1929

by M. L. Gardner

  “Can I see?” she asked eagerly. He lowered the book and tilted it to block her view.

  “Um, well, it’s just outlines right now, lots of scrambled notes, it’s all in process, and it wouldn’t really make sense.” She grumbled a little as she got up to stir the beef stew Caleb had started for dinner.

  ∞∞∞

  Jonathan paused at his door, leaning one arm on the doorjamb. He could hear Ava walking, heard her sniffle, get a cup from the cabinet, and turn on the water. He couldn’t believe how thin the door was, and how every sound echoed from inside. He could hear a pin drop inside the apartment from the dank hallway. He suddenly felt sick when he thought of the possibility that Victor could have been outside the door while he and Ava were together, just on the other side. He quickly scrubbed that thought from his mind. No, he couldn’t have been. The sick bastard would have purposefully timed his knock for the most intimate of moments and enjoyed ruining that for me, too. He walked in the apartment to see Ava finishing a glass of water. She sent him an angry look, walked back into the bedroom, and slammed the door.

  He fell onto the couch without a care of how his back and thigh muscles screamed when he did so. He stared at the dying fire, disheartened, and wished he hadn’t woken up that morning. Or at least not bothered to get out of bed.

  An hour went by and Jonathan just sat, staring and brooding. He ignored the knock on the door at first, but it became more persistent; Caleb called from the other side.

  “Jon, it’s me. Open up.”

  Jonathan hesitated before he got up mechanically, swung the door open and turned away without acknowledging him. He sat back down on the couch while Caleb closed the door.

  “Where’s Ava?” he asked. Jonathan pointed to the bedroom door without looking up. Caleb stoked the fire and added the last log. He sat down and the two were quiet. Another knock at the door caused Jon to sigh heavily. It hurt his aching thigh muscles to keep getting up from the sagging sofa, and he grumbled as he raised himself. Aryl stood with Claire beside him.

  “We brought a pie,” Aryl said as Claire held it up. Jonathan nodded and stepped aside so they could come in.

  Aryl looked at him then at Caleb. “What’d I miss?” he asked.

  “I’ll fill you in later,” Caleb said.

  “Where’s Ava?” Claire asked, looking around. Jonathan again pointed to the bedroom door.

  “I’d be careful, she’s liable to throw something at you. Let her know it’s you first,” he warned Claire. “She isn’t quite herself today.”

  She knocked and called to Ava through the door. The knob turned and Claire slipped in. Aryl took a seat in between Jonathan and Caleb, looking at each of them in turn.

  Jonathan began speaking rapidly and with irritation. “Victor found a reason to show up this afternoon just to remind me how miserable my life really is, and I wanted to kill him, but I can’t kill him because I’ll go to jail. Unless I hide the body really well, and frankly I hurt too badly to dig a ditch right now, so I have to wait to kill him. In the meantime, I have to sit and wonder when he’s going to show up again. And this is how Ava found out that we had to rent from him, and now she’s furious with me because I didn’t tell her, and she’s holed up in the bedroom and won’t talk to me, and then I went down and yelled at Caleb for this whole mess.” He paused to take a breath. “Sorry,” he grumbled, glancing slightly toward Caleb.

  “Apology accepted,” Caleb said quietly and looked to Aryl, “I guess I won’t need to fill you in later,” he said and grinned.

  “No,” Jonathan said firmly, hearing yet another knock on the door. “I’m not getting that.”

  Caleb stood. “It’s probably Ahna,” he said as he opened the door. She peeked in cautiously.

  “Everything okay?” she whispered. Caleb nodded her inside.

  Arianna hated yelling and confrontations unless, of course, it was her doing the yelling and confronting.

  “Ava and Claire are in the bedroom,” Caleb told her.

  Aryl turned to Jonathan. “I’ve got an idea,” he started.

  “Does it involve you and a woman’s dress? Because if it does, count me out this time,” Jonathan said flatly.

  “Hey, you have to admit, that was fun,” Aryl said and grinned. “But no. No dresses or lipstick involved.”

  “What is it then?” Caleb asked.

