“It don’t matter what you call it as long as you’ve got a good cook and a bartender who knows how to make a rickey,” said Grandma Engel, opening the door to one of the Frigidaires.
“Baum’s,” said Mother. “Really?”
Daddy nodded. “A family restaurant run by the Baum family. It will be a lot of hard work, Mildred, but I know we can turn this into something, together.”
“Our own family restaurant,” whispered Mother, as if for the first time she were trying the idea on for size. Before Daddy, Mother owned nothing except for a few housedresses and one pair of secondhand T-bar heels. She had quit school in the sixth grade so she could wash dishes at Mr. McGruder’s restaurant and help out her family, who were, like a lot of families, quite underprivileged. Young Mildred Engel had hidden behind garbage cans on the way to Mr. McGruder’s so the truant officer wouldn’t catch her and force her to attend school. She earned twenty cents a day washing dishes and had to stand on a wooden crate to reach the sink. Keeping a nickel of each day’s wages for herself, she gave the rest to Grandma Engel. In a few years, she worked her way up to waitstaff and even tended bar, but never did she imagine she would one day have a place of her own.
Daddy appraised the room. “I know that we can make this a place of wide renown.”
Mother nodded and smiled, the color returning to her face.
There was something about Hermann’s confidence, in everything that he did and dreamed of doing, that made others believe in him, no matter how strange his ideas. Just the year before, he had convinced Inky and Fritz to go in on a peanut farm in east Texas and a pineapple orchard in Missouri. This was during the Great Depression, remember, when money was scarce and finding and keeping work nearly impossible. Very few had extra money lying around in banks or stuffed under mattresses, and if they did, they were much too afraid to spend it. Especially on peanut farms and pineapple orchards. But Hermann was different. Not even President Roosevelt’s Agricultural Adjustment Act of 1938, which called for a cut in farm production to increase farming prices, could deter him. In those troubled times, he still had hope—and Inky and Fritz, you could say, found his hope contagious.
5
MOTHER LIKED TO TEASE Daddy that his glass eye made him see the world in nothing but green. And perhaps he did.
6
AND SPEAKING OF SEEING the world in green, that’s just how Sullen Waterford Price, Esquire, preferred to view it. As president of the Hagerstown Chamber of Commerce, a job which he undertook with immense conviction, Mr. Price made it a point to get to know all of the upstanding businessmen in town and inspire—though some might say persuade—them to become paid members of the chamber. Over his four-year term, he had collected more money from the memberships of local businesses than any of his last three predecessors combined. A record for which Mr. Price was very, very proud.
But amid his successful membership campaign, Mr. Price also had the reputation of determining whether the businesses in town met his own personal criteria of what it meant to be “upstanding.” The word can mean different things to different people, you know, but to Sullen Price, it meant something very specific. What that was, only he knew for certain, and the rest of us could only guess.
But here’s one thing you should know: The businessmen who had the misfortune of falling short of Mr. Price’s criteria, let’s just say, weren’t businessmen for much longer.
A few years before, for example, a young man named George Robertson had opened a music shop on Potomac Avenue. It was a small, quaint store, on a single floor, the kind of shop where you could spend a day browsing sheet music if you could spend an hour. Mr. Robertson, a native of Chicago, had hopes of creating a Tin Pan Alley in town, a place where local musicians and performers could be discovered. After the shop opened for business, Mr. Robertson completed an application to become a member of the Chamber of Commerce, and promptly turned over his membership dues. But upon an interview with Mr. Price, who thought it his business to ask a number of things about Mr. Robertson’s personal life—such things that had nothing at all to do with his music business, by the way—Mr. Price’s opinion started to sour. Like spoiled cream.
Mr. Robertson endeavored to answer the questions truthfully, but even so, Mr. Price must not have liked what he heard, because two weeks later, his application to become a member of the Chamber of Commerce was denied. Three months after that, Mr. Robertson’s music shop was out of business. Out of business!
