Hold Fast (9780545510196)

by Balliett, Blue

  Since the news about Dash, each day at Helping Hand felt endless. The three Pearls looked toward the front door again and again, hoping to see a glimpse of Dash’s shoulder, his head, his jacket, his hand. For ages Sum worked on her job applications and letters down at the tables in sight of the entrance; all three watched and waited when the phone rang at the front desk and the guard wrote down a message. Early imagined Dash striding in the door one day during a mealtime, and the three of them shrieking and running over, knocking him down with the biggest hug anyone in the world had ever seen. Everyone in Helping Hand would cheer, like people do with famous sports players in a game. “Dash! Dash! Dash!” they’d be chanting, then “Rahhhhh!” as the joy swept on and on.

  The only time Early felt the tiniest bit relaxed these days was when she was thinking about Home Dreams, which was what she’d decided to call her project. Without really knowing it, Early had started something amazing in the city of Chicago, an idea that grew like wildfire. Agencies working with homeless families had heard about this project through the director at Chicago HOPES, the tutoring organization working at Helping Hand, and everyone loved the idea. It allowed kids to speak, offered a solid solution to family heartbreak, and cost almost nothing to share.

  In no time at all, Home Dreams were being mailed to the mayor of Chicago, some big foundations in the city, even the president of the United States. With thousands of kids in need of homes and ready for a dream, the letters just kept coming.

  The return address on each was Home Dreams, followed by the name of one or another of the family shelters in the city. If you happened to open one of these packages, you’d find this cover letter, handwritten and copied on a Xerox machine:

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Hi, my name is Early Pearl. Here’s a picture of me — click! — with an armload of books. I’m eleven years old, and am staying in Helping Hand Shelter with my mom and brother. Something bad happened to my dad but I know he’s trying to get back to us. When he does, that will be the best day ever.

  Kids need grown-ups to help them get started in life, but they also need a home.

  Imagine if you couldn’t head home when you left your office tonight or if your kids couldn’t head home after a day at school. No matter what age you are, you need a place to rest where you feel like you belong. A place to have friends and be with family, a place to feel safe and private, a place to make plans, a place to dream. A place to put down some roots, or as my dad used to say, “A place to go and grow.”

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Early went on to tell her story.

  Soon other kids were telling their stories, too. Photographs were attached to each.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  My name is Marcella. I’m nine. This is me — click! — in my favorite pink sweatshirt. My dad came here to work as a gardener, but broke his leg falling down some stairs one winter and couldn’t go to a doctor. He tried to fix it himself by tying it to sticks, but it hurts all the time. It’s hard for him to find good work now and he isn’t as fast as he used to be. One leg is straight and one is crooked.

  Here’s the house I want to be in. If my family and me could live there, we would sing. My mom and dad and brother and I would plant so many vegetables in the yard that we would always have extras: pimientos, jalapeños, tomates, frijoles, cebollas, lechuga, calabazas. We would have vegetables for any neighbor who was hungry. We would freeze and pickle lots for the winter. My grandma would make her yummy pimiento jelly.

  I would sleep on the second floor with my sisters, and we would have curtains that opened so that sun could come in and we could look out. We would make a shrine for the Virgin in front, under the tree, and anyone who wanted to say a prayer could stop in our yard and do that. Maybe we could put a seat there for people who are tired.

  We would have our own stove and refrigerator and kitchen table. I would help with the cooking and dishes. We could love one another all the time in my family, and my mom would stop crying. My dad would feel better because maybe we could sell enough vegetables to fix his leg. My mom is a great cook and we could sell her tamales and burritos, too. Us kids could set up a table on the porch and make change for people who came to buy.

  That is my dream.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  My name is Johnny, and I am ten. This is me — click! — with a picture of my cat, Champ. He is a beauty. When the sheriff came to our apartment and made us go, we had to leave Champ behind. I put all the food I could find in his bowl, and, man, did I feel bad. It was tough. Maybe one day I’ll go back to my neighborhood and he’ll be waiting for me. Just washing his face with his paw, like nothing happened. Maybe other people have been feeding and brushing him while he waits. I sure hope so. I left his brush, his favorite old pillow, and his bowl on our front steps.

