“I’ll man the door,” said Grandma Engel, “and make sure everyone gets a seat. That means you, too, Millie.” She led Mother inside by the hand and eased her into a chair at a table close to the door.
Uncle Hal and Aunt Edith filled water glasses while Aunt Dottie tended the bar with Mr. Dench. Uncle Reinhart wandered through the restaurant, unsure of how to be helpful. This was his first time inside the restaurant, and as he went from room to room looking, his eyes were as big as candy suckers. The tables in the main dining room filled up right quick, and Grandma Engel had to put some people in the banquet room. When that room was full, she seated people at the bar. Most of the family of the kitchen staff helped cook the food and stayed in the kitchen to eat.
Amy showed Peaches how to peel potatoes, while Mr. Washington and Seaweed cooked the meat. Even Mr. Stannum showed up to help. He just walked into the kitchen and, without saying a word to anyone, pulled on an apron and got to work cleaning dishes. Dishes, I tell you!
Things were humming along, you could say, until a gentleman poked his head into the kitchen and asked for a word with Mrs. Baum. He spoke with an accent, and Frankie couldn’t make out some of what he said, including his name, if he even gave it.
“Mildred Baum?” asked Frankie. “Is that what you said?”
The man nodded. “Yes, is she here? I wish to speak with her.”
“About what?” asked Frankie.
The man shifted an envelope from one hand to the other. “I’m from the German Beneficial Union, and I have an insurance matter to discuss with her. On behalf of Hermann Baum.”
Frankie wiped her hands on her apron and led him into the dining room and to the table where mother was sitting and nursing a drink. She bent down and whispered in her ear. “Mother, this man is here from the German Beneficial Union. About Daddy.”
Mother’s puffy eyes had worry in them. She got up from her chair and walked with the man to the far corner of the room, where there wasn’t as much noise. Frankie went along. “What is it?” Mother asked, sounding alarmed.
“I came to know Hermann Baum only a short time ago, but I wanted to share my condolences with you and your family,” the man said. “The German Beneficial Union, madam, seeks to provide financial security and brotherhood to its members, and I was pleased that your husband joined the union a few months ago, and even took out an insurance policy.” He handed the envelope to Mother. “I hope you will find this to help you continue the restaurant, perhaps?”
“Well,” said Mother, “I don’t know about that.”
“Oh, really?” said the man. “Well, I hope you change your mind.” He looked about the room. “A charming place, you have here. In any case, it was a pleasure meeting you, and I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
“Would you like to stay and fix yourself a plate?” she asked.
“How nice of you. But I must get back to work.” He nodded at Mother. “Good day, Mrs. Baum.” And then at Frankie, “Good day, young lady.”
Frankie watched him weave through the crowd and out the front door. “What is it?” she asked Mother, eyeing the envelope.
Mother opened the envelope and read the letter tucked inside. She brought her hand to her mouth.
“What does it say?” said Frankie.
Mother read the letter again, then folded it and slid it back inside the envelope. “Your father, it seems, still is looking after us,” she said. “Still looking after me.” Then something caught her eye by the door.
Frankie followed her gaze and noticed Mr. Price on the sidewalk, peering in through the open door. “Just what does he think he’s doing here?” said Mother. With a sudden surge of courage, she strode toward him. Frankie followed close behind.
“Good afternoon,” said Mr. Price, taking a step backward when he saw Mother coming toward him. He blew smoke from his fat cigar.
“Hardly,” said Mother, remaining in the doorway.
“Yes, well, I just happened to be walking by and saw the place full of people.” He cleared his throat. “I’m very sorry to have learned of your husband’s death.”
“Thank you,” said Mother.
Mr. Price peered around Mother to get a look at who was in the restaurant. “I understand you aren’t going to reopen the business. Pity, after all the work and, I imagine, money you put into this place.”
“Mr. Price,” said Mother, “I don’t know where you get your information, but it seems once again you are miles from the truth.”
“Pardon?”
