“Ornithopter,” I read. “Man bird. Angus, what are you doing?”
Now his look was all impatience. “I told you. I’m spreading dope—”
“No, I mean why. What are you making wings for?”
“I plan to fly.”
The next morning, Mom sat at her desk like she always did, but the typewriter keys were mostly silent. The Smith Corona was a barometer of her moods, one I trusted completely. As far as my state of mind, the thought of Woodward House was like a third presence in the room I couldn’t ignore. I found myself searching for a delinquent girl under the surface of my mother’s efficient demeanor in the same way I searched my uncle’s face for the miraculous.
There’d been no word from Uncle Stephen since yesterday morning when he left with the investigators. I tried hanging out near Mom’s desk, hoping she might talk to me about all this miracle stuff, but she didn’t.
Angus was still in his room, absorbed with his idea for wings. Ari had a follow-up orthodontist appointment; I was at loose ends. Fourteen was a powerless age, I decided. Too young for work, still dependent on others to get most places, and too old not to mind. I wasn’t sure fifteen would be much better. I tried reading, but found my brain had other ideas. Every thought led it back to the home for delinquent girls. By lunchtime we still hadn’t heard from Uncle Stephen, and Mom had given up pretending to work.
“It’s an awfully nice day outside. I was wondering if you and Angus might want to walk down to Thrifty Drug with me and get an ice cream cone. I’m out of stamps and envelopes,” she added as an explanation.
It was better than my aimless wandering, so I retrieved Angus while she went to put on some lipstick and brush her hair. Thrifty Drug was only a fifteen-minute walk from our house, in one of the new shopping centers that seemed to sprout overnight.
I tried to imagine what Uncle Stephen might be doing at that very moment. I’d envisioned a tableau of the Penguin and the Giraffe kneeling in front of my uncle when I noticed the Bel Air again. The car was idling just down the street from us.
Apparently, Angus noticed it too, because he said in an unconcerned voice, “There’s Arthur.”
Mom gave him one of her sharp looks. “Arthur?”
“In the blue car that’s always around our house?”
Now her look was more than sharp; she was a hawk descending toward its prey. “What do you mean, always around our house, and how do you know his name?”
“He told me when I asked him if he wanted a lemonade.”
I could tell by the catch in his voice that he realized he’d wandered into dangerous territory, and he shot me a desperate glance, hoping for a way out.
It was too late now. I shook my head.
“Molly, read that license plate to me.” She rummaged through her purse for a pencil and paper.
The car was already moving away from us. I squinted. The sun glared off the metal bumper as the blue Bel Air turned the corner.
“I couldn’t get it!”
Then, as Mom’s frown deepened, and deepened again until it seemed her face would crack, I explained how the car had been in the neighborhood for weeks, often parked near our house. With a short, stabbing stroke, she recorded everything.
“I’m surprised at both of you. You know that there are people out there who want to harm children. Molly, you’re almost fifteen years old—what were you thinking?” She wiped a small trickle of sweat from her forehead.
I looked down. How could I answer that I thought the car was interesting, that it might be a mystery?
She shook her head in disbelief. “Come on, let’s get out of this sun.”
As we pushed open the door of Thrifty, Mrs. Bolger, on a smoke break, pushed out. She stopped, a pack of Camels in her hand, a cigarette dangling between her lips. She stared. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, and the cigarette, rimmed with pink lipstick, fell to the sidewalk. She ground it out with the toe of her pump. I could tell Mom wanted to hurry past her, but Mrs. Bolger blocked our entrance to the store.
“Elaine Donnelly,” she said, “I hear your brother’s a miracle worker. He healed that little Crater boy, the one with a tumor in his brain, just by laying his hands on him.”
I could sense Mom gathering herself as she took a deep breath. “We’re all pleased the boy is well. But don’t believe everything you hear, Beverly.” And with that, she swept into the store, Angus and I trailing at her heels.
