by Amy Scheibe
The light outside had fallen as Emmy worked, and she switched on a small lamp. It suddenly occurred to her that Bev would have to come in to meet her parents. The Langer house was one of the biggest in Moorhead; what would she think of how the Nelsons lived? Emmy had met a few other girls since September, but because she was never allowed to use the phone or join a potluck group, Bev was the closest thing she had to a best friend. She wasn’t even sure what the term meant, but Bev bandied it about in a way that appealed to Emmy. She supposed that Birdie occupied the role for her by default and proximity, although since Emmy had met Bev, Emmy realized that having a sister was far different from having a friend.
In the fall Emmy had worried that Birdie wouldn’t be able to find her way in the big school, but she had more friends than her older sister, and seemed to draw boys around her as though she were dipped in honey. She was instantly expert about playing down her popularity at home—Emmy had heard about it through Bev, mostly, and seen some evidence in the hallway as sophomores, juniors, and even some seniors hovered around beautiful, tiny Birdie. It was almost as though Emmy didn’t know who her sister was at school, but the minute they walked into the house together at the end of the day she became her familiar reserved self, and settled in to study next to the radio. Emmy felt more like an aunt than a sister in these moments, and knew that she needed to be generous with Birdie, to share whatever she had with her. This Emmy would do, whether it made her feel some of the excitement of the evening waning at the prospect of a tagalong or not.
* * *
The dresses now hung in a somber row on the wooden curtain rod that Christian had installed in the double doorway between the living room and entry. During the winter, a heavy gray wool blanket was strung on the rod to keep the small gusts of heat produced by the oil-burning furnace from escaping up the stairs and into the profoundly cold bedrooms and bath. The thermostat was routinely turned down to forty-five degrees when the house sat empty during the day, and Emmy cooked supper wearing her mittens the first hour home after school while the place slowly warmed to sixty. They all took hot water bottles to bed at night and slept in flannel nightgowns with thermal long johns underneath. Oh, how she hated the winter. Someday she would escape this cold and either live someplace hot or at the very least, with heat. Emmy stood in front of the neatly arrayed garments and smiled at the precision of the knife pleats she had pressed into the seams. It was five o’clock and in half an hour she would be on her way someplace. She heard her mother’s step on the front walk and went to open the door.
“Good work, Emmy,” Karin said as she inspected the dresses. Emmy knew better than to show how proud she was, so instead she took the empty pot from her mother as Karin hung her coat in the small closet under the stairs.
“I’ve started dinner,” Emmy said, taking the kettle into the kitchen, which was filled with the subtle smell of carrots simmering, and the sharp over-scent of lutefisk bubbling away in a glass baking dish.
“I see you’re going to miss your favorite meal,” Karin said with a slight smile. Hers was the last generation to embrace the lye-cured cod with its pungent taste and slightly viscous texture. Neither Emmy nor Birdie could get it down without much restraint and even more water. “I’m sure your sister will approve.”
“I thought it might be a good night to get it out of the way,” Emmy said, enjoying the moment of mirth. “How was Mrs. Lavold?”
Karin sat down at the table and deftly rearranged the hair that had loosened when she removed her hat. Emmy noticed her mother hesitate slightly in her movements, as though her joints hurt.
“I’m quite sure she’s got cancer, but she won’t go to the doctor,” Karin said. “She puts her faith in God, not science, she says, and how can I argue with that? If God wants her, He’s going to take her in His time. I just wish she’d get something for the pain and to release the amount of fluid trapped in her poor body. Her soul is strong, though, so I can’t presume to say what’s right.” She looked off into the distance, past Emmy’s shoulder. “Where’s your father?”