How, you might ask, can one person in town have that much power? Well—Mr. Price might have asked, How can one person get even more power? In fact, that’s exactly what he did ask. And now that his four-year term as president of the chamber was coming to an end just as the current mayor of Hagerstown, Lloyd Mitchell, announced plans to retire, he had his answer.
But it wasn’t going to be as easy as all get-out. Because little did he know that George Robertson—yes, that George Robertson—would decide to oppose him in the race for mayor.
Oh, to have seen Mr. Price’s face on that day. What a sight!
7
AFTER MORE THAN A week without Joan, Frankie was a sight to see as well. She felt her sister’s absence in every room of their apartment. Everywhere she looked there were things that belonged to Joan, proof that she had lived there and was part of Frankie’s life—her skate key, her Patsy doll with eyes that blinked, her jump rope—but no one to claim them as her own or to tell Frankie to be careful when she went to play with them. Joan was there, but she wasn’t. To Frankie, it was like living with just the shadow of her sister.
And not hearing a word from Joan since she’d left certainly wasn’t helping.
Frankie missed Joan no more so than in the evenings when they would huddle in front of the Philco radio in the living room and listen to their favorite program. This evening, though, while Elizabeth was reading on the porch and Mother and Daddy were in the kitchen, Grandma Engel joined Frankie just as the set was warming up. Frankie turned the dial until the familiar voice of the announcer crackled through the speakers, advertising Blue Coal. “Ask for Blue Coal by name,” he declared. “It’s the solid fuel for solid comfort.”
Indeed, solid comfort. It was eighty-nine degrees outside. Comfort would be swimming in an ice pond.
“The Shadow, a mysterious character who aids those in distress and helps the forces of law and order, is in reality Lamont Cranston, a wealthy young man about town. Cranston’s friend and companion, the lovely Margo Lane, is the only person who knows to whom the unseen voice belongs. The only one who knows the true identity of that master of other people’s minds—The Shadow. Today’s story, ‘Guest of Death.’”
“‘Guest of Death,’” said Grandma Engel from her easy chair. “This sounds like a good one.”
Frankie grinned and they both listened as the organ music began: dum-da-da-di-dum-dum-doe-da-di-dum-DUM!
“Does Aunt Dottie have a radio?” asked Frankie.
“I believe so.”
“Good.” Frankie closed her eyes and laid her hand on the rug beside her. “Then it’s like she’s here with us.”
“Don’t worry,” said Grandma Engel. “I’m sure you’ll hear from Joan soon. She just needs some time to settle in, is all.”
“Shh,” said Frankie. She turned up the volume dial. “We’re missing it.”
“Shh yourself,” said Grandma Engel.
Frankie smiled. That’s just what Joan would’ve said.
8
ABOUT HALFWAY THROUGH THE program, just as the Shadow was about to cloud the mind of someone and find out what evil lurked in his heart, there was a knock at the Baums’ door. Frankie at first thought it was coming from the Philco, and paid no attention. Grandma Engel was asleep in the chair and heard nothing.
But the knock came again, and this time louder. Frankie didn’t want to miss her program, not when the guest of death had yet to be revealed, so she hollered, “Som
eone’s at the door!”
“Who died?” said Grandma Engel, awaking from a dream with a spark. She looked around the room, trying to get her bearings, until she laid her eyes on Frankie, who could only shake her head and laugh. “Wait until you get old,” said Grandma Engel. “Mark my words, you won’t think it so funny.”
Daddy appeared then, followed by Mother, on their way to the door. “My goodness,” said Daddy, “that must be a gripping episode, seeing how the door is only—what would you say, Mildred? Five feet away?”
“Really, Frances,” said Mother.
Daddy winked at Frankie and then opened the door just as the Shadow’s ominous laugh seeped out from the radio—heh-heh-heh-heh-heh. Frankie rubbed her bare arms, which had turned to gooseflesh.
In the open doorway stood Mr. Price, puffing on a fat cigar.