“I said, just how do you know we aren’t opening the restaurant?”
Mr. Price flicked his cigar, and ashes fell to the sidewalk. “Is that your intention?”
Frankie, who was lingering behind Mother, grabbed her arm. “You can do it,” said Frankie. “We can make it into just what Daddy dreamed of.”
“Dreams,” said Mr. Price. “It takes more than dreams to run a business. That’s a child’s point of view.”
Frankie scowled at him.
Mother took a step toward Mr. Price so that her face was only inches away. She coughed at his smelly cigar and then pulled the thing from his mouth. After that, she did something that Frankie could hardly believe: she tossed it onto the street behind him.
“Let me set you straight,” she said. “You know nothing about my girl, and you obviously know nothing about the Baums.”
Frankie could not watch. Usually she was on the other end of Mother’s scolding, and no matter that Mr. Price was getting his deserved comeuppance, Mother’s delivery still made her cringe. “What we do with our restaurant business,” said Mother, “is none of your business.” Mother put her arm around Frankie’s shoulder. “Now, we’d invite you in, but we aren’t the sort of people you approve of, and quite frankly, we feel the same way about you.”
Mr. Price, for once, had nothing to say. And when you have nothing to say, and no cigar to toke, the only thing you can do is move on. Which is exactly what he did.
Little did Mr. Price know that he would soon have to get used to moving on. In a surprising upset in the mayoral election that took place several weeks later, Mr. Price was handily defeated by his opponent, George Robertson. The Daily Mail called it a “crushing blow” and featured a cartoon on the front page with George Robertson as Mickey’s Mechanical Man pummeling Mr. Price as the giant gorilla, the Kongo Killer. Victory came at last.
After Mr. Price disappeared down the street, Frankie looked up at the tiny piece of sky that was visible from the doorway. Then she stepped out onto the sidewalk, then onto the street, still gazing up, until she could see more.
“What are you looking at?” asked Mother, coming to her side.
In the middle of the street they stood, with their faces to the sky, as if seeing it for the first time and never dreaming it was so wide.
66
AND THAT, MY FRIEND, was that.
Oh, but what of the package that Aunt Dottie had been hiding in her pie safe? You haven’t forgotten about that, have you?
Relax, and put your feet up. Frankie and Joan hadn’t forgotten about it, either. And neither had Aunt Dottie. When Fritz arrived to bring Aunt Dottie and Joan to Hagerstown after Daddy got sick, Aunt Dottie grabbed the package from the pie safe and stuffed it into her pocketbook. She was just as curious about its contents as Frankie and Joan, so after the reception was over and after the last guest had retired, she brought it out.
“Hermann, rest his soul, asked me to hold on to this for a while,” said Aunt Dottie, placing the package on a dining table in front of Mother, Elizabeth, Joan, and Frankie.
“What could it be?” said Mother, staring at the return address.
“All I know,” said Aunt Dottie, looking at Frankie, “is that he was planning on surprising you for your birthday.”
“My birthday?” said Frankie. “But it’s a month away.”
“It’s all the way from Germany?” said Elizabeth.
“So this was the box Daddy was talking about?” said Frankie.
“What do you mean?” said Mother.
“I heard him talking to Fritz about taking a box out of town to be safe,” said Frankie. “Why would he need to do that for a birthday present?”
Mother wrung her hands. “Maybe he was worried that someone would get the wrong idea about him.”
Aunt Dottie reached for Mother’s arm. “That may be, Millie. It doesn’t take much for people to get the wrong idea. But he did tell me he couldn’t keep it at your apartment or the restaurant because he knew of Frankie’s penchant for spying,” said Aunt Dottie with a wink. “Hermann didn’t trust you, my dear. He knew your snooping habits. And he didn’t want you to find it before it was time.”
Frankie shook her head. All this time, it was Daddy who thought she was a spy.
They all stared at the box, but no one made a move to open it. Not even Frankie.
Grandma Engel was watching from the bar. “For Pete’s sake, open the damn thing.” She sighed. “You people.”
