Lily mumbled a vague yes, and Sam helped his cousin to her feet and looked around. On the left, there were one-story houses with neat grass pathways running between them; to the right, a row of shacks knocked together from scraps of wood and tin, with a dirt road on either side. There were other neighborhoods visible beyond that, and even a few skyscrapers in the distance. The city was very spread out and looked modern and unfinished at the same time. It wasn’t a present-day city, but it wasn’t the Wild West either. “The Depression,” Jed had said, and that meant they were some time in the 1930s. Sam made up his mind when he saw laundry hanging on clotheslines behind the shanties on the right.
“What would you say to a nice new outfit, cousin? My treat.”
They took the path farthest from the shacks, praying that people would be too busy to notice them. They saw three black children playing with a cat in one of the yards, but luckily they had their backs turned. About a hundred yards farther they came to what they were after: a large family’s wash, with an array of mended shirts and shorts dangling from the clotheslines.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Sam whispered to Lily. “It isn’t really a store, and we aren’t going to pay for the clothes. But we don’t have a choice!”
He jumped the low wooden fence and in two steps reached a shabby pair of blue canvas pants — an early version of blue jeans. Sam was usually pretty particular about his jeans; they had to be frayed to just the right degree, wide enough for comfort, and preferably with a low waist, so his underwear showed. But he didn’t have a fashion show on his calendar that day, so he plucked off the clothespins and took the pants. He also grabbed a T-shirt that would suit his cousin, provided she liked her shirts very brown and very old. Then he noticed a shirt in his own size and stealthily moved to the end of the clothesline. But the white sheets and pillowcases lined up in front of him suddenly started to move.
“Who’s that messing with my laundry?” A corner of a sheet lifted to reveal the face of an old black woman, who looked appalled. “Land sakes, you’re robbing me, boy! Matthew! Come to the yard, quick! A little white boy is stealing your shirt!”
Sam leaped back and jumped over the fence without even realizing he’d done so.
“Matthew!” the woman called again. Sam grabbed his cousin by the arm and they took off running. “Matthew, your shirt’s running away! You don’t expect me to chase after it at my age, do you?”
“Thieves!” shouted another voice. “Thieves at Mama Lucy’s!” Several neighbors appeared at the window, and suddenly the yards were full of people. Two men rushed into the road to block their way, and children ran to catch up with them from behind. “Thieves! They’re robbing Mama Lucy!”
“All right, all right!” said Sam, stopping in his tracks. “We made a mistake. We’re giving everything back!”
He waved the clothes as a sign of surrender, but that didn’t keep a dozen people from surrounding him, yelling.
“They’re the thieves from Mama Lucy’s!”
“Let’s call the police!”
“Nah, we’ll take care of this ourselves! No mercy for thieves!”
“Besides, they ain’t from around here!”
A sharp slap came from somewhere off to Sam’s right, and his ear stung.
“Yeah! No need for police!”
Someone else punched Sam in the shoulder, and he turned to face his attacker. But then he saw the old woman from the clothesline, trotting toward the group and waving her arms. “Have you gone crazy?” she yelled. “Leave them alone!” “They’re the ones, Mama Lucy. They stole your stuff!” “Yeah, we’ll show them!”
“You let that child go this instant, Bartholomew Jones,” she said. “If your poor mother could see you now!”
The man who had grabbed Sam’s wrist let it go and hung his head.
“Is this what they teach you in church on Sunday, boy?” she thundered. “Not to have compassion for the poorest among us?”
“They’s in our neighborhood,” protested Bartholomew. “If we ain’t respected on our own ground …
“Bartholomew Jones, you are some kind of fool! Remind me to box your ears next time I meet you! Have you seen their clothes? You really think they come from some fancy neighborhood for the pleasure of struttin’ your rags?”
The man shrugged sheepishly.
“You two come along now,” she told Sam and Lily. “I’ll see what I can do for you.”
The crowd parted, and Mama Lucy led the children to her house with the authority of a victorious general. Once there, she slammed her door in the face of any gawkers.
