The Golden Sparrow

by Samantha Latshaw

  Basso surprised me by bringing the hand he was holding up to his lips and giving it a tight squeeze before he extricated himself from me and strode in a menacing fashion towards the ruined man bound in the chair.

  I leaned back in the sofa and picked up my sidecar again, watching without feeling as Robert shot the man point blank. I didn’t even flinch and a part of me, the rational part, was wondering why I wasn’t running from the club,s creaming.

  It had been weeks since I had last spoken or seen Emerson and I was beginning to wonder if I had been abandoned and left with figuring out how to get myself out on my own. There was no other explanation that I could think of that would make Emerson go silent on me.

  Basso returned to me, hand outstretched.

  It was hours later, with Basso sound asleep beside me, that I got out of bed and crept up to the locked room.

  Pressing my ear against the door, I listened intently but heard nothing. Perhaps I had imagined the whole thing. Perhaps I had been dreaming.

  With a shrug, I turned back and down to the sitting room instead. There was still brandy sitting out from earlier, so I poured myself a glass and sat down in a chair by the cold fireplace.

  A piano sat across from me and I gave in to temptation.

  Getting to my feet, not caring that it was the middle of the night, I settled down and quietly played the first movement of Beethoven’s sonata that I couldn’t master before.

  When the last notes died out, I sat where I was for a moment longer, staring down at the keys.

  God, how I wished I could go back and just be the girl who wanted to play in concert halls. I wanted to be free, to not be a spy anymore. I wanted to sleep in my own bed with nothing but my mother’s wedding to worry about.

  My heart stopped.

  My mother’s wedding was tomorrow. And I was at Basso’s.

  How on earth could I have forgotten so easily? Mama would kill me before Basso ever got the chance.

  I drained the last of my brandy and got to my feet only to turn around and find Basso leaning against the door frame, watching me.

  “Mimi told me once that you wanted to be a concert pianist,” he said, not moving. I stayed stock still, like I was a rabbit and he the fox. “I didn’t believe her. But now that I’ve heard you play, I’ve got to ask: Why did you stop?”

  I frowned, confused that he wasn’t angry and puzzled that he was curious.

  “I guess because I was shown a whole different way of life besides dinner parties and cotillions,” I answered truthfully. And as I said it, I felt my words ring true. “Playing in concert halls just didn’t seem as important as it used to.”

  “I see.” He pushed himself off the door frame and strode towards me. “Well, let’s get you back to bed.”

  But I sidestepped him, which seemed to confuse him.

  “I can’t,” I said, hoping I sounded apologetic, though I really wasn’t. “My mother’s wedding is tomorrow and I can’t miss it.”

  He sighed heavily but then he nodded.

  “So I’m allowed to see my mother get married?” I asked, my tone teasing.

  His lips curved. “I can’t have you missing it, now can I?”

  Mama was annoyed that I had overslept, but as far as she knew, I hadn’t been out too late. She didn’t need to know that it had been nearly three-thirty in the morning before I came home.

  Danielle was eyeing me with mistrust and I couldn’t blame her. She knew what I was getting up to now. But so long as it stayed between us, I could handle her cold shoulders and dark looks that she threw at me whenever she saw me.

  I sat with Mama in her room while Danielle finished up her hair.

  Mama was wearing a cream colored dress, but it wasn’t very elaborate. There was no need, as this was both Mama’s and Mr. Hayes’s second marriage. Mr. Hayes’s first marriages, however, had ended in divorce and I still couldn’t quite figure out why Mama would want to marry someone like him.

  Her dress came to a stop just above her ankles and was embroidered in the same color lace. She had a medium-length veil, which I thought was superfluous, but said nothing as Danielle fixed it into place.

  To my surprise, tears sprang to my eyes as I took in my mother’s full appearance.

  Mama didn’t look quite so radiant now as she had in the photograph from the day she and Papa got married, but there was still a distinct gleam of happiness in her eye and, despite all my misgivings over Mr. Hayes, I was just glad my mother was happy.

