That’s right. The eBook version of Undercurrents is now available. The paperback will be available by the end of May.
The dead body of a full-grown female infant was found in the basin, at the foot of Harrison street, on Saturday morning, by some men who went early to the beach to secure a boat they had left there the night previous. Coroner James, upon learning the fact, summoned a jury, and a verdict was rendered of “death by some means to the jury unknown.”
The Press and Tribune, Chicago, Monday, June 25, 1860
I stared out the train window, my mind spinning with defeat. I had failed to keep my promise to find a missing child and put her back in her mother’s arms. That combined with the newspaper article I had just read about the infant found dead near the river had me seeing through a haze of repressed tears. I was so lost in contemplation I could barely make out the images in the train station. Then a rustle of silk and the thump of a body joining me on the bench seat brought me back to the unpleasant present.
“Sorry,” a woman said, but her voice didn’t sound like she meant it. She squirmed this way and that, bumping my leg in her effort to get settled, actions that spoke louder than the one-word apology she had uttered. I pressed against the side of the car, seeking to escape her bulk.
She was a short, stout woman with voluminous petticoats, perhaps in her forties, a bit older than I. After plunking a satchel down between her foot and mine, she picked up the newspaper I had dropped and turned to me with a huge smile on her round face. “Is this yours?”
I shook my head, not wanting to read any more depressing news, and not speaking because I was in no mood for company.
However, my less than friendly demeanor did not discourage my seatmate. She offered her hand and introduced herself. “Amy Bright.”
Reluctantly, I briefly touched her sweaty palm. “Hannah True.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “It’s true that your name is Hannah?”
I sighed. “It is,” I admitted, forgoing the explanation of my last name.