The Copper Series

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Later that night, I asked Elisabeth if she had taken my earrings but she denied it. “I won’t be angry if you tell me the truth, Elisabeth. I have seen you try them on once or twice.”

  “I did not steal noting,” she snapped, fixing a defiant gaze at me.

  I wanted to believe her. I really did. But I felt a growing alarm.

  When I told Robert, he said it was time we started locking up the house. When I asked if he thought he would be locking someone out, or locking Elisabeth in, he only shrugged. “We’ve got to do something, Louisa. Things are getting out of hand.” He was right. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something dreadful was brewing.

  * * * *

  The next afternoon, Aunt Martha marched into the house, her lips tightened, after a meeting with the mission committee at church. She started dicing an onion for dinner, chopping with such vehemence that the onion looked pulverized.

  “Did something upsetting happen at the meeting?” I asked.

  She slammed the refrigerator door shut. “Every single year I have been asked to chair the annual mission supper. Every single year for as long as I can remember. And now, they’ve asked someone else. Someone who couldn’t cook a decent meal if her life depended on it.”

  The annual mission supper was a matter of grave importance to Aunt Martha. She planned for it all throughout the year.

  “Whom did they ask?” I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

  “Evelyn Bauer.” She slammed her pocketbook on the table. “That woman has more airs than a duchess. I never dreamed I’d see the day when…well…it’s all because…” Her eyes darted upstairs.

  “Because of Elisabeth?” I finished for her.

  Aunt Martha pressed her lips together as if she just swallowed a teaspoonful of vinegar. Then she looked straight at me and said, “I want to borrow those pictures you showed me. And those news clippings. I think those church ladies need a little education at the Ladies’ Altar Guild meeting on Friday. They need a dose of Christian charity in their withered old bones.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “They’re on Robert’s desk,” I replied.

  She gave a brief nod, as if she had just mapped out a war game, and started up the stairs.

  “Aunt Martha?”

  She stopped half-way up and turned around.

  I looked up the stairs at her. “I’d like to go with you.”

  On Friday, we went to the Ladies’ Altar Guild meeting and sat through a very tedious discussion of whether the children in Sunday school should be served apple juice or water because of the spills on the carpet. Finally, just as the meeting was about to be adjourned, Aunt Martha rose to her feet. In a bold voice she announced, “I have something to say.”

  Mrs. Bauer, who led the meeting, looked annoyed.

  Aunt Martha plowed ahead. “You are all aware that my nephew, the Reverend…” she pronounced that word with great pride… “and his wife, Louisa…” she tilted her head slightly toward me… “have taken in a child from Germany. Louisa’s cousin, Elisabeth.”

  With the mention of Elisabeth’s name, whispers started hissing. “I believe our family owes you all an apology,” Aunt Martha continued.

  Feathered hats bobbed toward each other, in complete agreement.

  Aunt Martha carried on. “I think we have been remiss in not giving the church an understanding of what that girl has been through.”

  She explained how Elisabeth and her mother had been in hiding for over a year, until they were turned in by the farmer’s wife. She described the train ride to Dachau, how people were crammed so tightly into cattle cars that many were crushed, and bodies were tossed outside like dead carcasses when the train made stops to collect more prisoners—forced labor—on the way to the camp. She spoke of Dachau, of lines of prisoners led to their senseless executions.

  Aunt Martha must have read every word of those newspaper accounts I had gathered. And today, she held nothing back. She was far more explicit than I would have been. At the climactic point of her speech, she pulled out the pictures I had taken and passed them around.

  As the pictures made their way through the ladies, row by row, gasps could be heard. Several ladies reached for hankies. Then Aunt Martha delivered her closing argument. “It just seems to me if we are going to call ourselves Christians, we need to earn that title and show that child some compassion.” Then she sat down, chin jutting forward, head held proud.

  Even Mrs. Bauer was at a rare loss of words. “Um…is there…anything else before we …um…adjourn?” she asked timidly, breaking the awkward silence.

