All Waiting Is Long

by Barbara J. Taylor

  * * *

  Lily remained at the kitchen table long after Violet and the widow had run off to save Stanley and Mrs. Davies had gone upstairs to get Daisy washed and dressed. Finally alone, the silence amplified the thoughts she dared not think. Just for a moment Lily was back in Frankie’s arms. Suddenly she understood that he was the only man in the world who could give her back her child. Her child. And everything else she deserved. But who would suffer? George? Certainly not. His heart was as hard and black as the coal extracted from his mine. A little humiliation might teach him a well-deserved lesson. But what about Violet? She’d be hurt, no doubt, and that was reason enough to dismiss the idea of out hand.

  Then again, Lily wondered, should one sister be expected to trade her happiness for the other? Besides, it wasn’t as if Violet were alone in the world. She had Tommy now. And soon enough, they’d have children of their own. And how would Violet’s little family feel about Daisy then? Could they ever love her like she was one of them? Taking Daisy could be the best thing for her. And what mother wouldn’t want what was best for her child?

  Perish the thought—her own mother’s advice whenever Lily’s selfish side took over. Lily shook her head. Claiming Daisy was out of the question. Of course, as her aunt, she could start spending more time with the child. No one would fault her for that. She might even like to introduce her to Frankie someday. He deserved that much.

  Lily went to the sink, splashed water on her face, and tried to smooth out her hair and dress. She needed to look presentable. She’d drop Daisy off next door and find someplace to be alone for more than just a few moments. Violet had told her not to go anywhere, but Lily needed time to think without having to answer to anyone. Maybe she’d take a walk or go to a movie. As soon as Violet returned, she’d start in on Frankie again. That was her way. Like a dog with a bone. It never mattered what Lily wanted or how desperately she wanted it. And she did want, desperately. So what? Desire meant nothing without courage, and everyone knew Violet was the strong one. By the same token, it had taken courage to confront Dr. Peters, but courage is easy when you’re fingering a trigger. Still, gun or no gun, she’d taken control of her life in his hotel room. That was something.

  “All ready.” Daisy stood in the doorway wearing a green smocked dress, her hair done up in sausage curls, with Queenie under her arm.

  “Tell your grandmother I’ll be over for you as soon as I finish these puddings,” Mrs. Davies said as she helped the little girl into her coat. “I’m going to need you to stir them.”

  Daisy smiled. “I will!” She grabbed Lily’s hand and headed out the door and down the steps.

  As soon as they reached the Morgan house, Lily paused and looked down at her daughter. “How would you like to ride on a train?” When Daisy shrugged, Lily added, “We can have lunch in the dining car.”

  This caught the child’s attention. “Do they have chocolate pudding?”

  “In silver goblets, with whipped cream if you like.”

  “I like.” Daisy giggled at her joke long after the Morgan house was out of view.

  Chapter thirty-two

  “I’M NOT DEAF!” the streetcar conductor barked as the signal bell rang repeatedly next to his ear. The widow tugged on the cord one more time before surrendering her grip, but remained standing. Violet slid across the seat so she could slip into the aisle as soon as the widow started forward. Half a block later, the conductor brought the car to a stop, braking harder than necessary.

  “Lucky for you,” the widow said as she disembarked, “I have bigger fish to fry today.”

  Unable to determine whether the man deserved to be admonished or pitied, Violet exited the streetcar without a word.

  On the other side of the street, Scranton’s Municipal Building graced the southwest corner of Washington and Mulberry, its 160-foot bell tower punctuating the left-hand side of the three-story edifice. Stained-glass windows blushed between even rows of wheat-colored stone. This sun-kissed beauty was the kind of building that put Scranton’s best foot forward. Inside, the mayor and the men associated with the office conducted the city’s important business.

  The women crossed North Washington Avenue and started up Mulberry Street, past the building’s main entrance. “You do anything for your children no matter how they come to you,” the widow said, taking Violet’s arm. “But I don’t have to tell you that.”

  A shiver ran the length of Violet’s spine, and at that moment, she wanted nothing more than to be at home with Daisy.

