Death at Tammany Hall (6 page)

“I've invited Edward to join us here for supper this evening,” Prescott remarked. “Shall we freshen up now?”

“Yes, I want to make a good impression.” For a moment, a troubling apprehension gripped her. Would she and Edward like each other? Prescott would be watching, concerned.

 

An hour later, Pamela sat in the hotel lobby, Prescott at her side, waiting nervously for the young man's arrival. She had dressed to present herself as she was, not for fashion's sake. Her black hair was in a chignon; the streaks of gray served as accents. From her slim wardrobe she had chosen a blue silk gown with a high collar and added a pearl necklace.

“You look lovely,” Prescott assured her, smiling fondly.

A few minutes late, Edward entered the lobby, his eyes searching the guests gathered there. Seeing his father, he brightened instantly then started toward him in an easy, loping gait. He was broad-shouldered like his father, but a little taller and more muscular. In his blue eyes there was keen intelligence, in his facial expression, candor and good humor.

A half smile came to his lips as he approached Pamela. “I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs. Thompson.” He took her hand in a surprisingly gentle grip and bowed slightly, his eyes locking on to hers.

“Please call me Pamela, and you must be Edward.” She noticed that he had his mother's manners and good looks, combined with his father's genuine character. She liked him instantly.

Prescott led them to the dining room and took a table off to a side at a good distance from louder, livelier diners. From a simple menu they agreed on broiled scrod from Boston, caught early that morning. Pamela and Prescott chose a white French wine from the Loire Valley. The waiter glanced at Edward.

“Cider for me. I'm in training for tomorrow's game.”

The waiter smiled. “Good luck.”

When the waiter left, Edward leaned toward Pamela and softly remarked, “Williamstown prohibits the sale and public consumption of intoxicating beverages. By custom the law isn't enforced in the hotels—summer guests would go elsewhere.”

“If liquor can't be sold in local stores, where do people find it?”

“Vermont is only a mile north of us. A notorious store stands precisely on the state line. Special Officer Starkweather of the local constabulary has tried in vain to close it down.”

“I've heard,” continued Pamela, “that students at other colleges imbibe as much as they wish. What is the custom here?”

“A college statute forbids the consumption of intoxicating beverages. In practice the rule applies only to public drunkenness or other scandalous behavior. In my fraternity we police ourselves with reasonable discretion. I haven't observed any problems that would cause the college authorities to take action.”

Shifting the topic, Pamela asked Edward about his favorite professors.

“Professor Arthur Perry comes to mind. He teaches political economy. In today's passionate controversy over tariffs on imported goods, especially British, Perry is on the free trade side. I believe tariffs are necessary, if New England's textile industry is to compete with Great Britain's. Without protection the mills in Williamstown and elsewhere in Massachusetts would close. Their workers would be laid off, and their families would become destitute. Perry might be wrong, but his arguments are vivid and lively and spiced with humor, and he encourages us to think for ourselves.”

Prescott had listened attentively to his son. Now he asked, “Are you acquainted with a student at Williams named Isaac Fawcett? On our way here, we met his uncle, a retired judge from New York.”

“Indeed!” replied Edward, his eyes suddenly dark with anger. “Isaac unfortunately belongs to my fraternity and is a troublesome snitch. His uncle is a gilded tyrant—bright and shining on the surface but contemptible within.”

“How do you know him?” Pamela probed, finding the young man's reaction to be harsher than she would have expected.

“Through the college YMCA a few of us in the fraternity try to do some good in the community. Judge Fawcett has replaced discontented workers with scabs and reduced the wages of others to the point that they can't support their families. Some have been evicted from company houses. For a while we brought food and clothing and some money to the worst cases of need. Then, suddenly, Fawcett ordered us off the company's property, claiming that we were causing unrest among his workers and undermining his authority.”

“Why would he suspect you?” asked Prescott.

“Isaac overheard us speaking about the situation of the mill workers. Thinking we were alone, we had criticized the judge and his company's harsh treatment of the men and women we knew. His nephew carried our remarks back to the judge, provoking his anger and our banishment. In truth, we had been careful not to roil the workers.”