  Here’s the apartment I picked out, on the second floor of this empty building. I like it because it has a lot of big windows, and Champ could sit and look out. I could watch the street, too. I’d see my friends coming down the block on bikes. I’d see the school bus, and run downstairs at the last minute.

  Maybe I’d share a bedroom with my big brother, and we could sleep late on the weekends. Our family could have our own kitchen again, and eat stuff whenever we got hungry, like even in the middle of the night.

  My mom and dad could find better jobs because we could say we had a home. We’d find a sofa, and all sit together in our pajamas and watch TV at night, and no one would be yelling at anyone else.

  We’d always be happy to have our own place to go, and never forget what it feels like to have no home. And if Champ is by the door waiting for me every day after school, that will be my special dream. I don’t want nothing else.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Hi, my name is Belinda, but I call myself Aisha. I’m ten years old. Here I am — click! — with my magic hair band, the one with the blue sparkles.

  Here’s the home I want us to live in. It’s made of brick, it’s down on the ground, and so strong, it couldn’t burn like our old apartment. Stone doesn’t catch fire like wood, and I think brick is stone. My mom and us three kids lived with my grandma until the heater got flames, and then my grandma, my brother, and my baby sister died when we were running down the stairs and the walls fell on us. My mom was at work that night.

  If my mom and me could live in this house, we could start a life. That’s what my mom likes to think about. Starting a life. We both miss my grandma, Booker, and May Rose, but we try to think ahead. I don’t talk too much about my grandma’s hugs, or Booker and me playing hide-and-seek, or the baby giggling every time I tickled her. My mom says we got to keep going, and that working hard keeps you from going crazy.

  If we got a chance to fix up this house, maybe we could have curtains with pink rosebuds and a couch. We could blow good-bye kisses to each other and no one would laugh at us. We could relax without strangers nearby. We could feel safe, in this stone house with no stairs.

  My dream is that we sometimes get to forget the sad things. But I say a prayer every night for my grandma and Booker and little May, and I hope they know I love them. My mom says they will always be in our hearts. I think this means all of our souls could be together in this house.

  Click

  The cold continued to crush and encircle all within reach. And the snow! Early had never noticed so many kinds of snow. In the past three weeks, she’d seen it blanket-heavy and round with shadows; fast and sharp, a horizontal sting laced with ice; slo-o-w, as deliberate and haunting as a poem.

  Slow was when each flake landing on a sleeve or glove became a rhythm of circles: a tiny, symmetrical treasure. If you moved with care, a snow crystal on a sunny day had the sparkle of a gem caught and kept for an instant. Diamonds for anyone, Early thought to herself, as free and plentiful as words! She wondered why so much beauty, tumbling out of the sky or drifting from people’s minds, goes unseen.

  She knew the answer, even as she wondered: People get distracted by worries and sadness, and have to strugg
le to see anything else. They have to work hard to hold on to beauty, to hold fast to dreams and words; like Sum, who seemed to grow more fragile with each passing day. Early knew she had to hold fast for three and dream for them all, at least until Dash came home.

  She had time to think about snow, secrets, and the hard choices people make in life. She wasn’t back in school yet. The police hadn’t arrested the top people in the smuggling ring, and Sum wasn’t about to risk any more kidnapping; she needed her kids close at all times. She told Early that as soon as Dash “headed home,” they’d move back to Woodlawn and Early could return to her old classroom.

  Sometimes she wrote in the homemade notebooks but now that felt lonely. Early missed all of the friends she’d made. She hoped Darren, Aisha, Isobel, and Marcus were all doing okay, wherever they were. Maybe being together in a shelter was part of the reason they’d gotten to be close so fast. Life in a shelter was unpredictable and bumpy, that was for sure, and you could never count on someone being there for long. So if you liked a person or had something to say, click! There was no time to waste.

