora would have been upset when Hetty snuck out of their house in the middle of the night on that first failed trip to find her sister. On her return with Charlie and others, she feared their anger and disappointment. Instead they informally inducted Hetty into the Vigilance Society. Cora even gifted Hetty with a pistol and proceeded to teach her how to shoot.
While their station master days were long behind them, Cora and her husband were still prominent voices in the community, through both the church and their other acts of philanthropy. If anyone could help raise funds for Marianne at the drop of a pin, it was Cora.
Her old friend smiled when she opened the door, her silver-streaked hair pulled back into a neat bun. Tiny round glasses dangled from a beaded chain around her neck, and her ivy green brooch contrasted with the cream of her ruffled blouse. Because she ran a kitchen in the church’s basement, her attire was always serviceable blouses and skirts. But on the rare occasion, and Sundays, Cora could be spotted in one of the sedate dark blue dresses Hetty had made, paired with a single strand of pearls.
“I was wondering when I would see you,” Cora said as she welcomed Hetty inside. “I heard about Charlie.”
This didn’t surprise Hetty. News reached Cora’s ears at great speed, even under normal situations.
“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Hetty said. “There’s so much to do—”
Muffled noise at the other end of the short hallway, coming from the parlor, caught her attention.
“You’re not alone?”
“Not for the last few hours. Once word got around, I’ve been entertaining people who want to help. It’s astonishing, really, but the Richardsons endeared themselves to many people over the years. I must say I’m rather impressed with Eunice Loring. She’s spearheading the collection that will be going around. And has everything under control.”
Hetty’s smile froze on her face, killing the question on her lips. Suddenly she wished she was anywhere but here.
Eunice Loring was Hetty’s reflection in a warped mirror. As much as Hetty tried to deny it, she couldn’t entirely blame people for mistaking one for the other at social gatherings. They were close in age, and had a similar height and the same deep brown complexion. Like Hetty, Eunice had a collar forced on her until freedom came, although Eunice’s scars were easily hidden by simple ruffs and ribbons. That was where their similarities stopped.
The beautiful wife of a caterer, Eunice was adored in the community, and for good reason. Eunice played a crucial role on a number of committees devoted to supporting children, widows, and the poor. She had held poetry readings in her home. And her work with the veterans of the United States Colored Troops went well beyond the efforts of most.
Hetty could have tolerated Eunice’s goodness and shimmering perfection with nothing more than a groan, but Eunice had infiltrated Hetty’s circle of friends.
It started with Marianne, who traded hostess duties for parties and teas with Eunice. But Eunice soon charmed the others, playing the piano for Penelope when Benjy wasn’t available. Dropping off entire meals for Oliver. Eunice even performed a tricky bit of magic to save one of Darlene’s paintings from ruin when it got left out in the rain.
Eunice had done nothing wrong—she just filled all of Hetty’s friends’ stories with cheery exploits and charming escapades Hetty could never match.
“I can still help,” Hetty insisted, determined she could do this small thing.
“There are better ways for you to help,” Cora assured her.
“What have you heard?”
“I heard Charlie died in an accident, which is how Benjamin phrases everything that is a bit unusual.”
“All sudden deaths are unusual,” Hetty said.
Cora’s gaze sharpened. “Charlie Richardson was a healthy and lively young man who spent an hour yesterday at the Waltons’ dinner talking about buying buildings and his plans for them. Unusual is the first and last word involving this.”
“Benjy wants to keep this quiet.”
“Charlie’s been murdered, then?”
“Attacked, at least,” Hetty admitted. “We don’t know what happened exactly, but we’ll be looking into it.”
“Be careful. I know you always say you will be, but you must mean it this time. You’ve taken risks with your life before, but at least back then you did it in the shadows.”
“People knew who we were then.”
“They knew about the conductors. A couple, older than their years and with magical talents that were things of legend. Despite your extraordinary gifts, you’re still flesh and bone.”
“Mrs. Evans”—Hetty took on a teasing tone—“are you trying to encourage me or warn me off ?”
“I’m saying take care. There’s all sorts of trouble around and you must figure what trouble is worth getting down in the mud for. Sometimes,” Cora added as the door to the next room opened, “trouble is going to roll in regardless.”
Cora patted Hetty’s arm and left her in the hall. Hetty remained where she stood, almost in a daze.
Did Cora just hint that Charlie deserved what happened? Charlie chased after shooting stars while still scrambling after seashells to make his riches so quickly, but did he really deserve a cursed sigil carved into his chest?
“Henrietta,” Eunice Loring called as she strode into view, a collection of papers clutched in hand. Startled, Hetty had no choice but to force a polite smile onto her face.
Another factor that made Hetty less than keen to be in Eunice’s presence was a professional disdain of Eunice’s wardrobe. Her gowns either were in cool colors like pale green that didn’t suit her, or had unflattering cuts that were more distracting than horrible.
Today’s offense created a new category: excessive ribbons flowing from her sleeves.
“It’s terrible about Charlie, isn’t it?” Eunice cried. “Marianne and those poor children of hers!”
“Yes, indeed,” Hetty said. “You’re doing the collection?”
“Along with a few other things. I wasn’t very close to Charlie, not as close as you were, but it was such a shock to hear! I can’t believe this happened! Things are supposed to be different now. Our friends aren’t supposed to die so brutally. We’re free. We should only die of old age in our beds.”
“I don’t believe that’s how the world ever worked.”
