Between Before and After

by Maureen Doyle McQuerry

  As it turned out, Robert preferred spending time with Angus rather than with me. It didn’t seem to bother him that Angus was so much younger. He was enthralled with Angus’s bedroom/workshop. I guess his parents didn’t let him touch any tools at all, ever.

  His preference for Angus didn’t bother me. For all his good looks, I found Robert Crater, after an hour or so, kind of boring. He talked about sports, especially baseball—something that held little interest for me—incessantly. As I watched Robert follow Angus, I wondered if the elusiveness came from the fact he had been sick so much of his life, or if he really believed all that stuff his parents told him.

  By this time in the summer, there were only a few people in our yard each day. Without anything miraculous happening, I couldn’t understand why they bothered to come unless it was to hear Uncle Stephen talk. He was still sleeping on our couch, although he claimed he had a lead on another apartment. He faithfully came out every day and said at least a few words to the people huddled in the bright sun on our front lawn. They were mostly old folks, ladies who always wore headscarves and men with skin as wrinkled as elephant hide. Occasionally, there would be women with babies to be blessed, but they didn’t stay long in the relentless sun. Today, with the strange and turbulent weather, there were only three or four people. I was so used to them now that I hardly paid attention. I guess that’s why I didn’t notice the blue Chevy Bel Air was back in the neighborhood. In its own way, it was one of the faithful hoping for a miracle.

  Besides, the world was full of distractions. President Eisenhower had announced last month that we were going to launch satellites to circle around the earth. I wasn’t sure what purpose the satellites would serve, but lately Angus was taken by any idea involving flight. For weeks it was all he would talk about. It was a novelty while the miracle began to feel familiar.

  Being grounded hadn’t changed my life much. I missed my friend’s pizza party at the bowling alley, but circumstances being what they were, I might not have gone anyway. Uncle Stephen had finagled Mom into letting me have a small celebration dinner for my birthday. This wasn’t how I’d pictured my fifteenth birthday. Dad sent me a new journal and a charm bracelet with a silver book on it, with a promise that before school started he’d take Angus and me to the beach. But the date was vague enough to keep my hopes tamped down.

  The backyard was the safest place to be, now that the faithful occupied the front lawn. The grass might be brown and crunchy underfoot, but miraculously, the beheaded flowers had survived. There were new buds on the geraniums. Even the roses bloomed.

  When Angus and I were little, on windy days like this we’d take an umbrella outside to see if we could get airborne. I wondered if he was thinking about those days too.

  I found Angus and Robert on the back porch laughing together. When they saw me, Angus whispered something to Robert, who shot me a sidelong glance and said something that made Angus double over laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” The wind slapped my hair against my face.

  “Mind your own beeswax!”

  I took a step toward Angus, hot words sputtering on my tongue, and then I noticed Robert smirking.

  That smirk was the proverbial last straw. I was alienated from my friends. I might never be what Jesse called a “normal” girl, and I was trying to figure out if I cared. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I didn’t.

  I turned on Robert. “Why are you hanging around with a little kid?”

  “I’m not a little kid,” Angus said.

  Robert stared at me. I stared back.

  “Maybe it’s because no one else believes you’re special,” I suggested.

  Like the wind, my frustration had whipped into a frenzy. Nothing about this summer was working out the way I’d planned. My classified ad had failed. I was no closer to discovering the secret of Mom’s past, and Dad showed no signs of coming back.

  “People like you can’t understand.” Robert’s voice was calm, fuel to my fire.

  “Then if you’re so special, prove it!”

  Robert’s eyes slid sideways to Angus. He gave a nod, and they both walked inside. It didn’t matter; I was glad they were gone. I wanted to be alone.

  I decided to check on the little vegetable patch I’d planted early in the spring. As the summer progressed, I’d become increasingly neglectful.

  On close inspection, I could see orange and red humps protruding through the tangle of weeds in each row. A few vegetables, despite my neglect, were ready to harvest. I pulled out carrots and radishes, shaking off clumps of dirt, and piled them on the ground. The tomato vines were brown and limp. I could almost hear them gasping in the sun.