“How have the fraternity brothers reacted to Isaac's disloyalty?”

“At first we confronted him. He denied our accusation and showed no regret. Since then we've shunned him.”

“In a way, shouldn't he be pitied?” Pamela asked. “Someone has failed to teach him honor and self-respect.”

“That's true,” Edward replied. “His parents are dead. He has no brothers or sisters and no true friends. The judge pays his bills and demands that he excel in his studies. In fact, he earns good grades, but his uncle offers him little appreciation or encouragement. Frankly, I think he brought his tale to the judge to win a smile of approval. I doubt that he got it.”

“Are you still in touch with any of Judge Fawcett's victims?” Pamela asked.

Edward hesitated a fraction. “Yes, I visit Mr. Clark, a skilled machinist and father of an eighteen-year-old daughter, Mary, and a fifteen-year-old son, Tom. Mrs. Clark, a schoolteacher, died a year ago of influenza. The children go to school and look after their father, as best they can. I try to cheer him up and also encourage the young people in their schoolwork.”

“What's the machinist's problem?” Prescott seemed skeptical.

“Fawcett claimed he was a troublemaker and recently fired him and evicted the family from a company house.”

“How have they managed?” asked Pamela, touched by the family's plight.

“A friend lent them a cabin near the railroad depot; other friends bring them food. Clark found part-time temporary work in the railroad yard nearby. But winter is coming, the cabin isn't heated, and he's growing desperate and angry. Unfortunately, he has turned to alcohol for relief. His daughter can't cope with him and calls on me for help. When he's tempted to drink, we talk, or I ask his friends to play cards with him.”

Prescott looked askance. “Has Judge Fawcett noticed your kindness to his former troublemaker?”

“The judge's nephew has warned me to stay away from the machinist's family. I suppose he complains to his uncle.”

The food arrived and the conversation switched to the vacation trip that Prescott and Edward had taken together in upstate New York's Adirondack Mountains. “The region is as different from Manhattan as the mind can imagine,” said Prescott. “For several days, we traveled mostly alone by canoe through a chain of lakes, fishing and swimming in the clear, cold mountain waters and observing bear and moose, eagles and herons, and other wildlife up close. At night we pitched a tent and cooked a meal over an open fire.”

“We got to know each other better,” Edward added. “For the first time, Father talked about the war in the South—he had been in the thick of battle at Antietam and Gettysburg. His stories helped me understand him.”

Pamela was surprised but pleased. Until recently, Prescott's memories of the carnage of the war pained, even at times crippled him. He had hidden his feelings for fear he'd be thought weak and cowardly.

“Edward has a sympathetic ear for my tales,” Prescott remarked. “In turn he shared with me the trials of growing up in a boarding school with his quarreling parents in the distance.”

The meal ended with apple pie. “We'll forgo drinks and smokes?” said Prescott. “I'll pay the bill. Then we'll walk Edward to his fraternity house. He must rest for the game tomorrow.”

While waiting at the door, Edward leaned toward Pamela and said softly, “Father has talked so much about you that I feel we are already friends.”

“He has likewise spoken fondly of you.”

The young man hesitated, then said, “He has told me how you've helped him deal with the war's injury to his spirit. I now realize that his suffering accounts for the remote, detached attitude and erratic behavior that made it difficult for me and others to draw near him.” Edward gazed at her tenderly. “He's always been a good man and a kind father, but he's much more at peace with himself since he met you. I'm very grateful.”

 

Before preparing for bed, Pamela wrote in her journal her impressions of the judge, Edward, and Prescott. Keeping a journal had become a precious habit, a way to sharpen her powers of observation and to understand herself and others. The judge was her greatest challenge. He had been a courteous and helpful guide today. But what she had learned of his heart and mind was distressing.

Meeting Edward had touched her deeply. She was saddened that the war's lingering effects had repressed Prescott's feelings toward his son. How could she be sure of his feelings toward her? Still, tonight, through his son, he had professed something like true love for her. That was a hopeful step forward in their relationship.