“You have to forgive them,” she said. “Despair and misery makes them nasty! Everyone’s out of work, especially here in the colored neighborhood. The kids are hungry, the parents don’t know what to do. Lordy! But I don’t need to tell you that, do I? You’re so pale and skinny, little girl… .”
In fact, Lily’s face looked waxen, and she had dark circles under her eyes.
“You want something to eat? Sit down, Mama Lucy must have some molasses cookies somewhere. And I’ll fix you a nice cup of tea with sugar. That’ll make you feel better. Matthew, are you there, big boy? You want some tea?”
Sam and Lily sat down on the faded armchairs, shaken by the turn of events and deeply ashamed at planning to steal from such a good woman. They were in a modest room filled with knickknacks, with a single window and a kerosene lamp that gave a cheerless light. The far wall was corrugated iron, partly covered by rows of old photos. There was also a treadle sewing machine, baskets overflowing with scraps of clothes, doilies on the furniture, a collection of colored bottles, and a half-open newspaper lying on a chair. Sam snatched it up and feverishly turned to the front page. “Presidential Election: Who Will the Democrats Pick?” Right above the headline was the paper’s name and the date: The Chicago Defender; Thursday, June 30, 1932.
“Lily, were in the United States,” he whispered, “in Chicago in 1932. And look: The presidential elections are coming up!”
He handed her the newspaper, and Lily’s eyes widened. “Chicago! In that case …”
“You kids interested in politics?”
A tall, slim young man had entered the room, elegant in a white uniform with gold buttons that seemed out of place in such humble surroundings. “Are you the ones everybody seems to be after? The dangerous criminals?”
“No, not criminals. It was a misunderstanding,” said Sam defensively. “We lost our suitcases after a trip, and —”
At that point Mama Lucy came in, carrying a tray with steaming cups and a plate of cookies.
“Ah, you’ve met my Matthew! Handsome, isn’t he? He’s the pride of my old age! You off to work already, big boy? You don’t want a little tea?”
Matthew took the newspaper from Lily. “I have to go to 91st Street,” he said.
“Not more of that illegal betting, I hope? You know you could end up in the hoosegow for that.”
“If I win, Mama Lucy, it sure helps make ends meet.”
She shook her head. “What are you betting on this time?”
“The elections, of course! The candidate the Democrats will choose for the presidential election! Its in all the papers!”
“And how much do you hope to win on that?”
“For a fifty-dollar bet, as much as a thousand dollars! If I guess right.”
“Roosevelt,” muttered Lily wearily.
“Beg your pardon?”
“The Democrats will choose Roosevelt. His vice president will be John Garner.”
Sam stared at her, bug-eyed. Roosevelt, all right; he d heard of him. But that she should also know the American vice presidents …
“Roosevelt and Garner? I thought those two didn’t get along!”
“Don’t listen to her,” Sam broke in with a forced chuckle. “My sister is a little out of it. Some days, she just says anything at all.”
“Roosevelt and Garner,” Matthew repeated thoughtfully. “Hmm … Well, why not?” He took
his white cap from the coatrack and blew Mama Lucy a kiss as he went out the door. “See you tomorrow! I’ll try not to get home too late.”
The old lady looked after him adoringly. “What a boy! If you knew what shape he was in when I took him in! And now look at him!”
“You … you took him in?” said Sam, catching himself. He still couldn’t believe the business about Roosevelt or his cousin’s amazing store of historical trivia.
“Of course! Him and so many others! A dozen kids must have passed through my house. I’ve been a widow for twenty years, so what can I say? I don’t have anything better to do than give ’em a little love and comfort. Plus loads of laundry!” She laughed at the thought. “Now there, I have done a few loads of laundry! In fact, you should have come and asked me for clothes instead of helping yourself. Mama Lucy always has something for kids like you. You don’t have any family anymore, I suppose?”
Lily answered first. “Not exactly. We have some relatives here in Chicago. Have you ever heard of the Faulkner grocery store?”