  “Yes!” I said, standing up cheerfully, invigorated by Aunt Martha’s bravado. “I have an idea about showing Elisabeth how we share the love of God with others. In fact, for those of you who have German heritage, such as you, Mrs. Bauer, and you, Mrs. Klein…,” I noticed they both looked nervous when I singled them out, “…this winter has been particularly hard for Germans. There are many shortages in Germany; people need basic supplies to stay alive.” I told them about the man who offered me his oriental rug last summer, in exchange for a loaf of bread.

  “What if,” I continued, “Elisabeth and I held a piano concert and raised money to send to Germany? Think of all of the people around here who have relatives in Germany! They would come. We could charge admission and play music from German composers.”

  That wouldn’t be hard. The only music Elisabeth and I had been allowed to learn, while in Germany, was music from the German composers. Hitler had banned any other composers, except for Mozart.

  “That’s a very sweet idea,” said Mrs. Bauer in a patronizing tone, “but it seems as if no one would come to hear a local piano teacher and a young girl play a few melodies.”

  To my astonishment, Aunt Martha leapt to her feet. “Evelyn Bauer!” she said with loud authority, “Louisa Gordon is the finest pianist in the state of Arizona, with one exception. Elisabeth is an even better one. And I happen to know that’s true because my cousin Ada is on the Board of the Phoenix Symphony and she told me so herself!”

  And she sat down crossly, gripping her shiny black purse as if someone might snatch it. I gazed at her with great admiration. Aunt Martha was outdoing herself today with indignant support of Elisabeth and me.

  “It’s true,” agreed Mrs. Hobbs. “Martha is right. They’re both remarkable pianists.”

  I turned to Mrs. Hobbs with a newly acquired fondness, deciding immediately that I wouldn’t postpone teaching her twins any longer.

  Suddenly, a group of church ladies turned into enthusiastic patrons of the arts. “What a marvelous idea, Mrs. Gordon,” said Mrs. Bauer, in an abrupt shift. “Let’s plan the concert to coincide with our mission supper! It could be the kick-off! Oh, this will be wonderful! The most successful mission supper ever!” she gushed, as Aunt Martha frowned at her.

  Oh no. That soon? I looked down at my gigantic middle, wondering how I could manage to prepare for a concert with a newborn? I thought weakly about the last time I had really practiced the piano—it was during Thanksgiving, when Ada was visiting. And, somehow, I had to convince Elisabeth to play with me. If I could talk her into it, I knew this would be the way to endear her to the town of Copper Springs.

  On the lazy afternoon of New Year’s Day, our dentist, Dr. Klein, knocked on the door. Elisabeth answered it and came in to the kitchen with an ashen look on her face. “Dat dentist is at da door. I hate dat dentist. Vhy is he here?” She looked panicked, worried he was making a house call to fill her cavities.

  Robert and I left the kitchen to go see why he had come, on a holiday of all days. “My wife told me,” started Dr. Klein, “she told me…about Elisabeth…in that awful place. Well…I just didn’t know. I had no idea. Here’s something from me to your family,” he said gruffly. He handed Robert an envelope and abruptly left. Robert closed the door behind him and opened the envelope. In it was the bill from his office, stamped ‘paid-in-full’ in red ink. Robert handed it to me, eyes shining. “1946 has bee
n ushered in with a miracle.”

  “Does dat mean I don’t have to go back to dat dentist?” asked Elisabeth, coming downstairs after she was certain Dr. Klein had left.

  “No,” Robert said. “It just means your smile is priceless.”

  * * * *

  The next day, I put on my sweater to go outside to garden. In the pocket was the undeveloped film William had taken over a month or so ago. I handed it to Aunt Martha to take to Bisbee on the next trip and went out front to my beloved little Eden. I was tilling egg shells and coffee grounds into the soil when a woman drove by and slowed her car in front of the parsonage. She stopped but didn’t turn off her engine. Just as I was getting up off the ground, which took some time at this advanced stage of pregnancy, she drove away.

  Later that afternoon, she drove up again. This time, I spotted her from the parlor window. Why was she staring at the house? I hurried outside to ask if I could help her.

  “Does Robert Gordon still live here?” she asked, talking to me through her car window.

  “Why, yes. Shall I get him for you?”