“I don’t know,” Emmy said, suddenly realizing how the time had slipped past. “I need to get ready.” She ran up the stairs, changed out of her scratchy woolen work pants and pulled on her new dungarees, fastening the small button at the side and zipping them closed. She’d wanted a pair of Blue Bell Jeanies—just like the ones Bev had shown her in Seventeen magazine—with deep pockets topstitched with orange thread, but Karin had taken one look at the page Emmy had brought home and made her a more modest version. They hung from the snug waistband in an unflattering and somewhat uncomfortable way, but at least they were approaching what the other kids would be wearing. She carefully folded the hems up two inches in an attempt at improving the overall look, and chose the least pilled of her sweaters to go with them. Emmy rushed to the bathroom and tried to gauge her outfit in the small, cracked mirror over the sink, but even jumping didn’t give her enough perspective. She sighed and brushed her corn-silk hair into a tight ponytail that pulled her cheekbones a bit higher and made her eyes look rounder. Pinching at her lips for a little more color, Emmy didn’t mind what she saw in the mirror, though she also knew better than to get caught smiling.
The doorbell rang and Emmy raced down the stairs to find her mother holding out her coat and hat. “I don’t know what could be keeping those two. You’ll have to go without Birdie. No alcohol, no dancing, and no card playing. Be home by ten.” Karin took Emmy’s hand in hers, slipped a bill into her palm, and smiled. “Just in case.” Karin’s hand was warmer than usual, and Emmy held still there for a moment, then grabbed her things and went out the door.
Three
A Single Comma
The first surprise of the evening came after Bev and Emmy dashed together up the Nelsons’ sidewalk and toward a sleek black car rumbling at the curb. Emmy had never seen an automobile look so brand-new, with its shiny black sides and glowing white top and fins. She briefly imagined plunging into the sea in this creature and driving out the other side dry and safe. As they got to the car the passenger door swung open and a jet-haired boy who looked as though he’d been born inside of his car leaned across the seat, smiling up at them.
“I thought it was girls’ night,” Emmy said, stopping on the walk and glancing back to see if her mother was watching. Bev turned and gave Emmy a dazzling smile, her arm reaching into the car and her black-gloved hand ruffling the boy’s thick wave of upswept bangs.
“Never mind Howard. He’s my cousin. Right, Howie?”
“Sure thing, Sophie, whatever you say.” Howie nodded to the backseat and looked at Emmy. “Get in.”
“Sophie?” Emmy asked, but Bev just giggled and shook her short curls. Emmy slid across the smooth leather as Howie put the car into gear and jerked it an inch forward before gliding away from the curb.
“Like Sophia,” Howie said. “As in Loren.”
“Oh,” Emmy said, surprised by how low the car sat on the road; it was almost like sinking into a plush, comfortable couch. The space was warm, friendly.
“It sure is a beautiful night to be out, Emmy, don’t you think?” Bev asked, and then answered herself without waiting for Emmy’s response. “Yeah, just beautiful. We’re going to get an early spring this year. At least by Easter.” They drove down Eighth Street, and at Main Avenue Howie put on the signal to turn left.
“Isn’t Ten Commandments at the Fargo Theatre?” Emmy asked, attempting to sit forward on the seat in order to be heard.
“Oh, sure, kid,” Howie said. “We’re just going to pick up some more gals before going over to the Bison for a bite.”
Emmy reached into her pocket and pulled out the slip of paper her mother had given her. It was a two-dollar bill. Karin must have taken it from her egg money, and meant for the girls to share it. Emmy would do what she could to spend only her half.
Bev and Howie chatted away in the front seat as Emmy watched Moorhead fly past. So this is what it’s like to be a regular teenager
, she thought, and felt a sudden nervous thrill. The air around her body took on a charge as the car started to go faster, and though she wanted to tell Howie to slow down, something about the way he gripped the steering wheel suggested he never would. Before she knew it, they had turned onto Highway 75, leaving the city limits behind. Emmy scooted to the middle of the wide seat in an effort to balance her increasing vertigo and could see in the near distance the winter-darkened arrow of the White Spot Drive-in. She’d heard about this burger joint for years and had driven past it once, but her family had never eaten there. In fact, they had never eaten out at a restaurant of any kind, only Sunday dinners at the church, where everyone brought a hot dish to pass.