  We rode to the church in relative silence, Danielle sitting beside the driver in the front while Mama and I watched the city pass in the back.

  I tried to ignore the fact that the wedding was being held at Trinity Church and that Papa was buried in the cemetery just out of sight.

  The ceremony passed in a blur: one second, I was sitting in the front pew, watching my mother and Mr. Hayes recite the vows, and the next, I was following them to the doors of the church and out onto the stairs where a photographer took our pictures. Rice and rose petals were tossed into the air and I had to make myself stand still as they were thrown at us.

  Mr. Hayes’s children, who I still hadn’t properly met yet, were standing beside him and across from me. His daughter was eyeballing my bobbed hair and painted lips disdainfully, as if I had personally offended her by keeping up with the fashion of the day.

  Edna Hayes normally beautiful face looked as though something disgusting had been shoved under her short, narrow nose. Her crystal blue eyes were wide and framed with thick lashes. She was short in stature and wore a pale blue dress that just barely shorter than my mothers. Her glossy brown hair was smoothed back and twisted into a neat bun at the base of her skull. Though she was scarcely younger than me by six months, she looked far older.

  Arthur Hayes was almost as beautiful as his sister. Two years older with reddish-brown mustache that didn’t match his dark brown, curly hair, he stood even taller than his father. His nose was narrow, like his sisters, but longer and with eyes a brilliant green.

  “Hazel,” Mama said as we started filling towards the cars, “meet Edna and Arthur.”

  I eyed them both distastefully. With the way Edna was watching me, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand being in the same room as her.

  During the reception, which was held at our house, I ended up sulking in the corner of the sitting room. With only tea and coffee as the legal choice of beverage, I found myself extremely grateful as I soon realized that Arthur was a naturally boisterous, obnoxious man. Alcohol would have made him worse, though I was certain I had seen him in the Golden Sparrow before.

  “Hazel,” Mama called and I begrudgingly left my corner. “Won’t you play something for us?”

  I lifted my eyebrows, as if questioning her sanity.

  She seemed to realize what I was implying and frowned deeply at me. Then I remembered that I had promised at least one song.

  “Just one song, Hazel?” Mama begged. “If You Were the Only Girl in the World? You could play and Arthur, I’m sure, could sing it.”

  I glanced dubiously at Arthur, who was too busy flirting with Sarah Wright to notice anything else, then turned back to her.

  “I doubt he’ll sing,” I told her, but moved over to the piano all the same.

  “Then you sing for us,” Mama encouraged, thrilled that I was sitting at the piano again.

  As the first notes rang out, the house went quiet as people came in to see who was playing.

  “Sometimes when I feel bad and things look blue,” I sang, my voice soft and clear, “I wish a girl I had, say, one like you. Someone within my heart to build her throne, someone who’d never part, to call my own.

  “If you were the only girl in the world and I were the only boy, nothing else would matter in the world to me. We could go on loving in the same old way.”

  I tried not to notice the way my mother watched me, a hopeful look in her eyes as she watched me play.

  When I finished the song, I declined requests for
more and slipped up to my room. I had no desire to be around people who were congratulating my mother while whispering when her back was turned about how she had married a divorced man.

  When the party finally broke up hours later, I tiptoed down the stairs and found Mama and Mr. Hayes standing by the front door, talking in low voices.

  “...talk to her about it,” I heard Mama say.

  Knowing they were talking about me, I raised my voice and asked, “What is it you need to talk to me about, Mama?”

  Mama spun around and Mr. Hayes’s eyes widened in feigned surprise when he saw me on the stairs.

  “Oh.” Mama stepped towards me and rested a hand on the banister as she looked up at me. “Well, as Anthony and I are married now, we’ll need to discuss what to do with this house.”

  “What to do with it?” I blinked slowly, my brain moving sluggishly. “What do you mean?”

  Mama gave Mr. Hayes a look then turned back to me.

