by Anna Schmidt
His words rang true in some ways. Didn’t Karen want more for Laurie than she’d had herself? But also, in a time of increasing success, she worried that her child might one day have too much and not appreciate simple things. Like a mug of sweet coffee on a cold, rainy Thanksgiving. Leftover bagels formed by a hardworking immigrant’s hands.
“The staff of life.” She smiled at his shop as a few local customers went in, older folks more drawn to the warmth and smell of hot dough than to the parade a block away. “I think you’ve done fine for yourself, Arnie.”
His frank expression thanked her. He hurried away as the strains of the last marching band faded to her right.
Short minutes later, crowds streamed by her, aiming for a subway station, happy folks heading home. Some dropped coins into her bucket. Most did not, but a few tipped their caps in her direction as she wished them a happy Thanksgiving.
Mike’s expression said he noted the lack of participation, but Laurie’s face . . .
Bright and animated, bursting with stories . . .
Pink cheeks and shining eyes meant a great deal. A day begun in the shadows of a doorway, brought into the light of joy with no change in the weather. Such is the power of a good remembrance, Karen knew.
“Your kettle isn’t filling all that quickly.” Mike took a few coins from his pocket and dropped them into the metal bucket.
“I think it’s normal for Thanksgiving Day,” Karen replied. “People have spent their money on food for a feast. And for some, shopping tomorrow is a big occasion.”
“And you?” he wondered as he tugged his glove back on. “Will you be shopping tomorrow?”
“No. Working.” She paused ringing for a moment to change hands. She wondered how much she should say as she stuffed her empty hand back inside the cloak to warm her chilled skin.
“Me too.” He hesitated, then asked, “Do you work nearby?”
Karen wasn’t a foolish woman. She’d seen a light of interest in the policeman’s eyes, a sheen of appreciation. But she’d vowed never to be fooled by a man again, and now she had so much more at stake than a tarnished reputation.
Now she had Laurie.
So she shook her head and answered offhand, “Near Union Square. And you? Do you take the train into Manhattan?”
“From Brooklyn, yes. So . . .” He hemmed, then put out his hand again, much like he did first thing that morning. “Thank you for letting me walk Laurie down to the parade. We kept the peace together.” He winked at the little girl, and her returned smile made Karen feel good about her decision.
“It was a great pleasure to her.” She leaned down and covered Laurie’s cheeks with butterfly kisses. “And a wonderful service to me, so we’re both grateful.”
The streets had pretty much cleared. The clink of a key in the lock said Arnie’s Bagels was closing for the holiday.
The older man hurried their way, a large box in one hand and a small sack in the other. “Bagels.” He set the box in the doorway alongside Laurie. “And cream cheese, of course.”
“Of course.” Mike exchanged grins with the older man as if cream cheese was a given. Karen had lived on nickels and dimes long enough to understand the true luxury of both treats.
“I had onion, sesame, and some plain leftover, and I made a batch of pumpernickel late in the day.” Arnie clapped his hand to his head as though chastising himself. “What was I thinking?”
As Karen leaned down to set the bag of cream cheese next to the box of bagels, the tender, warm smell of the fresh breads assailed her.
Her stomach churned in wishful anticipation.
Her mouth watered.
But she didn’t dive into the box the way she longed to. Instead she slipped off her damp glove, turned, and gave Arnie a hearty smile and her hand. “You will have made many people happy this day. Your generosity will not go unrewarded.”
Arnie dismissed her thanks with a wave. “It is, of course, nothing. Happy Thanksgiving, miss.”
“Karen,” she told him. She waved a hand toward the usually busy intersection below them. “And I’ll be ringing the bell each morning outside Macy’s until Christmas Eve, so we’ll see each other again.”
“Each day?”
Too late, she realized that Mike might take her revelation the wrong way, as if she were flirting with him. Or hinting to Arnie for more food.
She was doing neither, but a part of her would like to see Mike again. So had she blurted out the information on purpose?
Kind of. And that was most likely foolishness on her part.