C
HAPTER
7

 

P
amela and Prescott were midway through breakfast in the hotel dining room, when Judge Fawcett approached them. His demeanor appeared cooler than yesterday. “May I have a word with you, Prescott?”

“Of course, please join us.” Prescott gestured to a chair.

Fawcett remained standing and stared at Pamela.

“She may hear whatever you have to say, sir.” Prescott continued to smile but his tone had become brusque.

“All right then.” Fawcett moistened his lips. “Last night I visited with my nephew Isaac and found him depressed. For the past few months, his fraternity brothers have been treating him like a pariah, barely speaking to him.”

“That's unfortunate,” said Prescott evenly. “What might be the reason?”

“When I pressed my nephew, he said he was being punished for reporting to me that Edward and the other brothers had criticized my management of the woolen mill and had agitated the workers. Isaac shouldn't be punished for doing the right thing. College students must stick to their studies and let me run the mill.” Fawcett's voice was rising.

Prescott waved a calming hand. “Edward has mentioned this incident to me. He claims that Isaac is a snitch and has distorted the charitable help that Edward and other students were giving to needy workers. I agree with you, sir, that the present tension in the fraternity can't be healthy. I'll suggest to Edward that the brothers work on a plan to restore peace and harmony.”

Fawcett's eyes narrowed. “This harassment is harming my nephew's health. It's got to stop. Edward and his gang must cease punishing Isaac and make amends. Otherwise, I'll complain to President Carter.” Fawcett snapped a nod to Pamela, gave Prescott a curt “Good day, sir,” and strode stiffly from the room.

“Well!” said Pamela. “He'll cause trouble for Edward.”

“And for us,” Prescott added. “I don't see an easy way out. But I'll begin with a visit to President Carter.”

 

While Prescott was arranging a meeting with the president, Pamela went by cab with Edward to visit the unemployed machinist William Clark and his family. “Since I'm involved in helping people in difficult circumstances,” she had said, “I'd like to see for myself the plight of your textile workers. I understand that several hundred of them live in the village.”

As they were riding east on Main Street, Edward turned to Pamela and casually mentioned, “This morning at breakfast, someone tried to poison me, or at least make me too sick to play in this afternoon's game.”

Pamela drew back in horror. “How is that possible here? It must have been accidental.”

He shook his head. “I usually share my breakfast porridge with Socrates, the fraternity cat. I put it in his own dish, of course. This morning, he sniffed the porridge, shook his paw at it, and backed away. A brother who is a chemist determined that someone had laced the porridge with a small quantity of rat poison.”

“Who could have done it?” Pamela asked, still shocked.

“Who else but Isaac Fawcett, or one of the few brothers who share his point of view on the textile worker controversy.”

“Or who envy your accomplishments, Edward. I pity your fraternity, afflicted with such dangerous dissension. What can be done?”

His jaw tightened for a moment, then relaxed. “We'll have to sort out the bad apples. But here we are at Clark's cabin.”

The cab pulled up to an unpainted, single-story wooden building on the hillside above the railroad yard. A bearded man splitting firewood looked up and greeted them. “Welcome, Mrs. Thompson. Edward has often spoken of you.” He showed them inside, where a young woman was helping her younger brother with lessons at a wide plank table.

“My scholars, Mary and Tom,” said Clark with pride in his voice. “They must finish homework before going to the football game this afternoon.” Mary looked up and smiled a warm welcome. She was eighteen, shapely, black-haired, and blue-eyed. Her brother, Tom, was fifteen, tall for his age, slender, and fair-complexioned. Edward stood behind them like a schoolmaster, examining their work, and gave each of them a pat on the back. “Well done!” he said. “Stick to it.”

Pamela also spoke to the children. “Since I don't want to distract you, this will be a brief visit. But Mr. Prescott and I invite you to lunch today at the hotel. We'll take a tour of the college before the game. Edward will join us when he's free.” She turned to Mr. Clark. “And you are welcome as well, sir.”

