It was Felix. My legs would have buckled if I didn’t have Helen to hang on to. She bore me up, thinking, I supposed, I’d simply stumbled. Perhaps she hadn’t spotted him, didn’t remember him. Surely he was as eager for us to pass by without comment as I was.
Helen stopped. “Mr. Stern, hello.”
“Hello, Miss Winthrope, Albert. How nice to run into you both. Let me introduce you to my wife. Rebecca, this is Mr. Kramer, who I’ve told you so much about, and his friend Miss Winthrope.”
I wouldn’t have thought it possible for me to be shaking the hand of Mrs. Felix Stern, but it was happening. Helen knelt in front of the baby. Felix let go and it toddled into Helen’s arms. “May I?” she asked, looking up at its mother.
“Of course, Miss Winthrope. Aaron loves to meet new people.”
While the women played with the baby, I stepped back to the railing, afraid I might be sick. Felix trailed after me. He put his hand on my back. Even through my coat, I felt its warmth between my shoulder blades. “Are you okay, Albert?”
“I’m surprised to see you, Felix.”
“But not a bad surprise, I hope. I figured you might take this way to the stadium.”
He’d arranged it, then, this accidental rendezvous? I focused my eyes and took him in. He looked exactly the same, except more neatly dressed. The silk of his tie and the wool of his coat were of a higher quality than I remembered him wearing. Stepping back, his hand fell away and I saw a new watch on his wrist, its crystal face unblemished. He was being taken care of. I looked over his shoulder at the baby Helen was holding, its chubby fist batting at her face. Maybe they’d adopted him. After all, he had an entire orphanage at his disposal. “Is it really yours?”
Felix glanced at his family, pride evident in his expression. “Yes, he is. Aaron Stern. He just had his first birthday.”
“And you got married.”
Felix briefly met my gaze then looked out over the river. “After I got back from Vienna, yes.”
“So it worked, then?”
I watched his profile as he swallowed, the Adam’s apple riding up his throat. “I learned how to cope with it. Rebecca is a remarkable woman. She’s a wonderful mother. It’s such a relief, Albert.” He looked at me now, a sheen of moisture magnifying his dark eyes. “You know how desperately I wanted to be a father.”
His desperation, yes, that was something I knew all too well. “Does she know?”
“Only that I had a nervous breakdown. Not why. No one knows why, except you.”
I shoved my hands into my pockets to keep them from reaching for him. “I’m happy for you, Felix.”
He filled his fist with the fabric of my sleeve. “Are you really? Because it would mean so much to me if that were true. If we could be friends again, meet sometimes. I—” His eyes darted to his family then settled back on me. “I’ve missed you, Albert. Are you still at the brownstone? Can I come see you?”
I pried his hand from my sleeve and held it to my chest. Another man with a secret. Another man with his eye on the clock, counting down the minutes until he’d be expected at home. It would only be a matter of time before the strain of his lies led to another breakdown. Where would they ship him off to next, some ashram in India?
“Actually, I’m about to move out.” I hadn’t been able to save him before. This time, I was saving myself, too. If scandal didn’t find me, heartbreak would. Instead, I would follow the Colonel’s example. Stay out of trouble. Avoid blackmail or arrest. With Helen, I could live in the open, honestly, without fear of being compromised. It was just as well, I thought, that King was all the way out in Kansas City.
Helen was placing the baby in its pram. How unfair that she’d never be able to have one of her own, even if I could have given it to her. I remembered our visit to the orphanage, how badly she’d wanted to save that little boy. I’d wanted that, too. Maybe that was something we could, one day, do together.
I made my choice. “Go on, now, Felix, your wife is waiting.”
We watched, for a while, as the little family made its way back toward Manhattan. I flapped my hands to dispel the current of electricity Felix’s touch had sent through me. Helen caught them. “You’re cold as ice, Albert. What’s wrong?”
“I forgot I was afraid of heights.” I linked my arm in hers and turned our steps toward the Bronx. “I’ll be better once we get to the other side of the bridge.”
1928
Chapter 34
My nerves were shot as the Cardinals took the field at the top of the seventh inning, up two runs to one on the Yankees. We were ahead three games to none, but the World Series was best of seven, and anything could still happen. For two scoreless innings, I’d been gripping the arms of my chair with every at bat announced on the radio.
