by Jo Schaffer
“Bastards left mine in my hat on the kitchen table.”
So, they all got one too.
He lifted himself into the rusty boxcar and stood up. The interior was dim and cluttered with old blankets, an old sofa full of holes, and a small three-legged table with several lit candles on it. The Knights turned to face him, each of them holding a painted black branch. No one spoke for a moment until Arthur, ever present bowler hat and cigarette in place, said, “Took yous long enough.”
“You guys got here pretty quick,” Stanley said.
“It was an emergency,” Anino piped in, holding up his own black branch.
Stanley nodded and then motioned to Arthur and the pack of cigarettes he held. “Can I have one of those?”
They all looked at him, not bothering to hide their surprise. Even Arthur, who often badgered him about smoking a pipe or something, hesitated before shaking out a cig and giving it to Stanley.
He put it in his mouth, grabbed the matches from his coat pocket, lit it up, and said, “What are you all staring at?”
As a response, Shuffles said, “Nothin’, boss. Are we gonna talk about these here fancy, painted sticks or we just gonna use them for firewood?”
Stanley coughed a little as the smoke entered his lungs. “What’s there to talk about? It’s a declaration of war or intimidation or something. They want us to know everything is about to begin. And, unlike all of you, mine gave me a nice poke in the eye.”
Jakob rubbed his chin. “Yeah, but why black branches? What does that even mean?”
Arthur sneered. “Does that even matter?”
The Knights argued for a moment, and then Stanley held up his hand. Something scratched at the back of his mind. He had noticed a couple of pages stuck together the last time he’d looked at the diary. Suddenly he had to see what they were. “Wait a tic. Might be something in the diary about all of this.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out the diary. Flipping through it, he found the stuck pages. He slipped the blade of his pocket knife between the pages and carefully eased them apart. The heavy, black ink had acted like glue. After some tearing, the pages opened to reveal a drawing of a tree with branches spreading out over the two pages. Stanley let out a breath. He’d sensed right.
Across the trunk was written the word “Eugenics,” and on each of the gnarled roots expanding below the tree were written words like “genealogy,” “biology,” “genetics,” and “mental testing.” Stanley noticed several broken branches falling from the tree, painted black.
Stanley held it up for the Knights. “This is it. And look what Evelyn wrote here, ‘The dead branches shall be pruned in The Winnowing.’”
No one spoke for a moment, every one of them stared with mouths slightly open.
Arthur took a puff and blew out a slow stream of smoke. “Guess we’re the dead branches, eh?”
“What’s that word mean?” Anino said, pointing at the page where “Eugenics” was written.
Stanley didn’t answer for a moment; he wasn’t sure what it was, but he was starting to guess. He took a last puff on the cigarette and snuffed it on the ground. “We need information, especially about eugenics and what it means to The Winnowing. Looks like they’re connected. Anino and Shuffles, hit the streets to see if there is any talk. Jakob, go to the library, see what you can find out about eugenics. I’ll talk to Seamus and see if he’ll tell me anything. Arthur, we’ll need your pigeons.”
They all nodded.
“Not sure I feel very cozy about the swells right now,” Shuffles said, turning the black branch in his hand.
“Hazel’s party should be a real gas, eh?” Anino said, frowning.
“Yeah. Chances are, we’ll be watched. Be aware. Don’t say anything boneheaded or stupid, get me? Try to blend in as much as possible with these swells. Right now, they’re gonna treat you like their own personal pets, but I’m guessing they tend to kick their animals when they get mad. So, be nice, little, lap dogs.”
The Knights murmured and frowned at that.
“I feel hunted. Like an unacceptable element,” said Jakob, touching a nervous hand to the yarmulke he wore on his head.
“Nah. These people are screwy. Nothin’ wrong with yous or any of us.” Arthur scowled.
“I’d like to see them try to weed us out. We can’t let them get to us. So, let’s get cracking. And I’ll meet you all back here around six, and we’ll go to Lady Bananas. All right, amscray, you mugs.” He was shaken, but Stanley tried to sound stronger than he felt.
