The Show (Northwest Passage Book 3)

by John A. Heldt

  "I can't wait to meet them. Have you told Penny about us?"

  "I've told her only that her delightful cousins from England are coming to spoil her."

  "You tease us, Uncle!"

  "I do no such thing, Edith. If you don't spoil her before dinner, you will both go hungry."

  Lucy laughed.

  "I will spoil her rotten, dinner or no dinner," she said forcefully. "I've never had a little sister, so I will make up for lost time."

  Edith looked at Lucy and laughed to herself. She knew that Lucy meant it. She had wanted a little sister for at least as long as she could remember. Not a doll or a dog or even a friend her age, but a little sister, someone she could mentor and fuss over.

  Mama had seemed committed to giving her one. For years she had told Edith and Lucille that she had wanted to have another child. For years she had asked Papa to paint a small bedroom upstairs and fix a broken crib. But she never had the opportunity to fill that crib. When influenza swept through Falmouth like a wildfire in 1908, it claimed Julia Green, and a tight-knit family on the west end of town had to modify its dreams and expectations.

  Edith looked back at those early years with sadness and longing. She could still remember some of the smallest details of family life: the egg-and-sausage breakfasts on Saturday mornings, the weekend trips to London, and the summer picnics on Land's End, where they watched great ships from all over the world leave and enter the English Channel.

  She missed the mother whose face had become fainter in her mind with each passing year. She missed the life she'd once had. But she was proud of the way she had adjusted to adversity and even prouder of the way she had guided Lucille through that difficult time.

  Edith had always been the dominant twin and when Mama had died she had vowed to be not only a better sister but also a capable mentor and protector. She knew even then that the world could be cruel to girls without mothers and had thus made it her mission to insulate her sibling from its vicious sting.

  As she studied her sister, Edith could see that she had succeeded. Lucy had retained her childlike innocence. She still looked at the world the way an eight-year-old with a mother looked at the world: with faith and optimism. She might not get far that way in the dog-eat-dog worlds of academia and commerce, but she would certainly do well in another realm.

  Edith smiled when she thought again of Lucy's promise to spoil Penny. She would do it, just as surely as she would spoil everyone around her. Edith knew that if her sister did nothing else in life, she would make a terrific cousin and niece and wife and mother.

  The reason why was as clear now as it had always been. Lucy loved and empathized in ways that Edith could not and saw value in the very domestic trappings that Edith sought to escape.

  Lucy's calling would not be a career but rather the home – her home. Edith envied the husband and children who would someday be a part of it.

  CHAPTER 41: GRACE

  If there was one thing Grace Smith had learned in two months, it's that the automobiles of 1918 were noisy. None had twenty-first-century mufflers or insulation. Most had distinctive sounds you could hear a quarter mile away.

  So when Grace heard the distinctive sound of Alistair's Oldsmobile as it turned off the gravel access road and started up the driveway, she knew it was time to step away from the dining table, where she enjoyed coffee with Margaret, and look out the living room window. She needed only a quick glance to see that the travelers had arrived.

  She followed Margaret out the front door and into the bright sun. Once outside, she saw three people sitting in a parked car. Alistair sat behind the wheel. He got out first.

  Alistair opened the rear door on the driver's side and pulled out two suitcases. He carried them to the passenger side, placed them on the ground, and then opened two doors.

  The young woman in back exited next and looked around before looking at others. Wearing a dark blue travel suit, she projected the confidence of someone who knew who she was, where she was going, and why she was here. Even as a teen, Aunt Edith carried herself like a dame.

  The woman in front took more time getting out. She wore a yellow cotton dress that was conspicuously out of season but more than ideal for someone with a sunny disposition. She smiled, took a deep breath, and threw her arms to the sky, as if trying to experience the Pacific Northwest with every sense available to her.

  Grace stopped at the end of the walk to assess someone she had not seen in more than six years, in relative time, and never at the age of eighteen. She was more beautiful in person than even in the fondest of memories, with long platinum hair, crystal blue eyes, and a face that belonged in a painting.

