Page 25 of Equalizer
What do you know about Settlement Houses?” Abby asked as she and Calvin rode in the hired carriage from the train station into the city. Winston left early in the morning to pick up provisions and connect with some of his contacts in the city. He promised to be back in time to have supper waiting.
“Not much,” Calvin admitted. “I got the impression somewhere that they help get homeless people off the streets and give them a fresh start by teaching them skills.”
“Sort of. The concept started in England, intending to bring together rich and poor to create a better community for everyone. They aren’t just flophouses—they provide lodging, of course, but also classes to teach job skills, practical things like sewing and cooking, plus reading and writing, as well as having a clinic. They’re a lifeline to help people get established and rise above their station,” Abby added with pride.
“Some of the houses help new immigrants adapt, and others focus on the Black folks who have come up from the South after the war,” she told him. “And some are for anyone who needshelp. I’ll give you a little tour first, and then we’ll go see Molly. You can ask all the questions you want.”
The first place Abby sent the carriage was a sprawling brick mansion. “This is Hull House,” Abby proclaimed. “It’s the crown jewel, and the founders of the movement used their connections to establish it. It’s known for being well-run, so I doubt your body snatchers are having luck there. As you’ll see, most of the other facilities are much more modest, with fewer resources and smaller staff. They’re stretched thin, which leaves more room for error.”
Abby directed them past three other facilities, which were large, repurposed homes. Calvin saw children playing in the yard and mothers seated in small groups.
“The people who come to the settlement houses are very poor,” Abby explained. “Often, they’ve just come to America and left everything behind. They want to work and do better for themselves, but they need help.”
“If they’ve just emigrated or moved to the city from the South, then they don’t have family nearby,” Calvin guessed. “No one looking out for them.”
Abby shook her head. “Sometimes it works like a chain. One person comes, does well, and sends back for others. Most of the time, people are just trying to get out of a bad spot and find something better. Without organizations like the settlement houses, they get preyed on by criminals or have trouble making ends meet.”
The house run by Molly Dawson was a modest two-story brick home with a porch and a small, fenced yard.
“Molly does a good job with her resources. Many people contribute time and money to help. It’s just that the need is so great, and there are a lot of lost souls who get here and aren’t prepared for the change.”
Abby knocked on the door, with Calvin a step behind her.
“Hello, Miss Edwards,” a plump woman with graying hair greeted them. “Welcome back.”
“Hello, Matilda,” Abby replied in a warm tone that told Calvin they were well-acquainted. “We’re here to see Miss Dawson. She’s expecting me.”
“Right this way.” Matilda ushered them into a small parlor. The home smelled of baking bread and laundry soap, and despite being home to multiple families, everything was clean and tidy.
They passed through the kitchen to a room that looked like a repurposed closet, which served as Molly’s office.
“Abby! It’s so good to see you.” Molly Dawson was a sturdy woman in her forties with a kind face and silver-streaked brown hair in a bun.
“Thank you for allowing our visit. This is Mr. Calvin Springfield. He’s with the Secret Service.” Abby dropped her voice on the last sentence.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Agent Springfield,” Molly replied, as if meeting a federal agent happened every day. “How can I help you?”
“Can we speak privately?” Calvin asked.
Molly closed the door partway and asked someone outside to make sure they weren’t disturbed. She sat behind a narrow desk and motioned for Abby and Calvin to take the chairs across from her.
“It’s about the missing bodies,” Abby told her. “They’re trying to figure out who took them and why.”
Molly gave Calvin a more assessing once-over. “That brought you all the way from Washington?”
Calvin nodded. “Yes, ma’am. It’s part of a larger pattern—and we think there’s something very dangerous going on behind the scenes.”
“Not being able to give someone a proper burial is sad, but how is it dangerous? I’ve heard rumors about corpses going to medical schools, where at least they’re used to help train doctors and learn about diseases,” Molly replied, and Calvin appreciated her practical view.
“We have reason to believe that this is different and worse. We think the people taking the bodies are using them for experiments that I can’t talk about but would best be summed up as ‘nefarious.’” Calvin hated being vague, but he didn’t want word of their suspicions to get out and start a panic. Or worse, get back to the perpetrators to tip their hand.
“Jacob Schwan and his family came to our house a month ago. We treated him for a bad cough. He took a sudden turn for the worse and died in the night,” Molly said.
“We do the best we can for people, but many of these folks have been sick or battling a condition for a while without treatment, and they succumb,” she added. “I think Jacob was sicker than he let on to get his family shelter.”
“Just the cough? No other ailments?” Calvin asked.
She frowned and gave him an odd look. “None we knew about. Of course, there was no autopsy. Our doctor declared him dead, and we put him in the locked shed in the back since it was the middle of the night. In the morning, someone had broken in, and the body was gone. No one saw anything amiss, but then again, we have one night watchman, and he has to make rounds.”