This time, Sam nearly choked on his cookie. The Faulkner grocery store! Chicago — of course! He started calculating at top speed. Before his grandparents had moved to Sainte-Mary to be near Allan, Grandpa had owned a grocery store in Chicago. He was nearly eighty now, so he would have been too young to be working in 1932. On the other hand, Grandpa’s father had bought the store in 1919, right after World War I, if Sam remembered correctly. In other words, there must have been Faulkner’s in Chicago in 1932!
“The Faulkner grocery store, honey child? There must be at least two thousand grocery stores in the city. I don’t know them all!”
“Do you know how we could get the address?”
“Are you sure they’ll help you? Because you can stay here for a couple of days, you know. I’m used to it. And you look so peaked! Matthew isn’t here very often, and —”
“I’d rather see them right away,” Lily said.
The old lady hesitated. “Promise me you’ll drink your tea and eat your cookie, at least? And put on something besides that nightgown thing.”
“With pleasure, Mama Lucy.”
“Well, that’s settled! I have a nephew not far from here who just got himself a telephone. He’s sure to have a directory. Any business worth its salt will be in the phone book, isn’t that right?”
For the first time since their arrival in Chicago, a little color crept into Lily’s face.
13 Gangsters, Firecrackers, and Kidney Beans
Locating the Faulkner grocery store turned out to be no walk in the park: Mama Lucy’s nephew had a phone, all right, but no phone book to go with it. Still, he agreed to send one of his daughters to the post office, and she came back with the address. The Faulkner store was located on Irving Park Road, right where it crossed Cicero Avenue.
While they waited for the girl, Mama Lucy had plenty of time to tell Sam and Lily the history of the neighborhood, from the arrival in Chicago of the thousands of black families fleeing racism in the South, to the crowding in the shantytowns and the start of the worst economic crisis anyone had ever seen. As she talked, she rummaged in one of her baskets to put together decent outfits for them. Lily got a lace-trimmed blue dress that was a little short but practically new. For Sam she found a worn pair of knickerbocker pants, a yellow shirt, and an orange vest. The clash of colors was so jarring that Sam was tempted to put on sunglasses.
Mama Lucy also gave them sandals, and as a bonus, a little stuffed zebra that once belonged to one of her foster children.
“This way you’ll think of me from time to time,” she said, handing it to Lily. “His name is Zeb, and he’s eased many a heartbreak.”
Lily thanked her and hugged it tight. She wasn’t looking very well, and seemed to have somehow shrunk in the course of the afternoon. Mama Lucy’s molasses cookies had brought a little pink to her cheeks, but she soon lapsed into an exhausted silence. As they were leaving, the old lady again suggested that they at least spend the night, but Lily jumped up, claiming she felt much better.
Sam didn’t know quite what to think. He was concerned for his cousin, as she certainly didn’t seem in great shape. On the other hand, he was in a hurry to get to the Faulkner grocery store. Given their situation, who would be more likely to help them than family? If worse came to worst and their great-grandparents turned them away, they could always come back to Mama Lucy’s.
With the address and a rough map in hand, Sam and Lily set out early in the evening. They detoured by the construction site, where they saw the crew still working on the ruins of the house, with no chance for them to get inside. Then they headed south along the main avenues.
As they left the vacant lots and poorer neighborhoods behind, Chicago began to look like a real city, with signs, lights, tall buildings, and constant streams of pedestrians. Antique cars put-putted down the streets, looking comical with their square shapes and rear-mounted spare tires, making loud ahooga’s when they honked at intersections.
“Now those are real cars!” exclaimed Sam. “A lot cooler than Rudolf’s four-by-four, don’t you think?”
“Don’t talk to me about Rudolf,” said Lily breathlessly. “I can’t even imagine what state my mom’s in! She probably gulped her whole bottle of tranquilizers down at once. But I wish she were with us,” she added, sounding homesick.