  After a few more yards, the women turned right into an alley and found themselves facing the back of the building. Police headquarters. No rose-colored windows on this side. No southern exposure to bleach the soot from the stones.

  A policeman came along, and when he saw where the women were headed, he scooted around them and opened the heavy door.

  “Officer Fowler,” the man said by way of introduction. “Can I point you ladies in a direction?”

  “I’m here to see about my son Stanley.”

  “Adamski?”

  The widow nodded.

  “Salt of the earth.” Officer Fowler took off his hat and leaned toward the women. “Helped my own dear father out of a bind last year. Wouldn’t take a dime. Just made him promise to get off the drink—which he did, thank the good Lord.” He crossed himself, took a step back, and called, “Sergeant,” over to a man at the front desk. “These are Stanley’s people.”

  “Uh huh.” The desk sergeant looked over the pair before turning his attention to Fowler. “Don’t you have a report to file?” He tipped his head and spit a stream of tobacco juice into a cup.

  “Yes sir.” Officer Fowler slicked back his curls, put on his hat, and nodded to the women. “The good Lord won’t forget your boy,” he said and headed to another corner of the room.

  The desk sergeant picked up a telephone and hid his face behind a clipboard as he spoke. Violet made out the name “Adamski” before steam whistled up from the radiators, thwarting her attempt at eavesdropping. The sudden rush of heat closed in on her, raising beads of sweat on the back of her neck. If only she’d brought a few hairpins with her. She started unbuttoning her coat, but thought better of it when she noticed a couple of miscreants who were chained together, licking their lips and winking in her direction.

  “Knock it off, the pair of you!” the sergeant yelled as he came out from behind his desk. “This ain’t the Alleys.” The metal cleats on the toes and heels of his shoes click-clacked across the wooden floor. With his billy club in hand, he feinted left, causing the closest man to flinch, lose his balance, and pull the other one off his feet. Both men tumbled to the ground, just as Violet yanked the widow out of their way.

  “Fowler!” the sergeant shouted as he started toward an office door. “Put these clowns in a cell.”

  “What about Stanley?” the widow called out. “I want to see him.”

  The desk sergeant turned around. “If I was you, ma’am, I’d go home.” He smiled thinly. “Your boy’s been arrested for murder. He ain’t seeing anybody anytime soon.”

  “Well, you’re not me, and I’m not leaving till I see him.” The widow took a seat on a bench.

  “I see where he learned his rabble-rousing ways.” The sergeant eyed the widow then turned to Violet. “If I was you,” he said, “I’d take her home before she gets herself in trouble.”

  “I can see the headline now,” Judson Woodberry announced as he entered the building. “‘Frail Mother Handcuffed by Police.’”

  “Nothing frail about that woman,” the sergeant snarled.

  “There will be when I write the article.”

  The sergeant paused as if reconsidering his tack. “And no one said anything about arresting anybody.” He glanced at the widow. “Wait here,” he said as he entered the office in front of him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Once the sergeant was out of earshot, the reporter introduced himself. “Yes, he’s under arrest,” Judd explained when the w
idow asked what he knew about Stanley. “The alderman issued a body warrant last night on suspicion of a felony. Because it’s a high-profile case, the preliminary arraignment is being rushed. They’ve already taken his mug shot and fingerprints. And he’s been interrogated at least once.”

  “What can we do?” Violet asked as she took the widow’s hand.

  “Find him an alibi. According to my sources, he won’t say where he was at the time of the murder.”

  “And what time was that?” the widow asked.

  The reporter looked at his notebook. “Just before five o’clock.”

  “The DA says to bring you back to the interrogation room,” the sergeant said as he came out of the office. “Some kind of ‘courtesy.’ Who ever heard of giving courtesy to jailbirds?”

  “I’ll be around if you need anything,” Judd said.

  Violet trailed the widow and the sergeant. Five o’clock. She’d been in Stanley’s room at five o’clock. She was his alibi. He was trying to protect her. Inhale. Exhale. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Heel. Toe. Heel. Toe. She tried to breathe in time with the human metronome ahead of them.

