Far more promising was the online archive of the New Jersey Sentinel. There were at least a dozen articles that included the address, most of them by some guy named Charles Graham.
“Okay!” I said. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” I tapped the first article—“Cowardly Capitalists Turn Tail and Flee to Europe”—but before it could load, a pop-up blocked the screen:
Please log in to access this article. Memberships to the Sentinel archives are available for $100 per year.
“Are you even kidding?” I groaned.
“What?” asked Lauren, who tried to glance at my phone. Her car swerved a bit before she overcorrected.
“You drive. I’ll research,” I ordered her. “I almost found something. I think. But it’s behind a stupid paywall.”
“Weak.”
“The weakest. Why are they charging a hundred dollars for a bunch of old newspaper articles? Like, seriously, is there that much demand?” I asked. Then I sucked in my breath. “The library!”
“Huh?”
“I bet you a million dollars that the library has old newspapers on microfilm! Tomorrow! Let’s do it,” I exclaimed. “No, wait. I’m working. Damn it! But you could go. Would you go, Laure? Would you investigate? It’s the New Jersey Sentinel…Looks like the articles are from the 1920s…You could find out what used to be there, find out what exactly was happening at that fac—”
“Okay.” She cut me off. “I’ll…look into it.”
Was I babbling? Probably. If I talked a lot, talked nonstop so that there wasn’t a pause or even a breath for doubt or fear to creep in, maybe we could both pretend that we hadn’t seen that sign.
“Do you want to hang out for a while?” I asked as Lauren pulled up behind my car.
“Uh…I can’t…” she replied slowly. “I think I need to help with the twins.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Lauren walked me to my car and stood by my window while I rolled it down. “Thanks for coming with me,” I said. “If you find out anything, you’ll text me immediately, right?”
“Yeah. Of course,” Lauren said. “See you later, Jules.”
Rolling up the window felt like raising a glass wall between us. We could still see each other through it, but that was all. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. It was a stinging slap, the way Lauren clearly didn’t want to hang out with me. I couldn’t remember that happening before, not in the long and legendary history of our friendship. Was I too annoying to be around? Didn’t she like me anymore?
As I drove away, Lauren stood on the curb, bouncing on her tiptoes with her arm held high in a motionless wave. I could see her in my rearview all the way to Park Street. It was no different from all the other times I’d driven away from her house, no different from when my mom used to drive me home, except back then Lauren used to wave really big, her long, thin arm arcing through the air. Suddenly it dawned on me. Soon that image—Lauren, grinning, waving from the curb—was something I wouldn’t see anymore. She’d be living in New York, building an entirely new life for herself. Maybe she’d come home once in a while—for holidays or the occasional weekend—but why would she want to?
Lauren had been dreaming of living in the big city ever since freshman year, when we’d tried so hard to make lace knee socks happen before we finally realized that nothing new or original or interesting could happen in this town. It was so clear to me now that once Lauren was gone, there wouldn’t be anything left for her here, not when the city sparkled all around her. Lauren herself had started to shine, like she was somehow already reflecting all the glittering promise of New York, and I thought, How stupid I’ve been, how stupid, how didn’t I notice it before?
I was going to miss her so much, in so many small and ordinary ways. I set my teeth hard so that I wouldn’t cry, grimacing at the pain in my jaw. But it was worth it, that deep ache nagging at the bone, because I honestly feared that if I ever started crying—about everything I’d lost, about everything I was losing—I might never stop.
Chapter 12
February 16, 1918
Dearest Walter,
What calamity has befallen us these past few weeks! You remember, I am sure, that Liza’s Captain Lawson was wounded in duty shortly after the new year. Word came that he would be sent home to convalesce. It turns out his grandfather is a political figure of some renown, which might have something to do with his return. Some might think that he is lucky that a foot wound is the only price he pays to be released from his obligations to this country.