  It was sad to think that she now couldn’t find these kids because they had no addresses or home phones next to their names.

  There were moments that week when it seemed to Early like everyone in the shelter hated one another. People couldn’t be bothered to leave the bathroom clean for those who came after them. They didn’t say sorry if they stepped on a heel or toe. They weren’t thoughtful about radio noise or talking loudly, or they shouted at and slapped their kids. Sometimes life at Helping Hand felt like one huge story of misery. A rhythm of wrongs.

  Early looked up the word shelter and added it to her notebook. Origin unknown: It had no root that anyone knew, which fit. It meant an enclosed area that offers protection against a threat, and sounded like its definition; the word started with a soft shh and ended with a tidy, hard sound, like a door closing. She liked that, as shelter now felt more like a place of safety than a place for the lost.

  As each day went by with no Dash, Sum got quieter and quieter. Early began being the one to take Jubie down to breakfast each morning, as Sum “just wasn’t up to it”; when she did get up, she always looked tired. She stopped fixing her hair nicely, and sometimes forgot even to comb it. She stopped applying for jobs. She didn’t seem to hear the kids, and she never felt like reading aloud. It was as if she’d had a burst of energy right when she heard the good news about Dash escaping, and then when he didn’t show up at the shelter day after day after day, she kind of let go. Began to drift, and then to go under.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” she murmured to Jubie, when he tried to get her up, shaking her shoulder over and over. When Early reminded her that Dash would say they had to keep going, she only leaked tears. Just hearing the word Dash these days seemed to hurt.

  Early got more and more frightened. One night at bedtime, after reading to Jubie, with Sum lying nearby, she turned out the light and then pleaded silently with her father: Dash, where are you? Each day feels like forever and Sum’s not okay! I’m doing my best, but we all miss you so much and I don’t know what’ll happen to us without you! Things are desperate and we need you, Dash! We need you, need you, need you!

  She waited in the dark, clearing a quiet place in her head for Dash to answer, trying not to cry herself.

  There was only the crinkling of the hard plastic covers on their mattresses as Jubie and Sum tried to get comfortable, and the tap-tap of their window rattling, as winter roared through the narrow channel between the buildings.

  Just as Early was falling asleep, she thought she felt Dash cup the side of her head with his hand. In an instant she was up on one elbow.

  There was no one there. Of course, Early thought sadly. What did she expect? And right at that moment, clear as day, she heard Dash say, Hold fast.

  Hold … fast…. Hold … fast…. She lay down again. The words beat a slow, whooshing rhythm that felt like the wings of birds in flight. Was that really Dash this time? Or … or was she imagining his voice now? Was this just the rhythm of her heart?

  The thought was too scary and sad to allow, and she quickly covered it — click! — with memories of all the pictures that were once up on their wall in the Woodlawn apartment. The four of them on the steps of their building … Jubie under the table they ate on … Early reading … Sum blowing a kiss … Sunshine, laughing, running, scraped knees, macaroni stuck to an elbow, enough love and hope for a dozen families.

  Click! Dash was behind the camera, finding four in three, over and over as if to erase forever a time when one might be gone.

  Click! Click! Click!

  Ice: the third week of February 2011

  A bone-thin man with wild hair walked in the door of Helping Hand early one morning. He looked around, searching the faces nearby, and asked a question at the front desk.

  A call was made and Mrs. Happadee came running. As she approached the young man, she threw out her arms as if to hug him, but then seeing his haunted expression, paused. She clasped his hand in both of hers, a long and warm greeting.

  “Follow me,” she murmured.

  They started up the stairs, side by side yet silent, awash in what wasn’t said. A police detective who had entered with the man followed behind, carrying a small metal briefcase. Noticing that it was difficult for the man to walk, the woman moved slowly. These two, who’d only just met, looked as though life had handed them a right-now miracle. Joy was too quiet a word.

