Secrets on 26th Street

by Elizabeth McDavid Jones

  Just like Dad was when he came home from the docks the night he took sick. And he was dead from pneumonia within two weeks.

  Susan had to get Helen inside. She shifted her gaze back to the window. Now she saw nothing there.

  But Mrs. Flynn’s warning rang in her ears. Jimmy Curley. Fresh out of Sing Sing. No, she wasn’t going to risk it. They would just have to go to the Cochrans’ and wait till Mum came home. Mum would know what to do.

  “Come on, Helen,” Susan said, and pulled her sister up the stoop and into the foyer. They hurried past the brass letterboxes and into the dark stairwell.

  Up four flights they went, then to the landing, into the hallway, past the Dwyers’ door, past the Thompsons’, and here they were, standing outside the Cochrans’ door. From the other side of the door they could hear the sounds of the Cochran kitchen: the clatter of pots, the drone of voices, a chair scraping across the bare linoleum floor.

  We’re safe now, Susan thought.

  But somehow, now that they were at the Cochrans’ door, the idea of a gang from Sing Sing robbing their flat seemed silly. Suddenly Susan was sure their fears would sound ridiculous to the Cochrans. Especially to Russell. He was one of Susan’s best friends, but he dearly loved to tease.

  “Helen,” Susan whispered. “Let’s not say anything about prowlers. If we’re wrong, Russell will tease us to death. We’ll just have a nice visit with the Cochrans until Mum gets home—”

  Then came a loud thump from down the hall—behind their own door! Susan’s heart leaped into her throat. Helen fell onto the Cochrans’ door, knocking furiously. Susan was right behind her. They nearly tumbled inside when Mrs. Cochran opened the door.

  “There’s someone in our flat!” Helen cried. “A robber! From the Jimmy Curley Gang!”

  “We heard something in our flat, is all,” Susan said, trying to sound mature and reasonable in spite of her racing pulse.

  “And we saw someone in the window!” Helen threw in.

  “Ach, you girls are soaked.” Mrs. Cochran was already stripping off their coats. Her voice was gentle and motherly.

  “But the prowler!” Helen protested.

  “’Tis only your boarder, dear,” Mrs. Cochran said, patting Helen’s shoulder. “She got here early and I let her in with the spare key.”

  Susan felt her face color. Why hadn’t she thought of that? How silly they must seem! Out of the corner of her eye, Susan saw Russell perched on a chair by the stove, his face in a geography textbook, laughing. She resolved to smear him into the pavement in their next game of stick-ball. Then she pretended not to notice him. “Where’s my sister, Mrs. Cochran? We ought to get home and start dinner for the boarder.”

  “Lucy? She’s in our room for a nap. You girls toast in front of the stove while I get her.”

  Helen moved quickly to the warmth of the stove. Susan, though her fingers ached with cold, had no desire to get near enough to Russell to be teased. She seated herself at the far end of the table and let her thoughts drift to the boarder—this Miss Rutherford—who was at that very moment settling down in their flat.

  How would it feel to have a stranger living with them in their cramped three-room flat? The boarder was to have Mum’s room, and Mum would sleep in the closet off the kitchen. It was all cleaned out, the broom and mop set in a corner of the kitchen and the cleaning powder, mothballs, roach powder, and such set on top of the icebox or pushed into the crowded china cabinet. A little white cot for Mum had somehow been squeezed into the closet and her belongings stacked on the shelves behind a tacked-on curtain. Susan hated to think of Mum sleeping there while a stranger took over the room Mum and Dad had shared. But Mum always said you do what you have to and make the best of it, so Susan tried not to think about it too much.

  She pictured Miss Rutherford in her mind: tall and thin, with a pinched face and sharp, demanding eyes, snapping out commands in her British accent. Susan dreaded the very idea of meeting her, yet she knew Mum was depending on her to make Miss Rutherford feel at home. Susan heaved a deep sigh.

  Then Mrs. Cochran emerged from the bedroom carrying three-year-old Lucy, her blond head slumped on Mrs. Cochran’s shoulder. Lucy was rubbing her eyes with her fist. “I wants my Susie,” she said in her sleepy voice, and it warmed Susan’s heart. Maybe it wasn’t so bad being a big sister after all.

