Lorewyn muttered to herself. She had been hoping to catch up on proofs for stories submitted at the end of the previous week. But she put her coat back on, signed out a portable camera, and hailed a cab to Lower Manhattan.
The driver was able to get her as far south as Fulton Street. The roads were blocked, traffic was insane, and there were people everywhere!
“What’s going on?” Lorewyn asked.
“Can’t tell,” the driver replied. “But it looks like this is as far as I can get you.”
Lorewyn thanked him, tipped generously, then exited the cab, walking the rest of the way. It was mayhem as she approached the heart of the Financial District. People were in a panicked state! Lorewyn pushed through as best she could, finally just grabbing some woman off the street.
“What is happening?!” she demanded. “Why is everyone running around like the world’s about to come to an end?”
“Haven’t you heard?!” the woman yelled. “The market’s collapsed! Wall Street’s going bankrupt! We’re doomed… all of us!”
Lorewyn’s eyes widened as she pushed past the hysterical woman and started running. She wasn’t on Wall Street yet. She took a detour, making for the corner of Liberty and Nassau. She sprinted to the entrance of the Commodities Office. There was already a crowd gathered there. Lorewyn flashed her journalist badge vehemently, trying to get inside. She managed to get to where a horde of brokers and analysts were shouting and waving their fists in the air.
I’m not even on the floor of the exchange and this is… Lorewyn hadn’t seen this kind of panic since the Black Death ravaged cities in Europe centuries before. Neither she nor Rhianyn had been living in America yet when the Stock Exchange had been bombed in 1920. She had been told by those who had been around that it had caused quite a bit of calamity on Wall Street. But this!
“Where’s the ticker tape?!” she shouted into the group, shoving herself into their midst. “Ariel Archer, Evening Graphic… show me the tape!”
A couple people made enough room for her to get close enough to see the moving clicking ticker tape, reporting beat by beat, measure by measure, the information coming in from the Stock Exchange. Lorewyn and Rhianyn had been following the market for the past couple years, investing, learning it. She could interpret the numbers and figures being shown.
She only needed a second of viewing. Her mouth dropped open. It was worse than she had imagined!
Without even thinking, Lorewyn whispered a curse in Elvish, hoping a moment later that with all the commotion no one around her had heard her use it. A moment after that she was bolting for the door again, trying to get to the street. The camera she had checked out had not survived the Commodities Office. The device lay smashed and trampled on the marble floor.
Outside, Lorewyn frantically looked for a pay phone. She was downtown, there had to be one nearby. Pay phones had been installed in subway stations, train depots, and several other similar venues over the past couple decades. She finally spotted one near the Tiffany & Company headquarters building… it wasn’t currently in use.
Lorewyn rushed over, fumbled for change in her pocketbook, and deposited the two pennies. It took several minutes for an operator to get on the line… the circuits were being flooded with calls! Finally, she got someone.
“Cloverdale 7-0219!” she said into the receiver hurriedly. “Brooklyn! Please… quickly!” She could feel herself trembling. Come on, Blackbird, please be home! Please… tell me you haven’t left for the club yet!
There was a moment of silence, a couple of clicks, and then the operator’s voice. “Connecting your call, Cloverdale 7-0219, Brooklyn exchange.” The operator’s voice was replaced by the familiar dialing sound.
Four rings later Rhianyn picked up. “Archer and Selinger residence,” she said.
“Blackbird!” Lorewyn exclaimed emotionally into the receiver. “Oh, thank Mother Air you haven’t left yet… Please, listen to me! You need to get down to Brooklyn Savings & Loan and clear out our account. Do you hear me? You need to close our account and withdraw everything we have… now! Please, this is urgent!”
Rhianyn’s voice was considerably calmer as she responded, but she was keenly aware in her wife’s voice that something was terribly wrong. “Yellowfeather, what’s wrong? Can you please tell me why…?”
“I don’t have time right now,” Lorewyn broke in, trying to control the shake in her voice. “I need to get to our safe deposit box here in Manhattan while there’s still a chance. I don’t know if I’ll be able to call you again today… just please, you have to do as I say! Trust me… please!” She was on the verge of tears.
