The Show (Northwest Passage Book 3)

by John A. Heldt

  "I'm OK. I'm OK."

  So she sat up and rested until a well-dressed man who identified himself as a doctor asked her to step aside. The doctor, however, did not ask her to leave.

  "I don't know where you learned that procedure, young lady, but you just saved this man's life. I'd like to speak with you after the ambulance arrives."

  The request snapped Grace out of a stupor.

  "I can't. I'm sorry. I have to go."

  Grace shot up and politely pushed her way through a crowd of more than twenty onlookers. Many cheered and clapped their hands. She acknowledged their applause with nods and smiles but cared less about their thanks and approval than working her way to the ladies' room.

  She did feel good about saving the man's life and liked the idea of leaving the past on a positive note. Who wouldn't? She imagined the man doing productive things in his remaining years and making the most of his new lease on life.

  Grace finally broke free of the crowd and moved quickly across the lobby. She now had unrestricted access to the future, her family, and the happy life she missed. She walked toward the lavatory with renewed confidence and vigor.

  The moment didn't last. As she neared the women's room, her confidence began to wane. She didn't see a Braille sign behind a group of women that had gathered near the entrance. The doorway, too, seemed different. It appeared short and narrow and far from ADA compliant.

  Grace approached the women and the entry they blocked with increasing trepidation. The trepidation turned to fear when she reached a brass plaque and the fear to panic when she stepped inside the restroom and found a whole lot of 1918.

  No changing station hung from the far wall. No sensor faucets rose above sinks. Baskets of linens outnumbered automated hand dryers five to zero.

  Grace ran out of the room and checked again for the Braille sign. It had not returned. Unable and unwilling to succumb to a nightmare, she ran into the men's room but found nothing but urinals, dirty sinks, and hostile glances. Her heart pounded as she returned to the lobby and five women who hadn't budged.

  "Have you seen the sign?"

  "What sign?" one woman asked.

  "What sign? The Braille sign," Grace snapped. "It was right behind you."

  "Be careful, Agnes. She looks unsettled," another woman said.

  Agnes glanced at the wall and then at Grace.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "Come on, girls."

  The women eyed Grace suspiciously, raised their noses, and walked away.

  Grace didn't bother to consult anyone else. She instead ran toward the middle of the lobby in search of an authority figure, stopping only when she saw a comforting face. Frightened and confused, she bolted toward John as he led a stream of people out of the auditorium.

  "What happened?" she asked.

  "The movie is over, Grace. The ushers said the projector broke."

  "What?" she asked. "No!"

  Grace ran to the women's room and again saw a brass plaque and not a plastic sign. She went inside and saw the best lavatory the Progressive era had to offer. When she returned to the lobby, she glanced toward the front doors and saw the theater manager talk to a policeman. She quickly moved their way.

  "Excuse me," Grace said. "Please. I need to talk to you."

  The manager turned toward the source of the sound.

  "There you are," he said. "I've been looking for you."

  He smiled at Grace, laughed, and then returned to the cop.

  "This is the woman I told you about."

  The manager placed his hand on Grace's shoulder.

  "You're a regular hero, miss."

  "I don't care about that," Grace said. "Please! I just want to know about the movie."

  "What would you like to know?"

  "I need to know when you'll show it again. Will you show it again tomorrow?"

  "I'm afraid not," the manager said. "Tonight was its last night. We probably won't show it again for months, if ever."

  Grace put a hand to her stomach as she wrestled with nausea and unpleasant facts. The Palladium had parted with Stella Maris. The Palladium would soon burn to the ground. The Palladium and Stella Maris were her tickets to the future.

  She pushed her way through a crowd and ran straight for the drinking fountain. When she reached the water dispenser she unleashed the contents of her stomach and weeks of anxiety.

  Grace braced herself against the porcelain and tried to keep from falling to the floor. She now realized she had missed her one and only chance to return to Joel and her children. Then she thought of something else, something that had troubled her for days, and vomited again. She had missed not only an opportunity in November. She had missed something else.

  CHAPTER 38: GRACE

  Monday, November 18, 1918

  "You're at least six weeks along," the physician said.

  The obstetrician, who went by Dr. James Barrett in his downtown Seattle office and Jim at an exclusive country club frequented by Alistair Green, pulled a stethoscope from his ears and took a long look at the woman on his examination table. She was crying.

  "I take it that this is something of a surprise," Dr. Barrett said.

  "Very much so," Grace said.

  "How is that?"

  "I was told that it is almost impossible to conceive when you're nursing."

  Dr. Barrett gave her a curious look.

  "You're nursing?"

  "I was until a few weeks ago. I was nursing twin girls."

  The physician stuffed the stethoscope in his white lab coat, placed a file on the counter, and grabbed a tall stool in the corner of the room. He moved it next to the table and sat down.

  "Are you concerned about how Mr. Smith will receive the news?"

  "There is no Mr. Smith."

  Dr. Barrett glanced at Grace's unadorned left hand and then gave his patient a "this story just keeps getting better" look. He placed a hand on Grace's shoulder.

  "Surely your child has a father. I assume you will tell him at some point."