  The girls left the Cochrans’ and stepped out into the freezing hallway. Lucy instantly started sniffling and announced she was cold and hungry. “I want some butter bread,” she whimpered.

  The bread! Susan had left it on the Cochrans’ table. Well, she wasn’t about to go back after it. Not after the way Russell had laughed at her. “Isn’t any bread, sweetie. You’ll have to wait for supper.”

  Wait a minute. Wasn’t that cooking meat Susan smelled? Drifting from their flat?

  Helen was sniffing, too. “Something smells good. Like roast,” she said. “Maybe the boarder’s fixing roast for dinner. Our dinner.” Her voice was bright.

  “Maybe.” Susan’s mind was racing. It was definitely meat, roasting in their oven. Where on earth did the boarder get meat? Not in the empty O’Neal icebox, that was for sure. It had been months since Mum brought anything home from the butcher’s.

  “Come on, Susie.” Both her sisters were eager to go in, but Susan hung back. A stranger at Mum’s big black stove, cooking their dinner? It didn’t seem right.

  Yet she had to admit that without a boarder they would probably lose their home. So there was nothing to do but take Mum’s advice—do what you have to and make the best of it.

  Susan took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

  Warm air enveloped the girls as they stepped into their kitchen. It was almost stifling after the chilly hallway. Had Miss Rutherford completely emptied the coal box into the stove? What did she think they’d do for heat the rest of the week? Susan felt sick thinking of it, despite the delicious smell wafting from the oven. And there was a big pot bubbling on the stove.

  But there was no sign of any boarder.

  “There’s no one here,” said Helen.

  “Doesn’t appear to be,” Susan said. She was already checking the other rooms—Mum’s closet and the two bedrooms. She even opened her bedroom window and looked out on the fire escape. Nothing there but the gray street below, deserted in the pouring rain, and the street lamps’ dim circles of light struggling to break through the gloom.

  It was all beginning to be a little spooky.

  Anxiety crept into Susan’s stomach as she returned to the kitchen. “Nothing. No sign of a living soul.”

  “The table’s even set for us,” said Helen.

  “It’s magic,” Lucy piped. “Do you think it’s elves, Susie?”

  Susan jumped as a voice from the hallway announced, “I used to pretend I was an elf. When I was little. Does that count?”

  Across the threshold stepped a young woman wearing a linen suit trimmed with buttons, and a wide-brimmed hat wrapped in a cloud of pink chiffon. In one hand she held a dripping umbrella, in the other, a bundle tied with string. She was short and plump, pretty, with twinkling eyes. This was Miss Rutherford? Not at all what Susan had imagined.

  “My name’s Beatrice Alexis Victoria Rutherford,” she said, shaking the umbrella. Droplets of water flew onto the blistered walls of the kitchen and the scuffed linoleum floor. “Too much of a mouthful for anyone but the queen, don’t you think? You can call me Bea.”

  “That’s not a name,” giggled Lucy. “That’s what gets on the flowers in Chelsea Park and stings you if you’re not careful.”

  “Well, I don’t sting. And I’ve never been to Chelsea Park, as I arrived in New York only today. Much earlier in the day than I had planned, I might add. May I come in?”

  Susan wanted to say, No, go home, back to England. I don’t want you here. But of course she couldn’t, so she stepped aside for Bea to pass.

  “Thank you, love.” She plopped her bundle down on the table. “Since I arrived so earl
y, I thought it was only fair that I pick up a few things for dinner—a nice leg of lamb, some carrots and onions. I had dinner nearly ready when I realized I’d forgotten the bread, so I popped down to the baker’s on the corner. They were just closing, but I managed to talk the nice baker into giving me the last of his fresh bread. After all, I told him, he could only sell it for half price tomorrow. I must have been quite convincing, really. He ended up making me a present of two loaves.”

  Bea pulled off string and damp brown paper to reveal two round loaves. “This one’s pumpernickel. The other’s plain white. I like both. I hope you do, too.”

  Lucy nodded vigorously. “I likes butter on my bread.”

  “Butter you shall have, dearie. What’s your name?”

  “My name’s Lucy. It’s easy to say.”