“I suppose Colonel Ruppert won’t be too upset to lose this one, will he, Helen?” Bernice said. “He’ll make more money if the Series comes back to New York for another game.”
I was too astonished to reply. Clarence reached into the washtub of ice and extracted a Coca-Cola. He pried off the top with the opener on his key chain and handed it to his wife. “You’re thinking like a bookkeeper, honey. A true sportsman wants to win every time, no matter the cost.”
“He’s right.” My mother shook her head no when Clarence offered her a soda. “Jake won’t take a deep breath until his team has won. It isn’t good for his health.”
I pictured Jake at Sportsman’s Park in St. Louis, certain he had his jacket on despite the heat wave that was forcing spectators into their shirtsleeves. “Shush now, let me listen.”
That afternoon Clarence had helped us carry our radio downstairs for a listening party in the lobby. His mother joined us, too. A widow now, Mrs. Weldon kept her hands busy with mending during the game. Some cousins or nephews came by—I couldn’t quite keep track of the various relatives who seemed to cycle in and out of their basement apartment. And, of course, there was Clarence and Bernice’s son, James.
James was four and a half years old that October, and already as precocious a boy as I’d ever known. Compared to the unfortunate children who participated in the plays and pageants I directed for the settlement house, James was a positive prodigy. Though he’d never yet set foot in a schoolroom, Bernice had taught him his numbers, and under Clarence’s tutelage he’d learned to sound out a newspaper headline. It was thanks to me, though, that he could recite poetry from memory. James was just a baby when Bernice had gone back to work, determined to keep adding to their savings. Clarence and his mother were always around to watch him, but to give them a break I’d offered myself as an occasional sitter. My mother complained they took advantage of me by leaving James in my care, but it was just a few hours a day. It wasn’t as if I had much else to do. The classes I taught at the settlement house only took up a couple of my afternoons. My evenings were free to spend with Albert, and we often went up to Eagle’s Rest with Jake for days or weeks at a time. Besides, I told my mother, every hour I got to spend with James was precious to me.
That afternoon, James raced around the lobby, jumping on and off laps and playing with Pip, whose little legs were getting stiff with age. His dark hair was softly curled, his complexion more gold than brown, and his eyes—well, no one agreed as to which side of the family those green eyes came from, but they leaped out of his face like emeralds from a riverbank when he looked at you, as he was looking at me right now.
“Aunt Helen, will Babe get another home run do you think?”
“I think it’s a safe bet, Jimmy, but you’re not a betting man, are you?” I tickled him and he ran over to his father. Clarence, I knew, had a considerable wager on the outcome of the game. Bernice didn’t approve, of course. She invested nearly every cent they earned in stocks she researched herself. Unable to deny her husband his small measure of fun, though, she’d allotted a fixed amount for him to take his chances.
I didn’t need a betting slip in my pocket to tie my fortunes to the outcome of the game. Albert ha
d gone out to St. Louis with Jake, leaving me on deck, as it were. Jake had already planned a reception at Eagle’s Rest to commemorate the end of the season. If the Yankees won the Series, it would be a party and he’d want me to be there to play hostess. If they lost, he’d be in a sulk and he’d need me and Albert to lighten his mood. Either way, my bag was packed for the trip up the Hudson.
“And the pop fly is caught, that’s one out for the Yankees. Now Babe Ruth, the playboy of baseball, makes his way to the plate. Will he drive in another home run? No! Wee Willie Sherdel throws a strike. It’s a battle of wills now. The only run Sherdel’s given up came in the fourth when Babe smacked an impossible inside curve out of the park—impossible for any other player, that is. Now Babe lifts the bat, ready for the next pitch. Another strike! Babe turns to have a word with the catcher and—oh no! Sherdel throws a sneak pitch over the plate. Babe has struck out! But wait, the umpire refuses to call it! An illegal pitch, that’s what the ump says, and now the entire roster of the St. Louis Cardinals is pouring onto the field in protest.”