  She looked at my round middle, curiously, hesitantly. “No, but thank you.” And she drove away again.

  I watched the car disappear down the road until I heard Aunt Martha call everyone to the evening meal.

  “Vhat is dis dinner?” Elisabeth asked in an overloud voice as Aunt Martha placed a plate in front of her.

  “Spaghetti and meatballs,” said Aunt Martha. “It’s a new recipe I found in the newspaper.”

  “It does not look good.” Elisabeth inspected it with her fork.

  “Try it before you give your opinion,” I responded with finality. Accustomed to Elisabeth’s critical assessments, we all let the moment pass.

  “How’s the spy log coming along, William?” Robert asked, pulling a pitcher of milk from the fridge and filling a glass. “Anybody?” He held up the pitcher.

  “Not so good,” William answered, holding up his glass to be refilled. “People keep getting mad at me for spying on them. Mr. Ibsen said the Gordon family has gone to the bow wows.”

  Gone to the bow wows? What was that supposed to mean? I cast a worried look at Elisabeth. What else could she be up to? I wondered if we might need to do our grocery shopping in Bisbee. I avoided Robert’s and Aunt Martha’s eyes and looked down at the long strands of noodles on my plate.

  Just then, the doorbell rang. Elisabeth ran to answer it and brought in the woman who had driven by the parsonage earlier today.

  When Robert saw her, his face drained of color. Aunt Martha froze, her fork suspended in mid-air.

  I stood up, a little confused. “I believe we met earlier. I’m Louisa.” I put out my hand.

  “Hello, Louisa,” she answered. Her eyes were on Robert’s face. “Robert. Aunt Martha,” she said, giving them a nod.

  Of course! Tall, slender, thick dark hair, grey eyes. How could I have missed the family resemblance? Even the guarded expression on her face. This woman was Alice! Robert’s missing sister.

  Slowly, Robert stood up and said, “So, Louisa worked her magic and found you.”

  Alice glanced at me sharply.

  “Robert, I told you I sent a letter to the O’Casey’s,” I said defensively. At least I thought I told him. I meant to.

  “And they forwarded it to me,” she answered. All of a sudden, it became clear to her that Robert was not the one who wanted to find her.

  I gave Robert a pleading glance and quickly said, “Please, Alice, sit down and join us.”

  After introducing Alice to William and Elisabeth, I made a place for her at the table. Like Robert, Aunt Martha did nothing. She seemed paralyzed, unsure of what to do, not wanting to upset Robert. “Alice, I’m so glad you’re here,” I said with great sincerity. “I’ve wanted to meet you for such a long time, ever since Robert told me about you.”

  She looked at me gratefully, but sat awkwardly, not even touching the dinner I placed in front of her. I kept trying to break the ice without asking her any questions. She seemed to subscribe to the Gordon Way—growing silent under investigation. So, as I often found myself doing with Robert, I just kept talking.

  At last, Elisabeth stepped in. “So,” she said, with her usual candor, “vhy are you here?”

  “Just passing through.” Alice also had the Gordon Economy of Words.

  “From vhere?” persisted Elisabeth.

  “I had been working for the military at a camp in Colorado, but the camp has closed. I’m going to retire from active duty, and hopefully, soon, my husband will join me.”

  “Vhere is he?” asked Elisabeth, her mouth full of a meatball.

  “He’s stationed overseas at a military hospital. We’re both in the medical field. That’s how we met,” she said, casting a glance at Robert, as if she expected him to say something, or ask something. She seemed painfully uncomfortable. And still, Robert said nothing. If I had been sitting closer to him, I would have kicked him under the table. Hard.

  “So, you are a nurse?” asked Elisabeth.

  “No, I’m a doctor.”

  Elisabeth’s eyes grew as large as saucers.

  What an interesting woman! “What kind of medicine do you practice, Alice?” I asked.

  “I’m a dermatologist.”

  “Vhat’s dat?” Elisabeth asked.

  “She fixes skin rashes,” Robert answered curtly.

  I glared at him. He glared back at me.

  Alice kept her eyes on Elisabeth. “I had been a nurse in the navy, then went to medical school. Not long after Pearl Harbor, I was sent to run the internment camp in Colorado until the last few months, when it closed.”