Arnie’s smile said it was all right with him. “I will make sure you have coffee,” he promised. “Ringing the bell for so many days is a big sacrifice. Maybe too big?” he wondered out loud, one gray brow cast up in question.
Major Flora had made the same argument a few weeks ago, but Karen remained adamant despite the hospital director’s concerns.
The Salvation Army had fed her body and nourished her soul when she’d been homeless. Major Flora Parker had given her so much from an organization that catered to the least among mankind.
Karen had been among those “least.” With the army’s help, she was now a registered nurse, a professional woman. So getting by on a little less sleep for four short weeks was nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Karen raised her chin and shook her head. She knew what her past had wrought. She understood what the Salvation Army had done for her in her hour of need.
Now she was the one helping. Reaching out. Caring for those less fortunate. She’d been on both sides of the financial divide, and she understood that sometimes things happened. Sometimes, circumstances and emotions made for bad choices.
But from that choice came a precious blessing.
She palmed Laurie’s head. “Most days Laurie will be in school. And my replacement will come at noon—”
“It’s almost one,” Mike interjected, but then he stopped when an old-style car rumbled up to the curb.
“Except for today,” Karen finished. She indicated the old car and offered a quick greeting. “Major Flora. This is Officer Mike Wolzak and bagel maker Arnie Mencher.”
The older woman climbed out, dressed in formal Salvation Army attire. She nodded to the men, but her smile went deep and wide as she faced Karen and Laurie. “I expect you two are ready for warmth. And food.”
“I am quite starving,” Laurie announced.
Mike grinned. Arnie’s face softened, as if the child’s words both amused and berated him. “I should have brought you a bagel earlier,” he scolded himself. “I will be more aware next time.”
“You have done many a great service.” Karen reached out and enveloped one of his hands between both of hers. “We thank you, Arnie.”
“And I thank you, Officer Mike!” Laurie barreled into Mike, hugging the big guy’s legs. “You made me so happy!”
“Major Flora, look.” Karen bent to retrieve the box of bagels. “Arnie has sent us a treat.”
Major Flora’s face went quiet. She turned to the Jewish baker. “When I was hungry, you fed me. Naked, you clothed me.”
“In my books it is written that we please God by doing good for others. Happy Thanksgiving to you both.”
“And you.”
Mike helped load the bagels into the back of the car. Carefully, he stowed the mostly empty cast-iron kettle alongside the bagel box. Karen folded the tripod into a thin bundle of three legs and then laid it on the floor of the back seat.
“Karen, hop in,” Major Flora said as she rounded the front of the car. “I’ll take you and Laurie with me. Save you the subway fare.”
“That would be a help.” A part of her didn’t want Mike or Arnie too privy to her tight financial status. But another part understood that humility was of God.
It was a lesson she’d struggled with since childhood, and didn’t have much of an easier time today. “Gentlemen.” She faced them both from her side of the car. “Thank you so much for your kindnesses.”
“I will look forward to seeing you back here.” Arnie’s expression seemed to say that she’d just become his do-good project for the holiday season.
“And I’m working this section for the holidays, so it appears we’ll meet again, ladies.”
“Oh, I would like that a lot!” Laurie proclaimed her attraction to the big, robust policeman with a wide grin.
Karen chose a more refined reply. “As God wills.”
His gaze followed her when she climbed into the car. As Major Flora pulled away from the curb to head to Lower Manhattan, Arnie hurried toward the subway station and a home filled with the scents of the day. Roast turkey. Mashed potatoes. Stuffing and pie.
But Mike stood strong and singular, legs braced, arms by his side, alone in the street now that the crowds had dispersed. The image he presented, a lone avenger, guarding the day, filled Karen with mixed emotions.
His honest and gentle strength drew her.
Her promise to herself said there was no room for more mistakes in her life, and unless life came with guarantees . . .
Which it did not . . .
She’d make it as she had, one day at a time, just her and Laurie, making do. They’d done all right so far.