  A moment later, the clicking stopped and laughter started, solid and self-satisfying. When Violet looked up, she saw the sergeant standing in the hallway, cackling with George Sherman.

  * * *

  If only Lily had an automobile. On Frankie’s advice, she’d left George’s LaSalle in front of the Mayfair and let Gino take her to Violet’s with Frankie alongside her in the backseat. Too many cops still swarming around, he’d said. Gino would drop the car off later today. She’d understood Frankie’s logic, but she also knew that her nervous state had figured in his decision not to have her drive.

  “Where’s the train?” Daisy asked as they exited the streetcar. The smell of hot dogs wafted past them, awakening the child’s hunger. “They have chocolate pudding on the train.”

  “With whipped cream,” Lily added. “But first,” she stood on the corner looking up at the Electric City Lunch, “we have to make a stop.” She peered inside the restaurant, empty except for Gino who stood behind the counter, preparing for the noon crowd. She tapped her diamond ring against the glass, but when Gino didn’t look up, she knocked with more urgency.

  “Hold your horses!” Gino wiped his beefy hands across his apron and opened the door. “Oh,” he said when he saw Lily standing in front of him. “Is the boss expecting you?”

  Gino knew perfectly well that Frankie was not expecting Lily to show up that morning, and certainly not with a child in tow. When they dropped her off, Frankie had made it clear that he’d contact her after the whole Peters mess blew over. “Shouldn’t be more than a day or two,” he’d assured her with a substantial kiss, the kind Gino had obviously trained himself to ignore from the driver’s seat.

  “He’ll see me.” Lily grasped Daisy’s hand and started for the steps.

  “I can’t let you do that, ma’am.” Gino pushed past the pair, blocking the entrance to the second floor.

  “It’s all right,” Frankie called out from the top of the stairs. “Send her up.”

  * * *

  Daisy started fussing. First she was too hot, then too hungry. Frankie had Gino make her a milkshake, and that seemed to satisfy her momentarily.

  “This ain’t no place for a kid,” Frankie said, nodding toward the gambling parlor. Even at that early hour, a few of the regulars scratched notes on their betting sheets as Black Mike worked the board.

  Frankie sat on the edge of his desk, studying the child before him—her lips pursed around the straw, her nose chapped at the edges from a recent cold, her eyes . . . those eyes, those sea-blue eyes of Lily’s. He glanced at Lily, seated alongside the girl. “Looks like you spit her out.”

  Daisy’s head popped up as if she were trying to make sense of the words.

  “You look like your mother. That’s a good thing.” Frankie tousled the girl’s hair, but she shooed his hand away.

  “Aunt Lily says I look like her. Grandma Morgan says it too. Mommy doesn’t like when she says it, though.” Daisy slurped the last of her drink, giggled to herself, and made the noise again. “Will Mommy be on the train?”

  Frankie turned to Lily. “What train?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Lily pulled a handkerchief out of her pocketbook, handed it to Daisy, and motioned for her to wipe her mouth. “Let’s leave today. Go far away. There’s nothing left for me here.”

  “Leave?” Frankie squinted as if trying to make sense of the word. “Today?” He looked from Lily to Daisy and back again. “It’s not time yet. Not with what’s happened.”

  “It’s too late.” Lily tipped her head toward Daisy who was using the hanky to shine Queenie’s button eyes. “I can’t go back now.”

  “It’s not a good time,” Frankie said. “It’s too soon. Too fast.”

  “I’ll never ask for anything else.” Lily looked at Daisy. “Sit still,” she said as the child swung her feet into the air and back against the legs of the chair. “You’ll scuff your shoes.”

  Daisy sighed loudly but did as she was told. “I want to go home.”

  “But Frankie here’s taking us for a train ride any minute. You’ll like that.”