All of the Knights filed out except for Arthur who lit another cigarette.
“So, you got something else, boss?”
Stanley smiled. “How’d you guess?”
Arthur shrugged his shoulders. “I’m magic.”
Snorting, Stanley pulled out the flyers and dropped them on the small table. “I want to know about this place. They were handing these out to people in Hooverville.”
“I’ve already checked this place out; your little trinket works there. Richies trying to feel good about themselves and all. They do this crap all the time.”
“She’s no trinket.” Stanley scowled. “Anyway, I want the pigeons to keep an eye on the place.”
Arthur frowned and tapped the ashes from the end of his cigarette. “I’m missing two. Might be happening again. I’m getting short on birds to send around the city.”
“Then all the more reason to see what the hell is going on at these clinics. I can’t prove anything yet, but something doesn’t sit right in my gut.” He snuffed his cigarette on the table and handed it back to Arthur.
He slipped Stanley’s partially smoked cigarette back into his pocket. “That gut of yours ain’t ever wrong.” Arthur nodded. “But we’s gonna need more recruits. Pigeons and Knights.”
Leaning against the door and staring outside, Stanley rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, I thought about that. But where am I going to get them?”
“Try that slick Italian you pal around with. See if he’s ready to leave the gangsters. Time to lower your standards and all. This is war.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. And by the way, that cigarette was disgusting.” Stanley wiped his mouth.
Arthur grinned. “You better put some raw meat on that eye.” He jumped down from the boxcar, straightened his bowler hat, and walked slowly off, whistling “John the Revelator,” his new blues song of choice.
Stanley was unnerved. What if something happened to his Knights before they could figure out all this business? It weighed on him how much they trusted him. He wanted to be tough, but this black stick development had him thrown off. He reached up to his eye and gently probed it. Swollen for sure and he could barely see out of it. Maybe that’s why everything seemed dim.
Well, this is just great. Going to Hazel’s party looking like I’ve been in a street fight or like a girl slapped me or something. That’s all I need right now, for that whole set to think I’m more dangerous than I actually am.
He let out an exasperated sigh and wondered if he should just skip school and get some sleep. The eye would be a good excuse. Sister Mary John might understand. He could tell she’d been worried about him.
He walked slowly back to his place, taking in every sight, scent, and sound of the city coming awake. Men and women with tired faces shuffled down the streets, wrapped in coats against the nippy, early morning. Vendors at their carts shouted out what they were selling, while kids in packs wound their way to school. Part of Stanley felt he could stay in St. Louis forever; it was the only place he’d ever known. And yet, he knew he would never stay here, even before all this Veiled Prophet business happened. If he lived through it, he would get the hell out of Dodge.
Then he thought about Hazel. How could they ever work out? Dogtown boy and rich girl. This was America after all and not snobby England. But what did he have to offer her? What kind of life? Shaking his head, he pushed those thoughts away. He had to focus o
n the problem at hand. That drawing in Evelyn’s diary disturbed him.
When he got home, he found Vinnie lounging on the porch, his dark hair hanging in his eyes, and a smirk on his face.
“Where ya been, Irish? We were supposed to walk to school together. Say, did Maggie belt you one in the eye?”
“Funny, you Italian bastard. You should be in comedy picture shows.”
Vinnie stood and looked closer. “Nah, someone poked you, but good. Let’s skip out today.”
Stanley shrugged. He was too tired to face school anyway.
They went inside, Stanley found a piece of meat in the ice box, and placed it on his eye. They sat at the table, cracking peanuts in silence for a moment, and then Stanley said, “I want you to join the Knights.”
“Ain’t much for small talk today, are ya?” Vinnie grinned.
“No time for it anymore. Things are getting crazy.” Stanley told him what happened in the night, leaving out that he shook like a boxer in his first fight.
Vinnie whistled. “Now you want me to join. Ha.”
“Sorry. I know it’s the worst time to ask. But even The Raven says it isn’t a safe place anymore.”
