All Waiting Is Long

by Barbara J. Taylor

  “And what if he figures out what happened and decides he has a right to her?”

  Violet shuddered. Stanley had just given voice to her greatest fear.

  “I can’t worry about that now,” Tommy said. “We have to find Daisy.”

  “So he can take her away?” Stanley started to pace back and forth in his cell. “Keep him in the dark. Find her without the police.” He charged forward. “Think, Violet. Think. Where could she be?”

  This is all my fault, Violet thought. I should have known. “Don’t let him take her away.”

  “I’ll never let that happen.” The tone of Tommy’s words left no room for doubt.

  The lawyer in Stanley took over. He turned to Violet. “You know Lily better than anyone. Where would she take her? Where could they be?”

  What if I never see her again? Violet shuddered.

  “We’re wasting time here.” Tommy pulled at Violet’s arm, but she didn’t move.

  “I know you know.” Stanley rattled the bars. “Think!”

  I’m her mother, she thought.

  “Officer!” Tommy yelled toward the front of the station.

  “You’re the only one who can do this,” Stanley said.

  I’m the one who made the sacrifices. I’m the one who saved her.

  “I need to talk to an officer!” Tommy’s voice echoed down the hallway.

  “You can do this,” Stanley’s voice softened. “Daisy needs you now.”

  This morning. Muriel. Plum puddings. Lily. The sunrise.

  “Think,” Stanley murmured as Fowler turned the corner at the top of the hall. “Think!”

  Dr. Peters. Ruby. The widow. “Frankie,” Violet spoke the name aloud.

  “What’s the problem here?” Fowler called out from halfway down the hallway.

  Violet looked at Tommy and shook her head. “I know,” she whispered. “Don’t involve the police.”

  “No problem,” Tommy said but he sounded unconvinced. “We’re finished here, is all.”

  * * *

  By half past two, the lunch crowd at the Electric City Lunch had dwindled to a couple of fruit vendors from the wholesale district and a shopgirl from Woolworth’s. Gino stood behind the counter, scraping the grease from his grill into a bucket. “Be with you in a minute,” he said without turning around.

  “We’re here to see Franco.” Tommy kept hold of Violet’s arm as he spoke.

  When Gino didn’t answer, Violet added, “I’m Lily’s sister.”

  At this piece of news, Gino swung around, wiping his hands on a nearby towel. “Don’t know no Lily.” He looked at Tommy. “And as you can see,” he waved his hand around the room, “Mr. Colangelo,” he paused as he spoke the name, “is not in.” Gino reached under the counter, pulled out a Luger, and started polishing the barrel with his apron.

  Violet gasped at the sight of the gun and Tommy pushed her behind him.

  The shopgirl scooped up her hot dog and hurried out the door.

  “I’ll let him know you stopped by, though,” Gino said.

  Tommy whispered to Violet, “Go back and get Fowler.”

  “Please,” Violet said to Gino, “we’re not here to cause trouble. I just need to ask him about my sister.”

  “Like I said,” Gino continued to polish the gun, “don’t know no Lily.”

  “But Mr. Colangelo does,” she said. “They’ve known each other for years. Can’t you just see if he’s here?”

  Gino studied Violet for a moment, then waved over his son who was manning the shoeshine station near the entrance. The boy dropped a brush into his kit and ran upstairs. A minute later, he returned and nodded to his father.

  “You can’t be too careful,” Gino said, giving Tommy a quick pat-down before watching the boy escort the pair to Frankie’s office.

  “Violet Morgan,” Frankie greeted the visitors at the door. “And Tommy Davies, if my memory serves me.”

  “It does,” Tommy said.

  Violet eyed the man, looking for signs of that young boy who used to pick Lily up at the house, instead of the mobster who stood before her in an expensive suit.

  Once they were inside, Frankie leaned against his desk and motioned for the pair to sit, but they all remained standing. “What brings you downtown?”

  “Where are they?” Violet pleaded, grabbing Frankie’s lapels.

  Frankie shot a look at Tommy, who pulled Violet away. “Get your wife under control,” he muttered. “Or I’ll have Gino do it.”