  “We’ve been wrestling bags of flour and rice the last few days–”

  “Don’t remind me,” Jonathan interrupted and dropped his head back.

  “Well, I was thinking that flour and rice has to come from somewhere, a bulk supplier, probably from down south, or overseas.”

  “Go on.” Caleb’s ears perked up.

  “I say we try to find out where it’s coming from, find out the names of as many suppliers as we can, what they’re selling at, and then find out who the major purchasers are over here. If we can start buying and steal some of the larger accounts by selling it cheaper, we could come out ahead.”

  “That’s a possibility,” Caleb said distractedly, his mind turning over the idea.

  “You want to start dealing in flour?” Jonathan mocked.

  “Well, yeah. I want to look into it anyway. See if it’s viable at least,” Aryl defended.

  “Do you have any idea how much we’d have to buy to turn a decent profit? Where would we store it? And what about delivery? Are we supposed to carry the flour bag by bag to the bakeries and restaurants?”

  “I just want to look into it, Jon. I don’t have all the answers. And when Caleb and I get all the information together, that’s when we’re gonna count on you to work out the numbers. You can tell us how much would be needed to turn a profit or if it’s even worth trying.” Jonathan thought about it for a moment.

  “I just don’t see how something like that would work,” he said, discouraged.

  “Well, you don’t need to right now. I’ll get with you again after me and Caleb have had some time to poke around.”

  “Fine,” Jonathan shrugged, uninterested. Aryl turned to Caleb and gave him a list of things to look into by asking around the yard. He had his own mental list he would work on as well. Caleb was eager to do something, anything that might lead them out of this place.

  There was a light rapping at the door.

  “It’s Grand Central Terminal around here!” Jonathan yelled as he pushed himself up off the sofa again. “Who the hell can that be? Everybody’s here!” he said, throwing his arms out, flabbergasted. He opened it to see Maura standing on the threshold, holding up a clean and freshly plucked chicken by the neck, a beady little eye staring right at Jonathan.

  “Good Lord,” he said, flinching when he saw it.

  “Well, hello to ye, too, Mr. Jonathan,” she said and smiled. “I see you’ve missed me. I brought ye a housewarmin’ gift,” she said, holding out the chicken. He started to reach for it but pulled away when the chicken's head flopped over to the other side of Maura’s hand.

  “Maybe, ah, you could just put it in the kitchen, Maura?” She laughed at his squeamishness and walked into the tiny apartment.

  “Better yet, why don’t I put this on to cook? So it doesna go bad. Nothin’ stinks worse than a rotten chicken carcass.”

  “I really wouldn’t know, Maura,” Jonathan said, slightly disgusted at the dead animal in raw form. She said hello to Caleb and Aryl and set to work in the kitchen. If she had been shocked to see the dilapidated place they now called home, she did a very good job at hiding it. Surely, Charles must have warned her, Jonathan thought gratefully.

  “Where’s Miss Ava? I don’t suspect she’s out and about by herself?” she asked Jonathan, who was standing near the kitchen entrance.

  “She’s in the bedroom,” Jonathan said, staring the chicken in the eye and thinking on what a truly strange day this had been.

  “Is she ill?” Maura asked with panic.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “Maybe a little sick of me,” he added under his breath.

  “
Aye, I’ll go in to see her straight away,” Maura said, putting the large pot of water on to boil.

  “Mr. Caleb, be a love and whack that chicken’s head off fer me?” she asked. “I’ll be back out to put it in the pot directly. We’ll eat in an hour.”

  “Sure, Maura.” Caleb didn’t think twice about it, having slaughtered chickens his entire childhood. Jonathan’s eyes were wide, and he went to sit down, not wanting any part of chicken-head-whacking.

  Caleb raised the butcher’s knife, then paused, getting an idea that made him smile ear-to-ear. He put one hand into the cavity of the chicken, grasping the back of the chicken’s head with the other, turning it side-to-side. He suppressed his own laughter as he quietly snuck into the living room. He walked behind the couch where Jonathan sat and held the chicken very close to the side of his head. Aryl watched this unfold and could barely keep a straight face.