Vinnie sighed. “Yeah. The Raven is getting out. He released us, which never happens. We’re having a final thing at the Rookery tonight. He’s scared. And that’s a fact. And so am I, to tell it true.”
Stanley nodded. “Yeah. The lights are going out all over St. Louis.”
They looked at each other for a moment, and then Vinnie grinned. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll join your do-gooders if I can borrow the fancy shoes you got from the paper.”
Few things filled Stanley with pride more than the shoes he’d earned by setting a record for the most papers sold for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch in a year. And he never let anyone borrow them.
“Nah. Can’t. I need those for Hazel’s birthday party tonight. I already look bad enough as it is with the eye. Hell, they already think I’m a thug who’ll rob and beat them. I have to wear that smart suit and my best shoes, and that’s a fact.”
Vinnie leaned over the table. “Please, Stanny. I’m taking Patricia to the little shindig at the Rookery. Want to look aces. I ain’t got no fancy shoes or nothin’. I’ll join your Knights if you say yes.” Vinnie held out his hand to shake.
Stanley looked at his best friend. They’d been pals through some tough times, and without Vinnie, his job at the ballpark would have been half the fun. Vinnie might be a lazy good-for-nothing, but when it counted, he always came through. He owed him. If it wasn’t for Vinnie, they never would have found Hazel in the caves. Stanley could just wear his old shoes, shine them up good, or borrow Seamus’s.
Stanley shook his friend’s hand. “All right, ya palooka. They’re upstairs under my bed.”
Vinnie ran up, got the shoes, and with a quick “see ya later,” went out the door. Stanley bolted and locked the door.
Exhausted, Stanley dropped onto the couch and closed his eyes. He hoped to get a dance in with Hazel at the party. He just wanted to forget everything and hold her. She was warm and soft and had that special Hazel sweet smell. Even with all of that moxie, when he held Hazel, she melted into him like she needed him. Feeling her wrapped in his arms by memory, his skin warmed and his heart slowed. Within minutes Stanley sunk into sleep.
Hazel dozed at the desk where she’d been filing papers. Cocooned and cradled in warmth, the slow thump of a heartbeat sounded in her head. Floating peacefully over the darkened city, the sparkle of St. Louis far below, Hazel gazed down at the roofs of Dogtown. Stanley was somewhere down there …
The shrill ringing of a phone across the hall startled her awake. Back in the hard, wooden chair, she placed the last few files into the correct drawers and crossed the hall. Hazel smoothed down her apron and tucked a stray curl behind her ear before pushing the door open. She was met by a sterile waft of rubbing alcohol and a bright overhead light bouncing off white walls. Doctor Karl Galton sat at his desk, bent over a stack of patients’ files. He looked up at her, and a lock of wavy, blond hair fell across his forehead. The young doctor smiled and removed his round, reading spectacles.
“Well, Hazel. All done for the afternoon?”
She smiled, hoping her cheeks weren’t as pink as they felt. “Yes. The storage closet is organized, and both exam rooms are spick and span. The new patient forms are filed, and Marie’s medicine cabinet is restocked.” Hazel took a deep breath, proud of the look of approval she had just put on the young doctor’s face.
Dr. Galton nodded. “Terrific. You’ve been a great help these past weeks. Thank you.”
Hazel grinned. “I’m happy to help. What you do for people … it’s really swell.”
“Doing things for other people is the best way I know of to overcome life’s difficulties …” His eyes showed a flicker of sadness. Hazel wondered, as she often did, if he had a tragic past … perhaps a terribly romantic and doomed love affair. She was a sucker for that. She snapped herself out of a sudden desire to put her arms around him and ask him to tell her everything.
“It’s good to see you smile. You’re a very brave girl.” He had said this kind of thing before. “Some people would never recover from what you endured.”
She swallowed, not wanting to remember. “Yeah, I worry about Sandy Schmidt.”
“You’re a good friend. I hope you don’t blame yourself for anything that happened.
Young Chouteau was unwell.”
Charles Chouteau. Her kidnapper. The man who had changed her sense of reality and nearly destroyed her best friend.
