“Fine, fine! This won’t take but a few minutes,” Layla called over her shoulder.
“When they tie the hands of the union man! Sit down! Sit down!” A passionate vibrato caressed the vowels. “When they give ’em a pact, they’ll take them back! Sit down! Sit do-ow-own! SIT DOWWN!”
Miss Betts stood. “I’m going downstairs to talk to Hank,” she shouted.
Bent over the drawer, Layla nodded inattentively. Hamilton was quite a large file. She flipped through it: Hamilton Elected to Virginia House of Delegates, Hamilton Purchases 200 Acres, Hamilton Dead at 67, Hamilton Builds, Hamilton Weds, Hamilton Lauded for, Bowers–Hamilton Nuptials, Hamilton Arrives, Hamilton Weds, Spurling Née Hamilton Weds, Hamilton an Investor, Hamilton Heir Accused, Hamilton to Visit Boston, Spurling Née Hamilton Dead, Hamilton Late of this Town, Storied Past of Pella, Hamilton to Lead Parade, The Great Macedonian, Twins Born to Nevius Family, EXTRA EDITION! AMER-EVERLASTING BURNS TO GROUND! VAUSE HAMILTON III FOUND DEAD IN CHARRED RUINS!!!—
Her eyes flew past the screaming headlines:
SEPTEMBER 4, 1920.
The American Everlasting Hosiery factory was destroyed in a great inferno beginning around midnight last night, and the calamity redoubled when the remains of Vause Hamilton III were uncovered in the smoldering ruins.
Fire Chief Halbert Leed declared smoke asphyxiation to be the cause of death and delivered the astounding intelligence that Mr. Hamilton was found with a sack containing $2,000, evidently taken from the company’s safe, which though fire-proof was discovered open and plundered of its contents in the wreckage of the company offices this morning. Mr. St. Clair Romeyn, President of the concern, attested that the safe held over $5,800 in cash money when he left the offices the evening before. Police Chief Oscar Whiting and Fire Chief Leed concurred that Mr. Hamilton had “cracked” the safe and robbed it, afterward setting an arson-fire to mask his crime. A second sack containing the remaining thousands was presumably lost during Hamilton’s desperate attempt to flee the flames. The corpse was discovered under a partially collapsed staircase adjacent to the Unity Street door; a long corridor connected this part of the works to the company offices, where the safe was housed.
St. Clair Romeyn broke down at the news of the robbery, saying, “He was like a son to me. I can’t believe Vause would do this.” Young Hamilton was a close chum of Mr. Felix Romeyn’s; they attended school together and embarked upon the Great War in the same company.
Felix Romeyn, a Superintendent at the factory, today confirmed Chief Leed’s suspicion that Hamilton was in possession of the combination to the safe. “Of course he knew it. He knew the mill backward and forward,” said Mr. Romeyn, his haggard mien attesting to the strains of the night.
The conflagration was the greatest ever seen in Macedonia. Fire-fighters were called in from Keyser, Leesville, and White Creek to assist Macedonia’s three engines in subduing the fire, but the teams’ manful efforts were overmatched by the dreadful power of the flames, and as dawn broke this morning, the factory buildings, including the offices, storerooms, warehouses, and manufacturing plant, lay in smoking ruins. St. Clair Romeyn twice attempted to rush to the aid of the fire-men in the course of the night and was restrained by his assistant, Mr. Parnell Rudy. Scores of bystanders watched the stormy battle from the…
But she already knew all this. This explained nothing. Frowning, Layla dropped the brittle paper back into its place and flipped to the next clipping, Death of Vause Hamilton III, featuring the same smiling face she’d seen in The Hellene.
She scanned the obituary: twenty years of age, of smoke asphyxiation, remains discovered in the aftermath of Saturday’s fire at American Everlasting Hosiery Company, returned last year from the battlefields of France to the home of his parents where he resided at the time of his death, funeral services were held, pallbearers were, in addition to his parents he is survived by, interment in, Hamilton was probably the most outstanding athlete ever produced by Macedonia High School, numerous victories in, captain of, member of, manager of, president of, editor of, vice president of, known throughout the state for his—
Nothing.
