Week 5, Instructor Calendar
March 1898
The next afternoon, Concordia stared in dismay at the pile of mail taking over her desk. How long had it been there—a week? She’d neglected it terribly.
Her thoughts returned to Eli as she worked to clear her desk. Would they be able to find him and learn the truth about Florence’s murder? She trusted Capshaw’s ability, but each passing day without progress increased her worry.
Concordia sifted through the pile of envelopes, throwing away the advertising circulars (“Our 57-cent Princess Hair Tonic Restorer!”), opening the department store bill (she was nearly finished paying for those winter boots), and finally reaching the bottom of the stack.
She picked up a plain white envelope. The hand was unfamiliar, with no return direction upon it. Concordia slit it open and glanced at the signature. Florence Tooey. Her heart beat faster. Also within the envelope was a tiny, locket-sized picture of what Concordia assumed to be the woman in her younger days. As small as it was, she could make out Eli’s features in the large, luminous eyes of the mother.
Settling herself in the chair, Concordia started back at the beginning.
Dear Miss Wells,
I hope you’ll pardon the presumption of my engaging in a personal correspondence. I know that you care about Eli, so I’m using this as an excuse for imposing upon you. I hope I have been able to persuade you by this point that I really am his mother, although I could see you didn’t believe the tissue of lies I thought I was so clever in creating. I will share some of the real story with you now, in hopes that you will do something for me.
The child’s birth was under less than ideal circumstances. I was very young, and unmarried. I come from a respected family. My parents acted in the best way they knew to protect me from ruin, sending me away to have the baby and arranging to have him cared for by a former servant. For a goodly sum, the woman and her mother were willing to raise him and keep his parentage a secret.
I do not offer any excuse for letting him go, except that I was young and frightened. Other life events have intervened in the past eleven years, and I have tired of the facade. I’ve secured enough money to leave the area and live comfortably abroad.
As you know, I intended to take Eli with me. But you made a persuasive argument for leaving him here, where he can be raised by a loving family. I was appalled when Miss Newcombe told me of what he had been through. His foster mother must have been subjected to desperate circumstances. I never knew.
There is another reason why I’ve changed my mind about taking the boy. Certain unscrupulous people with whom I’ve had dealings are tracking my movements. I may expose Eli to danger if he accompanies me. I’ve already had one near miss, in an alley near the settlement house. If a good stranger had not come along, I would have been attacked. Thank heaven I wasn’t followed to my lodging.
But before I leave for good, I am resolved to spend a bit more time with the child. I think he is coming to like me, but when I tell him goodbye, I know he’ll be relieved to stay. I hope it won’t be too much of a risk to remain for one more day, so we can spend it together. They haven’t found me yet.
If you could do something for me: when you judge the boy old enough, please tell him my story. Perhaps he won’t look upon his mother too unkindly. I have enclosed a photograph of myself that I hope he would like to keep someday.
Please assure Eli’s new parents that I will not trouble them in the future.
Regards,
Florence Tooey
P.S.— If something should happen to me, ask Eli to show you the gift I gave him. —F.T.
Concordia sat back in her chair, took off her spectacles, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Obviously “one more day” had been too long, and the men from the alley had caught up with her. But what had happened to Eli? Had he been with her when she was killed? Concordia shuddered.
What had Florence been involved in, that she had made enemies such as these?
She glanced again at the postscript. Ask Eli to show you the gift I gave him. However, both Eli and the gift—no doubt the pocket watch Florence had given him at the settlement house—were gone.
Capshaw needed to see this. It could be the break in the case he needed. Besides, if Concordia were honest with herself, she hoped to learn what progress Capshaw had made.
But it was nearly dinnertime. She would be expected to accompany the students in her charge to the dining hall and eat at the faculty table. Surely the lady principal would understand if she didn’t attend this time, although Dean Maynard might not.
She would have to risk it.