He shook his head slowly. “No lunch or game for me. The freight yard hired me for this afternoon. I must take work whenever it's offered.” He turned to the children. “But you two are free to go after schoolwork. Put on your Sunday best.”

Pamela gazed at the young people, their faces beaming with anticipation. “Then I'll pick you up at noon.” Their happiness touched her heart. For an instant, the memory of her daughter, Julia, lost to influenza four years ago, nearly brought her to tears.

 

Pamela left Edward off at his fraternity and returned to the hotel. Prescott had just come back from a long walk in the village and was about to go to a late-morning appointment with the president. “I want to fend off Fawcett's criticism of Edward.”

“You might mention this morning's attempt to injure Edward.” She described the incident with the rat poison. “Edward can't say yet with certainty that Isaac Fawcett is the culprit.”

“This rivalry is much more serious than I first thought!” Prescott exclaimed. “President Carter will be deeply concerned.”

 

Close to noon, Pamela went by coach to the Clark cabin and picked up the children. At the hotel they met Prescott, who appeared troubled. He spoke into Pamela's ear. “The attack on Edward has upset Carter. We'll talk about it after lunch.”

Pamela nodded. “We can't disappoint the children.” She put on a smile and led the children to the table. Their faces were brimming at the prospect of a treat, though they looked well fed. Their father had seen to that, most likely denying himself. Their usual diet probably consisted of fruit in season, boiled root vegetables from a friend's garden, stale leftover bread from a bakery on Spring Street, and porridge. They probably had felt little pleasure at the table.

Prescott ordered veal cutlets and scalloped potatoes for the main course and strawberry ice cream for dessert. In the table conversation Mary spoke enthusiastically of her studies at the high school on Spring Street. If she could earn enough money working part-time in a dry-goods store nearby, she would study next year at the new state normal school being built in North Adams and become a teacher like her late mother.

Her brother, Tom, used to struggle in school. He was intelligent but easily bored or distracted. However, he had the athletic physique for baseball. With Edward coaching him, he became an outstanding player for his age and his grades improved.

After lunch, Edward showed the campus to the children. Pamela drew Prescott into a parlor and inquired about his conversation with President Carter.

“When I mentioned Judge Fawcett's threats at breakfast, Carter frowned and said he'd have to hear him out, since Fawcett was a Williams alumnus and gave substantially to the college. Carter is aware of tension among the fraternity brothers. Apparently, Isaac and Edward are rivals for the affection of Mary Clark. Up to now, the president has urged them to resolve their differences in a friendly way. I said that might be impossible in view of this morning's attempted poisoning.”

“How did Carter react to that news?” Pamela asked.

“With disbelief,” Prescott replied. “He was literally speechless for a moment. Then he said he would discuss the situation with trusted senior professors who were acquainted with the fraternity.”

 

Shortly before game time, Pamela, Prescott, and the children walked to Weston Field at the lower end of Spring Street. A carnival atmosphere pervaded the place. Near the football field, vendors had set up stalls and were selling food and souvenirs to a large, mixed crowd milling about. A band of college musicians was playing popular tunes.

Pamela and Prescott and the children sat on the benches reserved for relatives and friends of the players. The judge and his nephew were also there, looking glum and disinterested. Isaac stood up and surveyed the crowd, then stared lustfully at Mary. He was a tall, heavy young man. His face was handsome, though tending to fleshy. Mary turned her back to him. He smirked.

“What was that all about?” Pamela asked quietly, “Is he threatening you?”

“He only annoys me now. A few months ago, he wanted me to become his girlfriend. I dislike him—he's a sneaky bully—so I refused. Then he started to follow me around town and spread nasty stories about me. Finally, when Edward challenged him to a boxing match and threatened to beat him, he promised to stop.”

At this point, Prescott broke into the conversation. “Whitman, the referee from Harvard, has arrived.” He pointed to a sportsman surveying the field. “And here comes Parker, the umpire from Yale, and Pamela's namesake, Thompson, the linesman from Princeton.”

