Secrets on 26th Street (8 page)

“Come on!” Russell yelled, beckoning toward a break in the crowd. The children pushed toward the gap and forced their way out of the press of people. Fresh air rushed into Susan's lungs. She could breathe again. She checked Helen over, every inch of her. As soon as Susan was sure Helen was all right, the three hurried away toward the trolley.

Susan looked back only once. The police had finally begun to break up the riot. Some people were being arrested and carried to paddy wagons waiting nearby. Good! The hecklers and rowdies would spend the night in jail. No less than they deserved.

Susan dropped a dime into the trolley's glass jar, fare for her and Helen, and watched the conductor crank the coin down the transparent chute into the till below. Then she slid into a straw-colored seat next to the window, where she could see the troublemakers being hauled away. The trolley jumped to a start just as the paddy wagons were rumbling by.

But it wasn't the rowdies being carted off to jail at all! It was the suffragists, still wearing their yellow sashes! Susan couldn't believe it.

By the time the trolley lurched to a stop at the corner of Eighth Avenue and 26th, the rooflines of Chelsea were stretched tight against a darkening sky. Stores and cars had begun turning on their lights, and the Nabisco factory was blowing its whistle announcing the 6:00 shift change.

At home, the girls found an empty flat. Bea was not home yet from the factory. Susan got Lucy from the Cochrans', fed her some cornmeal mush, and put her to bed. An hour passed, and Bea still hadn't come. Anxiety flickered in Susan's stomach. Where was Bea? Susan reheated the mush for herself and Helen. Helen ate just a few bites before she fell asleep at the table, and Susan could only pick at her own food. She settled Helen in the rocker, then sat at the table and watched the hands of the clock creep to half past eight.

Why didn't Bea come home?

Now anxiety was gnawing at Susan in earnest. Whispered stories hovered in the back of her mind—stories about workers injured at the factories. The story of the horrible fire at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory only a few years before, when more than a hundred workers had died, trapped in the blazing building.

What if something equally awful had happened to Bea?

At nine o'clock Susan couldn't stand it any longer. She roused Helen and then went to Russell's and asked if he would go to the Nabisco factory and check on Bea.

Time inched past. The girls huddled together in Mum's rocker and watched the clock move to 9:30, 9:45, 10:00.

“Where
is
she, Susie?” Helen kept asking. Susan just shook her head. If she spoke, she might betray the fear rumbling in her belly.
What a time
, Susan thought,
to be here alone without Mum
.

Finally, finally, came the sound of a key turning in the door. Maybe it would be Mum; maybe it would be Bea. Susan didn't know who she wanted to see more. The knob turned. The door opened, and Bea appeared. Relief washed over Susan, but concern instantly replaced it.

Something was wrong with Bea. She was moving slowly, with the greatest of effort, like old Mrs. Hannish with her rheumatism.

“Bea! What's wrong?” Helen exclaimed.

Bea claimed to be fine. “I'm sorry to be so late, girls. I hope you didn't worry. I'm just a bit tired and sore from a long day at work. I'm going straight to bed.” Yet the spark was missing from her voice. She hobbled across the kitchen, not looking to right or left, not speaking, not even noticing Mum's absence.

Bea's bedroom door clicked shut.

For a minute Susan and Helen stared at each other, then at Bea's closed door. “Something's not right,” Susan whispered. “I'll try to talk to her.”

Susan tapped on Bea's door.

“Who is it?”

“Me, Susan.”

Susan thought she heard Bea sigh. “Come in.”

Susan opened the door. Bea was standing, facing her. “What is it, Susan?” Bea's voice sounded strained, and Susan noticed with a twinge that she hadn't called Susan “love.”

“Mum's not home yet. We're getting worried.”

“I shouldn't worry about her. Perhaps your aunt needed her to stay a bit longer. Your mum knows I'm here to take care of you girls.”

“I guess you're right,” Susan said hesitantly. It seemed, though, like Mum would have gotten word to them if she was staying over. Susan stared absently at Bea's Trafalgar Square photograph on the nightstand. She doubted Aunt Blanche had a telephone, but Mum could telephone from town, couldn't she, and leave a message for them at Rubenstein's Drugstore on the corner?

Bea had moved toward the nightstand, and now she reached down and angled the photograph away from Susan's view. It struck Susan as a rather strange thing to do at the moment. “Was there something else?” Bea asked.

“Yes! Are
you
all right, Bea? You're limping.”

“A bit of a sprain I got at work. That's why I was late. Don't mention it to anyone, hear me, love? It's a trifle, really.” She eased herself onto the bed. “If you don't mind, Susan, I'm terribly tired. Would you shut the door on your way out?”

Susan was stung. Bea had always welcomed her company. Now she was brushing Susan off, as if she was a pesky child. As Susan closed the door, she thought she heard Bea moan.
Something
was wrong.

Reluctantly, Susan went back to the kitchen. She found Helen asleep in the rocker. She led her to bed and tucked her in beside Lucy, but Susan was too anxious to sleep. Bea seemed to be in pain, and Susan couldn't do anything to help her. She kept hoping that Mum might still show up this evening. Then Mum could do something about Bea. Susan went back into the kitchen to wait. She sat at the table and tried to read, but her eyes kept swimming. She couldn't concentrate.

The fire in the stove had died, and the room was growing cold. The flat seemed so empty without Mum …

Susan jerked awake to a knocking at the door.

Mum! She must have forgotten her key!

Susan rushed to the door and flung it open, but it wasn't Mum. It was Russell.

“Oh, it's you,” Susan said. Swallowing her disappointment, she turned from the door and slumped in the rocker. “I thought you might be Mum. Bea came home already, Russell, but thanks for going to check on her.”