“Go on, Frances,” said Mother.
Joan pushed the box gently in Frankie’s direction.
Frankie took in a breath and then cracked her knuckles to limber up her fingers. She pulled the package to her and, very carefully, began tearing the brown paper wrapping. A plain white box was underneath. She paused and then opened the lid.
Crumpled newspaper, in German, was all she saw.
“What is it?” said Joan.
Frankie shook her head. Then she pulled out the newspaper and handed it to Joan. And there, at the bottom of the box under all that paper, was a small velvet bag. Frankie lifted it out, feeling something hard inside. She pulled open the drawstring and emptied the bag into her hand.
She held in her palm a small silver-filigree brooch, in the shape of a girl’s shoe.
Grandma Engel made her way over to the table. “Well?”
Mother picked it up and turned it over, admiring the metalwork. “It’s beautiful.”
“May I?” asked Aunt Dottie, reaching for the pin. She ran her finger over the slipper’s pointed toe. “I can’t say for certain if this was hers or not, but our mother had a brooch just like this one. She used to say it brought her luck.”
“Really?” said Frankie. “Luck?”
Aunt Dottie called to her brother, who was sitting at the bar with his back toward them. “Reinhart, come over here and take a look at this.” She added, “And be social for once.”
Reinhart sat down beside Aunt Dottie and took the brooch in his hand. “I remember this.”
Aunt Dottie nodded. “When our mother and father first came to this country, fleeing the Great War, they left a house and many belongings behind, thinking that one day they would return. But they made a life here, and after Hermann was born, going back was something that wasn’t as important to them anymore. They tried to make arrangements about their property, but they learned that much of it was looted or lost to the government, and sadly, they died before they could see it through. Since the first few years after they passed, Reinhart and Hermann and I have been trying to reclaim some of their things, but haven’t had much success.
“We’ve been able to track down a few pieces of art, some dishes of our mother’s china,” said Reinhart, “but the way things are over there now, I am afraid everything else will be lost forever.” He turned the brooch over in his palm. “I didn’t know that Hermann had found this.” He gave the brooch back to Aunt Dottie.
“That man was always full of surprises,” said Grandma Engel.
Mother looked at Dottie and Reinhart. “If this belonged to your mother, then maybe it’s meant to be yours.”
Aunt Dottie shook her head and put the brooch back in Frankie’s hand. “No, Millie. I think it’s found its rightful owner.”
“Reinhart?” said Mother.
He shook his head and whispered, “You should keep it.”
And the funny thing is, Frankie knew that he didn’t just mean keep the brooch. After spending the day at the restaurant, somehow he could finally see things the way Hermann saw them, and Frankie knew he meant that they should keep this place, too.
67
NOW, WHETHER THAT SILVER brooch really did bring luck, no one living could tell you. But I will tell you this much: business at Baum’s Restaurant boomed. It really did become an eating place of wide renown, and there was barely an empty chair each night. Some even came from miles around just for Grandma Engel’s stewed prunes.
I know. I find it hard to believe as well. Prunes. Blech.
Although Mother’s nerves were still of a fragile nature, it turned out that running a restaurant was the one adventure that didn’t cause her to worry. Not too much, anyway. She rarely fainted anymore, at least. She even eased up on Frankie, who, incidentally, no longer minded being in the kitchen. Joan was with her, and soon enough Frankie came to realize that Daddy was right: the kitchen was the most important part of the restaurant, its heart and soul.
Dixie took Frankie and Joan to and from the restaurant most days, and she put on a show for customers every now and then—dividing numbers or saying her prayers—in front of the restaurant, when she felt like it. When she didn’t . . . well, you know. Bismarck got in on the act, too. Frankie hooked up a wagon to him and he traveled the alleys—on his own, mind you—through town to pick up potatoes or anything else the kitchen was running low on. That dog developed a special fondness for Mr. Stannum, of all people, and was by his side most days when he wasn’t hitched up to his wagon or asleep in Daddy’s old office. And speaking of Mr. Stannum, his heart, now that he’d found it again, was working just fine. He actually smiled once or twice, though he didn’t like anyone to see, and hardly ever yelled at Amy or Mr. Washington or Seaweed, and never fired them again.