We ordered our ice creams fast. I kept my head down and scuffed at the brown linoleum with the toe of my sandal. I’d already felt self-conscious walking to get ice cream with my mom and little brother, but this was worse. The curious stares of strangers peeled away what little poise I had. Once again, our family would be labeled as different and I would never fit in.
We passed Beverly Bolger without a word. She looked at me and exhaled a circle of smoke, then crossed herself as we passed as if it made us holy being related to Uncle Stephen.
We walked home in silence, acutely aware that our lives were now open to public commentary. As the sun beat on my shoulder, my Dutch Chocolate turned into a gooey mess that trickled down my hand and onto my wrist. I’d lost my appetite even for ice cream. Angus was the first one to our porch, the first one to see the lit candles and the photo of the little girl in leg braces.
Chapter Twenty-Two
CROSSING THE LINE
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK—AUGUST 1919
ELAINE
Elaine didn’t mention the car incident at home. She never had the opportunity. For the second night in a row, Pop didn’t show up for dinner. He didn’t arrive before nine when she put Stephen to bed, or by ten when she finished laying out the laundry to dry. She propped open the window to the alley. The air was still and heavy, smelling of waste left too long in the sun.
When she sat on her bed, the springs squeaked.
“It’s too hot to sleep.” Stephen sat up in bed. “Lainey, where do you think Pop is?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he had to stay late to help with the horses.”
“I don’t think horses are out at night. Maybe all that work made him thirsty.”
She paused a beat, not knowing what to say, glad for the dark that hid her face. “Maybe he stopped off to see some friends.”
“Well, when do you think he’ll get home?” The whine in his voice frayed her nerves like a paring knife.
“Doesn’t matter. He can stay away for all I care.”
“You don’t mean that.” Stephen curled on his side away from her. “You’re just mad.”
Of course she was mad. Mad enough to kill. It wasn’t only the stifling heat that set her nerves on edge.
She stood and ruffled his hair. It was damp with sweat.
“Don’t keep hoping things will be the way they were.”
Then she crept over to her own bed and lay on top of the covers. Before she fell asleep she liked to think about going back to school, having books to read, learning things she didn’t know. But she couldn’t find that location in her mind anymore. With money from the Gossleys they could still manage the rent, barely. If she lost her job because she was with Howie when he crashed the car . . .
The bittersweet smell of tobacco filtered into Elaine’s sleep. Then a scraping noise in the front room. A chair being dragged across the floor. She struggled to wakefulness. Pop was home.
She pulled on her robe and, careful not to wake Stephen, walked into the front room. In the darkness a red pinprick of ash punctuated Pop’s silhouette. He’d dragged a chair to the open window and, elbows resting on the sill, stared into the dark. No faint breeze offered relief.
Pop didn’t turn toward her. For a moment she believed he didn’t know she was there. He flicked the cigarette. A shiver of sparks dropped into the night and disappeared.
He spoke without turning his head.
“I’ve never really cared for horses. Did you know that, darling?”
“I thought you liked working with the horses.” Sweat dampened
her temples. A wild thudding began in her chest as she crossed to his side.
“They’re feckless beasts. I’m meant for better things than shoveling muck and brushing their sorry hides. Do you know what it’s like being a man who’s meant for bigger things?”
The thudding in her chest expanded to her head. Did she know what it was like? Every day she cleaned, cooked, read to an old man, while her dreams of going back to school, maybe college, were like a receding shore. No matter how hard she paddled, she’d never reach land.
His head slowly swiveled in her direction, eyes glittering in the streetlight. “I’ve gone and lost my job again. What do you think of that?” He exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Your old man’s a disappointment to you.”
This couldn’t be happening, not when she’d probably lost her own job. It wasn’t the horses who were feckless. Instead of answering she turned her back as if she hadn’t heard, walked into the bedroom, and shut the door.
Stephen stirred and mumbled.
“Go back to sleep.”
“Pop’s home.” He must have heard his voice.