  A lone crow screamed in the top of the sycamore.

  Our backyard was enclosed by a fence of six foot high cedar boards. It was a great relief not to be under observation, or in the house with the drapes closed. The crow swept down and landed on the fence, his feathers askew like a man in an ill-fitting suit. His caw was relentless.

  From up above, someone called my name. It sent a shiver down my spine, with all the talk of miracles that summer. I looked up. Two seagulls were spinning in the updrafts, white wings pearlized against the purple sky. Then I heard it again and turned to look behind me. In the empty field behind our house, Angus and Robert perched like two weathervanes on top of the Browns’ old barn. They stood at least twenty feet off the ground, and Angus was wearing the wings.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  CHANGE OF PLANS

  BROOKLYN, NEW YORK—OCTOBER 1919

  ELAINE

  It was Saturday afternoon, and Stephen had been pleading with Elaine all day to visit Father Kearny and his pigeons. Soon enough winter would fall upon them, and then pigeon post would be over until spring. After spending the morning sewing, her legs were as restless as her thoughts, so she agreed.

  Father Kearny had invited several children from the parish. By the time Elaine and Stephen arrived, the others already stood huddled in the chill wind on the roof. The priest ceremoniously lifted Gabriel from the coop. Elaine, hands buried in her armpits for warmth, pressed close to Stephen. The tips of her nose and ears stung.

  Stephen leaned back against her. “Lainey, my head hurts.”

  “I’m up here freezing to death so you can see your stupid pigeons. Stop complaining or we’ll leave right now.”

  “But it does hurt. You never listen. I wish Pop was here.”

  “A lot of good he’d do you. Stop being such a baby.”

  Father Kearny’s voice cut through the wind: “We’ve one last post. I’m sending three of Pete’s birds. They’ll be flying twenty miles today, and be back by this time tomorrow. I thought some of you might want to write the post.”

  At least five hands popped up. “Let me! I’ve never had a chance before.”

  “It’s my turn!”

  “We’ll let chance settle it. Each of you draw a paper, and the three with the marks on them will get to write this time.” He pulled a paper sack out of his coat pocket. Stephen squirmed with anticipation.

  The pigeons were not distraction enough for Elaine. Howie was probably buying flowers for Sally right now: pink roses. The cold bit through Elaine’s warmest shawl. Stephen would be fine if she climbed down from the roof and waited in the warm church. When the bag was passed her way, she almost didn’t take it. But at the last minute, she dipped her hand in and drew out a paper slip. It was marked with an x. Maybe she should give it to Stephen. His slip was blank. But the image of her words being carried through the sky caught her.

  She looked out over Brooklyn. Today was her birthday, and she’d never felt so alone. Below, some of the trees had lost their leaves, but others flamed scarlet in the late afternoon light. For a moment the lowering sun turned the East River to gold. Elaine knew what she would write, even before Father Kearny passed her a pencil stub.

  Once her post was sent, she told Stephen to see himself home after class. He was almost ten now, and she couldn’t take care of h
im all the time. Besides, her own head ached, and she wanted to lie down. Had Howie and Sally left for the dance yet? The wind scoured the streets. Overhead, seagulls cried and spun on the updrafts. As soon as she got into the apartment, Elaine lay down on her bed and closed her eyes. The next thing she knew, someone was pounding on the door, and she sat up in a now dark room.

  Father Kearny’s voice rang out. “It looks like your brother’s not feeling so well.”

  Elaine forced herself out of bed and met them in the front room. Stephen was pale, his eyes glazed.

  “Look here.” Father Kearny lifted Stephen’s chin. A blotchy red rash covered his neck. “It’s on his arms too. It looks like the measles. Is your father home?”

  “No, he’s out just now.” Her own head still pounded, and her throat was sore.

  Father Kearny looked around the flat. “You don’t have much heat in here.”