As for Seaweed, Frankie finally made good on their deal. She convinced Mother to let Seaweed and his band play two nights a week after the dinner rush. Frankie and Joan tried to get him to play something that wasn’t so full of gloom, and he obliged them . . . sometimes. But mostly he stuck to the blues, and that was all right. His music took them all to a place that they knew and once shared, rekindling the memory of Daddy, and somehow by the end of the evening they felt a little better.
Been gone so long, I said you’ve been gone too long
Doggone, there ain’t nothing to do but cry
Been worryin’ so long, I said you’ve been worryin’ too long
Well, see here, girl, there’s that look again in your eye
Beyond all that, there was only one thing left to resolve: Frankie and Joan’s wager. They had both forgotten about it, to tell the truth, until one evening as they were snapping beans in the kitchen. The air had turned cool and Amy opened one of the windows in the kitchen, allowing a most pleasant breeze to drift inside. Frankie just happened to be telling Joan the story of the millions of chicken feathers, and was laughing when she recounted how Daddy and Mr. Stannum looked with feathers in their hair. Which prompted Joan to say, “You owe me ten cents.”
“I do not,” insisted Frankie, tossing her bowl of beans into a colander.
“Do too,” said Joan. “You swore you wouldn’t have any fun.”
“I didn’t,” said Frankie, thinking back on everything that had happened over the summer. But then she ended with a grin, “Not much, anyway.”
The summer was long over, but there were still days she’d wake up and forget that Daddy was gone. There was so much of him in the restaurant, sometimes she expected to see him walk into the kitchen and check on food orders. Or put his arm around her shoulder. Sometimes she swore she even heard his voice through the heat register. Heard him call her name, telling her to look at the whole sky, not just the piece she could see out her window.
“Do you see it, Frankie?�
��
She would answer, “I think I do, Daddy.” For now it seemed to Frankie that the sky got bigger every day.
And that, let me tell you, is just what it does.
Author’s Note
A TINY PIECE OF Sky is a work of fiction, but the Baums’ story is inspired by the real-life experiences of Albert A. Beck in Hagerstown, Maryland, prior to the second World War. Albert and his wife, Mildred, built and ran Beck’s Tavern and Restaurant on North Jonathan Street beginning in the late 1920s. The restaurant was billed as an “Eating Place of Wide Renown,” enjoying much success and popularity until the business was sold in 1965. Albert and Mildred were my grandparents.
Beck’s Restaurant had two dining rooms along with a lunch counter and bar, and as written in this novel, customers were entertained every evening by a Hammond electric organ and on many weekends by the Jack Frost Orchestra, led by George Maurice “Jack” Frost. Just as in the story, Beck’s Restaurant was situated on the edge of Jonathan Street—the three blocks in Hagerstown that are an historically African American neighborhood and the site of the first African American churches, city homes, and businesses in Washington County.
Albert Beck was born in 1890 in Jefferson, Missouri, to German parents. He married Mildred Newman in 1927, and they had three daughters: Mildred, MaryAnn, and Patricia. My mother—Patricia—often told me stories about how she was teased as a young girl, in the late 1930s and early 1940s, when classmates at school discovered that her father was of German descent. I grew up hearing stories of her family’s restaurant; about rumors of spying; about how German was a dirty word back then; about Bismarck, their dog, and Dixie, their pony. Bismarck was, in fact, a real dog—a German shepherd—who would often carry bags of potatoes and other restaurant items in his teeth from Beck’s to the other restaurant Albert owned across town, The Arcade. Dixie, too, was a real pony. Although the real Dixie wasn’t a former rodeo star, she could perform many tricks, including counting and saying her prayers.
A Tiny Piece of Sky Page 24