“You can see him in the morning.”
She bent over him and straightened the sheet. No point in telling him the unhappy news now. Despair could always wait ’til morning.
Pop was gone when Elaine got up, and maybe that was her fault, but it spared her having to tell Stephen the news. She was determined to show up for work and beg for her job if she needed to. Would she at least have the chance to say goodbye to Howard? He’d be worried about what happened to her. All the way to the Gossley house, her brain churned.
As she rounded the corner to Clinton Avenue, morning sun fired the leaves of the small maple. The gravel drive was empty, so she wouldn’t have to face Mr. Gossley, only May, and she would be bad enough. No matter how many deep breaths she took, they didn’t steady her heart.
But when she knocked on the kitchen door, Kay let her in as usual, and said Mr. Seward was waiting in the morning room. She hurried through the hall expecting May’s voice sharp with reproach, but the hall was empty and silent. Mr. Seward swiveled toward her as she entered. His skin shone like wax as the east light played across his face.
“I hear you and Howard got into a bit of a scrape Friday.”
And here everything ended.
She should have known he’d get right to the point.
“Well? What were you thinking, allowing that boy to persuade you into such foolishness?” He beetled his eyebrows over his sightless eyes. “Didn’t consider you could lose your job for a prank like that?”
She was ready. Stopping halfway across the room, she began the speech she’d prepared. “I’m sorry. I should have been more responsible. It’s my fault; I should have stopped him. But if you—”
Mr. Seward leaned forward. “Responsible for that boy? It’s not your job to protect Howard from himself. You could no more prevent his pigheadedness than stop the wind. But you can keep yourself from being carried away with it.”
Why didn’t he fire her and be done with it? She dug the toe of her shoe into the soft carpet.
“My grandson is the one who should have thought of the position he was putting you in, but he never will. Can’t see beyond his own nose. His vision is worse than my own.”
“That’s not true. Howard’s been very kind to me.”
“There are some lines that shouldn’t be crossed.”
“Howard was just showing off.”
“That isn’t the line I’m talking about.”
Something was squeezing her chest. “I don’t take his kindness for granted.”
“I’m not worried about you doing the taking.” His voice was softer now. “If anything, you’re miles above him.”
“You’re wrong. He’s—”
He held up his hand to silence her. “It’s time you started reading. The news will be old before I hear it.”
Tears pricked her eyes. She wasn’t fired? Silently, she crossed to her chair and the pile of newspapers waiting on the table. Unfolding the Tribune, she began with the headlines. While she read about race riots in Knoxville, her mind traveled in its own direction. How could Mr. Seward think she was better than his own grandson? Howie deserved better. He’d tried to protect her when his father discovered them in the car. His grandfather didn’t know him at all, not like she did. Hopefully his punishment hadn’t been too bad. She’d never had a boy defend her before and she found she liked to think about it.
By lunchtime, Mr. Seward was dozing as usual. Elaine looked at the clock. Five past twelve. She hurried into the kitchen. Howard usually was there, waiting for her with stories about his day. Today, Kay whipped potatoes for a shepherd’s pie.
“I saved you some of last night’s stew.” She dipped a ladle into one of the cast iron pots on the stove.
“Thanks, but I’ll wait ’til Howard gets here.” Elaine pulled out a chair at the wood table. The savory smell of rosemary and roasting meat warmed the room. It made her dizzy with hunger.
“Then you’ll be waiting all day. He told me not to expect him for lunch this week.”
Again, the woodcutter and his wife left the children sleeping in the dark of the woods. When the cry of an owl woke Hansel from his restless dreams, he could no longer hear the singing of the ax. They were abandoned in the woods just as he expected they would be. But Hansel didn’t worry, for he had left a trail of breadcrumbs to see them safely home.
Full of hope, he shook his sister to wakefulness. In the moon’s light, the breadcrumbs would shine like white pebbles and lead them home. But once they began walking, there were no breadcrumbs to be found. They tried walking in every direction, but still the forest floor was bare.
