I’ll never forget when Colleen died and I carried Asher from our rooms to Nell’s, and little Cat begged me to take her with me. She was so little, and she reached up her arms and cried out, “Papa! Don’t go. Take me!”
How was I to leave my own infant behind and raise a child that wasn’t even my own? There was no way. I thought, perhaps, when I met your mother that I’d gather them up, once we settled down somewhere, but I lost track of my desires once we stopped traveling.
So there you have it. Go find him, girls. Put the family back in its rightful order. Try and tell Nell that at least I understood her anger, even though I didn’t care for her strict and shallow ways. And, girls, please tell Catherine that I should have taken her with me. Tell her I always remembered her, loved her and thought of her as my own.
And go to him, your brother. Remind him of who he is. I trust the two of you have learned enough of the world by now to do it the right way.
I also know that there were better, braver ways to tell you about my life before. But I’m not brave. I’m a coward.
If it is any solace at all, you, my darling little girls, have helped me to at least see, for a brief moment, the man, the father, I could have been to the other two I left behind.
Thank you,
Papa
Sometimes, when the earth is at the correct axis, we see things aligned perfectly. Our father had given us a gift with the letter he wrote, and Claudia had unwittingly given us the gift of keeping it from us, until the very moment we needed it.
We paced together and cried, then paced some more, clutching at each other and rereading it aloud in line and out of order.
“So that’s that then,” said Ivy. “Come, Claudia. Don’t be upset. We wouldn’t have known what to do with this letter if you’d remembered to give it to us. Let me braid your hair, won’t you?” Ivy smoothed out the letter and folded it into a tidy square. She then placed it under her dress, in her brassiere close to her chest.
“Scandalous,” I said.
She looked at me, and I watched her eyes go from worried that I’d been serious to realizing I was kidding. She broke into a terrible fit of giggles.
I started to laugh with her, and once we started, as inappropriate as it was, we couldn’t stop.
I was losing my breath, and tears were streaming down both our faces.
“Can you even believe it? It’s been in front of us this whole time!” she was saying.
“No, I cannot. How did we not know?” I said.
“Cat...Asher...Nell!” She laughed. Our stomachs were sore by the time we calmed down.
When the laughter subsided, we sat close together and paged through the photo album. Each one meant so much more to us because we finally knew that Nell, Asher and Cat were all connected to our father. And in a way, it was like looking at a family album.
Ivy was braiding Claudia’s hair as we looked.
“Who’s this little girl, though? She looks so familiar. Keep turning those pages, sister,” said Ivy.
“It must be Daisy...they grew up together,” I said.
At the very end of the album, there was a loose photo. One of Asher, looking handsome and carefree. Staring at a beautiful young woman with such love in his eyes. She had her head tossed back in laughter.
“Dear God, that’s Natasha!” said Ivy. “She works at the Republic Theater.”
“Natasha? No, that’s Daisy! Ain’t she pretty!” said Claudia.
“So now we know,” she said. “What do we do next?”
“We go see Daisy,” I said, and we left out the back fire escape. Just like real detectives, at last.
CHAPTER 18
Ivy
WHEN ROSE AND I walked in, the denizens of the Republic Theater were busy preparing the space for a production and barely spared us a glance. Scruffy men in shirtsleeves moved chairs into haphazard rows, and a group of young girls clustered around Bertrand, the director. He nodded in our direction, jaunty beret tipping slightly on his head. I thought about him watching me take a dive the last time I stood on the stage, and my face grew hot.
“Do you see her?” Rose whispered, craning her neck to peer past the small crowd.
I didn’t. The girls’ faces were too jaded and lacked the serene quality of the woman I’d spoken with. I walked up to one of the fellas lugging chairs. “Is Natasha around?”
“Never heard of her,” he said. “But I’m new, and people tend to come and go in this place.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Rose said.