Every one of us jumped out of our chairs, as if being on our feet would make our ears more capable of hearing the announcer, who was momentarily drowned out by the raucous booing of the Missouri crowd.
“What’s happening, Aunt Helen?”
“I’m not sure, Jimmy.”
The announcer’s voice won the battle of the radio waves and cut through the clamor. “It’s no use, folks. The umpires have closed ranks. The call will stand! The Cards lumber back to their bench as Babe locks eyes with Sherdel on the mound. It’s still two strikes on the Babe, and here comes the pitch. A curveball on the outside. Wee Willie’s still shaken by all the excitement it seems.”
I squeezed my mother’s hand, her rings digging into my fingers, as another ball was thrown wide of the plate. Clarence lifted James into his arms to quiet the boy. Even Pip stopped his antics and stood stock-still on four little paws, the triangles of his ears cocked to the announcer’s voice.
“Here comes the pitch. It’s a fastball over the plate.” As far away as Manhattan, we heard the pop of that ball meeting Babe’s bat and recognized the sound. We were celebrating even before the announcer confirmed it. “The Sultan of Swat connects! It’s an easy swing but the ball keeps rising. It’s over the roof and still it sails on! Some lucky pedestrian would be well advised to look up at the sky right about now. The Babe is rounding the bases, triumphant. The crowd is too stunned to give him the ovation he deserves. He waves a mocking hand at the spectators as he’s welcomed back to the Yankees bench, a hero returned from battle.”
We were still cheering for Babe when Lou Gehrig hit his homer. Sherdel was yanked off the mound after that, but the damage had been done. We were limp with relief in the ninth when Babe caught the winning fly and ran it in, arm held aloft like a torch of victory.
The thrill of another World Series win for the Yankees turned our listening party into a celebration, Clarence discreetly pouring shots of whiskey into our bottles of Coca-Cola. Finally the party broke up, everyone pitching in to bring the radio and the empty plates of eaten sandwiches up to our apartment. James scooted between our legs and plopped himself on our couch, opening up a book of children’s poems. “Aunt Helen, can I stay here and read with you?”
“It’s about time you had a nap, Jimmy,” Bernice said, but Clarence overruled her.
“Let him stay a while. I’ve got to go out and collect on my bets before the bookies run out of cash. Why don’t you come with me, honey? I’ll take you out for dinner on my winnings.”
“He can sleep on the couch if he’s tired, Bernice. We don’t mind, do we, Mom?”
My mother shrugged. She tried to hide it, but I knew she had a soft spot in her heart for James. When I sat beside him to see what poem he’d picked out for us to read, I noticed one of Clarence’s betting slips sticking out of his pocket. “Your dad will need that, Jimmy. I’ll be right back.”
They were in the hallway, waiting for the elevator. Opening my door, I heard their conversation before they saw me. “If she wants a child so much,” Bernice was saying, “why doesn’t she marry Albert and have one of her own already?”
Clarence circled his arm around her waist. “Let’s not worry about anyone else, honey. Just look how lucky we are.” The elevator arrived. Pulling it open, Clarence glanced back and saw me, tears on my face and his betting slip in my hand. “I just remembered Jimmy was playing with my slips. Go on, honey, I’ll be right down.” Sending her to the basement without him, he came and touched his handkerchief to my wet face. “I’m sorry, Helen. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
“Do I spend too much time with Jimmy?”
“No, that’s not it. She just works so hard, is all.” He looked down the hallway of my apartment to see James on the couch, proudly reciting a poem to my mother. “You and Jimmy, you’re good for each other. Don’t you worry about it.”
As predicted, James soon fell fast asleep, the book of poetry clutched in his little hands. When Clarence came by after dinner to collect him, I placed a kiss on James’s forehead, the boy a ragdoll in his father’s strong arms.
My mother and I were getting ready for bed ourselves when a Western Union messenger rang our bell. “It’s a telegram from Rex,” I said, giving the boy a quarter for his trouble. “Sent from St. Louis Union Station.”
“Read it, Helen.”