“Good evening,” said Mr. Price, first removing his derby and then his cigar. “I’m sorry to bother you at home, but I stopped by your new place of business and must have just missed you.” He peered into the living room. “I hope I’m not intruding, but I’d like to speak with you, Mr. Baum.” He smiled at Mother. “About Chamber of Commerce matters.”
Puff.
Puff.
“Do come in,” said Daddy, ushering him through the living room and offering him a seat at the dining table.
“Would you like some coffee or tea?” asked Mother.
“How about something with ice?” said Mr. Price, setting his derby on the table. He retrieved a handkerchief from his linen jacket pocket and mopped the sweat from his forehead.
“Will do,” said Mother. On the way to the icebox, she circled back into the living room, reached in front of Frankie, and turned down the volume on the radio.
“I can’t hear it now,” complained Frankie. “And neither can Grandma.” She looked over at Grandma Engel, but her head was set deep into the chair cushion. She had nodded off once again.
Before heading into the kitchen, Mother raised her eyebrows at Frankie as if daring her to touch the volume dial, a dare Frankie knew better than to accept. So Frankie pressed her ear against the speaker and tried to listen as best she could.
Meanwhile, Mr. Price pulled out a piece of paper from his breast pocket and laid it in front of Daddy at the table. Then he retrieved a small black notebook and pen from inside his jacket. “Let me first congratulate you on your new business. I’ve heard it’s a restaurant?”
Puff.
Puff.
Puff.
“That’s right,” said Daddy, getting a small glass dish that he used as a paperweight from atop his desk and setting it before Mr. Price. “A family restaurant.”
Mr. Price smiled and cradled his cigar in the dish. Then he jotted that down in his notebook. “Family businesses are generally quite acceptable.”
“Acceptable?” said Daddy. “To whom?”
“The chamber, of course,” said Mr. Price. “Now, I’m sure you are aware that as president, it is my duty to encourage all businessmen in town to become members. I noticed that you haven’t yet submitted an application or made it down to my office to discuss membership, which is the reason for my visit this evening. Certainly, it is in your best interest to become a member, as we can provide numerous benefits for your business, which I’m sure you already know.”
Mother returned then with a glass of iced tea, which she placed on the table in front of Mr. Price. The glass was sweating already, almost as much as Mr. Price.
“Thank you,” Mr. Price said, and he knocked back the entire thing. When he returned the glass to the table, the slivers of ice clinked against the bottom like pennies into an empty money box.
“I am aware of the benefits being a member of the chamber provides,” said Daddy, clearing his throat. “But our doors aren’t opening for a few weeks. In truth, we’ve been so busy with the new restaurant construction that I haven’t gotten around to thinking about, well, much else.”
Mr. Price tapped the cigar to shed ashes into the dish and then stuck it in the corner of his mouth. He pushed the piece of paper closer to Daddy. “Well, there’s no time like the present.” He held out his pen.
Puff.
Daddy looked at the application and the pen and smiled. “I’ll think it over, and I’ll be sure to get back to you about our decision.”
“Your decision?” said Mr. Price.
Daddy nodded and stood up.
Mr. Price did not. He wasn’t quite sure what was happening, as something like this had never happened to him before. In his mind, there was much more to discuss, and so on he pressed. “There are some questions I always like to ask prospective members, if you don’t mind. First, I see that you are married and have at least one child. Is that right?” He looked in Frankie’s direction.
“We’ve got two others,” said Mother. “Both girls.”
Mr. Price nodded and shook off more ashes into the dish, the bottom of which was now black with tar. “And you’ve lived here in Maryland for how long?”
“More than twenty years,” said Daddy, who was beginning to lose patience and started tapping his fingernails on the edge of the table.
“And you were born here, Mr. Baum?” said Mr. Price. “In this country, I mean?”
“I beg your pardon,” said Daddy. “But what does all this have to do with being a member of the chamber?”
Mr. Price shifted in his chair. “Purely a formality, Mr. Baum. But the way I see it, I mean, the way we at the chamber see it, is that the business owners are the backbone of our town. That being so, as president, it is my business, shall we say, to make sure we have the right sort. A town with a weak backbone, should a crisis occur of an economic or moral nature, will collapse on its feet. Now, where did you say you were born?”