  At the top of the stairs, once a certain door was opened, four people held one another so fast that there was no room for anything but dreams. Shrieks were followed by sobs and a burble of “Dash! Dash! Dash!”

  When the detective outside the door cleared his throat minutes later, Dash looked around, said, “Ahh,” and picked up a slender book with a red paper cover. He ran one trembly finger down the spine.

  “Hiding in plain sight,” he marveled. “Undercover,” he added, with a glimmer of his former grin. “Research rhythms was a good idea, all right.”

  Early blurted, “It was, it was! And I didn’t see it, either, Dash. For ages.”

  Shooting his daughter a questioning look that was also a wanna-hear-more, Dash reached around the open door and handed the book to the man in uniform.

  “Thank you, sir. We’ll return it.” The detective nodded and, popping it into the metal box, locked it with a key. After the police and Mrs. Happadee had left and the door to their room was closed, the four Pearls had the longest, saltiest, happiest, and gentlest hug any one of them had ever had. It was clear Dash’s body hurt, and badly.

  “First, I owe you three a huge apology,” Dash said softly, “for wanting more than we had. For thinking there was an easy way to get it. For not recognizing the wrong that seemed right or the just-out-of-sight. For confusing and losing.”

  Dash hadn’t caught up with the recent news until that morning. He’d happened to see his face in a newspaper crumpled in a train station garbage can, read the article, and hobbled over to the policeman on duty. Calls were made, a box for carrying possible valuables was picked up at the station, and the police drove him straight to Helping Hand and his family.

  “Once I was kidnapped on that January day, knocked off my bike and thrown into a truck, it didn’t take long to realize these folks thought I’d stolen something from them. They kept shouting, ‘Ice! Hot ice!’ at me, and when I still didn’t understand, they shouted, ‘Back-alley diamonds!’

  “And then the light went on. Back alley meant stolen. They asked me what I’d done with The First Book of Rhythms. I was so upset with myself. How had I missed something so obvious? Every time I’d held that little book, I wondered why the spine was stiff and why it seemed to weigh more than it should.”

  “Ohhh,” breathed Sum. “Ohhh.”

  “Yeah,” Early murmured.

  Dash, who was clearly in pain, stopped to cough and then catch his breath.

  “My poor, dear, sweet baby,” said Sum, rubbing his ba
ck. “Not your fault, any of this craziness.”

  Dash shook his head in between more coughing, as if to say, But it was.

  Early jumped in. “I know, Dash. I couldn’t believe it when the questions started to have answers. But I was scared to share because it might get you guys in trouble, even more trouble. Felt like I had to sit quiet.” Her words poured out faster and faster, as if she’d upended a heavy bag of marbles. “I found a second diamond here in the shelter, after Mr. Alslip grabbed our stuff. Don’t worry, the police have it already. I’ll tell you guys the whole thing later.”

  “What!” Sum and Dash said, in one voice.

  “Telling seeecrets!” warned Jubie. “No telling about diamond stuff!”

  “It’s okay, son,” Sum said. “The secrets are over.”

  Early, now on her feet, was waving her arms. “And then I figured out how that first diamond turned up on the floor in our apartment. I’d been sitting at the table with The First Book of Rhythms when those criminals came and knocked down the door. I think the book was crushed and one of the diamonds popped out the end of the spine. Presto! There it was, hidden in plain sight. And then that policeman, well, maybe he saw a rainbow under his shoe.”

  “You my girl, Early,” Dash said softly, and with so much wonder that Early didn’t think she’d ever heard sweeter words.

  Swallowing, she rushed on. “Once I started believing what we’d had all along and still had, it got easier to see more undercover stuff. Like the three, six, nine address Mr. Alslip gave you in code, you know, the times in your notebook. The rhythm you saw on the day you disappeared. In case they wouldn’t listen to a kid, I gave the building number to our friend Velma at the shelter here, and she took it to the precinct.”