And newspapers. Spread out. Two of the same, remarkably. Merinda studied them, reading upside down. Nothing about anarchists or bombs or explosives or anything political. A few hat ads. Something about a bank on LaSalle. A review of a new nickelodeon.
David Ross set her pamphlet on the table between them. “You understand this cause so completely,” he told her. “I have been waiting for someone like you! I never would have dreamed it would be a lady detective from Canada.”
“Believe it or not, lady detectives from Canada have a very great understanding of oppression. The powers that be in Toronto would see me locked up and silenced for good.”
“Yes, you understand. You very much need to find work beyond yourself. We all do. The very mundane day to day of our existence. The way that we are impressed upon by those who would control our lives.”
Merinda studied him. His thin, refined features. The severity of his gaze. His mouth seemed stuck in a perpetual frown. “I suspect you have had a more difficult time than I,” she admitted. “My parents are wealthy. I live comfortably. But you—you wear a shirt that has been reseamed several times. And I see that you miss your home. Poland, is it?”
David nodded. “I forget you are a detective.”
“It’s a simple deduction. You have pictures of your home everywhere. And that piece over there. Cross-stitched. That is Polish.”
“You read Polish?”
Merinda shook her head. “I only know as much as I needed to solve the case of a petty theft at a bakery in Toronto.”
“Ah. But yes, I am from Poland. I was born Dawid Rosiak. It was easy to Anglicize my name when I came here to America on one of the rag ships. Destitute.”
“To Chicago?”
“Yes. I heard Mrs. Goldman speak. Suddenly everything had purpose. I could not perhaps shake off the loneliness or guilt I felt at having left my family to their poor lives back home. But I could forge a new path here.” He drank deeply from his glass. “This city is thirsty for something. This is the time. The place. This Colonel Roosevelt—this former president—he will come and perform his magic trick. Make immigrants like myself believe that there is a better horizon. But there is not. His words are just words. They do not repair the past.”
“What is my first step?” asked Merinda.
“Tonight. Ten thirty. Meet me at the warehouse entrance of Williams and Humphrey Department Store.” A smile tickled his mouth. “But only if you are not afraid of an explosive entrance into my world.”
Benny deposited his coat and rucksack at the guesthouse, but after the matron informed him that the lock on his door was broken, he kept his satchel nearby. He wasn’t sure what anyone would find of value in it—certainly not a leather-bound volume filled with his thoughts on wilderness life—but it was the most precious thing he owned. Made more so by Jonathan’s reappearance that afternoon. He found his way back to the Palmer and Merinda.
“I haven’t seen hide nor hair of Jemima,” Merinda said worriedly the moment she saw him in the foyer. “I hope she is just lost looking for frilly froufrous in the department store.”
A shadow crossed Benny’s face. “I am sorry.”
“I just can’t stop imagining a dozen ways she might have… ” They stopped as a bellboy interrupted and pressed a telegram into Merinda’s hand.
Benny watched Merinda exhale and a wide smile cross her face. “The foolish girl went and found DeLuca.” Merinda was visibly relieved.
“You care a great deal for her,” he said softly.
Merinda shrugged it off and pasted on a scowl, but Benny noticed it didn’t match her eyes. “You can’t have Herringford without Watts,” she said. “It sounds all wrong.” Then she coughed. “I will see these pamphlets upstairs.”
“Might I ask a favor?”
“Sure!”
He handed her his satchel. “I don’t trust this where I am staying. Would you keep it here with you?” Merinda’s eyes flickered with excitement as she gave a solemn nod. “Of course.”
A moment later, Benny watched Merinda pass the packages of pamphlets and Benny’s satchel to a bellboy, who assured they would be transferred safely to her room. The sun had set and evening settled outside the famous revolving doors of the hotel’s front entrance. Merinda insisted on dinner, assuring him that the meal would be charged to her room and her father’s allowance.
Benny was certain this was not customary, but nothing Merinda did, he assumed, was customary, and the point became moot the longer he spent in her company.