  “We’ll need to sell it,” she said slowly. “And you’ll come live with us.”

  No. “Mama, I’m not leaving here.”

  Mama gave me an exasperated look. “Hazel, we don’t need two houses! It’s absurd!”

  “Then let me stay here,” I pleaded, stepping down a few more steps. “Let me keep Danielle and you can go with Mr. Hayes. Surely I’m old enough to live on my own!”

  Mama looked uncertainly at Mr. Hayes, who appeared annoyed. I brushed him off entirely, my attention focused solely on Mama.

  “I would need to think about it,” Mama said after a long while.

  “Helen,” Mr. Hayes began and Mama looked to him. “She’s far too young and vulnerable to live here on her own.” He glanced up and gestured vaguely at me. “And you said it yourself that she’s hardly here. You don’t know what it is she gets up to. She’s volatile. What if she turns this place into a speakeasy?”

  I stormed down the last remaining stair and marched right up to Anthony, jabbing him angrily in the chest.

  “Listen here, pal,” I said fiercely, “you are not my father. You are merely married to my mother. You are not my family, you do not decide what I do. If you had married her years ago, when I was still a child, then perhaps I would listen to you. But I do not know you and you certainly do not me—”

  “You are a flapper,” Mr. Hayes said coldly, the disdain for me clear in his voice as he stepped out of my reach. He straightened his jacket and looked expectantly at my mother. “You would let this child live here alone?”

  “You’re lecturing me about turning this place into a speakeasy?” I laughed harshly. “You stopped buying alcohol just last month!”

  Mr. Hayes paled at my words and glanced anxiously towards my mother, who, it appeared, hadn’t heard a word of what I had of what I had just said. Instead, Mama was looking at the floor and I wondered if, for the first time, she would listen to me.

  “I will think about it,” Mama promised me before turning to Mr. Hayes.

  I watched them leave with a strong sense of loss as the door closed behind them.

  Shuffling backwards until my feet hit the bottom stair, I plopped down and clutched the railing as I stared blankly at the floor, eyes dry but heart breaking.

  The feeling of abandonment was strong and painful, slicing like an ice cold knife straight through my heart. I had been left without even so much as a loving word while my mother went off into her life and left me behind.

  Like Papa, I was now part of the past. I had never once considered the possibility of my mother falling in love again and marrying someone else. The idea that it was going to be just the two of forever had been my reality since I had been a child. And now that was gone as well and I was left behind like a useless trinket, left to gather dust in a forgotten attic.

  I heard the sound of approaching footsteps and looked up to see Danielle staring down at me, her expression unreadable, though I could sense pity.

  “I’m tired,” I said tonelessly and slowly pulled myself, with the use of the banister, to my feet. “Could you make me some hot cocoa before you turn in for the night?”

  She reached out, her expression softening, and tucked my short, dark locks behind my ear.

  “Of course.”

  The next morning, I lay in bed until eleven, luxuriating in the freedom my mother had gifted me in her departure. Danielle had brought me up breakfast some time ago, but it had long since gone cold and the only thing worth have was the bowl of fruit and the orange juice.

  I ate the fruit then gulped down the juice, as if someone else was moving my limbs for me, and got dressed.

  The first thing I noticed was was how quiet it was. Normally, Mama would either be sitting in her chair, reading her magazines or a book or working on her embroidery, tea and cookies beside her. Sometimes, she would already be out to pay calls. I wasn’t unused to silence, but there was a suffocating emptiness in it now because I knew that, aside from Mrs. Brandt and Danielle, I was alone.

  Danielle brought in a tray of tea while I sat I my chair across from my mother’s. Would she take it with her, I found myself wondering, or would she leave it behind?

  I stretched out my legs before me and lounged back in the chair, though I felt anything but relaxed.

  At least now I could stay out without any repercussions.

  There was a knock at the front door and I sat up straighter, flattening down my slightly mussed hair. Part of me almost expected it to be Basso, waiting to be let in. Instead, Danielle showed Detective Emerson into the sitting room instead.