Russell stepped into the kitchen and grasped Susan's arm. “You're not going to believe what I found out.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I went to the Nabisco factory. I found the second-shift foreman. Had a nice long talk with him.”

“That's grand,” said Susan wearily. “I'm glad you enjoyed meeting the foreman.”

“I did. He was a capital fellow. He had some interesting information.”

“I'm not in the mood for this, Russell. I'm worried.”

“You ought to be.”

Suddenly Russell had Susan's full attention. “Why?”

“Your boarder's been lying to you,” he said. “No Beatrice Rutherford has ever worked at the Nabisco factory.”

C
HAPTER
8

L
ESTER'S
V
ISIT

Susan sprang out of bed at the first hint of dawn, hoping that Mum would be home. But the door to Mum's closet stood open, the bed not slept in. In the kitchen, gray light filtered through the curtains. Mum was not there. Mum had not come home.

Disappointment rippled through Susan, disappointment tinged with anxiety. Why didn't Mum try to get in touch with them? She was bound to know they'd be worried about her. It didn't seem like Mum at all.

Bea was again her cheery self. She made hot cocoa and promised the girls an outing in the park after breakfast. Susan could have sworn, though, she saw Bea wince as she reached into the cabinet for cups.

Helen gulped down her cocoa and asked for seconds; Lucy buzzed about the outing all through breakfast. But Susan only sipped at her cocoa and nibbled at her toasted cornbread. She didn't have much of an appetite. She was worried about Mum, and Russell's words from last night lay like stones in her belly.

Why had Bea lied to them about her job?

The only thing Susan could figure was that Bea was embarrassed about the job she did have. Maybe she was working as a maid somewhere, perhaps for that rich woman with the pug dog. Someone like Bea, Susan guessed, might feel ashamed of doing domestic work. It hurt Susan, though, to think that Bea felt she couldn't be honest with her. After all, Susan told her nearly everything. She'd have thought their friendship was special enough for Bea to do the same—to have trusted Susan with the truth, if no one else.

“You've barely touched your breakfast, love.” Bea's voice broke into Susan's thoughts. “Aren't you feeling well?” She felt Susan's forehead.

“It's my stomach,” Susan said, and she told herself it wasn't really a lie. Her stomach did hurt, though not in the way Bea was thinking. “I don't think I'll go to the park.”

Bea insisted on dosing Susan with castor oil and putting her to bed. She set a glass of water beside Susan's bed and tucked the covers around her. “Try to sleep, love. You were up late last night.”

Susan wondered if Bea was feeling guilty for making the girls worry last night. She had an urge to tell Bea that she knew about her job, but something in Bea's eyes—was it sadness or pain?—kept Susan from doing so. What harm would it do, she thought, to let Bea have her secret?

Susan watched Bea walk quietly from the room, then listened to her and the girls in the kitchen getting ready to go out. Soon the kitchen door slammed. Susan knew she was alone.

From her bed, Susan stared out at the slice of sky she could see through her open window. Even though her view was marred by the fire escape, she could tell it was a beautiful morning. The smell of the ocean drifted in on a west-bound breeze. The same breeze whipped the smoke from the Nabisco factory into a soft, blue sky.

Susan usually felt as bright as the weather on a day like this, but today she felt tired and listless. She hadn't slept well last night. Visions of the violence at the rally had plagued her dreams, and she found herself wondering if it was more than a coincidence that Bea had come home injured.
Could Bea have been at the rally?
she asked herself. But she quickly dismissed the thought. She couldn't imagine why Bea would try to hide going to the rally.
Bea
had no Tammany boss like Mr. Riley breathing down her neck, threatening her to stay away from suffrage.

Susan must have dozed off, because she awoke with a start to the sound of a knock on the front door.

Mum!

It had to be Mum, for who would come calling on a Sunday morning? Susan leaped out of bed, flew to the kitchen, and flung open the door. Then her throat constricted. At her door stood Lester Barrow.

Her mouth went dry. Lester here to demand his money, and both Mum and Bea gone—what on earth was she going to do?

“Missy O'Neal. Good morning to ye.” Lester tipped his hat and grinned in a way that made Susan shudder. He was wearing a gray, double-breasted serge suit, high-collared shirt, and silk tie. Susan figured he must have stopped by on his way home from church. “Did not see your family at Mass this morning. Your mother's not ill, I hope.”

Susan's tongue was as heavy as lead in her mouth. She didn't know whether to invite Lester in or try to get rid of him. Finally, she heard herself stammer something about Mum visiting relatives for the weekend.

“And did she leave the rent with you, lass?” Lester was frowning.

Susan felt weak in the knees. She knew Mum was no closer to having all that money than when Lester had come to her office a while back and demanded it. Somehow Mum had managed to put him off then, but Susan had a feeling that Lester would not take kindly to being put off again.

Susan thought of her barbershop money, hidden safely away for a moment like this. But the moment had come too soon. Her stash had grown so slowly, with Delaney taking half her tips, that Lester would probably laugh if she offered him the little she had.

Still, Susan had to do something. She couldn't just stand here forever like a statue. Susan repeated to herself what Bea had told Mum about using confidence to deal with men like Lester. Then she swallowed once, twice, invited Lester in, and offered him a cup of tea. All the while she was struggling to keep her hands from shaking and giving away her terror.

Susan shoveled a few lumps of coal into the stove and lit it. As she slid the kettle onto the burner, she said, “You understand, Mr. Barrow, Mum
has
the money, everything she owes you for the last few months.” She reached into the china cabinet for two of their best china teacups. “The problem is, I don't know where it is. She left in such a hurry, I guess she forgot to tell me.”

Lester looked puzzled. “But it's only for this month's rent I'm here, lassie. Your boarder, Miss Rutherford, paid all the rest quite some time ago.”