  Stephen slumped down on a chair. Father Kearny directed his gaze at Elaine, eyes sharp enough to pierce right through her. “And when was the last time you saw your father?”

  “He’s working late.” She crossed her arms and looked away. “I can take care of Stephen.”

  “On a Saturday, is he? Didn’t you tell me your mother died of the flu this year?”

  Miserably, Elaine nodded her head.

  “Let’s get a fire going in the stove and make some hot water.” Father Kearny busied himself making tea.

  Elaine sank into the other chair. She was so very tired. All the while Father Kearny made conversation. The words floated somewhere above her head.

  “Your brother will make a fine altar boy. He’s bright and helpful, but most important, he has a good heart.” He clattered three mugs on the table and sat down opposite Elaine.

  “Now don’t lie to me.” His eyes bored into her. “What’s happened to your father?”

  “He’s died,” Stephen croaked.

  Elaine wanted to slap him, but she was too tired. Instead she began to cry, great gulping sobs she couldn’t stop.

  Father Kearny pulled out a large handkerchief. Then he rummaged in the cupboards, sliced potatoes into thin wedges and fried them in lard. He left for a few minutes and returned with sausage to add to the pan. All the while Elaine sat in the chair. Her nose ran, and she wiped it with the back of her hand. Her legs were too heavy to move. Stephen had fallen asleep with his head on the table and woke up just enough to eat when Father Kearny brought over the sizzling pan.

  “I can’t leave you like this, you know. I have to report it. You’re only kids, for Pete’s sake. It isn’t right you should be living on your own.”

  “We won’t go to an orphanage. We’re fine.” Elaine glared across the table.

  Father Kearny met her glare head on. “I’ll be by in the morning to look in on you. Tonight, I want you both to go straight to bed.”

  Too tired to protest, Elaine helped Stephen into his bed, washed his hot face, and then lay down herself. Her thoughts were askew. She needed a plan to get them both away.

  True to his word, Father Kearny arrived in the morning with tea and muffins for breakfast. Stephen was now covered head to toe with fierce red spots. His skin burned. After careful inspection, Elaine decided she had no spots at all. Her throat was still sore, but as usual, she coped.

  “Most people don’t die of the measles if they’re looked after properly. He needs rest, food, and someone to take care of him,” Father Kearny said after sending Stephen back to bed. “Tell me, how have you been surviving?”

  “I’ve got a job. I work at the Gossleys, and we’ve some money left from Pop’s friends.” Each word was a betrayal.

  “May Gossley?” Father Kearny’s eyebrows went up even higher. “She’s involved in half the charity cases in town. Does she know about this?”

  Elaine shook her head.

  “Well, perhaps she should.” Father Kearny looked thoughtful. “I’ve got a few contacts in the parish. I’ll do what I can to keep you and Stephen together. I’m off to Mass, but I want a promise from you before I go.”

  Elaine merely looked at him.

  “Promise me you’ll come get me right away if your brother gets worse. I want you to give him something to drink every hour to keep the fever down, and I want you to stay with him.”

  “But I have to go to work tomorrow.” Elaine’s voice felt faint and far away.

  “Leave that to me. I’ll let the Gossleys know. You’re not looking any too well yourself, and they won’t want you bringing disease into the house. Do you have spots?”

  “No.”

  “Have you had the measles, then?”

  “I don’t know. Not that I remember.”

  He shook his head. “You mind what I say.” He left sausage and milk on the table after making Elaine promise. Elaine tried not to think about the Orphan Asylum. If she could get her head clear, she could make a plan. They could go west and get jobs, or—She crept back into their bedroom and lay on the bed, unable to think what came next.

  Elaine bolted up. The room was filled with a thin gray light. Someone was knocking on the door. It had to be the social worker come to take them both away. Most of the night she’d been up, bathing Stephen’s face and giving him sips of water. He slept quietly now. If she ignored the knocking, maybe social services would go away. But the knocking became pounding.