  “Good morning,” I greeted, letting the surprise show on my face as the detective stepped into the room. I had thought I had been left alone, but seeing him gave me a little hope that I was not so alone as I thought. “What can I do for you today, detective?”

  Danielle left and I motioned for Emerson to sit.

  “Where is Mrs. MacClare?” he inquired as he took his seat, looking anxiously around him.

  I shifted slightly in my seat. “It’s Mrs. Hayes now, sir,” I corrected, the words tasting sour in my mouth as I got up to pour him a cup of tea. As I handed it to him, I said, “Mama will be living with her new husband from now on. For the moment, I’m allowed to stay here, alone, until she decides the best course of action for the house.” And me.

  Emerson raised his eyebrows, looking perplexed at my announcement but otherwise said nothing as he accepted his tea.

  “So, detective,” I said as I settled back down into my chair, “why are you here? Why did you not call me to the station house?” Why have you not yet arrested Basso?

  Emerson set his tea aside, untouched, and scooted forward in the chair, his elbows resting on his knees.

  “My informants tell me that Basso plans on using you tonight,” he explained, his voice low. “There’s to be some kind of questioning and you are to do it.”

  I snorted into my tea. Did he think I would faint at this news?

  “Is something funny, Miss MacClare?” he asked sternly.

  Over the rim of my teacup, I shot him a wide smile. “I think ‘questioning’ is perhaps a little too kind of a word to describe what he actually does.” I set my own tea off to the side and looked him directly in the eye. “This won’t be my first time doing this, detective. I doubt it will be last.”

  Emerson looked unperturbed by my statement and leaned back in the chair.

  “Well, whatever he has planned for you,” he said, “make sure you do it well.”

  “I’ve lasted this long, detective.” I got to my feet, wanting more than ever to get him out of the house. Ever since Frankie had questioned why Emerson hadn’t arrested Basso yet, strengthening my own questions, the seed of doubt that had taken root when he hadn’t done anything after Basso turned Emily Murdock to death and grew the longer it took for him to make a move. “As long as you’re there when this all comes to a close, I’ll make it through to the end.”

  Emerson didn’t move. He sat in the chair, eyes fixed curiously upon me, as if I was so
me puzzle he was trying and failing to work out.

  “What?” I asked bluntly.

  “When I first met you, Miss MacClare, you were a terrified girl who had just watched her best friend get killed,” he observed, rising slowly from the chair. “Now, you’re this fearless young woman who appears ready to take on a whole army.”

  I shot him another wide grin that I knew didn’t reach my eyes and moved to the door, a clear dismissal.

  “I’ve seen and done a lot since you first met me,” I reminded him.

  “Perhaps.” Emerson looked as though he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or remain serious. He opted for the latter. “Until next time, then, Miss MacClare. I feel quite certain we’re close to catching the killer.”

  Danielle had appeared at that moment and, playing the role, I offered Emerson a warm smile.

  “Let me know if I can be of any further assistance, detective,” I responded, knowing full well that she was clinging to every word.

  “Good day,” Emerson said with a small bow before letting himself out.

  I returned to the sitting room and had only just sat back down in my chair when Danielle bustled up.

  She had, I observed, discarded her usual old-fashioned skirts and had acquired a shorter hem, though still not quite short enough to suit the style of the day. They were still a decade old, suited more for the days of the Great War. She had even changed her hair, though she still kept it long. Finger curls waved through her glossy locks and framed her face perfectly.

  “I take it the detective wanted tae update ye on Miss Waters’ murder?” Danielle asked as she picked up Emerson’s untouched tea.

  “There isn’t much to update me on,” I told her. “They have a few ideas, but they haven’t been able to gather enough evidence to support their theories. Or so he tells me.”

  “Well, it certainly takes time,” Danielle said bracingly. “But they’ll catch him in the end, Miss Hazel. You’ll see.”