“It should be.” Eunice shook her head. “It’s the only proper thing!”
“I don’t disagree,” Hetty said softly.
“The next few days will be difficult, but I’m grateful to have so much work to keep me occupied. I’m also glad Charlie and Marianne were part of the burial society.”
“Burial society?”
“The Southgate Burial Society.” Eunice nodded. “We collect a small monthly fee, and in return you are guaranteed a funeral plot and money to cover your homegoing services.”
Hetty recalled this now. There had been notices in the paper a few times, announcements at church, pamphlets put in her hand, all of which Hetty ignored. The fee was reasonable considering the service, but it was too much money to spend in preparation of dying.
“I know you think it’s silly, but it’s a nice certainty to have. We aren’t slaves anymore. No more slipping away in the night to hastily dig graves and whisper prayers. We should be able to take care of our dead. If we can’t do it alone, we should band together to help each other.” Eunice’s eyes had brightened as she gave her pitch. “You and Benjamin are the only ones in our circle who haven’t joined. I would feel so much better if you did. You aren’t exactly as well off as the rest of us. What would you do if something happened to your husband?”
Hetty didn’t hear what else Eunice had to say.
What would she do if something happened to Benjy? She saw an outline of such a life, but the thought, the mere thought—
“I’m so sorry!” Eunice’s voice cut through the fog that whirled around Hetty. Alarm flashed through Eunice’s gentle features, and her papers crumpled under her grip. “I didn’t mean to say that! You don’t have to join.”
“It’s fine,” Hetty lied. “We haven’t really thought that far into the future.”
“You should start,” said Eunice’s husband, Clarence, as he drifted up to them. “No one knows the form the future may take.”
Eunice turned to him, but Clarence didn’t seem to notice as he greeted Hetty with a stiff nod. The round frames of his glasses gave him an owlish look, which was the only interesting thing about his appearance. He had inherited a thriving catering business from his uncle and used his wealth to shower Eunice with expensive gifts, while his clothes remained poorly fitted and ten years out of fashion. Although tall, his stooped shoulders and quiet manner made him much like a turtle, one that wouldn’t even notice when spring blossoms fluttered past.
Hetty had met Clarence in line at the Freedmen’s Bureau, joining dozens of others looking for information about missing family. She was there for Esther of course, and when the white man at the desk asked her to describe her sister, she had burst into tears. Clarence had been standing behind her, and he helped her string a few words into a sentence. It was that memory and that small kindness that kept Hetty from fully dismissing Clarence as the dullest person she ever had the misfortune to meet.
“This is a terrible way to convince me to join,” Hetty replied, glancing between the couple’s faces.
“It’s a fact,” Clarence said. “You’re very fond of facts, aren’t you?”
“Benjy is.”
“Then tell your husband there are few facts in life you can escape, and death is not one of them.”
Eunice laughed at what her husband had said, and it was a mighty effort, since there was nothing funny in his words or his delivery of them.
“I’m so sorry about him,” Eunice whispered, drawing Hetty aside. “Don’t listen to a word he says. He’s been out of sorts since hearing about Charlie’s death.”
“We all have,” Hetty murmured as Clarence said something to another person passing in the hall. “In different ways.”
As Hetty swung around the corner, she spotted her landlord banging nails into the main door of the building. She lingered there, debating if she wanted to turn around before he saw her.
Her landlord was a lean man with an impeccable memory of just how short of the rent they were. Although born free, he held little sympathy for them or the people who came knocking on their door for aid. In fact, those visitors had led to the sudden increase in their rent. When they couldn’t pay, he let it carry over into the next month, with an added fee. A fee they couldn’t cover, which got carried over for another month, which meant over time they owed a great deal more money than they should have. They should move. But Hetty resisted the idea. The tiny room wasn’t the best, but over the years it had become theirs.
Before Hetty could scramble away, her landlord looked directly at her. Instead of the dour expression she was often greeted with, McKee beamed.
“Good evening, Mrs. Rhodes! How is everything? Any complaints about the room?”
McKee kept smiling. She wished he would stop. The strain behind it made her wonder if he was hexed.
“No complaints.”
“If there’s any trouble, let me know. I’m always here to help.” He even bobbed his head at her as if she were a proper lady.
Hetty hurried into the boardinghouse, stopping only to glance over her shoulder briefly. Their landlord only made to speak to them when they were late with the rent, and scarcely wasted a breath on anything else.
Had good fortune suddenly dropped on his head?
Did she even want to know?
As she checked the mail, one of her neighbors peered out of the communal kitchen.
“The word going around is he’s been cursed.” Her neighbor juggled the youngest of her four children on her hip. “One of the new boarders said we should let it run its course.”
“What curse?” Hetty said, shutting the box. “I see only a blessing. What’s for dinner tonight?”
“You just missed it, although it might be good you did. Whoever’s turn it was, they didn’t even clean the collards properly.”
“It was Mrs. Samson.” Hetty nodded. “She eats them raw.”
Her neighbor made a face of such disgust, Hetty didn’t need to fake a laugh. She let it roll out of her, relieving the strain that had started last night and stayed coiled inside her all day.
Hetty shuffled the letters in her hand and a ripped scrap of newspaper fell to the floor. Picking it up, she gave it a closer look. At first glance, it was an advertisement for a nearby store. But as her fingers settled on the edges, Virgo blazed in the far-right corner. Inky words appeared on the edges of the ad, as if written by an invisible hand:
I am in dire need of your aid, please help.