  Grace heard the words and felt the hand but ignored both as her mind wandered to another place. She stared at a small impressionist painting on the wall, a painting of a young girl standing in a green meadow. The girl raised her arms toward a bright sun and a blue sky. She looked happy. She reminded Grace Smith of Grace Vandenberg and the girl she used to be before life became so complicated.

  "Miss Smith," the doctor said. "I assume you will inform the father."

  Grace jerked her head as she returned to the here and now. She glanced at Dr. Barrett and then lowered her eyes.

  "That won't be possible," she said. "I don't know how to reach him."

  She didn't either. Not that that had stopped her from trying to reach him. Before going to the doctor, Grace had stopped by the Palladium to beg the theater's manager to show Stella Maris one more time. He, in turn, told her that the matter was out of his hands. The Palladium's lease to show the film had expired on Saturday. The reels themselves were already on their way to Spokane.

  "If it's a legal matter, Miss Smith, I assure you that you have options. I would be happy to make some telephone calls on your behalf."

  Grace wanted to grab her purse, dig out her cell phone, and hand it to the doctor. "You do that, Dr. Barrett," she wanted to say. "You can start by calling 555-4531. Call my husband right now and tell him to pick me up. Tell him I love him and that I miss him desperately. Tell him that I can't handle another day in this awful place. You do that and you can double your fee."

  She wanted to say so many things. She wanted to scream. Instead she wiped a tear, lifted her head, and returned her attention to her attending physician.

  "Thank you," Grace said, "but I think I can manage."

  "Very well," he said. "I'd like to see you again in a month. The nurse will see you out."

  A few minutes later, Grace Smith walked through a long hallway to a door that led to a waiting room. She opened the door and stared at two people who had
once been strangers but who were now her dearest friends and greatest allies in an increasingly cruel world. She looked at both Alistair and Margaret but approached the one who had become her confidante.

  "Please don't leave me," Grace said as she burst into tears.

  "We're not going to leave you, dear," Margaret said as she embraced her niece. "We're taking you home."

  CHAPTER 39: LUCILLE

  Friday, November 22, 1918

  Sitting in the front passenger seat of her uncle's 1918 Oldsmobile Model 45-A touring sedan, Lucille Green looked out a window and noted the differences between western Washington and western England. Seattle was greener than Falmouth – and newer. Nearly everything she saw looked as if it had been built yesterday, from homes in the distance to the shiny cars that traveled along their immaculate brick road.

  "Do all Americans live in houses?" she asked Alistair.

  "Don't be silly, Lucy," Edith Green said from the back seat. "Of course they don't all live in houses. Some live in squalor. I read it in the New York Times.

  "I don't believe it," Lucy protested. "I've seen nothing but houses – and mostly new houses – since we left the train station. I think Americans live well. Isn't that right, Uncle?"

  "Some live well, Lucy. That much is true," he said. "But I'm afraid that Edith is right. There are many neighborhoods, even in Seattle, where people do not live well. Indeed, there are tenements in the city where people live in spaces not fit for dogs."

  Lucy glanced back at her twin and stuck out her tongue. She would concede the point in this discussion, but she would never adopt Edith's pessimism. Lucy had a sunny view of humanity and her new country and would not let either be clouded by a cynical sister who spent too much time reading books and listening to gloomy agitators with pamphlets and opinions.

  Lucy turned around, put her purse in her lap, and got comfortable. She looked out her window again and noticed two young women standing in what appeared to be a recently harvested field. One woman smiled at the other as she held up a badly discolored pumpkin.

  "When is Thanksgiving, Uncle?"

  "It's next Thursday."

  "Oh, good. I was afraid we had missed it," Lucy said. "I've heard so much about it."

  "What have you heard?"

  "I've heard it's a day when Americans roast giant birds and stuff themselves silly."

  Alistair laughed.

  "Who told you that?"

  "A boy on the train."

  "I counted two boys," Edith said.

  Alistair smiled.

  "In any case, I'd like to know more about the holiday," Lucy said. "Why is it so popular?"

  "I guess that depends on who you ask," Alistair said. "I like Thanksgiving because it brings people together. It's a day when we count our blessings, enjoy the company of family and friends, and, of course, 'stuff ourselves silly.' Your aunt is planning a large dinner."

  "Will we have the chance to meet others?"

  "You will. We've invited the Walkers, our neighbors, and Grace Smith, the young woman who has been staying with us."

  "Tell us more about her," Edith said. "What's she like?"

  Alistair took a breath and peered out his window before looking over his right shoulder at the inquisitive girl in back.

  "She's intelligent, for one thing, and learned. She likes books. I imagine you two will have much to talk about when it comes to literature and current events."

  "Is she pretty?" Lucy asked.

  Alistair smiled again.

  "Yes, she's pretty, very pretty. In fact, she looks a lot like the two young ladies in this car."

  Lucy blushed. She didn't know whether Alistair was being truthful or kind, but she knew she liked the flattery. Flattery was never a bad thing.

  "Is she nice?"

