Silent Echoes

by Carla Jablonski

  She’s really, really high, Lindsay realized. “Haley. You took my wallet. I want it back.”

  Flip sat up on the bench behind Haley. Lindsay had been so focused on Haley, she’d never noticed him lying there. “All the screaming. Bad karma.”

  “I don’t have your stupid wallet,” Haley said. She shut her eyes and wobbled.

  Lindsay stalked to Haley’s bag, sitting beside Flip. She grabbed it and dumped it out. The wallet fell onto the grass.

  Lindsay snatched it and whirled around. She held it up to Haley.

  “Get out of my stuff!” Haley shrieked.

  “This is mine,” Lindsay said, hating the tears springing into her eyes. “Why did you take it from me? I was nice to you.”

  “That’s mine!” Haley tried to grab the wallet, but Lindsay sidestepped her and Haley stumbled into the bench. “You stupid bitch! Look what you made me do!”

  Haley’s fierce expression startled Lindsay. Her dark-rimmed eyes were full of hate. She no longer had the vague, glassy-eyed look of someone high; she looked venomous. She pressed against her scraped knee, and Lindsay saw blood trickling down her leg under the fishnets.

  “I—” Lindsay faltered.

  “Bitch!” Haley spat again. She stood, and Lindsay realized Haley was seriously far gone. Fear replaced anger, and Lindsay turned and ran away.

  She took off down the path, then twisted and turned up another. Rounding the playground, she slowed down. Haley wasn’t following. Lindsay dropped down onto a bench to catch her breath.

  Slumped, stunned, betrayed, Lindsay opened her wallet. Money, gone. ATM card, gone. IDs gone. Even her library card. All gone.

  Lindsay leaned against the back of the bench, willing its solidity to hold her up, keep her together. I will not cry. Out here, her tears would just freeze anyway.

  Lindsay carefully stood, every muscle hurting as if she’d been beaten up. Betrayal had a physical side she’d never known before. She shoved her wallet into her pocket, not sure why she was even keeping it.

  She hurried past the manager’s office, hoping she’d be able to come up with a plan before he asked her for the next payment. Once she was in her room, she flung herself onto the bed, but she didn’t cry. All she felt was…nothing.

  “Lindsay? Lindsay, are you there?” Lucy called.

  Lindsay rubbed her face and sat up. “Hi, Lucy.”

  “Oh, good! I have had quite a day!”

  “Me too,” Lindsay said glumly.

  “Did you get the information for Mr. Smithton?” Lucy asked.

  Lindsay got up and picked up the notebook from where it had skidded under the chair. She moved slowly, as if despair made her muscles heavy.

  “The next batch of newspapers is at McSorley’s,” Lindsay said.

  “Wonderful! The performance at the Lyceum is coming up in a few days. It’s bound to be even more packed than last week. This time I swear I’m going to get my father to give me a portion of the profits.”

  “Yeah, you do that.” Lindsay flipped through the pages.

  “Of course, I’ll never breathe a word about my deal with Mr. Smithton. That golden goose is all mine. So did you find out anything about Caleb?”

  Lindsay rubbed her face, then cleared her throat. “Yeah, this Caleb guy seems to be okay,” she said, her voice flat. “I mean, I don’t find any scandals or arrests. But Carmichael Enterprises is really bad news. Total rip-off. A bunch of rich speculators offered really overvalued stock and then sold their own shares at inflated prices, just before the company’s patents were rejected. It went bankrupt, and all the stock was worthless.” Lindsay snorted. “I guess insider trading happened back then too.”

  “So yes to Caleb but no to Carmichael. But Lindsay, I need something he can use to make another killing! That’s how I get my percentages. Don’t you have something I can tell him?”

  Lindsay flung the notebook onto the floor. “You know what? Why don’t you do all this predicting on your own?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong?” Lindsay shrieked. “This is all your fault. All of it!” Tears streamed down Lindsay’s face; she couldn’t see, blinded by everything that had happened, by a life that had spun out of control. “If I had never heard your stupid voice, it all would have been different! I wouldn’t have thought I was going crazy. I would have made my mother see what bad news Carl is. But instead, all I could do was freak out. Because of you. And then the hospital…”

  “Lindsay, I—”

  “And now all you do is use me! Making loads of money off me. Getting rich. And the whole time…” She swallowed and tried again. “The whole time my life is destroyed more and more. Every day it’s more horrible.”