  Tommy stood toe-to-toe with Frankie. “Don’t you ever threaten her again,” he said, “or I’ll kill you before Gino hits the first step.”

  “I’m going to excuse that comment, since you’re both from the old neighborhood.” Frankie smoothed his lapels and walked around to the other side of his desk. “But I wouldn’t make that mistake again,” he said to Tommy. “If you do, it’ll be your last one.” Frankie smiled.

  “I know you know,” Violet said, undeterred. “Where are they?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Frankie put a hand on his hip, exposing the gun holstered at his waist.

  “My daughter is out there.” Violet started to cry. “And I know you know where she is.”

  “Your daughter?” Frankie pushed his lips forward as if giving the matter serious consideration. “Are you sure?”

  Tommy stepped closer, glanced at the piles of paper on the desk, flattened his hands on top of them, and leaned forward. “Very sure,” he said. “Violet is the one who changed her diapers. Fed and clothed her. Took the brunt of this town’s blame while Lily chased after George. Hell, they deserve each other. Violet is Daisy’s mother and I’ll do everything in my power to keep it that way.” He curled his fingers into fists and his knuckles turned white.

  Frankie grimaced and glanced at the clock. They followed his gaze. Eight minutes to two. “Well, I’m not sure what you think I can do about the situation.”

  “Help us,” Violet moaned. “She’s just a little girl.”

  “A real beauty,” Frankie replied. “I would imagine.”

  “Let’s go,” Tommy said. “This is a dead end.”

  “If you won’t help us, help Lily.” Violet folded her hands together. “She’s making a terrible mistake.”

  “If only I could.” Frankie checked the clock once more, sat down, and pulled the phone toward him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Come on,” Tommy pressed, grabbing Violet’s arm.

  “But I wouldn’t worry,” Frankie said, picking up the receiver. “That sister of yours has a good head. I’ll bet she’s sitting at home right now, waiting for you with Daisy.” He looked at Tommy. “Take her home before she gets herself into trouble.”

  Tommy sneered at Frankie as he led Violet out of the room.

  * * *

  “How could you do that?” Violet said when they stepped out into the street. “He knows something. I’m sure of it.”

  “Track one.” Tommy opened his hand and showed her the scrap of paper he’d palmed from Frankie’s desk. “Two o’clock.”

  “The station is ten minutes away, we’ll never make it.”

  “We have to,” Tommy said, and they started to run.

  Chapter thirty-five

  VIOLET GRABBED TOMMY’S HAND as they ran up Linden Street. The wind pushed her skirt past her knees. Ahead of them on Wyoming Avenue, St. Peter’s Cathedral towered, its golden crosses shining in the gray sky. Catholic or not, Violet offered a quick prayer as they sprinted by.

  By the time they reached the post office on the corner of North Washington, Violet’s injured ribs seemed to be pressing in, stabbing at her lungs. Every gulp of air felt like a knife wound. She held onto Tommy with one hand and clutched her chest with the other. Washington, Adams, Jefferson: avenues named for the presidents. Her father had taught her that when she was no older than Daisy.

  Violet’s legs and lungs burned, separate fires blazing at the same time. Ahead, the courthouse occup
ied a full city block that now seemed never-ending. With Violet in tow, Tommy pushed his way across the crowded sidewalk, Moses in this Red Sea of strangers. The automobile traffic at the intersection slowed them long enough for Violet’s calves to clench, and when she started to run again, they refused to slacken. Just make it to the next corner, and the next. Alleys conspired to lengthen the distance between each block, squeezing themselves into tight spaces like children cutting ahead in line.

  Halfway up the steepest part of the hill, Tommy yanked Violet to the right, pulling her in the direction of the Elm Park Church, just a few blocks from the station. In spite of her desperation, her lungs gave out. Run, she mouthed on the end of a breath before doubling over. She let go of Tommy’s hand with the Lackawanna Railway Station in sight. Without turning back, Tommy pounded toward it.