  “That it is,” laughed Bea. “Enough chatter, though. Lucy wants her bread. We’ll eat straightaway.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Mum?” Susan asked.

  “There’s plenty and more, love. Your mum would want you fed. I’m sure of it.”

  How can you be sure of it, Susan thought, when you don’t even know my mum?

  But Susan was too hungry to put up an argument. She bolted down the meat and vegetables, and even took seconds. Bea didn’t eat; she sipped a cup of tea and chatted away while the girls gobbled seconds and thirds.

  Bea was bright and cheery. Lucy and Helen were quickly taken with her, and even Susan couldn’t help enjoying herself.

  With her stomach full and the room so warm, Susan began to feel comfortably sleepy. Soon Lucy’s head was nodding. “I say, let me get this girl into bed,” Bea exclaimed.

  “No!” Lucy’s head popped up. Apiece of potato clung to her hair. “I’m not sleepy!”

  “Why, I didn’t mean you, dearie. I was talking about myself. I’ve had a long day, and I’m quite tuckered. Would you sit in my lap and listen to a song while I rock? It would help me relax ever so much.”

  Lucy scrambled from her chair into Bea’s lap. “My mummy sings to me, too. Will you sing “My Bonnie?”

  “Don’t know that one, love. I had in mind an old sea ditty my uncle used to sing to me. He was captain of a clipper ship, he was. Sailed the seven seas, had a wooden leg, the whole caboodle.” With that she began to sing. Halfway through the second chorus, Lucy was asleep. Bea tiptoed into the bedroom and put her in bed. Then she insisted on fetching water and washing up the dishes herself while Susan and Helen got a start on their lessons. “Can’t very well let those boys show you up in class, now, can you?” she said with a wink.

  Susan pulled out her English book and started conjugating verbs, but she couldn’t keep her mind on teach, taught, teaching. All she could think about was Bea—Bea, who was elbow-deep in dishwater and humming away. Susan liked Bea, she did. She couldn’t help it.

  CHAPTER 3

  A SECRET

  Soon afterward, Mum came dragging through the door, a puddle of water in her wake. The alarm clock on top of the icebox read half past eight.

  “It’s raining cats and dogs,” she said. She sounded weary. Water was dripping off Mum’s hat into a pool on the floor, and she was shivering.

  Bea scurried to take off Mum’s wet things. “You look like you swam home, love,” she said. “Why didn’t you take the subway?”

  “Pshaw,” said Mum. “No reason to spend good money on the subway. I won’t melt. You must be Miss Rutherford.” She smiled and held out her hand in greeting. “I hope my girls had a nice dinner ready when you got here.” Susan felt a stab of guilt. She hadn’t done anything Mum had asked her to.

  “Why, they gave me a lovely welcome,” said Bea. “I just added the meat and a few carrots and onions to spice dinner up a bit. Sit down and try some. You’ve got jewels in those girls, love, that you do.”

  “I do indeed,” said Mum. She smiled and kissed Susan and Helen on the head.

  Bea took pains to get Mum warm and dry, then sat and ate with her. Bea told stories all the while, funny stories about her relatives back in England. She had them all laughing, even Mum, until tears ran from their eyes. Susan couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Mum laugh so hard; surely it was before Dad died.

  Then right in the middle of Bea’s story about her Welsh cousin who herded sheep, there was a knock at the door. Susan feared it was Lester Barrow, come even before she’d had a chance to warn Mum, but it was only a man bringing Bea’s trunk from the depot. Then, of course, Susan had to tell Mum about Lester, which wiped the smile from Mum’s face and brought back her tired, haggard expression.

  “A plague take that Lester Barrow!” said Mum. “He must know I’m doing the best I can.” She sighed. “Perhaps if I give him three dollars more on payday, he’ll wait for the rest.”

  “That’s half your week’s pay, Mum!” Susan was thinking of the coal they’d be needing.

  “Yes, but what else can I do?”

  “Ask for a raise,” Bea said. “I don’t have the pleasure of acquaintance with your boss, but it sounds as if he’s taking advantage of you, love.”

  To Susan’s surprise, Mum agreed with Bea. “That he does. He pays us women half what he pays his male clerks.” She sighed again. “I think you’re right, Bea. I need to make more money, and that’s the short of it. I just might ask for a raise.”