  Frankie stepped behind his desk, reached for the telephone, and dialed. “Hiya, doll. No,” he laughed, “I’m afraid it’s business. Yes. Two tickets to Sandy Hook. One adult, one child,” he said, writing the information on a pad. “Uh huh. My account. Thanks, Sally.” He hung the receiver back on the cradle. “Train leaves at two o’clock. That should give you plenty of time to get down to the station. I’d have Gino drive you, but I think you better take a cab so nobody puts two and two together.” He lifted the corner of his blotter and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. When he turned back, Lily was on her feet.

  “Two tickets?” Lily asked anxiously.

  “You can’t just expect me to pack up and leave,” Frankie said. “I have a business to run.” He leaned in to kiss Lily, but stopped when he noticed Daisy staring up at him.

  “This was your idea, Frankie.” Lily stood up and glared at him. “You said we’d go away. You said we should take her with us.”

  “I don’t want to go for a train ride.” Daisy started to cry. “I want to go home.” She pulled at Lily’s skirt.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” Lily said to Frankie. Her eyes welled with tears as she bent down and picked up the child.

  “I don’t want chocolate pudding,” Daisy said, pressing her head against Lily’s shoulder.

  Frankie surveyed the scene. He leaned toward Daisy and wiped her tears with the back of his hand. “You’ll love the train.” He peered up at Lily. “I’ll come see you soon. This weekend.”

  “I don’t like this, Frankie.” Lily patted Daisy’s head. “You promised we’d do this together.”

  “We will. Just not yet.” He smiled at Daisy. “You’ll love the ocean. It’s so big. And you can swim in the waves.”

  As Daisy seemed to consider this point, her crying stopped. “Will Mommy and Daddy Tommy be there?”

  “Sure, kid,” Frankie said. “Anybody you want.” He looked at Lily. “It’s right on the Jersey Shore. When you get there, ask for Bertha. She’ll set you up real nice.”

  “You said you’d marry me.” The tears started to run down Lily’s cheeks.

  “And I will. Soon as your divorce comes through.” He glanced at Daisy. “And maybe an annulment. Do Protestants get annulments? I want her raised Catholic,” he said. “Meantime, I’ll visit as often as I can. We’ll have dinner, take in a show. You’ll like that, won’t you? We’ll get Bertha to watch the kid.” He gently pinched the tears away between his thumb and forefinger. “And here’s a few bucks.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of cash, and peeled off several one hundred–dollar bills. “This should be enough to get you started. Set yourselves up. Buy some new clothes.” He lifted her left hand and fingered the diamond that George had given her. “A
nd track down a jewelry store. When I get to town, I’m putting my ring on this finger.”

  Lily’s sniffling abated somewhat. “Better be the biggest one in the store, Frankie Colangelo.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Chapter thirty-three

  AS VIOLET AND THE WIDOW approached the two men standing at the end of the hall, their laughter stopped abruptly. George glanced in their direction, walked into a dark-paneled meeting room, and took a seat on the far side of a rectangular table. The desk sergeant motioned for the women to follow. Dumbfounded, Violet wondered at the odds of George Sherman being at the station on a different matter altogether. And if he was there about the murder, how much did he know? Had Lily called him? That hardly seemed likely, given her state this morning. Stanley? Not for any reason Violet could imagine. Unable to discern any cause for her brother-in-law’s presence and not yet willing to divulge the little she knew, Violet walked into the room and asked the obvious question: “What are you doing here?”

  “My civic duty.” George eyed Violet for a moment and said, “I might ask you the same question.”

  “They’ve arrested my Stanley.” The widow sat down at the table, her back facing the door. “Violet’s my rock. I can always count on her in a crisis.” She motioned for Violet to take the seat beside her. “I don’t suppose you’re here to assist us, Mr. Sherman. I’m not too proud to accept a hand.”

  “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Lankowski. We seem to be at cross purposes today. I’ve been asked to give a statement that will no doubt add fuel to your son’s fire.” George looked at Violet. “I’m surprised your husband allowed you down here. I thought he had better sense.”

  “And your wife,” Violet said, “does she know what you’re up to this morning?”

  “She will soon enough, I suspect.” He jingled the loose change in his pocket and half-smiled. “Don’t worry about Lily. She understands a woman’s role in a marriage. Honor thy husband and all the rest of it.”