  Mother.

  Alistair carried the suitcases toward his wife, who had stepped onto the driveway. When he reached her, he lowered the bags, turned around, and summoned his passengers with a hand.

  He waited patiently as the young ladies looked at each other, exchanged supportive smiles, and moved forward at a glacial pace. He spoke when they finally arrived.

  "Edith and Lucy, this is my wife, Margaret."

  "It's a pleasure to meet you," the twins said in stereo.

  Each tentatively extended a hand.

  "Oh, enough of that," Margaret said. "Let me give you a hug."

  Grace laughed as she watched American hospitality overwhelm British restraint. She laughed again when Margaret repeated the greeting.

  "I'm sorry Penny's not here to greet you," Margaret said. "She's at school. The county decided to reopen her school just last week. You'll see her soon enough though. She'll be home later this afternoon. She's very excited to meet you."

  "I can't wait," Lucy said.

  Grace glanced at Alistair and relaxed a bit when he nodded and returned a smile. She could see that he fully understood and appreciated the importance of the moment.

  Alistair stepped behind his nieces, put an arm around each, and steered them toward the woman on the walk. He dropped his arms when they reached their destination.

  "Edith and Lucy, this is Grace Smith, a friend of the family who has been staying with us."

  "Hello," Edith said.

  "Hello," Lucy added.

  "Hello," Grace said.

  With that, three women once separated by time, space, and death were reunited.

  CHAPTER 42: EDITH

  Saturday, November 23, 1918

  Edith Green fancied herself as many things. She was a progressive, of course, a person who believed in and advocated social reform and liberal ideas. She was also a voracious reader, a capable writer, and a knitter and a cook of the first order.

  Most of all, she was an astute observer of the human race. She could read people and situations as well as anyone she knew and draw conclusions almost as well as Dickens and Twain.

  Grace Smith, however, had put that talent to the test. After twenty-four hours in her company, Edith could conclude only that Uncle Alistair's boarder looked a lot like Lucy, spoke a lot like Edith, and acted a lot like no one she had ever known. Nearly everything about this woman was a mystery – a mystery she wanted to solve.

  "How long have you known the family?" Edith asked Grace. She folded linens from an uncomfortable chair in the guest residence. "Uncle hasn't told us much."

  "I've known your aunt and uncle only a few weeks. They learned about me through their friend, Dr. Hubbard, and did a very Christian and charitable thing by taking me in," Grace said as she tucked in a fresh sheet on one side of her bed. Lucy provided assistance on the other side. "I'm sure you know about my situation."

  "I do."

  Grace slipped a case over a pillow, smoothed a wrinkle on the sheet, and looked at Edith.

  "Do you think any less of me?"

  "I most certainly do not," Edith said. "I think it was very brave of you to leave your husband. If more women left brutish men, then the world would be a better place. I'm sure Lucy feels the same way. Isn't that so, sister?"

  Edith placed a folded sheet atop a pile that she had sta
rted and eagerly awaited validation of her progressive opinion. She was mildly surprised when her sibling did not speak right away.

  "How do you feel about my situation, Lucy?" Grace asked.

  "I think your situation is terribly sad," Lucy said as she slipped a case over a pillow on her side of the bed. "I do not share my sister's opinion of men in general, but I do believe you did the right thing. No woman should allow herself to be mistreated."

  "What do you think of a woman who elects to raise a child by herself?"

  "I believe children should be raised by their mother and their father, but I know that sometimes that's not wise or even possible," Lucy said. "I'm not one to judge the decisions of others."

  "Nor am I," Edith said. "I have no doubt that your child will be much better off being raised by a loving single mother than by a woman and a man who exist in a state of violence."

  Grace smiled sadly as she helped Lucy pull a quilted bedspread across the double bed. When they finished straightening the sides, she sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Edith.