In class Emmy thought Bev looked up to her, admired her even. But in this large car so far out of her element, Emmy felt again like a child, her legs barely touching the floor, as though the two in the front seat were parents about to take her out for ice cream. If it wasn’t already more than apparent that Howie was not Bev’s cousin, on the sharp corner turn into the drive-in Bev slid across the seat and curled up under Howie’s arm, causing Emmy to feel more keenly her solitary place in this equation.
Her loneliness didn’t last, though, as two girls from Emmy’s school burst into the car on either side of her. She recognized them instantly—Donna Kratz was in her English composition course and her younger sister Paula was in choir with Birdie.
“By golly, Bev, it’s about time,” Donna exclaimed, dropping onto the seat on Emmy’s left. Her soft blond hair fell in enviable waves from the edge of her thickly knit woolen hat to her shoulders. “Heya, Howie,” she said, then looked sidelong at Emmy for a moment. “Emmy, right?” she asked. Emmy nodded. Donna’s bright red wool coat was thick and fluffy, cutting the draft the girls had brought into the car. She removed her hat and worked at smoothing her hair back into place.
“Hey, aren’t you Birgitta’s sister?” Paula asked, pulling shut the other door and mirroring her sister’s grooming.
“Yes,” Emmy said. Birdie had taken to using her formal name around school, it seemed. The sight of Donna with her little sister caused in Emmy a feeling of regret that she had been so quick to jump into the car without even hesitating to wait a few minutes longer for her own.
“We were about to freeze out there, you know,” Donna said to Bev. “The keeper dropped us off centuries ago.”
“Centuries,” Paula agreed, fixing her lipstick in a small mirror. Though also gifted with thick tresses, she wasn’t as pretty as Donna—her small brown eyes were hidden behind heavy-rimmed glasses—but Paula had an air about her that promised something unexpected, something fun.
“So sorry!” Bev yelled over the grinding sound of the car backing up and tearing out of the lot. “We had to pick up Emmy.” Howie revved and then gunned the engine, flying down the few miles back to Moorhead. Emmy held on to her cute little crocheted cap, even though it was tied under her chin. Donna scooted Emmy aside so she could lean over the seat and talk to Howie and Bev.
“How about that drag last night?” she asked. Howie barely moved, but Donna didn’t seem to notice. “Crazy! Two Fargo South hotties blew out over at Hector Airport. Wish I could have seen the patch they laid on the tarmac.” She leaned all the way into the front seat and switched the radio station, turning to a song about a girl named Peggy Sue. “Buddy Holly just kills me!” Donna exclaimed. The hitch in the singer’s voice sounded to Emmy like a boy in stuttering love, his urgency causing her to feel just the slightest bit light-headed.
“Ix-nay on the ag-dray,” Bev said to Donna. “Howie wasn’t there, were you, darling?”
“Well,” Paula’s voice squeaked from Emmy’s other side. “Karla Kindlespire told Frannie Peterson that you were one of the rods.”
“This car?” Donna purred, stroking the top of the seat as she whispered something in Bev’s ear. The two girls giggled and Bev slapped at Donna’s hand playfully. Emmy suddenly realized that “best” did not mean only when it came to friendship.
They reached the Fargo side of the river, sailed onto Broadway, and joined a stream of cars that were slow moving and beautiful. An array of chrome-bright boats passed them as they looped around a parking lot in the middle of Broadway and started making their way north on the strip, past Herbst’s, Woolworth’s, and the Hotel Donaldson. When they reached the Bison Hotel, Howie eased the car into a recently vacated parking spot right in front of the building. He jumped out of the car and ran around to open Bev’s door, offering her a hand up to the curb. They walked into the café in front of the other two girls, and Emmy lagged a step behind, pulled by the seductive magnetism of these beautifully confident people. This was not at all what she had been expecting from the evening and she began to feel anxious with the swirl of possibility around her. She’d never felt this free or this scared in her life.