  Violet bowed her head. Dear Lord . . . The courthouse clock chimed twice, snuffing out her prayer. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked up and waited. A few seconds later, two short blasts of a whistle sounded as a train pulled away along the tracks.

  Passersby turned up their collars and shoved their hands in their pockets to protect against the November winds. Not Violet. She welcomed the numbing cold. Such bitter air prevented thought. She barely felt the spots on her feet where her blisters broke as she limped the last two blocks. Another whistle blew, this one three times, indicating the approach of a train. Violet imagined throngs of people standing at the track to greet their loved ones, and wondered what awaited her as she now stood in front of the station.

  No need to hurry. Stay outside and savor the unknowing. Imagine a world where trains depart late, and sisters change their minds, and husbands arrive in time to spare your heart. Time. Violet glanced five stories up at the station’s ornate clock, nestled in the center of the limestone façade. The longer of the two bronzed hands pointed at the Roman numeral I. Five minutes after the hour. If only that hand could reverse its rotation. If only she could take back her decision to rush to Stanley’s side that morning. The eagles flanking the clock seemed to agree.

  Violet dropped her eyes and let them settle on the cast-iron canopy bolted over the front entrance. Elaborate scrollwork graced the gently arched frame. Protection from the elements was only a few steps away. And Tommy. Violet started forward. Whatever she had yet to face, Tommy was on the other side, already facing it.

  Her wrecked feet dragged heavily in contrast to the unremitting patter in her chest. A few more steps. A hundred heartbeats. She staggered toward the entrance and watched as a uniformed man peered through the beveled glass, opened a shiny shellacked door, and waved her inside.

  “The man in blue now helps her through!” he said, offering up a generous smile. “And tells her when her train is due.” The doorman’s words seemed at once familiar and absurd. Seeming to recognize Violet’s confusion, he pointed to an old Lackawanna Railway poster on the wall with the slogan he’d just recited and a picture of the fictional Phoebe Snow, traveling in her immaculate white dress.

  Violet stared at the man for a moment, unable to process his words.

  “Are you all right, lady?”

  She looked at him and tried for an answer. When the words refused to come, her knees began to buckle. She was still unable to catch her breath.

  “You better sit down,” he said, taking her arm.

  Violet allowed herself to be led into the grand lobby with its marbled walls, and she took a seat on a bench that faced away from the main entrance. She bent her head toward her lap and fixed her eyes on the geometric pattern in the mosaic floor.

  “I’ll get you some water,” the doorman said and hurried off.

  When she lifted her head, the sun winked through the clouds, lighting up the vaulted stained-glass ceiling.

  “Mommy!” a voice shouted from the far end of the lobby.

  Violet cried out, then opened her arms as Daisy wiggled out of Tommy’s embrace and ran toward her.

  Chapter thirty-six

  LILY SAT WAITING at the back of the railway station, but for what, she didn’t know. Hot air blew through a grate on the bottom half of the bench, warming her legs. To her right, a silhouetted hand, painted on a shingle, pointed to the newsstand inside the lobby. A little farther down the track, a clock jutted from the wall, displaying the time on a simple face—quarter to three. Overhead, a canopy spanned the length of the platform, its cast-iron design echoing the one out front, in the same way a plain girl resembles her pretty sister.

  “All aboard!” the conductor called out from the 2:45 to Buffalo. When no other passengers came forward, the porters lifted up the footstools and closed the doors.

  Two whistle blasts, and the engine pulled out of the station. Lily watched as the last car followed its coupled companions down the track and disappeared around a bend. Her eyes lingered on the empty space, as if to conjure up another train.

  “I’m only here because Tommy insisted.” Violet approached the bench, took a seat, and faced forward.

  “I know.” Not daring to look at her sister, Lily stared straight ahead as well. “He’s a good man.”

  “And a good father.”

  Lily nodded. “You’ll get no argument from me.”

  “And it stays that way.” Violet’s tone did not allow for compromise. “I refuse to worry about George Sherman any longer.”

  “George has no say in the matter.” Lily’s words were matter-of-fact. “Never did.”

  “Well, if he’s not the . . .” Violet’s brow furrowed as she worked out the answer. “Frankie?” she said with a start.