  "I'm glad you feel that way," Grace said. "It appears we will be living with each other for the next few months, and I wouldn't want differing opinions to stand in the way of our getting along. I like both of you, and I'd like to be your friend."

  "You can be my friend," Lucy said, suddenly cheery. "In fact, if you don't mind, you can be my sister, my big sister! Sometimes I find Edith dreadfully insufficient."

  Grace laughed.

  "I'd like to be your friend too, Edith."

  Edith glared at Lucy and then smiled at Grace.

  "I'd be happy to be your friend and your sister."

  Edith meant it too. She could be a friend and a sister to Grace Smith. She looked forward to talking to someone who had experienced a different side of life and who seemed to share some of her tastes, including cutting-edge literature.

  When Edith had entered the guest residence for the first time that morning, she had noticed The Jungle by Upton Sinclair, Twenty Years at Hull House by Jane Addams, and The Shame of the Cities by Lincoln Steffens on Grace's nightstand. She had also seen The Tale of Benjamin Bunny by Beatrix Potter and The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum but decided that she could ignore them for the time being.

  "I see you're a fan of Mr. Sinclair, Grace. What did you think of The Jungle?"

  "I thought it was enlightening."

  "Did it change your thinking?"

  "Yes."

  "How so?"

  "I'm now a little less partial to sausages."

  "It's all propaganda, in my opinion," Lucy said. "There's nothing wrong with sausages. Papa used to cook them for us at least three times a week, and they were delicious."

  Edith rolled her eyes.

  "We've had this debate a hundred times, if not a thousand," she said to Grace. "Lucy is right. There is nothing wrong with sausages, as long as they're made without rats."

  Grace laughed.

  "Do you consider yourself politically progressive?" Edith asked.

  Grace glanced at Lucy, as if to gauge her interest in the question, and then returned to Edith. When she spoke, she did so in the thoughtful tones of a person who did not want to offend.

  "I consider myself open to ideas," she said. "I do not believe one side has a monopoly on truth or wisdom. I do believe that we can learn much simply by listening to people with different views and experiences."

  "Indeed," Lucy said. "I've been telling her that since we were two."

  "Well, sometimes there are not two sides to a story," Edith said. "Sometimes there is only right and wrong, and I believe Mr. Sinclair is right. Mr. Steffens is right, too, as is Miss Addams. The plight of the poor and the conditions in our cities are shameful."

  Perhaps recognizing that she was no match for her sister in a political discussion, Lucy walked over to the nightstand and sorted through the books. She eventually picked up The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and held it up.

  "At least this book is not political," she said. "Even Edith would agree with that."

  "I do not! Everyone knows that the Tin Man is America's heartless steel industry and that the Scarecrow represents this nation's uneducated agrarian class."

  "Who is the Cowardly Lion then?" Lucy asked with her arms folded.

  Edith shook her head. Her other half was testing her patience again.

  "Must I tell you everything? He is William Jennings Bryan. That's why I don't like that book. Baum is openly mocking one of my heroes."

  "Well, I like it! I think it is entertaining and charming and teaches wonderful life lessons. What do you think, Grace?"

  Grace pushed herself entirely onto the bed and kicked off her shoes. She spread her hands across the middle of the bed, leaned back, and gave Lucy the kind of reassuring glance that Edith knew her sister loved.

  "I like it too. I like the movie better, of course, but I think the book is precious. Political or not, it is a triumph of the imagination."

  Edith glanced at Lucy, who returned her puzzled expression, and then looked at Grace.

  "Did you say you like the movie?"

  Grace turned white even before Edith got the words out. She quickly moved her hands forward, sat upright, and addressed her questioner.

  "Did I say movie? I obviously did not get enough sleep last night. I meant the musical. I saw The Wizard of Oz in New York when I was fourteen. My parents and I spent an entire week attending performances on Broadway. It was one of the highlights of my childhood."

