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the woods, Dulcie indicated to Johanna that someone was shouting in the park. Johanna lifted her head, staring across the distance toward the pond.
    A chill wind had blown up, and the sun had gone behind the clouds, leaving the afternoon pewter-gray and bitter. Johanna’s eyes locked on a woman standing on the bank of the pond. Across from her stood two elderly men.
    Johanna began to walk, her eyes fixed on the woman in the bonnet and flounced dress. After a few steps she could see that the woman was holding what appeared to be a man’s coat.
    A chill washed over Johanna. For an instant she stopped, feeling as if her legs were weighted to the ground. Dulcie touched her arm, and Johanna looked at her, then turned back to the pond.
    Desperately, she looked around for a glimpse of Little Tom, but he was nowhere in sight. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the young woman drop the coat on the ground, then put her hands to her face in a gesture of dismay. At the same time, the two elderly men on the opposite bank moved even closer to the water.
    Only then did Johanna see the man in the pond, standing chest-high in the water, holding something in his arms.
    She was vaguely aware that she had begun walking again, moving as if in a dream toward the scene across the park. Fear, cold and painful, hammered against her chest, and she suddenly took off at a dead run.
    The wind blew across her face, whipping her hair against her skin. Her legs cramped, and the bottoms of her feet burned through the soles of her shoes. Her pulse thundered faster as she ran.
    As they drew near the pond, Dulcie grabbed her arm as if to hold her back. Johanna whipped around to look at her, throwing off her hand and running the rest of the way to the pond.
    She came to a dead halt at the water’s edge. For the first time she saw clearly what the man in the pond was holding in his arms.
    Johanna’s anguished scream found no voice except in the breaking of her heart.

2
A Gray, Chill Day
    Far off is a spark
From the lamp-lit town,
And the grey, chill day
Slips away with a frown.
    J AMES S TEPHENS (1882-1950)
    New York City
    M ichael Burke was only one of over three hundred city police officers assigned to the Astor Place Opera House late that afternoon. Most were to be deployed later in the evening, but even now several star badges could be seen in the vicinity.
    It was a damp, unseasonably cool day for May. The wind held a threat of rain, but the weather hadn’t deterred the crowd. Already, hundreds were milling about outside, shoving toward the theater entrance.
    After walking the perimeter of the building, Michael stood surveying his surroundings. The theater, often described by the press as resembling a Greek temple, occupied a far too vulnerable position to his way of thinking. In its triangular location with Astor Place on the south, Eighth Street on the north, and the Bowery and Broadway running east and west, it presented a number of defense problems.
    His men had been busy for some time boarding up windows, but Michael couldn’t see how the boards would provide much protection, should the rocks start flying. And there was every likelihood they would. A great deal of pavement had been broken up for the purpose of laying sewer pipes, leaving loose rock lying all about the building. A handy arsenal for a mob.
    And a mob was exactly what the mayor and the police were expecting this night. Michael shook his head in disgust at the foolishness of men. It seemed the height of absurdity that an ongoing feud between two actors—one a silk-stockinged Englishman and the other a stage star from Philadelphia—could bring an entire community under siege.
    To the genteel, kid-gloved audiences who frequented the Opera House, the English-born William Macready was a “gentleman” and an “aristocrat,” while Forrest, the popular American actor, was “common,” even “vulgar.” According to the press,