  “But Lindsay—”

  “Shut up! Why did you ever have to talk to me in the first place? My life was over that minute! Well, I’m done. You can talk all you want. I’m not listening!”

  Lindsay slammed out of her room and into the street, letting the blaring car radios, the shouts, the laughter, the traffic, the chatter drown out any other voices in her head.

  Twenty-five

  “Lindsay?” Lucy called. “Lindsay, are you still there?”

  She sat in her father’s boardinghouse room, listening. Was Lindsay right? Had Lucy done something terrible to her?

  One thing was undeniably true: Lucy’s circumstances had vastly improved, while Lindsay’s seemed to have worsened—and that wasn’t fair. Just as Lucy was furious that her father kept the money she had earned for him, it wasn’t right to give Lindsay nothing. Without Lindsay, there would be no Lyceum performances, no Mrs. Van Wyck, no Mr. Smithton.

  But how could Lucy share the wealth with a girl living in the future?

  The door opened and Colonel Phillips walked in. “You’re here so often I wonder why you board with Mrs. Van Wyck,” he commented.

  “I was just speaking to Lindsay,” Lucy explained.

  “I thought we were just using the newspapers,” Colonel Phillips said. “Is she giving you other information?”

  “She’s lonely,” Lucy explained, knowing it was always safest to stay as close to the truth as possible. “And she’s been helping me learn to read.”

  “Really?” Colonel Phillips tossed the day’s paper at her. “Give it a go.”

  Lucy picked up the paper. “‘Lily Langtry’s debut postponed due to a fire at the Park Theater,’” she read. She looked up at her father. “Well, that should satisfy our audience.”

  He grinned at her. “I’ve had people stopping me in the street all day. You are on top, dearie dear. Everyone wants you to read their future.”

  With an exaggerated flourish, he pulled a money clip from his checkered vest pocket. “So I have decided you were right.” He peeled several bills from the roll. “You deserve a greater stake.”

  Lucy stared at him, not even looking at the bills he placed in her hands. This was the perfect moment to ask for money for Lindsay.

  “Thank you,” she said. “This is—well, thank you. And as you seem to be in a generous spirit—”

  Colonel Phillips held up a warning finger. “Don’t get greedy. It’s unseemly. And might make me change my mind.”

  “It’s not for me,” Lucy explained quickly, before his mood shifted. “Lindsay is in trouble and needs money. Don’t you think she deserves a cut too? After all, without her, none of this would be possible.”

  “Well, it would be possible,” Colonel Phillips teased. “It just wouldn’t be accurate, and we’d be moving from town to town after every show.”

  Lucy smiled. If he was joking, he wasn’t angry. And if he wasn’t angry, he might be persuaded. “So…?”

  “Really, now, Lucy, how many ways do you want to cut this pie? There’s you, me, Mr. Grasser, Peabody, and now Lindsay.”

  “What if she stops giving us the newspapers?” Lucy warned. “She’s really upset today.”

  He stroked his chin. “I suppose it’s better to keep our source happy.” He nodd
ed sharply. “All right. After all, I always play fair and square.”

  Lucy snorted—an entirely unladylike sound.

  Colonel Phillips waggled his dark eyebrows. “At least I do when I have to. Eventually. For the most part. But how do you propose we give this little lady her fair share?”

  “If we can get newspapers from the future in that hiding spot,” Lucy said, “why can’t we leave money for her there from the past?”

  He turned to face her, his eyes focusing and growing bright again. “Worth a try,” he said with a grin. “In fact, I’d like to see if it’s possible myself.”

  “She said she left the newspapers already,” Lucy told him.

  “Then I’d best get over there. I’ll need to pick some good stories for you to predict. And I promise, I’ll leave her a share.”

  “Good,” Lucy said. I just hope it does the trick.

  As soon as Lucy woke up the next morning, she hurried to her father’s boardinghouse. She had to tell Lindsay there was money for her at McSorley’s. She hoped this would repair their relationship.