Rhianyn’s only answer before she hung up was simple yet the only affirmation needed. “I trust you, my love. Always. Be safe. I’ll see you when you get home.”
“I love you,” Lorewyn whispered to her, as the connection was cut. She heard the pennies drop in the phone as she hung up, completing the call.
The Manhattan Holding Company was only a couple blocks away. Lorewyn took off running again, racing for the building where their safe deposit box was located.
She reached the entrance. Unlike the Commodities Office or other buildings in the area concerned with finance, this building’s door was locked tight, and there was no evidence that anyone was inside or especially close. Lorewyn was about to risk using some magic to get the door open when she saw one of the first-story windows on the side of the structure… shattered.
Checking to make sure she wasn’t being observed, which wasn’t a big problem right now given the mass hysteria, Lorewyn slipped inside the building through the broken window. There were no lights on, no signs of commerce or activity at all. She was making her way toward the section where the safe deposit boxes were kept when a man wearing a mask and carrying a sack ran past her, heading for the same window she had used just moments ago.
“You!” Lorewyn cried out. “Wait, what are you…?!”
But the man didn’t stop. He didn’t reply. He just kept running, diving through the broken window with the sack. Lorewyn was about to chase him down, but stopped herself. She needed to get to the safe!
The vault door was open. She went inside. Box after box had been unlocked, presumably by someone who worked for the institution and knew how to do it. Many boxes were empty. Some, only partially full. Some valuables had been left behind, scattered around the vault in disarray. Holding her breath, Lorewyn went to hers and Rhianyn’s box. Her fears were realized… the box was empty. Their valuables, heirlooms, gems, rare coins, treasures acquired from a millennium and a half of living in Europe and taking part in Humankind’s history. Gone. Stolen.
Lorewyn felt her fist clench angrily at her side. So, this was the American Dream, she thought. You strive to make a life for yourself and your loved ones. You work, you take risks, you embrace the opportunities that come along. You even make mistakes at times. But you try. And in the end, it gets swept away, blown into oblivion by the winds of chaos and panic, by the huddled masses who in yearning to breathe free suddenly forget to hold that breath when the rapids come and start whisking them away toward the falls. Is it all just meaningless?
And suddenly she considered something else. This is the reality of wartime in America, isn’t it? The most violent and costly wars we fight aren’t against foreign armies, or the Central Powers of the last great war in Europe, or even the threat of Communism in the Red Scare of a decade ago, are they? No, the most violent and costly wars we fight here are the ones against ourselves.
Lorewyn took one last look at the violated vault, the stored and now stolen hopes and dreams of citizens throughout the city, memories now taken, then turned and left.
CHAPTER 7
Rhianyn had managed to get to Brooklyn Savings & Loan shortly after Lorewyn had called her and empty their holdings. They were fortunate. In the following months, there were numerous runs on banks in all five boroughs, and many bank closures. Rhianyn had no qualms about giving her wife sole credit.
&nbs
p; “Yellowfeather, you acted fast,” she said gratefully. “You saved us. Had we waited any longer…”
“Did I really save us?” Lorewyn countered, not wanting to dismiss Rhianyn’s praise, but feeling very out of sorts about her decision. “Were we just contributors to, or collaborators with, the bank runs that happened? Were we just part of the problem instead of the solution?”
“Could we have stopped those runs?” Rhianyn offered. “Had we ‘kept our cool’ as they say and kept our money in the institutions as they were sinking like the Titanic, would we not have ended up bankrupt as well? You did the right thing. Had there been a critical mass to complement your desire to ‘stay cool’ about it, it might’ve been different. But the panic was in place. Once something like that happens, you have to go into survival mode and take steps necessary to protect your own. You know that. You’ve seen that before, we both have. Your haste in calling me and trying to pull our money out quickly protected us in the long run.”
“I guess I just hoped that people, that Humans, would be smarter than that,” Lorewyn sighed.