  Caleb thrust the chicken in front of Jonathan and moved the head to peck wildly at his face, making loud, clucking noises. Jonathan screamed a girlish scream that set Aryl into hysterics. Jonathan smacked at the chicken, and the carcass flew across the room, skidded on the floor, and hit the wall with a thud.

  “Maura’s gonna kill you!” Aryl howled at Caleb. Caleb picked up the chicken and dusted it off.

  “It's fine,” he said, laughing, although the rough, wood floor had torn bits of skin off. Caleb rinsed it and chopped the head off, still laughing. He propped it on the counter in a way that Maura wouldn’t notice the torn skin and dust he couldn’t rub off. Just then, she poked her head out of the bedroom door. “Fer the love of God, what’s goin’ on out here?” she cried out.

  “Oh, nothing, Maura, Caleb just told us a joke is all,” Aryl said, wiping his eyes. Caleb stood to block her view of the chicken.

  “Everything’s fine,” he said, his face quivering. Maura eyed them suspiciously and withdrew into the bedroom.

  “What were they doing out there?” Claire asked.

  “Lord only knows,” Maura said, shaking her head and sat on the bed with the other women. “Now, you’re all in here, and they’re all out there. Who in here is mad at who out there?” she asked. Claire and Arianna pointed at Ava.

  “What’d he do, love?” Maura laughed lightly.

  “It’s a long story, Maura,” Ava said with a tired sigh.

  “Now, I’ve got time fer it, and it’s probably not a man-mistake I’ve not already heard of, either,” she assured.

  After a moment’s deliberation, she spoke with a frustrated tone, “I’m mad at Jonathan for not telling me who he had to rent from.” She went on to explain what a horrible person Victor was, and briefly about how they had a relationship right before Jonathan.

  “A'right, I see why yer mad at him for that. But my first question is, love, how in the world did ye ever find yourself with someone that awful in the first place?”

  “Another really long story,” Ava said, sighing. Maura raised her eyebrows, waiting. Ava relented.

  “My cousins introduced us. At first, I thought they were being kind by arranging for me to meet so many people, but I soon realized they didn’t really care what kind of man they arranged for me to meet. They just hoped one would marry me so I would leave. Well, they arranged for me to meet Victor.”

  Maura poked her leg. “Go on, my dear.” Ava took a deep breath.

  “He was fun, at first, and he was nice enough. But things started changing very fast, and, after only a couple of months, he asked me to marry him. I wouldn't give him an answer. He kept asking and I kept dodging. I knew I couldn’t marry him. I didn’t love him. Something was missing and no matter how nasty my cousins got, I was going to wait and marry someone I loved. Anyway, my constant refusal to give him an answer upset him. He started telling everyone we were officially engaged. One night at a dinner party, I asked him to stop telling people that we were engaged when I had not said yes. And I said this in front of all of the guests. So, he demanded an answer right then and there, and I said no. That really upset him.” She raised her eyebrows and looked down, twisting her skirt around her finger. “Jonathan was sitting right across from me. Every time I looked up, he was looking at me. Victor noticed that and stormed off, dragging me into the parlor, yelling and cursing. I told him that it was over. And just when he pulled back his arm, someone grabbed it, spun him around, and laid him out right there.” Ava smiled despite her anger. “It was Jonathan. He had followed us out of the dining room.” Claire gasped in romantic awe.

  “I punched someone for Caleb one time,” Arianna bragged.

  Maura smirked at her. “That doesna surprise me, dear.” She turned back to Ava, prodding her to continue.

  “We left together, and he took me for coffee while I calmed down before going home. The whole time he kept looking at me with this off-kilter smile, and we talked very late into the night. Later, he walked me to my door and explained to my cousins where I’d been. They weren’t happy that I had ended it with Victor, but I think they hoped for something to come about with Jonathan because they didn’t give me too much trouble about it. The next evening, my cousin called me downstairs and Jonathan was standing at the door with that same silly smile. There were two, large men standing on either side of the front steps. He never explained to my cousins who those men were, but asked me to dinner that night. Later, he told me not to worry about Victor ever bothering me again because those men he hired would protect me. And they stood there every night until we were married a year later.” She let out a deep breath and smiled. “See, I told you it was a long story.”