She glanced over her shoulder and pulled open the drawer marked R–T. Romeyn was considerably slimmer than Hamilton. Forrest Romeyn to Wed, St. Clair Romeyn to Return Home Saturday, Miss Cappilanti to Wed, St. Clair Romeyn Opens American Everlasting Factory, No Panic at American Everlasting, Twins Born to Mr. and Mrs. Romeyn, No Clouds of War at A-E Fest, Gov. Appoints Romeyn Textile Guild Pres., Mrs. Romeyn to Preside at Rose League Tea, Romeyn Denies Guilt—
Felix Romeyn, 19, of this town, yesterday denied accusations made Thursday by Solomon McKubin, 20, also of Macedonia, that Romeyn set the fire that destroyed the American Everlasting Hosiery Company on September 4. In a statement made at the Macedonia Police Station on October 14, Mr. McKubin charged that Mr. Romeyn was the instigator of both the robbery and the fire that occurred at American Everlasting, which resulted in the death of young Vause Hamilton, whose remains were found in the charred ruins of the company offices on East Main Street. Mr. Hamilton is presumed to have been in the process of robbing the company when he succumbed to the flames.
“I know Vause didn’t do it, not on his own lookout, anyway. It’s got Felix written all over it. I don’t care what he says. He’s lying,” Mr. McKubin alleged on Thursday. “I want an investigation. They’ve got to investigate Felix. He can’t just go free.”
Mr. McKubin’s accusation was yesterday denied by Mr. Romeyn. “I don’t know what Sol [McKubin] means. Why would I burn down my own father’s factory? Vause did it, I don’t know why. I thought he was my best friend.” It has been established that at the time of the fire, Mr. Romeyn was at the home of Mr. Tare Russell. “We were playing at billiards,” confirmed Mr. Russell. “My servant showed Mr. Romeyn in at eight o’clock on the evening of the 3rd, and we played until two the next morning. He won.”
Mr. Henry Odell, a friend of Mr. Romeyn as well as of the deceased and Mr. McKubin, speculated, “Seems like Sol’s gone crazy. I don’t know why he said all that.”
Police Chief Oscar Whiting promises “a complete and thorough examination of the evidence” in the coming days.
Layla’s head jerked up and the scrap of yellowed newsprint fluttered from her hand. She snatched it before it touched the floor and slipped it back in the file. Any more? Just one: St. Clair Romeyn Dead at 59. Leaf by leaf, she sifted through the pile, carefully inspecting each frail piece of paper. There was nothing more about Felix. Then she looked in the Hamilton file again, finding no more about Vause Hamilton’s death.
She straightened up, absently rubbing her back. For a long while she gazed at the dust motes waltzing through the streaming light. Then she pulled out the L–M drawer. There was no file for McKubin.
It had come to nothing. An accusation, never proved. Dismissed.
And now everything made sense. “Sol McKubin was like to die; I never saw a man cry like that in my life.” He’d gone crazy and accused Felix of setting the fire that killed his best friend—no wonder Felix hated him. “He’s a liar, all right?” And Shank had hired Sol, probably took a vindictive pleasure in hiring him, to be his right-hand man—a sort of slap in the face of the Romeyns. Maybe they even plotted it, to keep Felix from his rightful position. “And I’m sure the poor man hoped that Felix would take over the business, but, well, that was impossible after—” Because Shank and Sol McKubin had edged him out. It was an insult. It was a shame.
Something chafed, bothering her.
Emmett. Emmett was a friend of Sol’s. Why?
She pondered the complexities of brotherhood. Hadn’t she heard a million times of discord between brothers? Discord, mistrust, and, most of all, jealousy. Cain and Abel, for example! But Emmett and Felix didn’t seem like rivals. They seemed, actually, to be fond of each other. But perhaps their strife was buried deep beneath the cordial surface. It was, sometimes. Perhaps befriending his brother’s enemy was some kind of declarat
ion of independence Emmett felt he had to make. Awfully childish, but, then, he was the younger brother. It was generous of Felix, the affection he displayed to Emmett in spite of his petulance. She wasn’t sure she could be so generous, if it were her.
And there was Jottie, too. She’d greeted Sol at the mill. Didn’t she realize he’d nearly destroyed Felix’s reputation? Of course, Jottie had been staunch to her brother—after all, she’d taken care of him and his children for years—but still, it seemed disloyal, that casual greeting. And she’d called him fickle! Poor Felix was on his own. Instantly, Layla longed to stand between him and loneliness, to protect him with herself. He’d been betrayed by his best friend, and instead of receiving comfort, he’d been accused of stealing and practically murder. On a whim, if the paper was to be believed. And when? Six weeks after the fact! Didn’t anyone wonder why Sol McKubin had waited six weeks to make the charge? It was ludicrous. Yet even now the idea persisted. People like Mrs. Lansbrough insinuated and gossiped. They were barking dogs, snapping at his heels. It didn’t matter, not to her, what other people thought of him. She would stand by him. Let the dogs bark, Felix. You have me. I’ll protect you.