Well! Liza expressed such a range of emotions, Walter—from her despair upon learning that he had been injured, to her relief that the injury appeared minor, to her joy that he would be returning home. And then her utter thrill upon being invited to a homecoming party held in his honor at his grandparents’ brownstone in New York City!
Most astonishing was Liza’s sudden burst of energy upon receiving the invitation. Since the first news of Captain Lawson’s injury, Liza has been wan and withdrawn, retreating to our room for a crying spell that inevitably transforms into a nap. Mother has indulged her, but sometimes I have been so cross with Liza that I’ve nearly snapped at her. There is always a great deal of work to do here, and one person’s idleness increases the burden on the rest. Little did I know that all that was needed to restore Liza’s vitality was an invitation to an elegant soiree!
“Oh, I hope there will be dancing!” Liza cried. Her eyes sparkled like sapphires, and there was a rosy glow in her cheeks that, I realized suddenly, had been absent for some time.
“Dancing?” I asked in disbelief. “Why would there be dancing to honor a man with a wounded foot?”
“I am sure there will be dancing,” she replied. “And if he cannot dance, then at least he can watch!”
Mother was not especially pleased by the invitation, but of course there was no stopping Liza. It was decided that I should accompany her, which I was loath to do. Whatever the nature of this party, what reason do I have to celebrate until your return, Walter?
But I knew that I could at least remind Liza of her better judgment. Especially when I saw the modifications she’d made to her glass-green velvet gown: a swooping neckline that revealed so much of her décolletage that she fashioned a removable lace panel so that Mother could not see how exposed she would be. It would’ve been quite clever if it wasn’t so outrageous. Oh, that brazen sister of mine!
Before we left for the train station, Liza asked me to paint jewelry across her skin in hopes that she and Captain Lawson might retire somewhere dark. She wanted to surprise him, she said, but I would have no part of it. So she sat before the mirror and did it herself: three beaded bands of increasing length around her neck, the longest one with a glowing pendant, and a lovely little heart on each earlobe. Charlotte lurked in the doorway, sorely vexed to be staying home, so Liza invited her in and painted some jewelry on her as well.
I watched Liza at the mirror with an odd combination of envy and admiration. I should never want to be so bold as Liza, but she must feel very free, and on occasion, I wish that I could be so free too.
“Minnie paints her teeth before she goes to the pictures with Ralph,” Liza said. “Shall I give it a go?”
“Not for a first meeting. The jewelry you’ve painted is more than enough. Besides, we’ll miss the train if we don’t leave now.”
“I wish I could go!” Charlotte exclaimed. So I told her, “Sleep in my bed tonight, Lottie, and we’ll wake you up and tell you all about it the moment we return!”
When we arrived at our destination, Liza paused on the corner to remove her lace inset despite the bitter chill. Upon entering the Lawson home, though, I saw that Liza’s and my best dresses were no match for the high fashion swirling around us. And I also knew that her plunging neckline was a poor choice. Along with our plainer gowns, she looked very unsophisticated, indeed, a mere girl playing dress-up in her mother’s closet.
If Liza noticed any of this, she gave no indication. She simply sh
rugged her coat in my general direction—I had to scramble to catch it—and swept up the oaken staircase, which was polished to such a high shine that Liza’s reflection in the glossy wood kept pace with her every movement.
At the top of the stairs, I took a moment to marvel at the opulence around me. It was so very elegant, Walter, with velvet drapes dripping down the walls, finely cut crystals glittering from each lamp, and the gleam of gold wherever I looked. Across from us, at the far end of the room, Captain Lawson—very sharply attired in a crisp uniform—reclined on a plush armchair, looking none too pleased to be part of the festivities. A quartet was playing a pretty melody in the corner, and a small number of people were dancing. My last thought, before it happened, was: Liza was right about the dancing.
She stepped into the room, with her head high as could be and a toss of her curls so that they might catch the light. And then she fell—oh! so terribly undignified, Walter!—poor Liza, a crumpled and ungainly heap on the floor, with all those eyes fixed upon her.