“You’re sure?” I pressed. “She’s got blond hair, straight and pulled back, not bobbed like mine. She wears a black dress sometimes, with lace at the collar?”
The man made a funny face, like he was the last person to notice a lady’s attire. “There is a girl like that,” he said after a moment. “Sometimes she cleans up around here, but she spends most of her time sewing costumes. Last I saw she was in the back, behind the stage.”
I thanked him, my heart starting to race. Rose and I scurried backstage before anyone could tell us to beat it.
Backstage at the Republic was nothing to write home about. True to its Bohemian spirit, the actors’ waiting area boasted a rickety spindle chair and a cracked mirror hanging on the wall. A number of closed doors lined a dank hallway, and some crumbling stairs led to a most likely rat-infested lower level. Not exactly the actors’ quarters at the Winter Garden.
“Please let this not be a dead end,” Rose said, her eyes closed as if in prayer. “Not now.”
I thought about the girl with the sweetheart face, washing down the window with vinegar. “Rose, I’ll look for a supply closet, you check the dressing rooms.” She smiled at me, exhilarated by the task, and went searching.
I stepped carefully down to the lower level. The smell of ammonia masked more sour, earthier odors, and I fought the urge to cover my nose. I heard the scrape of metal against metal, but the basement was dark. “Natasha?” I called.
Not a sound. I felt someone behind me and froze, but when a hand softly touched my shoulder I knew it was Rose. “No luck,” she whispered.
I silently gestured into the darkness. In the shadows I caught a trace of movement, smoke against the night sky. “Daisy?”
“We don’t mean to hurt you,” Rose said quickly.
“But do you mean to hurt him?” Daisy stepped into the pool of light surrounding us. She held a bucket in one hand and a mop in the other.
“Of course not,” I said, eyeing the mop warily. “Is there someplace we could to talk in private?”
Daisy looked at me, defiance twisting her pretty features. “He doesn’t owe you anything.”
“We’re not here to collect anything,” Rose said. “He’s our brother, and we’d like to meet him. That’s all.”
Daisy tilted the mop against the wall and placed the bucket beside it. She walked up to Rose and boldly studied her face. “You do have his eyes,” she said, her own welling up. “I can’t deny that.”
“He’s my brother,” Rose repeated.
Daisy nodded. “All right, I’ll talk to you. But that’s all I’m promising.”
We followed her back upstairs to an empty dressing room. It was cramped, but clean and decently furnished. Rose and I sat on a low sofa with Daisy opposite us, perched on the makeup chair.
“I don’t know what they told you,” she began, “but you can’t see him. They can’t even see him.”
“Nell and Cat?” I asked.
“And Sonny, Jimmy, the whole lot of them. Dr. Spence says it will set him back, and Asher...” It was the first time any of them had used his name in front of us and it felt like a door had opened deep and wide. “Well, Asher has suffered a great deal of setting back. I can’t allow it.”
“We’re family,
” Rose said, but then flushed when she realized her mistake. Nell and Cat were family, as well. That tactic had already failed.
Daisy was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was gentler, as though she’d decided that, at least to a point, we could be trusted. “I loved him before the war, when he was brash and impulsive. Have you been up to the roof at Empire House?”
“Rose has,” I said, nudging my sister.
“Well, then you know how steep it is. Asher used to walk on his hands around the perimeter! I’d stand in the side garden and screech at him, but he never fell.”
So like our father. Rose placed her hand over mine, and I knew she’d had the same thought.
“What has he been doing since the war?” I asked.
Daisy’s hands found only each other, and she clenched them together. “I wish I could say recovering, but it hasn’t been like that. Asher was exposed to mustard gas. It harmed his eyes and left scars in his lungs, but Asher’s mind suffered the most serious wounds. It’s more difficult to heal the inside and takes more time than you’d expect. Asher’s been waging that battle for years, in and out of hospitals, disappearing and reappearing, with no explanation as to where he’s been. He has episodes...Dr. Spence said it gets worse before it gets better.” She trailed off, her eyes wet.