  “He won’t give you any trouble.”

  Violet pressed into the corner of the bench as she turned toward her sister. “How can you be so sure?”

  “He’s not here, is he?” said Lily, not bothering to look around. “The last thing he needs is a kid. Oh, he was willing, for my sake, but his heart isn’t in it.” She stiffened. “Besides, no child of mine is going to be Catholic. Stand up. Sit down. Kneel. And so much penance.” Dropping her eyes she added, “The sin is mine, not hers.”

  “Frankie is bad news, Lily. Promise me you’ll stay away from him.”

  “Not all bad,” Lily smiled. “Maybe I’ll give him a chance once I’m finished being mad at him.”

  “I don’t want to hear that kind of talk, not even in jest.”

  “Can you imagine what George would say if I divorced him for an Italian?” Lily’s laugh was joyless and short-lived.

  “Enough,” Violet said, as a trio of cigar smokers sauntered past on their way to the newsstand, exhaling pungent clouds. Violet fanned the air away from her still-aching lungs. “I don’t know if I can ever trust you again.”

  “I understand.” Lily nodded as if she’d already considered this and drawn the same conclusion. “If it means anything, I was out of my mind with grief.”

  “You can’t be alone with her. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever.”

  “I know.”

  “Not without me by her side. Or Tommy.” Violet shook her head.

  “I couldn’t do it. Did Tommy tell you?”

  “It doesn’t change anything.”

  “He found me here,” she rubbed her hand across the back of the bench, “after the train pulled away. I never got on. I couldn’t do that to you.” She glanced at the space between them and patted the seat. “Or to her.”

  “It’s not enough.”

  “It’s something, though, isn’t it?” The hopeful note in Lily’s voice faltered. “It’s all I have.”

  Violet needed to be angry, so she ignored the spark of pity in her heart. “They’re waiting for me out front.” She stood, but couldn’t leave. “What are you going to do now?”

  Lily considered the question for a long moment. “I don’t know.”

  To Violet’s surprise, the uncertainty appeared to engage Lily, not trouble her.

  “I’m sorry,” Lily said, looking Violet in the eye for the first time since she’d sat down.

  “I k
now.”

  “I’ve made a mess of things. I’m not like you.”

  “You never had to be.”

  “Maybe.”

  Violet patted Lily’s shoulder. “They’re waiting for us.”

  Lily hesitated before standing up. “But you said . . .”

  “You have to sort this out someplace. And Mother can use the extra pair of hands.”

  “Thank you.” Lily looped her arm through Violet’s and kissed her cheek. “I hope for Daisy’s sake you and Tommy have another girl one day.” She smiled. “There’s nothing in the world like a sister.”

  CONCLUDING WORDS

  The author trusts that Woman: Her Sex and Love Life will help, in some slight degree, in spreading healthy, sane, and honest ideas about sex among the men and women of America.

  —Woman: Her Sex and Love Life,

  William J. Robinson, MD, 1929

  Marriage seems to suit Violet. With Tommy by her side, she’s lighter somehow. Proof of the old saying, A burden shared is a burden halved. Of course, welcoming her back to Providence Christian did her some good as well. We always said it was the decent thing to do.

  Wish we could be as optimistic about that sister of hers, though. Not sure what’s going on with Lily Sherman and her devil-may-care attitude. When she’s not helping out at Grace and Owen’s, she’s running around making plans for a new orphanage, of all things. Doesn’t leave much time for that husband of hers. And just where does she think she’s going to get the money for that sort of undertaking? The Sherman family is certainly not known for its charitable works. When Myrtle was within earshot, Lily mentioned something to Abigail about a benefactor downtown, but try as we may, we can’t imagine who that might be.

  Stanley Adamski still lives down there, but he already gives most of his money away to the widowed and crippled. Now that the United Anthracite Miners joined back up with the United Mine Workers of America, Stanley is putting his energy into fighting for those with black lung. He says he’ll make his case all the way to the Supreme Court, and we think he’s fool enough to do it. That’s what happens when you’re raised without limits.