It looked like a clumsy misstep but was far more serious. I think what I will remember most is not the ashen shock on Liza’s face, but the sound of the bone as it shattered. Of all the breakable things in this world, how many people have heard the sound of a bone? Have you heard such sounds in your duty, Walter?
To me, it registered somewhere between a distant crack of thunder and a branch breaking under the weight of wet snow, a sound that was sudden and over as quickly as it had begun, a sound that was not too terribly loud and yet was horrible to hear because it resonated through my body, as if my own bones understood what had happened and clenched in sympathy.
I rushed to Liza, of course, as did all those people in their fine clothes. Even Captain Lawson hobbled to her side with a cane. That this should be their first meeting! It was endearing, I must say, Liza looking up at him with tears sparkling on her lashes, and the concern writ on his face. I could tell at once that he had surrendered to her charms.
Captain Lawson is quite a bit older than I had assumed, probably close to Mother’s age, with the wrinkles to prove it. He was so attentive to Liza, who was in such a great deal of pain that I doubt she noticed the odor wafting faintly from his injured foot, a sweetish stench of decay. I would not say it to Liza, but I doubt he can keep that foot for much longer.
Liza was very brave, Walter, and the picture of quiet suffering while we waited for a doctor. I tried to stay in the hall, feigning great interest in a series of antique family portraits, so that she and Captain Lawson might have a few private moments in which to become better acquainted. The doctor soon arrived and gave Liza a strong dose of morphine, which lessened the pain etched into her face, but did nothing to relieve its spectral whiteness.
Her leg was stabilized with a splint, and after Liza and Captain Lawson’s tender parting, his driver brought us home in a fine automobile. There was great dreaminess in Liza’s eyes for the whole ride home, due in no small part to the morphine, I am sure, but I know Liza. She was making plans. Even in that addled, pain-racked state, Liza was scheming to further her ambitions.
As for me, I was preoccupied during our ride with dread thoughts of the doctor’s bill, as well as the great burden on me alone now that Liza will not be able to work until her leg has healed.
There was, of course, quite the commotion upon our return home. I did not remember to remove Liza’s painted jewelry before we arrived, and so in the dim light, as Mother and I undressed her, the telltale glow was revealed. In her stupor, Liza was not aware of the high disapproval of Mother’s gaze, but I certainly was, especially when her ire was turned on me. As if I might have persuaded Liza from offering up such a spectacle. Well! We both know that thought is a folly!
And so I did not have the opportunity to pay much attention to Charlotte. Otherwise I might have noticed that she too, was making plans. In the morning, I found her waiting at my door, dressed in her best outfit, wearing the same Sunday hat Liza made me wear to the factory for my very first visit. She had fixed a new ribbon to it—a thick band of garnet-colored satin—and I had to wonder how late Charlotte had toiled to accomplish this. The hat did look very handsome.
“Lydia, you’ll take me to the factory, won’t you?” Charlotte said urgently. “No one else knows about Liza yet. Surely I’ll have first crack at her position—not to keep, just to hold for her!”
Smart little Charlotte! I thought as I gave her my warmest smile. Of course there was no reason why we should not attempt to secure Liza’s position until she could return to it. Though I do wish that Charlotte could return to school instead. I want for her an expansive life, one filled with adventures that take her far beyond the modest walls of this apartment. When we took a leave of absence from school after Father’s death, it was never meant to be permanent, though I suppose it’s only practical to delay Charlotte’s return a little longer, given what happened to Liza.
For all of our morning walk to the factory, which was frosty because the sun rose yet failed to offer even a modicum of warmth, I marveled at my little sister. Charlotte had her heart set on a dial-painting position, and through a combination of good fortune and assertiveness, she was about to get precisely what she wanted. There is a lesson to be found in that, I am sure.