41
Jottie’s birthday was coming, and Bird and I were getting exercised about her present. When we were little, we’d generally made her face cream from aspirin and hand lotion or picked her flowers from her own garden, but this year we’d decided we were going to get her a real present, a bought present. Mae and Minerva were going to take us shopping. It would be an adventure, Mae said, a daring expedition into the throbbing heart of the city. We were going to Krohn’s Department Store.
We got ten cents a week each, Bird and me. It wasn’t much, and it was less after we’d coughed up a nickel for collection on Sunday. That was one ice cream a week, the plain kind, not even a double dip. It took us two weeks to save up for a milk shake. When I was ten, I’d succumbed to the devil and learned how to plump my hand fist-down into the collection plate and lift it up again real quick with my nickel safe and sound inside. But it preyed on my mind. So I gave up plumping my nickel and hewed to the paths of righteousness, and pretty soon the Lord rewarded me: I got hired to take ticks off dogs for a penny apiece. A penny apiece! I couldn’t believe it. Mrs. Harvill was my first customer. Ticks made her weak at the knees, especially when they were chock-full of blood and stuck fast to her dog, Seneca (Mr. Harvill taught Latin). I made a lot of money on Seneca, and then Mrs. Harvill told Mrs. Fox and Grandma Pucks, and they hired me for their ticks, too. Then Harriet asked me to come fix up her Ruffles. He was a nasty dog with ticks all over, and by the time I was done with him, I was squeamish. But I didn’t tell Harriet. She was a nice lady, and, besides, I needed the money. Altogether I had a dollar and sixty-eight cents, and I was willing to spend it all on Jottie’s present.
I knew just what to get her. It was a pocketbook. It came in Autumn Leaf, Plum, Araby Green, and Dubonnet, and tucked inside it were a compact, a comb, and a tiny coin purse. There was a place inside for a handkerchief, too. It was one dollar and ninety cents at Krohn’s Department Store, which struck me as a fair price for such a wonderful pocketbook, but I needed Bird to go in with me. Bird didn’t want to. She had seen a Myrna Loy movie the week before and wanted to buy Jottie some lounging pajamas.
“Jottie wouldn’t be caught dead in lounging pajamas,” I argued as we walked. “Not in a hundred years.”
“You don’t know. She doesn’t have any,” said Bird, jingling her coins. She carried them in a paper bag.
“Well, I’m not putting in my money for stupid lounging pajamas. Wait till you see this pocketbook. Araby Green is the best.”
“They have some of those faille gloves,” said Mae to Minerva.
Minerva made a face. “Hot.”
It was awful hot. Even ladies like Mae and Minerva had big circles of wet under their arms and across their backs.
“I swear, my kneecaps are sweating,” Mae groaned softly. “Wish someone would give us a ride.”
But no one came along, and we walked on down Council Street.
“Perfume?” said Mae.
“They have those Evening in Paris sets with powder and soap,” Minerva said thoughtfully.
Mae wrinkled her nose. “Evening in Paris.”
“Well. Coty’s?”
“Maybe,” said Mae. “We’ll give it a sniff.” She sighed faintly. “Remember when Vause brought her lily of the valley?”
Minerva patted the back of her neck with her handkerchief. “Uhhuh.”
“Did it smell nice?” I asked.
“Mmm,” said Mae, remembering. “Like a dream.”
“I guess she threw it out,” Minerva said, after a minute.
Mae nodded regretfully.
We were on Prince Street now, and Bird said that all she really wanted in the world was a tiny little bite of ice cream, but Minerva said we had to put our noses to the grindstone. “Krohn’s before pleasure,” she said.
“Pearls before swine,” said Mae.
It was fun to shop with the two of them. We looked at everything—jabots, cuffs, hankies, gloves, scarves, hose, snoods, housecoats, bed jackets, nightgowns. They let me and Bird sniff all the perfume we wanted, and when Mae bought a new lipstick, she let me try it. Carefully, I smoothed it on, making sure I dabbed extra up on my top lip. It was called Cherry Pie, and when I looked in the mirror, I saw a grown-up lady, twenty years old at least, looking back.