“It’s been difficult for you,” Rose soothed.
“I don’t mind caring for him. I love him even more now,” Daisy said fiercely. “What he did in that war...I don’t think he would have done any different, even if he knew the outcome.”
“He fought in the Argonne,” I said, curiosity winning over good manners. “The Lost Battalion. Isn’t that right?”
Daisy took a deep breath. “He enlisted with Sonny. They were so proud that day, and we of them. They met Jimmy standing in line, and the three of them became fast friends. Ash wrote me letters, so many beautiful letters, but they stopped when their boots hit the ground in France.
“I didn’t find out they were in the Argonne until later, when we got word he was in a French hospital. Sonny told me they’d spent most of the battle in a trench trying to stay alive. Asher was in charge of the company’s gas masks. He must have miscounted or maybe there wasn’t enough. He passed one to Sonny and one to Jimmy, and, covering his mouth with only a shirtsleeve, crouched down and hoped for the best when the Germans sent over their cloud of poison. No one realized at first that Asher hadn’t any protection, and it was days before they left that damned forest. Jimmy and Sonny did the best they could.”
Daisy straightened herself. “We’ve all done the best we could. When I found out Seacrest was closing, and they might ship the patients off to Ward’s Island, I made the decision to take Asher quickly. His relationship with his family has always been problematic, and Dr. Spence says he must be kept calm at all times. It had to be me. So I got an apartment in the area and set him up.”
“Why around here? Why not take him far away?” Rose asked.
“I didn’t know what else to do. Bertrand, the director here, is an old friend. I thought I could hide in the shadows and sew. Greenwich Village is the only place I’ve ever known, and it’s Asher’s home. We grew up here and know its every nook and cranny. We know how to get lost, and we know how to be found if we want to.”
Found. “Jimmy,” I said, thinking back to how he subtly discouraged me from entering the theater. “He spotted you, didn’t he?”
“He did,” she said. “I was terrified he’d blab, but Jimmy was the only one who respected what I was doing. He understood. He feels...”
“Guilty,” I finished for her. I wanted to think about that for a moment, to reassess my vision of someone I thought I had figured out. We were here for Asher, though, and I had to remember our purpose. “I’d still like to see my brother, Daisy. Can you let us see him for just a few minutes?”
Daisy shook her head. “He doesn’t always recognize the people who visit him, and it’s most upsetting. Sets him off for days.”
“But he’s never met us,” I said, seized by the need to comfort this man, my brother. But was it a selfish impulse? I paused, but Rose took over.
“Do you intend to keep him locked away from everyone?” she said with a note of compassion in her voice. “That can’t be healthy.”
“It’s working for now,” Daisy said briskly. “He’s as calm as he was at Seacrest.”
“But is he happy?” I asked. I knew it wasn’t appropriate, but the question was balancing at the tip of my tongue and slipped out.
“Are you questioning what I’ve done?” Daisy retorted, her face pink. “I’ve been caring for him for years, on and off. I know him better than anyone.” She stood, and I thought she would leave us there to sit and stew in how abysmally we’d handled the situation. She glanced at the door, weighing something in her mind, and then sat down again. “I don’t know if he is,” she said softly. “We don’t discuss it. We don’t discuss much of anything. He rarely talks.”
It was then I saw we’d put a crack in the wall Daisy had erected. I leaned forward, resisting the impulse to pull this sad girl into an embrace. “We don’t want to hurt him...we just want him to know we’re here. Our hearts are open to him, Daisy. We don’t think so highly of ourselves that we consider our presence miracle-inducing, but why not take a chance that we could help him, even a little bit?”
Daisy was quiet for a very long time, but not still. She fidgeted with the sticks of greasepaint on the desk next to her and moved her knee up and down like a jackhammer. “Okay,” she said, and I exhaled, not realizing I’d held my breath. “I’ll think it over. This isn’t a decision to be made lightly.”