  “You ran it?” I asked, impressed.

  She nodded. “They needed me, with so many doctors sent overseas.”

  “After I am da Miss America, denn I tink I vill be a doctor, too,” announced Elisabeth.

  “I’m going to be a doctor, too,” added William, gulping down a half glass of milk.

  As soon as William spoke, Alice realized that he was deaf. Her eyes scanned his amplifier.

  “You yust said dat because I said I vanted to be a doctor,” Elisabeth said defiantly.

  “No, I didn’t,” William said.

  “Yes, you did,” asserted Elisabeth. Suddenly, her face tightened up as her hand pressed against her abdomen, a sign that her stomach was cramping.

  “You said you want to be Miss America and I sure as heck don’t want to be that!”

  Now Aunt Martha stepped in. “William, don’t say that word.”

  “What word?” he asked innocently.

  “Heck,” Robert supplied.

  “Ernest says it all of the time,” William said.

  “Ernest is the telegraph operator,” I explained to Alice.

  “Ernest Houghton?” asked Alice. “I remember him. Small head, big, thick glasses?”

  I nodded, trying to suppress a smile. Just then, we heard an odd sound coming from Elisabeth, as she made the connection. We looked curiously at her. She was laughing. It wasn’t downright merriment, it sounded a little rusty, but it was an actual laugh.

  William didn’t hear it. “So you and Dad had the same father?”

  “Yes,” Alice answered, turning towards him so he could see her lips.

  “Ernest said Grandfather Gordon only had two sermon topics. One was fire and the other was brimstone,” William said, concentrating on trying to cut up his meatball, which kept scooting off of his plate when he jabbed it with a knife.

  “Robert, I told you that boy spent far too much time at the telegraph office last summer,” scolded Aunt Martha.

  “Ernest was teaching me Morse code! For my spy work!” objected William.

  I had to look down at my plate and bite my lip to keep from grinning.

  “William, you speak very clearly. How did you learn to lip read and talk?” Alice asked him.

  “Mom taught me,” he answered. He took a biteful of spaghetti and sucked a noodle into his mouth with
gusto.

  Alice looked a little puzzled.

  “He means Louisa,” Robert interjected flatly.

  I frowned at him, then turned to Alice. “I’m so glad you’re here, Alice. I hope you can stay with us.”

  “No, thank you. I have a room at the Copper Queen hotel in Bisbee.”

  Silence covered us like a blanket. I shot a pleading glance at Aunt Martha.

  “You look well, Alice,” said Aunt Martha.

  Finally! I looked at Aunt Martha gratefully, expecting her to say something else. But nothing else came forth. So my mouth started up again. I started chattering about William, about Elisabeth, about the baby coming, about anything. I was afraid that if I stopped, she might jump up and leave; I knew Robert wouldn’t stop her.

  There came a moment when it was clear what needed to happen next. I took a deep breath and said, “Well, it seems as if it might be wise to let you and Robert have some time alone.”

  Aunt Martha darted up the stairs, always eager to avoid an emotional encounter. I motioned to William and Elisabeth to go upstairs. “Robert, won’t you make your sister a cup of coffee?” I shot him an aggrieved look to let him know I was furious with him. He shot it right back at me.

  I supervised William as he brushed his teeth, tucked him into bed and had him read a chapter of The Adventures of Robin Hood to me. Then I went in to see Elisabeth. She was rolled up like a ball on her bed.

  “I like your idea of being a doctor one day. You’d be a good doctor.”

  She nodded, one hand tightly pressed against her stomach.

  I sat down on her bed. “Is your stomach hurting tonight?”

  “It started vhen I ate dinner.”

  I rubbed her back to try to distract her from the cramps. “Have you ever thought about pursuing your piano? Going to University to study music?”

  “No! No piano!” she said loudly and decisively. She still didn’t trust the piano. It was too painful for her. It held too many memories of her childhood. I understood that, but I hoped she would realize that music could heal her, too. I hoped it might become the one good thing she could take with her from her past into her future. With a jolt, I realized that I still hadn’t brought up the subject of the church concert.