“You have to blot it, honey,” said Mae.
“No. I like it like this.”
“Only hussies don’t blot,” said Mae.
“Floozies,” agreed Minerva.
“Girls with anklets,” added Mae.
“Let me leave it,” I begged. “Just for now. Please. I’ll blot before we go home.”
Minerva laughed. “I guess nobody’s going to take you for a floozy. Let’s go look at the jewelry.”
Mae thought Jottie would like a locket. “She could put in a picture of each of you girls,” she said.
“Or two of me,” said Bird.
“Yeah, one of the front of your head and one of the back,” I said.
It took Mae and Minerva almost twenty minutes to persuade Bird that Jottie had no use for blue silk lounging pajamas, and it took twenty more for me to be convinced that Jottie’d rather have a locket than an Araby Green pocketbook. The locket was real gold and it cost four dollars and fifteen cents, so we all chipped in, and Minerva still had enough left over to treat us all to ice cream.
When we stepped out of Krohn’s, it was past the middle of the afternoon, but the heat was still pushing down like hot bricks. The few people out were gathered under the store awnings, trying to keep to the shade.
“Speaking of noses to the grindstone,” said Minerva suddenly.
Father was leaning against a stair rail, drinking from a sweating-cold bottle of Coca-Cola. Mae put her hands on her hips. “I swear, Felix,” she said, “if you got any more relaxed, you’d be dead.”
Father looked up and smiled. “Hey, girls.” He lifted his Coca-Cola. “To your health and prosperity.”
“Pooh to that!” Minerva said. “Buy us ice cream!”
Mae laughed and said something, but I didn’t hear, because Father’s eyes had moved away from them and come to rest on me. His eyebrow flew up as he looked at me. “What did you do?”
I felt a red-hot blush shooting up my neck and face. I’d forgotten to blot. “Mae let me try her lipstick,” I mumbled.
“You look all grown up.” He stared at me. “My God, I feel old.”
“Don’t be a wet blanket, Felix,” said Mae. “It’s cute.”
He made a face. “If you say so.”
“You’d better get used to it,” Minerva warned. “She’s growing up. Pretty soon she’ll be going on dates. Dates and dances. It won’t be long before you’ll be walking her down the aisle.”
“And after that, you’ll be a grandpa!” crowed Mae.
They were laughing, but
Father wasn’t. His eyes came back to me, not in the usual way but kind of leery, like you’d lift up a rock and see what was underneath.
I quick rubbed the lipstick off with the back of my hand.
—
The sun went down, but the heat stayed put. It was too hot to eat. We all just picked at our food, until finally Jottie said, “Oh, let’s give up.” Out on the porch, we could hear the other rockers and chairs along Academy Street creaking, but no one called hey-you. It was too hot. Bird laid herself out like a dog on the floor. I plopped into a chair and then regretted it when my skin stuck in every ripple of wicker. Father was sitting next to Miss Beck on the far side of the porch, and the light from the front room was shining on the pair of them. Every once in a while, he’d bend his head toward her and speak softly, but I couldn’t hear what he said. Minerva and Mae were fussing about how hot they were, and Jottie was just stirring pensively at her ice-coffee. I wondered if she was thinking about her birthday, about what her present might be.
After a while, Richie and Harriet arrived, and then my uncle Henry. And then silly Marjorie Lanz, with her sleeves stuffed full of handkerchiefs the way they always were. She plucked one out to wave it like a fan, and I thought of telling her it would make her hotter, but I didn’t. I didn’t feel like it.
Richie was talking about the strike, something about getting food in, and I was halfway listening. Richie had the deepest voice I’d ever heard. It was like a big boat on water. “…it’s driving Shank loony,” he was saying, and I saw Miss Beck reach over to touch Father’s knee. He turned to her and smiled, so warm and soft that I almost groaned. Actually, I did groan, just a little.
Jottie set her glass down kind of sharp and cleared her throat. It was the quickest thing anyone had done that night, and we all turned to her, expecting something. “This here is Bastille Day, in France,” she announced.
“No, it’s not,” said Henry. He was sitting in a rocker with both his feet planted on the floor so it wouldn’t rock. “Bastille Day is the fourteenth of July.”
The Truth According to Us Page 34