Puff.
Puff.
“I understand completely,” said Daddy, pushing his chair in to the table. “Why don’t you come by the restaurant anytime.”
“Pardon?”
Daddy put his arm around Mother’s shoulders. “We are going to have quite a menu.”
At that moment, Mr. Price was, among many things, confused. Somehow, the evening had taken a turn and had not gone according to plan. And for Mr. Price, things always went according to his plan. They had to, otherwise what was the confounded use of having a plan? He had money to collect and questions to be answered, but there he was with no money and no answers. And he hadn’t even had the chance to mention the upcoming election or his bid for mayor.
Meanwhile, Mother and Daddy stood there at the table, staring at Mr. Price and patiently waiting for him to get up, but he did not. It was as though Mr. Price’s behind was stuck fast in cement. “Thank you for stopping by,” said Daddy, trying to dislodge him.
Mother did her part to help. “I hope you enjoyed the tea.”
Mr. Price took a long puff on his cigar and blew a cloud of smoke that hung in front of Daddy until he coughed and fanned it away from his face. Finally, Mr. Price managed to break loose of the chair. “I see,” he said as he tucked the notebook and pen back into his pocket. Alas, he did see what was going on, and he didn’t care for it at all. Even more, he couldn’t quite believe it was happening. This was, after all, the first time in the history of his term as president of Hagerstown’s chamber of commerce that Sullen Waterford Price, Esquire, was being turned away.
As Daddy walked him to the door, Mr. Price worried that perhaps he was losing his touch. Perhaps he was getting too soft. He turned to face Daddy, to try to take hold of the situation and force his plan back on the right track. “Now, look here, Baum,” he started to say.
By this time, Frankie, who had missed most of her radio program and was going to continue to miss it as long as Mr. Price was there talking, had been working her fingers up to the volume dial. She glanced over at Mother, ever so innocently, and to Frankie’s surprise, Mother was
looking right at her with half of her mouth turned up in a smile. Then, Mother gave the tiniest of nods.
Frankie did not hesitate. She turned up the volume. Oh boy, did she ever.
“You see, it’s useless, Keezy,” said the Shadow. “You can’t destroy what you can’t see.”
“Why have you come here?”
“To end your criminal career . . .”
“I’ve committed no crime,” said Keezy.
“What’d I miss?” said Grandma Engel, awakened by the sudden loud voices.
Mr. Price lingered in the doorway. “What was it you were about to say, Mr. Price?” asked Daddy, shouting over the radio.
Mr. Price took out his cigar as if he were going to make a speech, but decided better of it. Another time, he thought, another time. “Good evening to you, Mr. Baum.” He sucked on his cigar and slipped on his derby.
“And to you,” said Daddy.
“I’ll be seeing you,” said Mr. Price under this breath as he stepped out into the night air.
9
THERE WAS NO NIGHT air coming through Frankie and Elizabeth’s bedroom window, not even as much as a whisper to waft the curtains. Frankie lifted her head from the pillow and kicked off the cotton sheet to cool her bare feet. She rolled over in her bed and found Bismarck next to her, stretched out in Joan’s spot. His head was only a few inches away, his mouth open and panting from the closeness of the June heat. Frankie turned back over to get away from his hot breath, which incidentally had the scent of rotted beans. The thin mattress squeaked on the metal frame when she turned, and Elizabeth stirred in her bed across the room.
Frankie didn’t know what time it was, or how long she’d been asleep, or for that matter why she had awakened. But the sun had not yet made itself known, so she figured it was either very late or very early. No matter, she decided; she was awake, and so she got out of bed. As her feet touched the wood floor, Bismarck lifted his head and whined. Frankie whispered to him that he shouldn’t be bothered with what she was up to and to go back to sleep, which he promptly did. That dog.
A Tiny Piece of Sky Page 4