And they’d continue to do just fine.
Chapter Two
• • • • • • • • • • • •
“Mike, we’re short today. I know it’s the holiday, but I figured you, bein’ single . . .”
Temptation pulled Mike to say yes. He’d much rather catch a second shift and welcome the quiet anonymity of the empty streets than go to his aunt’s house in Brooklyn and pretend it was a wonderful feast day while his mother’s family recounted their happy memories of Irina Wolzak. They’d fuss over him and his sister like a clutch of old hens, sweet, sympathetic, and more than a little bossy.
Filial duty forced him to refuse the overtime. His parents would have expected him to take care of his sister, regardless of the circumstances. He owed them that and so much more. “I can’t, Jack. Sorry.”
“Ach, it’s a formality anyway.” Jack hooked a thumb, indicating the quiet city beyond street-dusted windows. “You go home. Maybe catch the game on the radio.”
A radio at Aunt Frannie’s? On Thanksgiving? That would never happen. The only reason she’d approved the purchase a few years ago was to stay updated on war news while the family served. “My aunt considers technology an intrusion and an unnecessary evil. We’re eating there because—”
Jack waved a hand, sparing him from voicing the words. “I know. The first one’s the toughest, Mike. It will get better.”
Jack had lost a couple of family members early in the war, so he understood loss firsthand. A few days ago, Mike might have believed him that things would get better, but then Mary Lynn dropped her bombshell on him. He hadn’t been able to eat or sleep for three days. A recent glimpse in the mirror said the stress was catching up with him. How could he face the family today if the aunts figured out Mary Lynn’s delicate and disappointing condition? He accepted Jack’s advice with a slow nod, then turned to go. “I’ll catch the news in the paper, like always.”
“See ya, Mike.”
“Yeah.”
Mike pulled his jacket collar higher. Teeming rain began as he trudged, head down, to the subway stop. The downpour made the walk to and from the subway thoroughly inhospitable, which suited his mood just fine.
“Mike, you’re here! Ach, you’re soaked, come in, come on, let me help you!” Uncle Joe reached to help peel off Mike’s thick jacket, then he took the coat and hung it on Aunt Frannie’s prize possession, a thick oak hall tree he’d pulled close to the fire.
“That’s a hazard, you know,” Mike warned, ever the cop. Then he smiled. “But it sure will feel nice to put on something warm and dry in a few hours.”
Uncle Joe grabbed his arm and kept his voice low. “We’ve got the early game on upstairs, Irv and me. Detroit’s getting pounded.” He thumped Mike on the back, driving home the point with physical force.
“Remember how Dad loved baseball?”
Uncle Joe paused. Nodded. “Loved it like butter.”
Mike laughed. The old family joke equated anything really good with butter. During the Depression, his father’s family went without butter for years. When things eased up and wages rose, his father and his family tied all good things to God . . .
And butter.
“Mother got the best brand for today.” Uncle Joe announced the butter procurement like he was describing the latest radio system in a car, as if nothing could be grander. “And Idaho potatoes.”
“Wonderful.”
Uncle Joe started to lead him to the stairs, but Mike waved him off. “I need to say hello to the ladies first. And I hear a pesky kid running around.”
“Cousin Mike!” Little Joe burst out of a back room and slammed into his legs, much like Laurie had done earlier. Mike snatched the kid up and swung him around. Little Joe’s shriek brought his mother running.
“You’re on clean-up duty if you make him sick,” Maggie warned, but she laughed as she said it, right up until she scanned the first-floor playroom with a mother’s eye. “Joey, did you get out every toy Grandma has in there?”
Guilt stamped the kid’s face. “Mostly.”
“Well, put half of them back,” Maggie scolded. “We have to catch the seven o’clock train back to the island, and if we miss it, Dad and I will not be happy.”
“All right.” The boy shuffled his feet and scowled. “I wish there were other kids around here. This house is boring.”
Maggie’s face went sad.
