Between Before and After

by Maureen Doyle McQuerry

  “You’re a nice, cute kid, and it’s too bad you had to get caught up in all this.”

  I winced at the word kid. “Don’t you think it’s important to figure out what to believe?”

  He leaned a long, tanned arm on the mower handle. “Sure I do. But let me give you some advice. Let all of this go. Guys don’t like girls who are different, girls who overthink things.”

  “Then I guess that saves me from worrying about what to wear to prom.” My pulse pounded in my ears. “I’m not going to stop thinking because it makes some guy uncomfortable. I’ll ask whatever questions I want!”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Suit yourself, but you’ll end up like the rest of your family.”

  The water still poured onto the grass from the discarded hose. I grabbed it, and as I tilted my head back I let water sluice over my hair, stream down my neck, and run under my shirt. Nothing had ever felt so good. Then I dropped it at Jesse’s feet. His tennis shoes flooded as he watched me with a half-open mouth.

  There was nothing more to say. That long walk home was lonesome as the cloudless sky.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  BACK TO THE MARKET

  BROOKLYN, NEW YORK—SEPTEMBER 1919

  ELAINE

  By the time Elaine reached the kitchen, Stephen had already charmed Kay Baggot. She set two bowls of steaming soup on the painted table for them. When May joined, Kay only raised her eyebrows slightly. “You’ll be eating here then, Missus?” she asked, and ladled up another bowl.

  “I most certainly will, Kay.”

  Elaine picked up her spoon and made a mental note not to slurp her soup. The broth was thick with noodles and chunks of chicken. As Stephen lifted the bowl to his lips, Elaine gave him a sharp kick under the table.

  May took a small sip of soup. She paused and looked at both of them. The overhead light reflected off the jeweled comb in her hair. “As I told your sister, we’re planning a picnic for my father’s birthday, and I know my father is counting on you to be guests. It will be only the immediate family and Aunt Lydia.”

  Elaine watched Stephen’s face erupt in a smile. “A picnic, Lainey! Can we go?”

  She had never been on a picnic before. She pictured baskets of sandwiches, fruit, and cupcakes.

  “We’d be honored to attend.” Could life get much better than this—her own book and the promise of a picnic to come? Still, the thought of Pop pierced her like a sliver. The more she tried to pluck it out, the more it festered.

  “Now that the birthday is resolved, we need to talk about some other things. It’s time you returned to school, Elaine.”

  “But—”

  Stephen cut her off. “Then we wouldn’t have any money.”

  Mrs. Gossley paused, soup spoon to mouth.

  Why did Stephen have to share everything? Didn’t he remember the threat of the Orphan Asylum? She would never bring him with her to the Gossleys again.

  “But your father—” Mrs. Gossley looked as if she were about to say more. Instead she swallowed her soup. “You could still work for my father after school.”

  Elaine took a deep breath.

  “The pay would be the same.”

  Birthdays in the Gossley family took days of planning. May asked Elaine to accompany her to Wallabout Market, saying she couldn’t trust anyone else to get the things they needed just right. They set out on a morning as crisp as autumn apples, baskets over their arms. Elaine thought of her own birthday that was coming in the next month. She would be fifteen, capable enough to take care of Stephen on her own.

  In mid-September, the market was a different place than in spring. Booths were beginning to fill with knobby winter fruits in greens and golds and bundles of orange carrots. Bins of apples in yellow, red, and green shone like jewels in a dragon’s hoard.

  Many of the summer vendors were gone, but the cloth and lace merchants remained, as did the bookseller and the bakers. There was an energy in the air that came with autumn. May walked with purpose, commenting on everything they passed, sprinkling in instructive advice as she saw fit.

  “Pink is not a color for redheads.” She nodded toward a woman with dusky pink wraps draped over one arm. “You should never wear it. But green and gold suit you.” May picked up an apple and sniffed it. “Apple pie is my father’s favorite dessert. We’ll bake three. Look for the ones with smooth skin and firm flesh.” She began to examine the red and green pippins. “Let’s fill your basket. I’ll save mine for the bread and cheese.”