  She pressed her ear to her father’s door and heard his loud snoring. She didn’t want to wake him, but she didn’t want to delay—the money could vanish, and worse, without Lindsay’s cooperation she’d have nothing to tell Mr. Smithton at their meeting today and no windfall providing her with her lucrative percentage.

  Turning the knob as quietly as she could, she crept into the darkened room. “Lindsay?” she whispered.

  Her father stirred, groaned, and turned over. Lucy froze, but he didn’t wake.

  “Lindsay,” she whispered again. She sensed Lindsay’s presence. “Lindsay,” she said a little louder.

  “Who’s there!” In a flash, Colonel Phillips stood over her, knife at her throat.

  “It’s me!” Lucy cried, flinging up her hands to grip his strong arms. “It’s just me!”

  Colonel Phillips released her and stumbled a few steps back. “Dearie dear, you know better than to sneak up on a body while he’s sleeping!”

  “I’m sorry,” Lucy said. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  Colonel Phillips laughed. “And instead you nearly give me a heart attack and get yourself killed.” He sat back down on the bed and ran his hands through his thick dark curls. “So what brings you here so bright and early?”

  “I wanted to talk to Lindsay. Ask her if she got the money.”

  “Checking up on me?”

  “No, I didn’t get a chance to tell her we were leaving her money in the hiding place. I want to make sure no one else finds it first.”

  “Mmm. Good point.” He yawned.

  “Lindsay?” Lucy called. But she no longer felt the girl there. Odd. She was there a minute ago. Or maybe she’s avoiding me. Lucy sighed. “She’s not responding. I guess I’ll have to come back later.”

  “Ask her for some more newspapers,” Colonel Phillips said. “There’s nothing very dramatic in the ones we have so far.”

  “All right.” If she’s still willing to help us, she added silently.

  Colonel Phillips stretched out on the bed. “What are you up to these days?” he asked. “Still throwing yourself at that Bryce Cavanagh?”

  “I’m not!” Lucy said. “He comes around all on his own.”

  “Mrs. Van Wyck seems to think it would be a good match. I’m not so sure.”

  “Really?” Lucy wondered why her father kept expressing reservations about Bryce. “Most fathers would want their daughters to keep company with boys from prominent wealthy families.”

  “I’m not most fathers, am I?” He rolled over onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. “Prominent families don’t generally like outsiders marrying into their circles. Take care. He may be the smitten swain now, but that doesn’t mean he intends to marry you.”

  “Who said anything about marriage?” Lucy said.

  Colonel Phillips laughed. “You may not say it, but I believe you’ve been thinking it.” He sat back up. “I don’t want you to be disappointed or to make mistakes you’ll regret later.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve seen his type before,” Colonel Phillips said. “He’s not for you.”

  “How can you say that?” Lucy said. “You’ve spent no time with him.”

  “Don’t need to.” Colonel Phillips flopped back down onto the bed. “Now let me get some sleep.”

  Lucy gaped at her father. “You can’t just—”

  He pulled the blanket up over his head and turned his back on her.

  Irritated, she flounced out of the boardinghouse. The streets were already busy with traffic and street peddlers. “I hope all the noise wakes him up,” she muttered, glaring back up at her father’s open window.

  “Why, it’s Miss High and Mighty.” Nellie stood with one hand on the street lamp for balance, the other fiddling with her shoe. She seemed to have lost a heel. She had obviously been up all night. Everything about her—from her feathered hat, past her painted complexion, to her flounced hems—drooped and dragged. Giving up on her shoe, she straightened. “I’d ask you if you have any snuff, but I already know the answer. Besides,” she added, taking an unsteady step toward Lucy, “your daddy made it very clear that I wasn’t to go anywhere near you. I guess he thinks you’re too good for the likes of me. Just like you do.”

  “I don’t think that,” Lucy protested. She could smell the alcohol on the woman’s breath and took a tiny step backward. “I just can’t be the kind of help you want me to be.”

  Nellie pulled her wrap around herself more tightly. “I don’t need you. I’m doing fine.”