  "Oh, how wonderful," Lucy said. "We never saw anything like that in London, much less Falmouth. You've lived a charmed life, Grace Smith."

  Edith laughed to herself at Lucy's observation. If Grace's story was true, then she had lived anything but a charmed life – or at least a charmed life as an adult. Edith could imagine few things worse than living with a man who drove you away by physically abusing you.

  She quickly cast aside her sister's faux pas. Lucy was always blurting out something or another to make people feel good.

  Grace's comment, however, was another matter. Few people could confuse a motion picture with a live performance, particularly a person as seemingly intelligent, cultured, and literate as Uncle Alistair's mysterious boarder.

  Perhaps some enterprising American film producer had made a movie she hadn't heard about. Edith didn't know the answer. What she did know is that her new big sister appeared to be a whole lot more than a battered wife from Wisconsin. This was a woman worth knowing.

  CHAPTER 43: GRACE

  Kenmore, Washington – Thursday, November 28, 1918

  Grace watched the man at the head of the table fill eight glasses of wine for eight adult diners and one glass of milk for a seven-year-old who thought wine tasted like medicine. Grace had requested only half a glass. She knew from her obstetrician in 2001 that no amount of alcohol was a safe amount during pregnancy, but she also knew that abstaining altogether was the surest way to invite unwanted questions.

  She gave the matter a little more thought, decided to stick with her chosen course, and then settled into her chair. She turned again toward the head of the table, where the chief provider rose out of his chair and held out his glass.

  "I love Thanksgiving," Alistair said. "I love the food, I love the traditions, and I love the spirit of the holiday. Thanksgiving is a reminder that no matter what fate brings, we can all be thankful for something. I know I am."

  Alistair scanned each face at the table and continued.

  "I'm thankful that the war has ended and that Captain Walker has returned to us safely. I'm thankful that Margaret's brother, Albert, is now resting comfortably in an Army hospital and will soon return to his loved ones. I'm also thankful for my health, my family, and the recent addition of three wonderful young ladies to my home. So it is in that spirit of thanks that I ask you to raise a glass in a toast. Here's to peace, to health, to family, to friends."

  Grace joined glasses with John to her right and Penelope to her left as the oth
ers greeted each other in similar fashion around the table. She wasn't quite as thankful as Uncle Alistair on this particular day, but she conceded that her cupboard wasn't bare. Despite the crushing losses of the past seven weeks, Grace acknowledged that she still had reason to be thankful.

  Among other things, she had her health, a good friend, and a loving family that had accepted her unconditionally. She also had a life growing in her womb, a life that would surely alleviate the excruciating pain that went with knowing she would never see Joel, Ginny, or Katie again.

  "I understand congratulations are in order, Grace," Robert Walker said as he passed a plate of turkey to his wife.

  Grace felt her stomach fall to the floor.

  "I'm not sure what you mean."

  "John told me about your heroism at the theater. It's not every day that a woman without medical training saves someone's life."

  Grace wanted to say that it wasn't every day that anyone without medical training saved someone's life, but she allowed Robert's omission to go unanswered. She was grateful that he had not brought up a subject that was surely on the minds of most around the table.

  Grace was pregnant, and everyone in the room, including Penelope, knew she was pregnant. But only two, Alistair and Margaret, knew she was the wife of a Seattle research geologist and the mother of twin girls in 2002. Only two knew her entire story.

  Alistair and Margaret had discreetly told the others that Grace had fled an abusive husband in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, and had come to Seattle to build a new life while she sought a divorce. Grace had given them permission to tactfully spread the word. She figured it was better to put up with condescending stares now than to repeatedly answer embarrassing questions later.

  She looked at Robert, a balding and fit man of fifty, and replied to his comment.

  "I did only what anyone would have done in that situation."

  "I doubt that," Robert said. "I heard that most in the lobby watched from the sidelines as the poor man gasped for life. You are to be commended, my dear. What I don't understand is how you learned such a skill."