Merry Christmas, My Love

Later that evening, Ellie and Rose strolled arm in arm on their way home from another Women’s Rights meeting. After exchanging hugs and promises to see each other in the morning, they parted ways, and Ellie continued to the boardinghouse. Once she reached Eleventh Street, she made a detour and headed toward Evergreen. Within minutes, she stood in front of Mr. Colbert’s boardinghouse.

She should walk right up that porch, ring the doorbell, and ask to speak with him. She cringed. Women knocking on the door of a bachelor boardinghouse at night would be labeled “fast” and with a ruined reputation, Mr. Colbert would have grounds to fire her.

There had to be another way. However, time grew short. Quietly, hoping no boards on the porch would creak, she climbed the stairs, knelt down, and peeked in the window of the front parlor. Five men occupied a couch and two chairs, a few reading the newspaper, two others in a deep discussion. Mr. Colbert was one of the newspaper-readers. She sat back on her heels and sighed. If only she could get the envelope with the money back, he’d have no proof to show Mr. Ridley tomorrow.

Carefully, she went back down the stairs. She pulled her coat collar closer and shoved her hands in her pockets. Defeated, she slowly continued her walk home when she glanced to the side of the boardinghouse. The scant moonlight cast a light on a wooden ladder lying on the ground against the house. No, don’t even think about it. You can’t do that.

Yes, she could. If she climbed into Mr. Colbert’s room and found the envelope, he’d have nothing to show Mr. Ridley tomorrow. It wasn’t really stealing, she told her conscience. It belonged to her. She would merely be recovering her own property. Before her conscience could come up with a better argument, she hurried to the ladder and lifted it. Heavy. For sure, she couldn’t drag it far.

Which bedroom would be his? She snuck around the house, studying the second floor. The room to her right had a small light burning, and the only windows with both shades pulled down, precisely halfway. Both of them. She smiled. There couldn’t be two men in one boardinghouse with such a penchant for orderliness. It had to be his. If it turned out it not to be, she would go through the other bedrooms until she found Mr. Colbert’s.

Sweat broke out on her forehead. She must be crazy. She would be sneaking around the bedrooms of bachelors. Good Lord, what was she thinking? Her body racked with shivers. She rubbed her palms over her upper arms and continued on home. Two minutes later, John Ridley’s sad face floated into her mind. He would be beaten. His poor dying mother would be beaten.

She had to do it.

The ladder weighed a ton. She winced when a small piece of wood embedded itself in her palm. She managed to get the ladder up and held her breath when she leaned it against the house. Someone may have heard the thump it made. Her stomach knotted. When no one raced out the front door yelling for the police, she started to breathe again. Inhaling deeply, she started up, one step at a time. Don’t look down.

As she reached the top, she shoved the window open and stood still to listen for someone shouting at her. No sound except the thundering of her heart. She took two steps more and leaned over the windowsill. As she pushed her body forward, her foot hit the side of the ladder, and it crashed against the house, banging into the column on the porch before landing with a whoosh on an overgrown mulberry hedge. Panicked, she slid the rest of the way in, falling hard on her shoulder with a thump.

Mrs. Davis jerked as she placed the tray of cookies and tea on the mahogany table in the parlor. “What was that noise?”

Five men looked toward the window. “Wind must be kicking up,” Andrew said, returning to his newspaper.

“No, that wasn’t wind. I distinctly heard a noise upstairs.” She turned to Max. “It sounded like something fell in your room. It came from the front east corner.”

He’d been concentrating on a story about newly discovered political corruption and didn’t hear anything. “Are you sure, Mrs. Davis? I can’t think of anything in my room that would fall over.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Or it could be a burglar upstairs. It makes me nervous to think someone may be in the house.”

Women. Always rattled about something. He’d have no peace until he went upstairs and checked. With a deep sigh, he placed the newspaper aside and left the comfortable leather chair. “I’ll check.” He headed up the stairs.

He entered the room and immediately sensed something different. The window. It was wide open, and he hadn’t had a reason to raise it in weeks. Another thing caught his attention. Someone or something was breathing. And breathing hard. And whimpering. He moved to the lamp on his dresser, raised the wick to provide more light. A soft glow surrounded the image of... “Miss Henderson!”

“Afraid so.” She sat propped against the wall, legs sprawled, wincing as she held her shoulder.

“What in all that’s holy are you doing in my room?” All the air left his lungs, and he sat on the bed, facing her. “Did you just climb through that window?”

She nodded.

“Mr. Colbert, is everything all right upstairs?” Mrs. Davis called from the bottom of the staircase.

He raced to the door. “Yes, Mrs. Davis. Nothing to be concerned about. You were right, something fell over in my room.”

“Well that’s good news. Are you coming down for your tea?”

“No. Thanks anyway, I’m feeling a bit tired. I think I’ll turn in early. Good night.” He shut the door and returned to the bed.

“There are so many questions jumping around my brain, I don’t know which one to ask first.”

“I understand.” She shifted. “Could you please help me up? I seem to have hurt my shoulder.”

“Of course.” He reached down and helped her sit on the bed. Realizing what he’d done, he hopped off the bed as if it would burst into flames.

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Why are you in my bedroom?”

“That question seems like the best place to start.” She winced as she moved her body to face him. “You have something of mine that I came to get.”

Max stared at her wide-eyed. “I don’t have anything of yours, and if I did, why not get it from me tomorrow at school?” He walked to the window, looked down, grimaced, and then shut it.