Passing through the door and smelling the hot fryer oil, hearing the clinking of silver against china, the chatter of a dozen or so happy voices—all of it made Emmy question her sense of reality. She knew her hunger was real, though, and as she sat down at the table, she found she couldn’t summon a single word. There was a piece of paper in front of her with letters and numbers, and slowly it dawned on her that it was a menu, but her eyes were too jumpy to make out anything on it other than the prices. Howie took the laminated cards away from the girls and insisted on ordering something called a “buck-nine” for everyone. The Kratz sisters giggled and Bev smiled with benevolent pride. The four friends chattered away about people Emmy didn’t know and about events that had transpired either before she moved into town or outside of her purview. She didn’t mind being left out of the jokes, and instead smiled and laughed along with a genuine spirit of belonging—a feeling she couldn’t remember having felt anywhere before.
“Oh, my Lord,” Donna sputtered as the plates of food were swiftly dealt to each place. “Did you hear about that girl who’s gone on a murder spree in Nebraska?”
“Caril Ann Fugate,” Paula answered, her long lashes nearly brushing the lenses that framed them. “She’s only fifteen, but she fell in love with a boy who’s older and he murdered her parents and baby sister. With a knife. Starkweather something.” She leaned in closer, her voice hushed for effect. “The radio says they’re on the road, headed north.”
“It’s crazy,” Howie said, one arm slung over the back of his chair, chewing a fried potato with his white teeth. “What if they’re headed up here?” He raised his eyebrows in mock horror, and Bev swatted his arm.
“Stop,” she said. “It’s not funny when people are scared.”
“That’s right,” Donna said. “They’ve been on the lam for three days. That’s long enough to drive here from Lincoln if you don’t stop.”
Paula dabbed at a spot of ketchup on her chin. “Can you imagine, the girl’s a whole year younger than me. They say it’s like Romeo and Juliet meets Bonnie and Clyde.”
Howie shook his head. “You all have some imagination.” He turned to Emmy. “What about you, kid. You scared?”
Emmy chewed and swallowed the bite of meat in her mouth and wiped her lips carefully while everyone looked at her. “It’s the first I’ve heard of it,” she said, trying not to sound stupid. “I can’t begin to imagine taking another life, much less what you’re saying.”
Bev’s eyes sparkled as she looked at Emmy. “You are by far the sweetest person I’ve ever met,” she said. “But you really do need to start living in this world, Emmy. I’m afraid of what it might do to you if you don’t.”
Emmy blushed and fell back to eating, chewing every bite carefully, as she’d been taught. The buck-nine was the best steak she’d ever had—small, about the size of a flattened baseball, and probably taken from the sirloin of the cow, but she couldn’t be entirely sure. She attempted to tune out the continued banter about the young murderous lovers, but the sordid details of one person stuffed into an outhouse and the baby sister being stabbed to death grabbed Emmy’s imagination and she hung on ever
y horrible word.
When the waitress slapped a small slip of paper on the table, Emmy panicked. She didn’t see how she could possibly afford food this good. Her heart quickened and she drew the two-dollar bill out of her pocket, fumbled, dropped it on the floor, bent over to pick it up. She sat up in her chair as Howie pulled a long wallet attached to a chain from his back pocket and walked over to the till with cash in his hand. The other girls continued their conversation as though this was the natural order of things. They rose from the table and drew on their coats, collected their purses, and headed to the door like a flock of birds driven to casual coordination by instinct. Emmy remained in her chair, watching Howie pay a man at the counter. Howie began to leave, and then suddenly looked back at the table as if he had forgotten something. He slowly grinned and tipped his head toward the door, regarding Emmy as though she were a newly discovered species. Emmy leaped to her feat, ducked her head, and walked under his arm as he propped open the door. Catching a whiff of his earthy leather jacket and hair pomade, she closed her eyes against the draw of it and stumbled over the threshold. He caught her, the same hungry grin now one foot away from her face. Beads of sweat collected at her collar as she ran to the open door of the car, where she scooted into her place behind Bev and patted away the moisture, out of breath.