“Of course not,” Rose soothed.
“Meet me tomorrow in Washington Square Park at the fountain,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “Late afternoon, when it’s not so hot.” She stood again, and this time I knew she’d be leaving. “I’ll tell you my decision then.”
* * *
Grand Central Station in the early evening was lit like a Hollywood movie star. I walked through the crowded main concourse, my heels clacking on the marble floor. Earlier, after Rose and I returned from meeting with Daisy, I’d asked Maude if she had anything demure I could borrow, which sent her into such violent spasms of laughter I worried she’d pop an artery. I ransacked my closet again and again, finally settling on a rose-colored drop waist with a lemon-yellow grosgrain ribbon sash. The hemline wasn’t overly short, but given the hoots and catcalls I’d collected on the walk from the subway, it was short enough.
Rose had insisted I go alone to pick up Mr. Lawrence, claiming she needed to spend time with Claudia. I knew what she was really thinking about Mr. Lawrence’s arrival, and I sensed I felt the same, but still it had me worried. My expectations were as fragile as the thin slips of paper that built our relationship. Did he see me as a trusted friend, or something beyond that definition? Usually so good at reading other people, I was unable to read clearly between the lines in his letters. I did know I treasured them, and by extension, him. Mr. Lawrence’s friendship mattered, and it wasn’t until the past few weeks that I truly understood how valuable those relationships were.
The train from Albany was right on time. My stomach turned a couple of ragged cartwheels. Why was I so nervous?
“Disembarking,” the conductor called. He blew into his whistle and the passengers began their tentative exit, stretching their travel-weary legs, blinking at the exploding chaos in temporary confusion.
A tall man in a crumpled linen suit helped an elderly lady navigate the steep exit stairs. It was John the Wonder being wonderful. After seeing the woman safely to the luggage retrieval, he took a leather valise from the porter, handed him a tip and came striding in my direction.
“So you noticed me,” I said as he approached. “Thought I might have some stiff competition. I was waiting for you to shrug off your
jacket and place it on the ground at her feet.”
“That was Mrs. Greene, my companion during the entire ride from Albany,” he said, smiling at the recent memory. “Did you know pineapple juice is capable of removing corns?”
“I did not.”
“And that’s only one of nature’s fascinating remedies. You wouldn’t believe how many others I was delighted to hear on the way down. I don’t think I got a word in during the entire trip.”
Grand Central was loud, but not loud enough to conceal the silence that descended like a curtain over the two of us. John looked older than he had in Forest Grove, the bustling train station highlighting the sharp intelligence in his eyes, his natural curiosity about the world around him. It was a very attractive trait.
“Are you hungry?” I said when it appeared we would stand there forever. “There’s a lovely restaurant right in the station.”
“I did give Mrs. Greene my liverwurst sandwich,” he said sheepishly.
“Lucky girl.”
“Ivy.” John dropped his valise and took both of my hands in his. “While Mrs. Greene was discussing foot diseases, I was trying to come up with what I was going to say to you when I arrived. I had a pretty good monologue planned, as well scripted as any of my best closing arguments, but when I saw you standing there, all my witticisms flew right out of my head.”
John smiled at me, a smile that warmed me from the inside out. “All I remember is this,” he continued. “After I read your last letter, it occurred to me that you might need a friend, not a correspondent. I bought the train ticket and sent the telegram. I acted on impulse, taking my cue from one of your best attributes. Sometimes it’s perfectly fine to act without suffering through endless internal debate.”
I mentally weighed my most impulsive actions over the previous month. Did I come out ahead or behind? I’d stolen Rose’s journal, smoked a cigarette, stood on a stage and sung my heart out. “I think there is some wisdom in that,” I mused, stepping forward to reach my hand around the back of his neck. Before he could say a word, I gently pulled him to me and kissed his surprised mouth.
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