  "She is," Alistair said. "She's one of the nicest people I've ever met. She's been a wonderful mentor to Penny and a good friend to Margaret. We've enjoyed having her."

  "How did you meet her?" Lucy asked.

  "I met her through a doctor."

  "A doctor? Is she all right?"

  "Well, Lucy, that depends on what you mean by all right. Grace is healthy as far as I know, but she is in a bit of a predicament. She left her abusive husband and is currently carrying his child. The last few weeks have been difficult."

  "That's awful."

  "Will we share the same quarters?" Edith asked.

  "No. You two will stay in the house with Margaret, Penny, and me. You will each have your own room. Grace is staying in the guest residence in back."

  Lucy pondered the coming weeks not only with the Greens but also with their guest. She and Edith would soon live with an abused wife who would soon become a single mother. Lucy could not imagine anything more distressing, at least at the not-so-distressing age of eighteen.

  Well, that was not exactly true. War widows had it bad, too, and she had seen more than a few of them. She knew many women in Falmouth who singlehandedly raised the children of the men who had not come home. Many had fallen into poverty. A few had resorted to desperate measures to support their families. Life could be so dreadfully unfair.

  Lucy looked at her uncle as he drove north from the city and noticed the lines on his face and the sadness in his eyes. She could see that the war, and perhaps the plight of Grace Smith, had exacted a price on him as well.

  Lucy settled into her seat and thought about her future as the car rolled past fields, evergreens, and the houses that many, if not all, Americans lived in. She knew that she was bound by no limits. Like Edith, she could do anything she wanted in this vast country.

  She could earn a college degree, begin a career, and even make a name for herself. She could do all the things that the poor and uneducated could not. She could even make good money doing them! But Lucy knew that success alone could not bring the fulfillment she craved. She was a lover and a giver, and lovers and givers had to love and give a lot to have a fulfilling life.

  She peered again out her window and saw a man standing by the side of the road. Dressed in rags, he leaned against a row of mailboxes, stuck out a thumb, and waited for a ride that would probably never come. Maybe Edith was more right than wrong.

  Lucy thought again of her possibilities as Alistair drove his car into the rural enclave of Kenmore. She did not know what she would do with her life, but she knew that whatever she did she would dedicate herself to the service of others and the pursuit of their happiness. Optimists had a place in the world and there was no time like the present to put that optimism to work.

  CHAPTER 40: EDITH

  Edith dropped her latest read, In Defense of Women by H.L. Mencken, to her lap and shook her head. She loved her sister like the sun and the moon but was growing seriously weary of her Pollyannaish view of humanity.

  Of course there were women like Grace Smith. There were millions of them. They were the handiwork of bad and smelly men who maintained and exploited a system specifically geared to their interests and gratification.

  Thankfully, there were good men as well. Mencken was one, she thought. So were Lincoln Steffens, Booker Washington, and that dashing American president she had read so much about.

  Papa was a good man too. He had always put the welfare of his daughters before his own, whether leaving his shop to care for them when they were ill or putting them in an academy that he could not afford. He had encouraged them to seek college degrees and careers in the United States, despite the obvious hardships. If Edith did nothing else in life, she would make him proud and validate his faith and encouragement a hundred times over.

  "Uncle, are all of the academic programs at the university open to women?"

  "I believe they are, Edith. Most, of course, are still dominated by men. I dare say that if you choose to become a lawyer or an engineer, you will find yourself in a distinct minority. I can assure you, however, that the number of women even in these programs is increasing every year. I imagine someday that their representation will be quite comparable."
>
  "I thought so. Thank you."

  Edith knew that Alistair spoke the truth. She had heard as much from others. She knew that America was a different kind of country, where anyone with intelligence and drive, even women, could reach the pinnacles of their professions. She applauded many recent changes in state and federal law and the efforts of suffragettes as they tore down the last vestiges of oppression.

  She was excited about other things, of course, including things she could see from the car and had seen on the train trip from New York. She eagerly anticipated exploring this beautiful corner of the continent and experiencing its splendors. She had heard about the dormant volcano that loomed over Washington like an American Kilimanjaro and the vast inland sea that separated Seattle from a lush peninsula to the west.

  She wanted to see the rest of America, too, with its beaches, canyons, deserts, and bustling cities teeming with tall buildings, automobiles, and modern factories. The United States did not have castles, palaces, and Roman ruins, but it had just about everything else.

  Edith also looked forward to meeting interesting people and making new friends. She wanted to immerse herself in this society of free thinkers, artists, and entrepreneurs. Though she missed many of her peers in Falmouth, she knew that she had had no choice but to leave.

  Personal growth required reaching out and branching out. It required moving beyond comfortable confines and seeking greater rewards in unfamiliar ones. She was an American now, at least in spirit, and planned to make the most of every opportunity.

  Edith looked out a side window and counted houses as the car sped toward its destination. The imposing residences that excited Lucy were becoming fewer in number and more widely spaced. They were heading out of the city and into the country.

  "Will we be there soon?" Edith asked.

  "Indeed, we will," Alistair said. "The traffic is light today. You will see your aunt and cousin in twenty minutes, maybe less."