It was at this point that they got lost. Disoriented by the strange noises and the mass of identical buildings, they took the wrong street, then walked around in circles until a young woman standing in a soup-kitchen line gave them directions. She nodded toward Cicero Avenue while her children tugged at her sleeves, crying for bread. Mama Lucy hadn’t been lying when she described the desperate shape the country was in.
Once they were back on the right track, Sam and Lily headed straight for Irving Park. As the shadows lengthened, they admired the thousands of little lights that began to dot the city, like so many stars fallen onto Chicago’s skyscrapers. Sam craned his neck this way and that, trying to recognize a church or a monument, but he’d only been five or six years old on his single visit to the former Faulkner grocery store — a pilgrimage to the United States that Grandpa had organized — and he remembered almost nothing.
“There!” whispered Lily, pointing to a triangular block of houses at the junction of three streets. “It looks just like the photo in the album.”
Indeed, a store with plate-glass windows stood at the corner, with a sign written in handsome lettering:
“James Adam Faulkner,” said Sam, his voice quavering. “Grandpas father!”
“What do we do now, Sam? We can’t just show up and say, ‘Hi, were your great-grandchildren. Do you happen to know how to send us back to our own time?’ ”
Sam considered it. This part of Irving Park was pretty quiet, unlike what it would become later: “The busiest intersection in Chicago!” Grandpa claimed. There were just two streetlights, their meager light brightened occasionally by the headlights of passing cars. The tobacconist across the street had already closed, and the grocery stores steel shutter was lowered halfway. From the sound of voices, however, there were still people inside, and a few lights shone within.
“We better go in before the store closes,” suggested Lily.
“Do you remember that stuff about the basement window?” asked Sam.
“The basement window?”
“Yeah, when Grandpa told us about being a kid. When he came home too late, he would slip in through the basement instead of the front door to avoid his father.”
“So what?”
“He said the bars over the window were loose, so …”
“Are you saying we should break into our great-grandfathers store?”
“If we just walk in like this, what are we going to tell him? We can get into the basement through the window. That’ll give us someplace to hang out while we figure out what to do next. Besides, if we spy on them for a little while, it might give us some ideas.”
Secre
tly Sam was hoping they would find a stone statue in the basement. He knew it was unlikely, and that his father had been the first Faulkner time traveler, but there was no reason why a taste for adventure shouldn’t pass from one generation to the next!
Lily didn’t have the energy to argue with him, so the basement window it was. They strolled up the block until they spotted the window, which was at ground level. Somebody crossed the street just as Sam was leaning over to touch the bars, and they quickly huddled against the wall, but the passerby disappeared onto a nearby porch. There were also two cars and a truck parked down the street, but they were empty. Sam crouched down again and shook the bars. They gave a little bit, but only a little. He stood up and pulled, and to his surprise, the whole frame lifted free of the wall, inch by inch. Sam removed it from the window opening and carefully set it on the ground. He climbed in first, then helped his cousin join him before pulling the window back into place. The basement room smelled pleasantly of coffee and spices, but it was so dark that they couldn’t see a thing.
“Don’t budge, Lily,” he whispered.
He cautiously made his way among the barrels and the sacks. Suddenly his foot caught on a crate full of bottles, causing a deafening crash. Sam froze. The noise was loud enough to be heard all over Chicago, not to say New York!
A few seconds passed. They heard footsteps on the sidewalk. Someone was walking toward the basement window! The steps slowed when they reached the window, and in the faint light Sam could make out a pair of polished shoes with white tips. Then the shoes moved away.
“Sammy, are you sure that —”
“Shhh!”
Sam groped his way toward the thin ray of light showing under the door, put his hand on the handle, and twisted it, holding his breath. The well-oiled knob turned easily, and he cracked the door open. A little light now reached the back of the basement, and they could hear voices upstairs.
“… the cops? Why not the army, while you’re at it? Don’t you know what’s what, Faulkner? We re the ones who pay off the cops!”
The Gate of Days - Book of Time 2 Page 10