WE WON STOP BOARDING YANKEE SPECIAL ARRIVING GRAND CENTRAL TOMORROW NIGHT STOP TELL MOM STAY HOME WILL BE MOB SCENE STOP TICKET READY FOR HELEN 10AM TRAIN TO EAGLES REST WILL JOIN YOU FRIDAY STOP ALBERT SAYS HI STOP REX
I was disappointed, as the evening wore on, that no telegram came for me from Albert, but he must have had his hands full. Mr. Nakamura had been left at home—game three had been played on Sunday and not even a trip to the World Series, Jake complained, could convince the man to give up his day off—which meant Albert was both butler and secretary. I could only imagine the riotous scene unfolding on the train as the players celebrated their win. There was a reception planned at the Biltmore Hotel for their arrival Wednesday night, and there’d be celebrations in the city on Thursday, too. I guessed I wouldn’t see Albert until he arrived at Eagle’s Rest on Friday with everyone else.
That night in bed I propped a pad on my knee and began making notes. This would be Jake’s third time celebrating a World Series victory. I knew he’d want me to plan something special, but first I had to figure out who to expect. Miller Huggins would be eager to get home to his sister’s place in Florida, but he wouldn’t refuse Jake’s invitation. Tony Lazzeri, I guessed, would be going straight into surgery for his injured arm, while Bob Meusel was heading out to California, but Ruth and Gehrig and Hoyt would certainly be coming. I wouldn’t know which other players would be invited until I got the final guest list. And what about the women? Mrs. Hoyt would come, of course, and Rex’s boss and the Yankees’ business manager would both bring their wives, too. Gehrig was still single, so I assumed he’d be on his own, as Jake didn’t countenance girlfriends at the estate. Babe Ruth, however, hadn’t been seen in public with his wife for a couple of years now. I wondered, given his exceptional performance, if Jake would ease up and allow Babe to impress a lady friend with an exclusive invitation to Eagle’s Rest.
I found out the answer to that question on the New York Central next morning, where I was seated across from an attractive woman in an otherwise empty compartment. She was dressed well without being flashy, her dark hair swept fashionably to the side. Her toothy smile was a tiny imperfection that only made her face lovelier. We greeted each other as the conductor’s whistle blew and the train lumbered out of the station.
“You must be Helen Winthrope,” she said, extending a gloved hand. I wasn’t used to being recognized, and my surprise must have shown on my face. “Rex told me to look out for you. He arranged my ticket, too.”
She seemed far too sophisticated for my brother, not to mention older than he was, though for a woman th
is good-looking, Rex might not let a difference in age deter him. “I’m sorry, but my brother didn’t mention you.”
“No, no one does, if they can help it. I’m Claire Hodgson. Rex must have figured putting me on the train with you would keep my picture out of the papers when Babe comes home tonight.”
I nodded, the mystery solved. “I knew you were out of my brother’s league.”
“Rex? Oh, he’s adorable, and so are you, Helen. I’m proud to know you both. But I’m with Babe. Have been for a while now. Don’t worry about Mrs. Ruth, though. She’s shacked up with a dentist in Massachusetts.” Claire shrugged her shoulders. “Doesn’t matter. I’m a widow, and I’ve been an actress, so it’s not as if I’m worried about my reputation. You’re an actress, too, I hear?”
“I was, for a while.” Claire’s congeniality was catching; already I felt as if we were dear friends rather than strangers. “So you’re coming up to Eagle’s Rest, too?”
“Might as well. Babe won’t have a moment to himself the next couple of days.”
“He was magnificent. We listened on the radio. My heart was in my throat the entire seventh inning.”
By the time the porter came around to take reservations for lunch, there was no question we’d be sharing a table. She was so slender I expected her to have a salad bowl and half a grapefruit, but was pleasantly surprised when she ordered the Spanish mackerel with lemon butter. I asked if she’d met Albert. She said she’d seen him but hadn’t yet been introduced. “Rex tells me you and Mr. Kramer are—?”
“Together, yes.” I noticed her eyes dip to my ringless left hand as I stuck my fork into my chicken pie. “We’ve known each other for ten years now.”
“Well, marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Babe’s a darling to me. Have you met his daughter, Dorothy? She’s just a few years older than my own girl.” Her mood was bright as polished silver, but I caught a hint of melancholy in her voice. “We’ll all be together as soon as ever we can.”
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