“A Human is smart,” Rhianyn stated. “An individual Human. Humans, my love, as you have come to understand well, are an impulsive, reactive, and at times quite dangerous kindred. How do I know that? You have taught me that, my beloved S’trysthyl. And now it’s my turn to remind you… with all the affection and solidarity I can muster.” Her lips placed on Lorewyn’s a moment later helped to seal that solidarity.
By Christmas 1929, the Graphic was on life support financially, and Lorewyn was laid off. She had seen it coming. The holiday season was a bit rough, as Rhianyn’s work at the Back Room took a dive. She was paid in cash; she always had been. But the clientele was more cautious with their spending these days, and she just wasn’t making as much. With the increasing popularity of moving pictures, now in sound and some in color, people were looking for cheaper ways to be entertained. Liquor sales were still at an all-time high, still illegal of course, but club patronage was suffering.
But they budgeted and were thrifty. They got by. Lorewyn wasn’t able to find any work in her field at all. The publishing and printing business just wasn’t hiring. She began to look for other options, which is how she stumbled on the 21st Street Mission.
It was Spring of 1930, and Lorewyn had been down near Union Square in the Flatiron checking out a lead with a toy-making company. It wasn’t the toy aspect specifically that had drawn Lorewyn, although that was interesting too, but rather the fact that they were looking for someone with experience in woodcraft. Lorewyn was a fletcher and could craft arrows blindfolded. She figured it was worth a shot.
But the toy company had just folded, the advertisement Lorewyn had seen being outdated. She was about to head back south toward the Lower East Side in hopes of catching Rhianyn for a late lunch when she saw the queue of people.
It was approaching noon, so Lorewyn thought it might be a line for employment, or perhaps a new restaurant that opened up and people were wanting to sample the lunch menu? Maybe they need a server, Lorewyn thought. So, she redirected her steps and approached the line.
It was a diverse group… different ethnicities, ages, men and women alike. Rather unusual for such a gathering. But they all seemed to have one trait in common. They were visibly suffering from poverty to some degree.
Men who had once obviously been laborers, given their hands and weathered skin. Women in garments that they had likely made themselves. And children… the children. Hungry children… without the kind of innocence on their faces that you often saw in children. This was the Great Depression.
Lorewyn just stood there for a moment, watching the line move slowly, approaching the building on 21st Street. They were indeed present for lunch, but this was no restaurant. She got closer and looked inside, beginning to understand. One by one, the people came up to a table inside the Mission, where someone served them soup in a bowl, with a slice of bread on the side. They were given a spoon, and then they took a seat on benches. There was some chatter, but she didn’t hear laughter.
Lorewyn had a rush of memory, almost as strong as a reflection while in reverie. She had seen a group like this before. She had seen these faces, these expressions, this diminished spirit, quashed by hardship, by what others had done, by life.
These people were like those she saw long ago on the road from Foxglove Falls to Olvenshire. The caravan. The Humans who had been forced to “evacuate” Olvenshire by Traphaunes’s order. These were indeed those faces.
“You in line, lady?”
The voice had come from nearby. Lorewyn suddenly realized she had been standing close to the queue as to give the possible impression that she was waiting for her turn. It had been a boy who had spoken to her, actually. He was about nine years old, bug-eyed and broad-faced, with slick dark hair. Lorewyn had turned, thinking it might’ve been an adult, but she looked down and saw the kid.
“Oh, no,” she apologized sincerely, stepping aside. “I didn’t realize I was standing in line. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, no need to be sorry,” the boy explained. “You’ll avoid the soup. Stay in line and you might have something to be sorry for.”
Lorewyn chuckled at the boy’s humor. He didn’t appear quite so impoverished as the other children in line, but he didn’t seem to have any parent or other adult with him. She looked around, as if making it obvious that she was checking for an adult.
“Are you here by yourself?” she asked him. “I don’t see your parents.”
“Naw, you won’t see my Dad anywhere,” the boy answered. “He made himself invisible to me and the rest of the world a while back. My Mom, me, and my sister live in Kew Gardens. But you’re stuck with just me right now.”