The other girls streaming through the factory gates regarded us curiously, no doubt wondering why Charlotte had taken Liza’s place by my side. Mr. Mills also looked upon Charlotte and me with suspicion, and I said to him in a low voice, “Might we have a word in your office, Mr. Mills?” He complied at once. I think Liza must have told him about what I saw transpire between them, because he now treats me with the utmost respect, using the manners of a perfect gentleman.
In Mr. Mills’s office, I explained—as simply as I could and without undue embellishment—the details of Liza’s injury. I watched him closely throughout my speech, and, Walter, I think he has genuine feelings for Liza! I was almost embarrassed for him, but that I knew Charlotte would never notice. After I assured Mr. Mills that Liza would make a full recovery, I explained to him that we all—Liza, especially—hoped that Charlotte may hold the position for her. Given Mr. Mills’s affection for Liza, he was, of course, immediately amenable to our plan. And little Charlotte played her part exceedingly well, looking up at him with such especially large eyes all shining with hope, and her tiny hands fluttered birdlike with excitement when he acquiesced.
Perhaps Charlotte is not as young as I thought.
Well. She is the youngest of all the dial-painters, and so instantly became the pet of all the girls. There was a great outpouring of support and encouragement, in which Charlotte basked like an eager puppy. She was quite the center of attention, and to be honest, I was surprised by how much she enjoyed it. Charlotte now has no shortage of “big sisters” to advise her in all that she does.
Shortly before the end of the day, Mr. Mills called me into his office. I was concerned, of course, because I thought my painting had improved, and I feared that he had found new fault with me. However, I soon discerned that I was wrong in my assumptions about the nature of our meeting. He wasted no time on pleasantries.
“I should like regular reports on how Liza fares,” he said with his customary bluntness.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
Then he paused, as if unsure of himself.
“I should…I should like to see her.”
Walter, I could hardly conceal my surprise! Imagine Mr. Mills calling on Liza like a suitor, and she confined to her bed, wearing her nightclothes. Oh, Walter, Mother would never allow it, and even if she did, what would everyone think? A factory foreman paying a visit to Liza during her convalescence? There would be no doubt in anyone’s mind that they had come to a particular understanding, and I knew that Liza had no interest in such a thing…especially not after her visit to New York.
“That will not be possible,” I told him—oh, so rashly, before I quite comprehended the earnestness in his expression. The way his face fell, Walter, and the ligh
t in his eyes darkened. I continued with more care. “Not when she is in such great pain.”
He seemed genuinely distraught to think of Liza suffering.
“Of course, I could relay a message to her,” I told him.
He nodded without speaking and sat at his desk, where he wrote a short note. Then Mr. Mills opened a drawer and removed a large jar of Lumi-Nite powder. He proceeded to spoon some into a smaller vessel.
“When she is well enough to paint, she may enjoy this,” he said as he pressed it into my hands.
“Thank you,” I said. “I will see that she receives your letter as soon as I return.”
Charlotte and I hurried home that evening, both anxious to see how Liza fared. We did not expect to find her in a terrible temper. Before we even had a chance to explain that Charlotte would hold the position at ARC until Liza could return, she flung out an accusatory arm and pointed at the ceiling.
“What right did you have?” she cried. “I wanted to finish it myself!”
I looked where Liza pointed and noticed, for the first time, that our celestial mural was complete. I turned to Charlotte in surprise. “You did this?” I asked.
Charlotte nodded, dumbstruck. “L-last night,” she stammered. “I—I…You’ve both been working so hard, and I—I—”
“Out with it!” Liza snapped.
“I missed you!” Charlotte exclaimed. “All you do is paint. I thought if I finished the mural while you were at the party, you wouldn’t have to spend all your time holed up in here.”
I hugged my sweet little sister, who’d been made so lonesome by our preoccupation with the paint. “You should have asked, Lottie,” I said gently. Then I turned to Liza. “Be glad of the favor she did for you because you won’t be able to climb a ladder and paint the ceiling for weeks to come.”
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