The children heard a rustling in the branches above them. All manner of birds craned their feathered necks to look down on the two ragged travelers and blinked eyes that glowed like jewels in the moonlight. Hansel knew that ordinary birds were bedded safe in their nests at night. But these strange birds had eaten every crumb. Hansel shook his fist at the conniving birds and tried to comfort his sister, who had begun to weep.
“There, there, Gretel, the moon is bright, and with any luck we can still find our way.” So huddled close, the two set off to retrace their steps. The night was clear and cold. The twisted trees took on terrifying shapes in the darkness and blocked their path at every turn. Soon Hansel knew they were hopelessly lost.
Chapter Twenty-Three
HANSEL AND GRETEL
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK—AUGUST/SEPTEMBER 1919
ELAINE
That summer, August trapped the city under its hot, damp hand. Everyone who could escaped to the shore or to lakeside cabins. Those who remained slept with their windows open or set mattresses on fire escapes in hopes of the slightest breeze. Nerves frayed, tempers flared, and drunks were left to sleep it off on the streets because the jails were full.
May and Howard spent three weeks at the family’s lake cabin in Connecticut, but Elaine was still expected to read every day. Mr. Seward refused to let the weather dictate his actions.
For Elaine, the days were a long, lonely slog. Not even the news could draw her in. Without lunch with Howard to look forward to, it was hard to muster the will to face Mr. Seward. His disposition was worse than usual, and at least once a week she considered leaving, but they were still dependent on her income. Mrs. Malloy continued to watch Stephen and let him run wild with her two grandsons in exchange for Elaine helping her sew altar cloths on the weekends. Pop showed up sporadically, sometimes with a little money, more often without.
September was a welcome relief. The air cooled, school started, and Elaine looked forward to life in the Gossley household returning to normal.
“You can’t come with me whenever you feel like it. You’ve got to be in school.” Elaine eyed her little brother; he did look pale.
“My stomach hurts, and I’m hot.” Whenever he complained of feeling unwell, Elaine had a moment of panic and thought of her mother and Claire, ho
w quickly they’d died and how helpless she’d felt. She wondered if her mother could see her trying to do her best with Stephen.
“All right, then. Come with me, but bring your books. You’ll have to read and keep yourself busy while I work.”
“You don’t work. All you do is read.”
“Then I’ll let you pay the rent next month.”
It was a day for walking in parks. Fall was offering them a few weeks of Indian summer, a last grand gesture before she disappeared into winter. Perhaps today Howard would again be waiting in the kitchen to share lunch with her. But what would she do with her brother?
May met them at the door. It had been several weeks since Elaine had seen more than a glimpse of her employer. Today she was in her dressing gown, hair pulled back in a loose bun, a cup of coffee in her hand.
“I see we have a visitor this morning.”
“Yes, ma’am. Stephen wasn’t feeling well, and I thought that maybe he could sit with me. He brought his school books along and he won’t be any trouble, I promise.” Elaine’s stomach tightened like the cinch on one of Pa’s horses. If only Stephen would keep quiet.
May measured Stephen with pursed lips and squinted eyes. “Yes, I believe you’re right—he won’t be any trouble at all. But first, a little breakfast might cure what ails him.”
Elaine’s shoulders dropped a notch, her muscles loosened.
“Patricia, please take this young gentleman to the kitchen and feed him something.” And Stephen, smiling and humming to himself, grinned over his shoulder at Elaine, then stuck out his tongue.
She might kill him one day.
“I’m sorry I’ve been gone so often when you come, but Prohibition needs an army. And it looks like they’re making me its general.” May repinned a loop of hair to her bun. “You know what Prohibition is, don’t you? Eliminating alcohol is a small price to pay for strengthening society. This is a war, Elaine. There are those who already want the law repealed. But we’ll make sure that never happens.”
Elaine nodded, thinking of her father. She wondered what May knew about him.
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