The boy gave a somewhat comical grin. Lorewyn was impressed at his quick wit and precocious maturity, especially the way he handled humorous banter. But she didn’t dismiss the content of his words either.
“Queens?” she exclaimed. “What are you doing all the way here in the city?”
The boy shifted a satchel that he had been holding to one side so that Lorewyn could see what he was carrying… newspapers.
“Mom needs the extra money,” he said. “They buy papers over here. But I can’t go home til later, so I need to eat, right?” He gestured to the soup and bread line, which was still moving, slowly.
“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Lorewyn asked, concerned that a nine-year old boy would have to work to earn money for his family.
“What, you think I ain’t smart enough?” the kid shot back with a good-natured laugh. “Hey, if the school wants to buy my papers, ring the bell and show me the way!”
Lorewyn shook her head but offered a genuine warm laugh. “You know, I think with your sense of humor, you’ll find an even cleverer way of making a living besides selling newspapers.”
“Thanks, lady,” the boy stated. “You’re a real class act.”
“As are you,” Lorewyn laughed again. “What’s your name?”
“Jacob,” he replied. “Jacob Rodney Cohen. I know… oy vey, right?”
This time Lorewyn could barely contain her laughter. Several of the people in the line around them had been listening to the interchange and had been enjoying the humor as well. One by one, the laughs started coming, and soon there were laughs heard nearly every time the boy spoke. It was almost like a sidewalk show, a pleasant distraction from the reality these people were dealing with… and it seemed as if for a moment, the queue forgot that they were standing in a soup line for the poor.
“You’re quite a mensch, young man,” Lorewyn said in return, throwing a bit of Yiddish into the works as well. “I’m Ariel. Ariel Archer. I’m glad I stopped for a minute and accidentally got in line so that I could meet you, Jacob.”
“Well, since you’re in line…” He offered her a paper. “The Times, three cents… but since you’re a classy lady I’ll sell it to you for two.”
Lorewyn smiled, reaching into her pocketbook. She knew per
fectly well that the New York Times sold for two cents regular price. But she didn’t say anything. Rather, she gave the boy a nickel.
“Keep the change,” she said with a wink and a deliberate attempt to imitate a thick Brooklyn accent.
“Gee, thanks, lady!” the boy exclaimed, pocketing the money. “If I were a few years older, I’d take this nickel and treat you to a soda at the corner store. Like I said, you’re a class act… a class act! Some of the people I meet? They don’t give me no respect… no respect at all, I tell ya!”
Lorewyn had been walking alongside the boy as he was in line, and they had finally reached the table where the soup and bread were being served. Lorewyn was about to take some herself as an overture to join Jacob for lunch, but it seemed wrong for her to take a serving and risk someone who really needed it not getting it. So, she said thanks and so long to her new young friend and stepped aside. A woman up front noticed her and stepped aside as well. She was about five foot six, had thick brown hair and light brown eyes.
“I’ve never seen you here before,” she said in a pleasant but slightly Euro-accented voice. Lorewyn turned to address her.
“I’ve never been here before, actually,” she explained. “I was passing by, saw the line, was curious, got into a very diverting conversation with that kid over there,” she pointed to Jacob, who had taken a seat on a bench and was now eating, “and I guess I just ended up in line. I’m Ariel Archer. Do you run this place?”
“I try, Miss Archer,” the woman replied. “I try. It’s needed. So many people are out of work, so many are struggling. We offer meals here, three times a day, seven days a week. We have bunks for men who need a flop for the night. There’s a sister Mission a few blocks away that can house women and children. But anyone can get a meal here. Did you want to have lunch with us today?”
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Lorewyn exclaimed hastily. “I mean, I’m not homeless, or…” She winced, catching herself in her word choice. “No, that’s what I meant to say… I…” She finally just sighed, nodding, resigning herself to the fact that she was with other people, and that she was being invited to have a meal with people.
Two Birds, One Feather: The Lives and Times of Lorewyn & Rhianyn in America Page 9