“So what will they do?” Pamela asked.

“They'll enforce the rules of the game that the teams have agreed to in advance. To the casual observer, football may look like mayhem but Whitman, Parker, and Thompson will keep it under control.”

Edward arrived in his uniform and chatted with Mary Clark and her brother. Pamela shot a glance at Judge Fawcett. He was frowning at Edward and his guests. Edward ignored him and soon left to join his teammates waiting nearby. A crowd of several hundred had gathered; their excited chatter filled the cool, crisp air.

Precisely at three o'clock, the two teams jogged onto the field. The Williams men wore thick, white pullover sweaters with a purple
W
on their chests; Amherst wore purple pullovers with a white
A.
Both teams wore knee-length, loose-fitting, thick khaki pants. Thick, uncut hair was all that protected their heads. A roar of cheering voices greeted them.

The Amherst team lined up at one end of the field, eleven strong, to kick off. Williams faced them at the other end to receive. The crowd's excitement rose to an ear-piercing pitch. At the signal from Herbert Pratt, the Amherst captain, a teammate kicked the ball to Williams, and the Amherst men charged down the field in hot pursuit.

Williams returned the ball ten yards, but made no further progress in the following plays. Edward dropped back and punted the ball fifty yards to Amherst. The Williams men raced downfield and tackled the Amherst receiver for a loss.

For most of the first half, the game remained a scoreless draw. Again and again, first one team, then the other brought the ball forward a few yards, but failed to cross the opposing goal line. In a typical play, muscular young Williams men wrestled their Amherst opponents, trying to clear a path for a ball carrier, usually Edward, the fullback. The Amherst men refused to yield, and Edward tried to force his way through. The result was a great pile of writhing bodies, as in the rugby scrums Pamela had seen years ago in England. When a team couldn't make further headway, it punted the ball to the opponents, who were likewise unsuccessful.

Toward the end of the first half, Williams gained the upper hand and forced the ball over the goal line twice for eight points and successfully kicked the ball over the bar between the twin goal posts for four extra points. The half ended with the score: Williams 12–Amherst 0.

During the game Pamela had divided her attention between the players, chiefly Edward, and the Clark children, who were following the action closely. To Pamela's surprise Mary Clark knew the game well and didn't seem repelled by its brutality. She covered her eyes at times when Edward was buried beneath a pile of Amherst players, and she was visibly relieved when he emerged unscathed.

“Edward has taught the game to me and my brother,” Mary explained. “It's not my favorite sport—I prefer baseball—but I enjoy watching Edward. He's so courageous.” Pamela agreed. Edward took after his father.

Pamela wondered how Prescott would react to the game's violence in view of his military experience. “It resembles battle,” he admitted. “And sometimes it gets out of hand, as at Harvard and Yale, with fistfights and broken bones. But Amherst and Williams play fairly and for the sport of it. Like baseball, football teaches teamwork and builds character. Edward is a good example of the sport at its best.”

At halftime the players retired to their benches on the sidelines. Many had cuts and bruises that needed attention. The grueling half hour had drained their energy. A few players appeared nearly exhausted and sat, heads down, breathing heavily. Substitutes were preparing to replace them.

The second half began like the first one with neither team able to score. However, after a quarter of an hour, Amherst was clearly tiring. At the end of a long drive, Edward forced through the Amherst line for another score.

Herbert Pratt returned the kickoff for several yards until Edward tackled him. He fell hard and lay still on the ground. His teammates carried him from the field. When the game resumed, Amherst soon recovered a Williams fumble, gained ground on a penalty, and scored its first touchdown.

Shortly afterward, Williams regained the ball. Lacking their captain, Amherst's defense weakened. Edward dashed through a large hole in the center of the line for sixty-five yards and another touchdown.

Amherst scored after a second Williams fumble. But Edward received the kickoff and sprinted eighty-five yards, weaving and dodging through Amherst defenders, for a touchdown. The extra point attempt was good.