  Elaine helped her sort through the piles of apples. It was different than when she had come to the market with her mother. May was always instructing, always intent on a task. While her own mother had been—and here Elaine had difficulty coming up with the difference—softer, she supposed, and more playful.

  They made their way to a stall offering huge wheels of cheese. There were rich golden cheeses, crumbly white sheep’s cheese, and a strange blue-veined cheese that made her nose wrinkle.

  “What’s that?” she asked, pointing at a twist of cheese that hung like rope in the stall.

  The vendor, a small woman with a dark fuzz of mustache, grinned at her. Three of her teeth were missing. “String cheese with nigella seed.” She peeled away a strip as long as her forearm and handed it to Elaine. “Have a taste. Half the fun’s in peeling it.”

  The small, dark seeds flecked the cheese like ants. Elaine took a careful bite. Other than salt, there was little flavor.

  “We’ll take some,” May said. “Wait for her to wrap it up, and then get a loaf of dark rye.” She pressed some money into Elaine’s hand. “I’ll be across the street at the cobbler’s.” But she didn’t leave. Instead her eyes roamed Elaine’s face. “I trust you, Elaine. Never forget that.” Then May Gossley walked away.

  Elaine stared at the money. It was more than she spent on food in a week. Mrs. Gossley’s words made her face flame. It had never occurred to her that May wouldn’t trust her. When the cheese was wrapped, she carefully counted out the coins and held them out to the old woman.

  The woman smiled and ducked her head. Elaine noticed the tremor in her hand as she took the change, the way the collar of her dress was worn thin from too many washings.

  Elaine dropped a few extra coins in the change tray. Then she walked away before the woman had a chance to say anything.

  Maybe May was right.

  As Elaine walked, she tried not to be amazed at the amount of purchases gathering in her basket. Food from the Gossleys now supplemented the main part of her and Stephen’s diet. Everything she earned was saved toward rent.

  “If it isn’t my red-haired friend!” Elaine looked up into the face of Pete, the pigeon man. “You’re looking more grown up.”

  “Thank you.” She tried to answer in a very grown-up voice. “How are your pigeons?”

  “They’re grand. Perhaps that brother of yours would like to visit them.” Pete took a sip from a steaming mug of coffee.

  Elaine peered into the crates. The pigeons were cooing, and their smell of feathers and birdseed reminded her of glue. “He’s in school just now, but I know he’d like to see them again.”

  “Well, bring him by on a Saturday, and we’ll send one off with a message. I’ll let him write it.” And he turned his attention to a lanky young man who was cooing to the birds.

  That would be a way to bribe Stephen to stay in school all week, she thought as she hurried over to the bread stall. She’d promise him a chance to visit the pigeons if he didn’t miss a day.

  The cobbler shop was a narrow wooden building with a window full of shoes, dwarfed by the brick grocery warehouse next to it. When Elaine pushed open the door, a bell tinkled. She inhaled the smell of leather and polish. Old shoes came in worn and broken, and left with a new life. The cobbler was wrapping May’s parcel, a pair of tan kid leather boots.

  “There you are, Elaine. These boots are as good as new now. Never discount the value of a good shoe.” Elaine looked down at her own scuffed sh
oes that peeked from under her skirt. “It’s time we headed back. I have a meeting with the Bureau of Social Hygiene this afternoon.” May adjusted her hat in the cobbler’s mirror.

  A wind had begun to blow from the river, from the direction of the naval shipyards. Elaine drew her shawl closer. The basket of fruit was heavy and she switched arms, careful not to drop the cloth bag with bread and string cheese. The smell of chocolate wafted in from the Rockwood Chocolate Factory, making her mouth water.

  “With proper social hygiene, we can keep unfortunate girls out of the penitentiaries.” May continued her brisk pace. “Most of them are ignorant and weak immigrant girls with no proper education or home life.”

  How much did May suspect about her home? A mix of shame and anger rose in her throat like bile.

  “The immigrants I know are strong.”

  “Physical strength is no match for will. These girls are weak willed. We provide second chances and help them find jobs so they can survive.”

  Elaine shifted the parcels from arm to arm and tried to keep up without dropping anything. “Maybe they want to do more than survive.”