Mike stood, tongue-tied, longing to ease the moment. His cousin had lost two babies after giving birth to Joey. Her expression said she accepted the blame for her kid’s loneliness. It was crazy to think like that. Mike might not know a lot about pregnancy, but he understood guilt real well. He hooked an arm around Maggie and gave her a half hug. “We keep praying, right? That one of these times, everything will be perfect for you guys.”
She made a face that said enough was enough. “I’m just stinkin’ tired of being sad, Mike. You know?”
Oh, he knew all right. But God hadn’t installed an on/off switch for human emotion, and that meant they’d have to plod through the ups and the downs, same as always. Lately, though, there’d been too many downs.
For no reason he could fathom, the image of Karen’s face came back to him. How she met his gaze and smiled, so sweet. The way she secured the child’s hair beneath the coat’s collar, thinking ahead. And how many folks sacrificed hours each day to ring the bell for a local charity?
Very few.
So that made Karen O’Leary special beyond words, but Mike had sensed her reticence when he inquired about her job. She wore no one’s ring; he’d noticed that when she slipped off her gloves. But she’d clearly put him off, and that meant she had a reason to put him off. Was she a war widow, raising a child alone? Maybe.
“Mike! You’re here, you have made it!” Aunt Frannie burst through the swinging door, interrupting his thoughts. She stopped short of hitting him with it, then grabbed his face in her two hands. “Every day I pray to God to bring you and Mary Lynn peace. Joy. Warmth. Too much, too much, I say to Him.” She waved a fisted hand in the air as if hailing God’s attention, then brought the hand back to his cheek. “And He listens to me, Mikey.”
His look of doubt must have shown because Aunt Frannie rolled her eyes and firmed her look, an expression his mother had used. “He listens to all. Our trials, our sorrows. You believe that, the rest will come.”
Mike bit back a sigh.
Aunt Frannie meant well, and she loved and missed her sister, but she still had her husband and kids, her family unscathed by the war.
Mike’s father had perished in France, and Mike hadn’t gotten word of his death for nearly a month. By that time it just made sense to stay put and continue the fight.
And then he’d come home, ready to help his mother a
nd sister, only to have his mother’s cancer diagnosis revealed. In less than three years’ time they’d lost both parents.
He went back to police work and caring for his younger sister, insisting he could do the job on his own, despite his aunts’ and uncles’ offers of help.
And now Mary Lynn was pregnant. Unwed. Unpromised. And no way on earth would he let that scumbag kid near his sister with a ring, even if the kid offered.
Which he hadn’t.
He accepted Aunt Frannie’s words with a halfhearted shrug. “I don’t find much time to pray these days, Aunt Frannie.”
“Time is nothing,” she scoffed, then drew closer, her soft blue eyes boring into his. “For you, me, for us.” She waved the left hand around again. “We do best when we live our lives as a prayer.”
“That’s hard for a cop.”
“Bah.” Aunt Frannie’s expression deepened. “A cop is like a good dog, protecting the sheep, the lambs. The dog means no harm but protects as needed. And that is what a good policeman does. You. Your father. Your uncle, your grandpa.”
A whole line of Wolzaks and Carmichaels had manned the force for three generations, a history that held the family in good stead. Law and order was bred into their blood, their bones, bolstered by righteousness. But Mike hadn’t felt very righteous of late.
“Uncle Mike, did you get to see the parade?” Joey came back into the room, his face wistful.
Mike nodded. “I did.”
“Did you love it so much?”
Mike couldn’t pretend otherwise. “Yes.”
“Can I maybe go next year? Please?”
“Joey, don’t pester your uncle.” Maggie started bringing things to the table, pretty china plates and old-style silverware, just polished. “He’s been working all day.”
Mike knew that wasn’t exactly true. He’d kept an eye on his parade grounds while holding a small child, a beautiful girl, giving her a joyous morning. He’d delighted the child and therefore the mother, and he wasn’t about to pretend he wasn’t pleased by both outcomes. “Yes, I’ll take you next year. I promise. That way Mom can help Grandma, okay?”