  In the bright cold morning Lucy could see dark circles the cosmetic paint couldn’t hide. “Where’s Katie?” she asked.

  Nellie shrugged. “Tom got tired of her causing trouble. She hasn’t been around.” She stared at the ground and shivered in her thin dress and shawl.

  She’s worried, Lucy realized. “Well, if you see her, tell her I hope she’s all right.”

  Nellie rolled her eyes. “I’ll be sure to do that.” She pushed past Lucy and went into the boardinghouse.

  On the Third Avenue elevated railroad, Lucy wondered about Nellie. Did she wish for a way out? An alternative to what she was doing, how she was living? But as Alan had pointed out, those opportunities were hard to find.

  Lucy shifted in her seat and stared out the grimy window. Down below, the streets were growing more narrow, more crowded, more dismal the farther she went downtown. She could see the ragpickers, the newspaper boys, the flower girls starting their day—or maybe just ending it. Their meager existence barely kept them clothed or fed.

  Is Lindsay heading down the same path as Nellie? For all the marvelous promise of the future, it sounded as if Lindsay’s options were just as limited, as if she too lived in the shadow of that insurmountable wall of hopelessness. How could Lucy keep it from crushing Lindsay?

  “We didn’t scare you off yesterday!” Harriet smiled warmly and, clutching Lucy’s arm in a strong grip meant to be a handshake, ushered her into the tiny office. “I’m so pleased!”

  “I do have an appointment later, so I’m not sure how long I can stay,” Lucy said. She wanted to speak to Lindsay again—to see if she was still upset and with luck get some information to give to Mr. Smithton.

  “I’m happy with any time you can give me and the girls,” Harriet assured her.

  The sound of whistling from the hallway startled them both, and a moment later Alan walked in.

  Harriet looked at him, surprised. “I didn’t expect you,” she said.

  His eyes flicked to Lucy, then back to Harriet. “I’m on the night shift for the next six weeks,” he explained. “I haven’t gotten used to sleeping during the day, so I thought I’d make myself useful. Good morning, Lucy,” he added. “Glad to see you.”

  “Good morning,” Lucy said. “You seem cheerful.”

  “Some days, I just can’t help it.” He shrugged. “If you like, I could be dour an
d depressed.” He twisted his lips into an exaggerated grimace.

  “No, that’s all right,” Lucy said, laughing. “That’s too dreadful an expression.”

  They made their way to a row of tenements, and despite the grim surroundings, Lucy felt better. The day had started off oddly. Lindsay’s lack of response, her father’s disparaging remarks about Bryce, and the encounter with Nellie had all balled up her stomach, but the day was improving. She found herself relaxing in Harriet and Alan’s easy presence.

  “What’s our mission today?” Lucy asked.

  “The usual,” Harriet replied. “To give what help we can.”

  “I’ve a patient who lives here that I need to check on,” Alan said as they came to a dilapidated building with worn, gray laundry hanging from most of its windows. Lucy could smell the stench of the place even from the street. Her nose wrinkled; she hoped Harriet and Alan didn’t notice.

  “She’s going to have a baby soon but is afraid of going to the hospital. I want to convince her that it’s safe.”

  “Lucy, why don’t you go with the doctor?” Harriet suggested. “It might help if another woman was there.”

  “All right.”

  “While you two talk to the mother-to-be,” Harriet said, “I’ll see if there are girls in this building who might prefer to avoid that particular state of affairs.”

  “We’ll meet you outside, unless you need help,” Alan said.

  Harriet grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ll holler loud and clear if I need you.”

  Lucy followed Alan up the stairs. “Why does she have to go to the hospital?” Lucy asked.

  “She’s lost three other babies before this one. She couldn’t tell me why or what happened. There may be complications that would be better handled in the hospital.”

  “Oh.”

  “This way,” he said.

  They walked past open doors, and Lucy could see the filthy, crowded conditions in the rooms. In one, Lucy saw three women, all stooped and aged, sewing gentlemen’s collars while three little girls sat at their feet and sorted buttons.

  Alan knocked on a doorjamb and stepped inside. “Claudia,” he called. “It’s Dr. Wordsworth.”