  May looked at her, but the sun was in Elaine’s eyes, and she couldn’t tell if the expression was a smile or a grimace.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  DRAKE BROTHERS BAKERY

  BROOKLYN, NEW YORK—SEPTEMBER 1919

  ELAINE

  Elaine stirred a soup made from carrots, potatoes, and scraps of ham from the Gossleys’ kitchen. She’d said she was taking the scraps home for their dog. At the kitchen table, Stephen struggled to read while Elaine knew he really wanted to play in the vacant lot with the other boys. He’d been in school every day that week after she’d promised a visit to Pete and his pigeons on Saturday.

  The potatoes were almost tender when the door burst open. Pop strolled in accompanied by a wiry little man who was hardly taller than Elaine.

  “Pop!” Stephen exploded from the table so fast he knocked the chair over backward, then clamped on to Pop around the waist.

  “Now isn’t this nice—a family to come home to.” The small man took off his cap and twirled it in his hands

  Elaine didn’t move. Pop hadn’t been home in over a week. She was aware of the tick of the clock on the windowsill, the bubbles starting to rise in the soup, the way the window over the sink was steaming. Slowly, she added a pinch of salt. She didn’t turn. “How’s my big girl?” His words rolled over her like a breeze she could ignore. From the corner of her eye, she saw him look at his friend. “Did you know she’s employed by a rich family up Clinton Ave? Elaine and Stephen, this is Tim Meeks.”

  Pop didn’t offer an I’m sorry I haven’t been home. Nor a How are you managing? There was no word of explanation. When she turned toward them and saw Pop’s face, Elaine prodded the empty space inside herself. She felt nothing.

  “Nice to meet ‘cher. Smells like there’s soup?” Mr. Meeks looked hopefully toward the pot on the stove.

  Elaine’s lips drew tight against her teeth. Did Pop expect they’d have enough for a guest? How could he assume they’d have anything at all when he hadn’t been home in two weeks? She turned back to the stove and stirred the soup until it splashed, burning her hand.

  “Take a load off.” Pop offered Mr. Meeks one of the three chairs at the table. “We’ve something to celebrate tonight.” He rubbed his hands together, and Mr. Meeks dropped his cap onto the table, nodding. Elaine heard something hard also land on the table. She turned and rested one hip against the stove, sucking on her burned hand.

  Tufts of hair bristled from Mr. Meeks’s ears. She focused on those. She would not cry.

  “Don’t I even get a hello from my own daughter?”

  “Hello, Pop.”

  “She’s not much for talking, is she?” Mr. Meeks spoke as if she wasn’t in the room.

  “Mr. Meeks, here, has gotten me a job at Drake Brothers. He’s a foreman, and I start in the morning.”

  “The bakery?” Her voice was a whisper. She had walked past Drake Brothers earlier today. She would not let hope get a foothold. “You’ll have to be up early then.”

  Elaine ladled out four bowls of soup. There was barely enough for a bowl each if she skimped a little on her own. Two brown bags rested on the table.

  “Let a man celebrate his victory,” Pop said.

  Mr. Meeks reached into one bag and pulled out four white rolls. Then he scrabbled his hand into the second bag and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels. “I like to do my share.” His gap-toothed grin stretched from ear to ear. Elaine looked at Stephen, but his eyes were fixed on the soft rolls.

  “Thank you, Mr. Meeks. We haven’t had white rolls in a very long time,” Stephen said.

  Mr. Meeks took a big slurp from his bowl of soup. “They’re from the bakery. But our biggest lot is pound cake, fifteen tons every day.” He continued to spoon soup into his mouth while he talked and took bites of roll at the same time. When he chewed, his nose hairs quivered.

  Elaine stood watching as the three males began to eat, until Pop noticed. “Here, take my chair, darling. I’ll just perch on the crate over there.” He nodded to the empty milk crate in the corner. Wordlessly, Elaine slid onto the wooden chair and took a bite of a soft white roll and felt it dissolve against her tongue.

