NORMA BOARDED A NORTHBOUND train and Constance took a rickety little trolley down to Fort Lee to see about Minnie Davis’s landlord. The trolley rolled along at such a maddeningly leisurely pace that she wished she’d walked. She’d had to squeeze herself into a narrow wicker-work seat meant for a much smaller person, which made for an unpleasant ride, and she fumed over her predicament the whole way.
While it was true that Constance was furious at Fleurette for going away, she was mostly furious at her for going away at that particular moment. Had she only run off a week earlier—or, who knows, a week later—Constance felt she would’ve been able to think clearly about it. But she was unsettled over the Minnie Davis case and the uncomfortable truth that Minnie had tried to keep from her. Was Fleurette hiding something, too?
It was obvious that Fleurette felt emboldened to go away precisely because of the kinds of cases Constance had been struggling with at work. Constance tried to think back over what she might’ve said about them in Fleurette’s presence.
She was fairly certain she’d delivered a lengthy speech about how petty and selfish it had been of Mrs. Heustis to try to keep Edna at home, and what a mockery she’d made of the police and courts by involving them in a family matter. (Had she really said that, and then gone running to Sheriff Heath the minute Fleurette disappeared? She had.)
It seemed that she also had sharp words for Mr. and Mrs. Davis, and she felt the need to repeat them at home. Fleurette must have been terribly emboldened to hear that Constance believed it to be Mr. and Mrs. Davis’s own fault for driving young Minnie away.
Constance also might have said that if the Davises couldn’t offer Minnie some kind of life that satisfied her, they deserved to lose her.
Yes, she definitely said something along those lines.
Who, then, could blame Fleurette for thinking that she had every right to accept the very role for which, as Sheriff Heath pointed out, she did audition, with the full knowledge and consent of her guardians?
Did Constance ever once voice an objection to her auditioning, or to accepting the role—on the unlikely chance that there really was a role, and it was offered to her?
She did not.
There seemed no rational reason, then, for Constance to be alarmed over Fleurette’s new venture, or to go chasing after her. She probably shouldn’t, in hindsight, have gone to interrogate Freeman Bernstein, although she did have some obligation to make sure Fleurette was, in fact, with the company.
But the trouble was that she couldn’t separate her worries over Fleurette from the outright state of alarm she’d been thrown into at the reformatory. Seeing Minnie sent away so abruptly, and hearing at last the hurried confession that she’d suspected all along—all of this had her worked into such a nervous state that she hardly knew where Minnie’s situation ended and Fleurette’s began.
Constance stepped off the streetcar in Fort Lee and found the bakery where she’d first seen Minnie. She stood across the street and looked up at the little window on the second floor, which was now covered over in newspaper, perhaps to make ready for another tenant. She couldn’t help but admire Minnie for making some stab at a new life, even such a modest life as this one. As for the men who might have come in and out of that room, Minnie was right. If there were no men in evidence—no other party to accuse of a crime that took two to commit—then she deserved her freedom as much as they deserved theirs.
It was an uncertain legal argument and an even shakier moral premise, at least in the eyes of Bergen County’s elected officials, but Constance was emboldened by the idea. Her spirits surged even higher when she opened the door and breathed in the heavenly fragrance of a bakery that had not quite reached the end of the day’s operation.
Constance knew bakers to keep early hours and was relieved to find Minnie’s landlord, Mr. Elliott, still there. Apparently one of the ovens had failed, and he was pounding at it with a wrench in between groans and curses.
The other oven worked just fine, and a late batch of popovers had just come out. A girl behind the counter sold her two, with powdered sugar. She took them in a little brown bag and tried not to think about the cloud of steam that would be released if she bit into one right at that moment, before they were allowed to cool. There was nothing like a popover directly out of the oven.
But that would have to wait. When she told the girl that she needed to see Mr. Elliott on sheriff’s business, he threw down his wrench and came over. He looked every bit the part of a baker: rotund and heavy around the shoulders, with massive hands that knew how to pound down a rising loaf of dough or punish an errant oven. He seemed a little gruff about the interruption and guessed right away the nature of her business.
“You know that girl left without paying the rent,” he said by way of greeting. He stood behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron.
“She can hardly pay it now. She’s behind bars.”
“Deserves it.”
“I understand you’ve agreed to testify against her. I take it you’ve spoken to someone at the prosecutor’s office.”
“Course I have. I want my rent money.”
Constance feigned regret. “Oh dear. I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. This isn’t a case about the rent, and you won’t get paid.”
“What do you mean, I won’t get paid? I’m going to tell the judge —”
“It’s a morality charge. I can assure you that the proceedings have nothing to do with the payment of rent. You’d have to speak to your city clerk about that.” Constance didn’t know who one might speak to about collecting late rent, but thought that a city clerk sounded convincing.
He snorted at that. “Well, I might as well tell the judge anyway. That girl was no good. Had a different fellow up there every night.”
“Did she? How many fellows, exactly? The judge will ask, and you’ll be under oath.”
The baker looked over at the girl behind the counter, who Constance took to be his daughter. “Go on back there and pull out those rolls.” He looked at the sack in Constance’s hand and said, “You’ll ruin them if you wait.”
“I know. But tell me first: How many men did you see? Are you going to be able to describe them?”
“Describe them? I don’t live on the premises. I only caught that one fellow because I’d come in to light the ovens.”
“Who was he?”
He shrugged. “I just saw him run out. Tony chased him down the alley. He was plenty mad.”
“What did Tony say?”
He sighed and rubbed his forehead with his sleeve. “Well, he claimed the fellow was his brother, but what do I know?”
“Exactly!” Constance said, with enormous relief. At least this part of Minnie’s story was true. “What do you know? Was the man Tony’s brother, or wasn’t he?”
She reached in the bag, unable to wait any longer.
“Aw, hell. Is that what the judge is going to ask?”
She nodded, her mouth full of powdered sugar and a flaky golden crust that almost took her mind right off her business. It made the baker smile to watch his popovers disappear.
“Well,” said Mr. Elliott, a note of resignation in his voice, “I promised I’d say my piece in court, so I suppose I’ll have to.”
When Constance was able to speak again, she said, “That’s just fine, Mr. Elliott. It’s entirely up to you. The first session starts at eight o’clock. The prosecutor will let you know what day to appear.”
“Eight? I’ve got a bakery to run! You don’t expect me to close my doors just to go tell a judge that I don’t know what I saw, do you?”
She shrugged indifferently. “Sounds like a wasted morning to me. What did you say you had coming out of the oven next?”