  Mum’s words worried Susan. Discontent was dangerous down on the docks where Mum worked. Susan remembered Dad telling them about a couple of longshoremen he worked with who’d disappeared. They were colored men, Dad said, and they were assigned the worst job on the docks—unloading the dark recesses of the ship’s hold. These men, it seemed, made the mistake of complaining to the union about their work conditions. The next day they didn’t show up for work, though they had never missed a day in ten years. No one ever saw them again. Dad figured they had ended up at the bottom of the river.

  “Mum, I’m not sure you should do that,” Susan worried. “Remember those men Dad worked with who disappeared …”

  “Ah, and you think the same thing might happen to me.” Mum reached across the table and patted Susan’s hand. “Don’t think so, lamb. Mr. Riley’s hard to work for, it’s true, but he’s a Tammany man. He’d never do such things to a woman—it would be against Tammany code. No, the least I can do is ask, and the worst he can do is say no.

  “It’s paying Lester Barrow four months’ back rent I’m worried about now” She sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to stay up and wait to see if he comes by, though I would dearly love to go straight to bed.”

  Mum yawned. “Run on to bed, Helen and Susie. I’ll be in soon to tuck you in.”

  Helen obeyed, but Susan hesitated. Whether from worrying or from the excitement of the day’s events, she felt wide-awake. “May I stay up with you and wait for Lester Barrow?”

  Before Mum could answer, Bea asked if Susan would like to help her unpack and get settled.

  Mum accepted for her. “Susie’s a marvelous helper, Bea.” Mum patted Susan’s hand. “You go on, lamb. I’ll sit here and rock awhile.” She was already settling into the rocking chair.

  Susan nodded. If it would make Mum happy to keep Bea happy, Susan would do her best to oblige. She followed Bea into “her” room, empty now except for the bed, lumpy with age, the nightstand, and the dresser. The bare look of Mum’s room sent a pang shooting through Susan, but she knew this was Bea’s room now, and there was no use wishing it wasn’t. Besides, she couldn’t help being curious about that huge trunk of Bea’s. What on earth could she have in there?

  Susan eagerly watched Bea unlock the trunk and open the lid. An awed “ooh” escaped her lips as Bea began unpacking beautifully embroidered, lacy linens and nightgowns of finer fabric than Mum’s Sunday blouse.

  “Would you put these away for me, love?” Bea handed Susan the folded linens.

  Susan fingered the smooth, silky fabric. “What are they for?”

  “To sleep on,” Bea said, smiling. “I know they’re rather fancy, but they were
my mother’s, and I couldn’t bear to leave them behind.”

  Susan tried to imagine lying between such sheets. “Your mother slept on these?”

  “When she was very young. Her family was wealthy once, but the fortune’s gone now.” Bea reached into the trunk and took out a stack of handkerchiefs.

  “Tell me about your schoolwork, Susan.”

  Susan told Bea about her English class. “We have to write an essay on a theme from the novel the teacher chose for us. Most of the kids grumbled about it, but I like writing—and reading, too—so it suits me fine.” She sighed. “I just don’t know when I’m going to have time to read the book. It’s really long, and …” She hesitated, thinking how Bea’s arrival had kept her from starting the novel. “Well, I have to help Mum out a lot around here.”

  Bea’s voice held understanding. “Not much time to do the things you enjoy, is there?”

  Susan shook her head. “But I don’t mind helping, most of the time. Mum’s got enough to worry about as it is.” Susan stroked the linens once more, then slid them into a drawer in the dresser.

  “I’m sure your mum appreciates your help, Susan, as I do.” Bea handed Susan a couple of nightgowns to put away. “I love reading, too. It was painful leaving most of my books behind—like parting with family. I nearly cried. What book do you have to read for your English class?”

  “It’s called Middlemarch. My teacher said she thought I would particularly enjoy it. I’ve never heard of the author, though. George Eliot, or something like that.”

  Bea’s face lit up. “George Eliot is one of my favorite authors. And I love Middlemarch. It’s one of the few books I chose to bring. I’ve read it many times, and each time I find something I’ve never noticed before. There are a couple of passages I’d like to show you. It’s here in the trunk somewhere, I know. We’ll find it.”