  Mr. Meeks continued, “It’s all set up for efficiency, see. Fourth floor, all the mixing’s done. Then the dough’s sent up to the ovens on the fifth. Shipping’s on the bottom floors where a wagon can pull right up to get loaded.” He picked up the bowl and noisily drained out the last of the soup. “And on the roof’s a laundry where our uniforms is washed every day, God bless ’em. Good soup, by the way.”

  “I’m going to be in shipping to start,” Pop added. “Then move up to mixing. Maybe end up a foreman like Tim.”

  Stephen grinned; he was probably already imagining Pop as a foreman.

  When she cleared the table, Pop took her chair back. Both men lit up cigarettes, something else they didn’t have the money for, Elaine thought bitterly. She swirled the dishes in cold water first and then used the last of the hot water on the stove to wash them properly. Stephen stayed at the table like one of the men. He scooted his chair as close to Pop’s as he could, and Elaine knew there’d be no more homework done that evening.

  “And now for that celebration, Mr. Fitzgerald.” Mr. Meeks twisted the top off the bottle. “To Drake Brothers’ newest employee.” He offered the first sip to Pop. “Got to fill up before the New Year. Prohibition’s gonna suck the life out of us.”

  Elaine caught Stephen’s eyes. “Don’t forget you have school in the morning,” she said as she walked into the bedroom.

  “She sounds more like her mother every day.” And the two men laughed. Elaine punched the pillow on her bed. What right did he have to mention her mother? Couldn’t Pop get it right even this once?

  She stretched out on the bed and lay still, but her mind ran in restless circles. Groaning, she rolled to her side. The blue Hansel and Gretel was under the bed. She reached for it now. Her favorite illustration showed Hansel and Gretel on the step in front of a small house. The witch, disguised as a very old woman, met them at the door. Elaine wished she could step into the picture and lead the two children away into the woods, to safety. The trees leered with the faces of goblins.

  It wasn’t long before Stephen crept in with her.

  “Read to me, Lainey.”

  He looked so much like Hansel in the illustration that Elaine couldn’t say no. In the main room, the two men got louder, their voices sloppier. Then the door slammed and a few minutes later opened again. Elaine listened for the clink of bottles.

  In her dream, the witch slammed the door of the candy house. It startled her to wakefulness. Thick dark filled the room. Stephen’s breathing was soft and regular beside her. There really wasn’t room for both of them on the narrow bed—her right arm was heavy and numb where Stephen had rolled across it. She could slip out and into his bed across the ro
om, but the warmth of another body was nice. She rolled Stephen to his side and slid her arm out, feeling it prickle. In the front room the men laughed, but it was as if from a great distance. She forced herself to imagine the Gossley picnic. She’d wear a new white dress and a hat with a rose. Howie would notice, like he used to. He’d call her his copper-headed princess.

  The front door slammed. Elaine checked the wind-up clock by her bed. It was three a.m. She slowly reached one foot out of the bed so as not to wake Angus. Still in her work clothes, she tiptoed over to the bedroom door. Pop was asleep, head pillowed on his arms at the table. The room stunk of whiskey, stale cigarettes, and urine. Bottles littered the table and floor. Pop snored and snorted. It wouldn’t matter how loudly she walked, still she crept over to the table, picked up the bottles, and threw them into the trash. Then she made sure none of the cigarettes were still burning and scooped them into the trash too. She went back into the bedroom and set the alarm for five thirty a.m. Then she placed the clock right by Pop’s ear. After changing into her nightgown, she considered both beds, but curled back in with Stephen.

  The two children had been walking a very long time. They huddled as close together as they could in the bleak forest. They might have been going in circles for all Hansel could tell, but he didn’t want to mention it and frighten his little sister.

  Dawn was just beginning to light the sky when the path grew wider. By now, the children were very hungry and tired indeed.

  “Look, Gretel, there’s a clearing up ahead.” But neither of them was prepared for the sight that met their weary eyes. There, glowing in the middle of the forest, was the most amazing thing the children had ever seen: a house made all of candy. The walls were thick slabs of gingerbread and the roof was white with frosting. Candies of every shape and color festooned the frosting roof. As they drew closer, they could see the sugar pane windows shine. They were lined with red licorice, and the door was smooth brown chocolate. Hansel and Gretel had come upon something better than either had imagined, even in their happiest dreams.