  Head spinning, she cracked open the door and peered out.

  The opening filled with Kay’s broad smile. “Get your things. You’re both coming with me.”

  “Where? Why are you here?’

  Kay pushed into the room. “Father Kearny came by last evening. Mr. Seward said to fetch you both with all your things and come to the house. The missus was afraid of you bringing the measles, but he told her he’d hire a nurse if need be and there’d be no more discussing it.”

  Kay peeked in the bedroom where Stephen slept. “Is it true your father’s dead? And you never said a word.”

  “What will happen now?”

  “You’ll get looked after with proper meals and rest until he’s better—that’s what will happen. You want your brother taken care of, don’t you?”

  Elaine looked at Stephen.

  “If he dies, you’d never forgive yourself.” Kay’s words bored into Elaine’s throbbing head.

  Without protest, she gathered up their few belongings. Kay cleaned up the dishes and they both shook Stephen awake.

  “There’s a car outside. You can’t be walking like this.”

  “We’re going in the car?” Stephen’s face lit up. “Did you hear that, Lainey?”

  She didn’t answer. How long would it be until the Gossleys called one of May’s charities or another to collect them?

  But life in the candy house was not as sweet as it appeared. After the children had slept and been fed a fine breakfast of sweet cream and cakes, the old woman pinched their cheeks and their thin arms between her knobby fingers.

  “This will never do,” she said. “You need fattening up if you are to stay in my house.” She led Hansel into the pantry. “Look in the larder and tell me if we have any butter. My eyes are not as good as they once were.”

  Hansel obediently opened a small door and peered into the darkness. The old woman, with surprising strength in her sinewy arms, shoved him from behind. He stumbled forward into the pantry, and with a final click she locked the door.

  “Here you’ll remain until meat grows on your bones.”

  Poor Hansel didn’t know what to do. In desperation, he called out for his sister.

  When Gretel heard his muffled pleas, she tried to run to him, but the old woman detained her with an iron grip.

  “Little bird, do you wish to be caged as well? Things can only go worse for your brother. Now fly about my house, cleaning it from top to toe!” The old woman thrust a scrub brush and bucket into Gretel’s small hands, a bucket soon filled with the poor girl’s tears.

  While Gretel worked on hands and knees to polish the old woman’s floors, Hansel, wh
o still was a resourceful boy, devised a plan. The old woman’s eyesight was poor. Each day, when she came to check for fat on his bones, she pinched his one finger and arm. Counting on her poor vision, Hansel stuck a chicken bone through the small grate in the door. The old woman would pinch the bone instead of a finger and shake her head in dismay. “Little bird, my chicken is not ready yet for my stew.”

  And Gretel laughed, though her poor back ached and her hands were cracked and red.

  In this way, the children, who were in mortal peril, tricked the old woman, day by day, into sparing their lives just a little longer.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  THE GINGERBREAD HOUSE

  BROOKLYN, NEW YORK—NOVEMBER 1919

  ELAINE

  Elaine startled awake, her panicked thoughts flapping like trapped birds in the dark room. Where was Stephen? She didn’t hear him breathing. Then, memories flooded in. They were safe at the Gossleys. No need to fret about food or rent. And inside her, where the worry had been lodged, there was a hollow, empty space.

  It should feel like stepping into a fairy tale. For the first time, she had a room to herself, with a rose-colored bedspread and a delicate dressing table with a mirror. From the small window, she looked out through the winter limbs of a chestnut tree into a small grass yard.

  Stephen was right next door in a smaller room that had once been a gentleman’s dressing room. While his fever came and went, Stephen spent the first days of their new life in bed. Kay looked in on him, but it was mostly Elaine who brought him soup and bathed his forehead. Mrs. Gossley forbade Howie to come near either of them until the disease had run its course. Elaine was excused from all her duties in the rest of the house. She wasn’t used to long, leisurely days, but she passed the time reading Hansel and Gretel and books from the Gossleys’ library out loud to Stephen.