“Yes. I know.” People were always talking about Charles as that poor, delusional boy. There was much head shaking and tongue clucking of regret and pity. Had he not been from a wealthy, elite family, Hazel was sure the attitude would be much different.
He gave her a bright smile. “Hadn’t you better hurry along? Your big celebration is tonight.”
“Yeah. See you there?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” Dr. Galton winked.
Hazel left before she giggled or said something stupid. It was a silly crush, but he was delicious to look at and smart as a whip. He spent all day doing things for people who could otherwise never afford his help.
In the supply room, Hazel removed her apron and hung it in the locker. She grabbed her handbag, pulled out the powder compact, and glanced at herself in the small, round mirror. Her lipstick had worn off and her curls had gone astray as usual. It would be nice if she could just go home, snuggle up in a blanket, and read her fan magazines. She’d always loved motion pictures, but now she wanted to escape into the shimmering, silver world of Hollywood even more. It was safer. Instead, tonight she had to be social. Hazel’s parents were throwing an immense party for her sixteenth birthday and to celebrate Stanley and his Knights rescuing Hazel and Sandy from their kidnapper.
They were local and international celebrities for a couple of months. Her best friend, Sandy, shied away from the spotlight. She’d been through too much. Sandy was no longer the sassy rebel who liked to be the center of attention. Cameras threw her into a panic, and she’d often wear a wrap that helped obscure the scar that ran down the side of her face. For the rest of them, it had been a heady time of newspaper stories and recognition. Stanley and Hazel were even invited on the Cracker Jack radio hour. They were “America’s own, Cracker Jack kids!”
Hazel struggled to find footing in her new reality. It felt like the time she was a kid, and her family had gone to Florida. They spent the day at the sea; sparkling blue waters and warm sun, a picture of serenity and beauty. She had wandered too deep into the warm embrace of the waves, and an unseen power beneath the surface dragged her down and away from the shore. Tumbling under the water, she kicked and thrashed toward the surface only to find herself clawing at the sand. She’d lost her bearings and did not know which way was up. Then, her father’s large hand had clamped around her ankle and yanked her out of the wa
ter.
There was no large hand to rescue her now.
The perfect, sheltered world she once lived in had been exposed as corrupt and unsafe underneath all of the glamor and gentility. During the day, she threw herself into fun or the diversion of volunteering at the Family Care Clinic, while at night she’d drown in nightmares: dark melodramas where she was tied to a chair, and a hooded madman sang while carving up her best friend in front of her eyes. Sandy’s screams always woke Hazel to the disconcerting contrast of satin bedding and her opulent room.
Hazel paused outside of Marie’s exam room. The door was ajar, and the nurse was speaking with a colored woman that Hazel recognized as one of the Sinclair’s maids. Her name was Maxie.
“My guts are twistin’ something terrible,” the woman told Marie.
“How long have you had trouble digesting?” Marie asked with her slight German accent.
“Goin’ on a week now.”
“We will get you all fixed up. Let me just do some tests …”
“Thank you, ma’am. I just can’t tell you what this means to me. You’re a gift from Jesus.” Maxie’s voice was husky with emotion.
Hazel moved away from the door, smiling to herself. It felt right to be a part of something good after being so sickened by the evil that almost killed her.
A shiny, black Buick waited outside for her. Jennings stood on the rundown sidewalk in his suit, looking out of place. This neighborhood didn’t see very many chauffeurs.
He nodded his gray head at her. “Miss.”
“You didn’t have to come. I told Mumsy I could walk fine with my guard dog.” She glanced around to where she had tied Henri’s leash.
“Your pup insisted on a ride.” Jennings opened the door, and Hazel’s young German Shepherd bounced around happily in the back seat of the automobile. “He’s quite the killer …”
Hazel laughed. “Henri is still in training. He happens to be a fierce bodyguard. He got me here safe, didn’t he?”
“No doubt. Your parents don’t want any mishaps, with the party and all. You have a way of finding unexpected adventure.” Her chauffer grinned. “Miss?” He gestured toward the open door of the Buick.