  “So, after yer telling me all that an’ how Mr. Jonathan went to such great lengths to protect ye from that odious bastard, did ye honestly expect him to just casually mention whilst movin’ yer things in that the previously mentioned bastard was now yer landlord? I’m sorry, Miss Ava, but I do understand why he would save ye from that as long as possible. Especially seein’ how he can’t be providin’ the big men to stand at yer door no longer. Imagine how helpless that makes him feel now.”

  Ava looked down, suddenly feeling guilty for her actions that afternoon; the second half of the afternoon anyway. Claire and Arianna remained very quiet, having only occasionally patted Ava’s hand through the story that was difficult for her to tell.

  “I tell ye what, Miss Ava. I’m going to go put the chicken I brought in the pot to boil, and I’m going to send Mr. Jonathan in here to talk to ye. When ye come out, I expect things to be right between ye both. Understand?” Ava nodded obediently. Even if she didn't want to make up with Jonathan, she wouldn’t refuse Maura’s orders. Although she was only a few years older than Ava, Maura had an authoritative and wise, motherly tone. Claire and Arianna followed Maura out. A moment later, Jonathan appeared sheepishly in the doorway. Just as he was closing the door behind him, Maura screeched, “What’s happened to me chicken?!”

  ∞∞∞

  The boredom of the first days in the tenement ended abruptly, replaced with monotonous and time-consuming tasks. Doing laundry was a daunting undertaking; scalded hands wrung out clothes in the sink and then hung them close to the fireplace on a rope strung across the room to dry. Constant mopping was required under the clothes as they dripped during the first hours. Firewood needed to be fetched to keep a decent fire going, yet the clothes would still take all day to dry. They were taken down at night and replaced the next morning with more soggy shirts and dresses. Baking bread was another daily task that Ava and Claire found frustrating. Having no experience, they either burned or undercooked most loaves. Claire had gotten so discouraged that she resorted to making biscuits for every meal. Ava kept trying, and Jonathan was very kind about it, blaming the oven or commenting that her gravy fixed everything, reminding her she could cook gravy well. Constant sweeping was necessary as the draft brought in dust, and the leaky bathroom needed cleaning daily to prevent mold. Daily trips to the grocer for food that created dinners consisting more and more of a bread-base and vegetables with a small meat addition
for flavoring. They habitually checked the mailbox on the way back in from shopping to find only an occasional letter from family. Most of the time, the three would venture out together, although Arianna had made more excuses lately not to go out with them. When she did go out, she tended to buy superfluous things, such as food from the deli and bakery or decorations for the house. She had yet to attempt to make bread.

  November 6th 1929

  Ava was sewing buttons onto one of Jonathan’s work shirts and planned to repair several tears in his work pants. One of the sleeves on a dress needed repair as she had caught it on the metal corner of the garbage chute door. It was silent while she worked, and she pricked herself with the needle when someone knocked on the door.

  She looked through the peephole that Jonathan had drilled for her as part of his long and sincere apology the weekend before. Now, neither of them would be surprised at who was on the other side. She saw the young neighbor, who had been juggling babies while the beady-eyed one talked on, standing on the other side with something in her hands.

  “Hello, I’m yer next door neighbor, Shannon,” she said pleasantly as Ava opened the door.

  “I remember seeing you talking with our other neighbor.”

  “Well, I dint do much of the talkin’ that day, but I did see you pass and wanted to wait a proper amount of time to let you get settled in before introducing myself.” The door handle on the apartment across the hall jiggled. Ava stepped aside, quickly waved Shannon in and closed the door as softly as possible. Both women giggled quietly as they listened to the beady-eyed one investigating with heavy footsteps up and down the hall. They heard her slam her door and they let out a breath of relief.

  “I brought you this as a welcome gift,” Shannon said, holding out a round loaf of soda bread.

  “Thank you. How kind. I’m Ava.” She shifted the bread to extend her hand. “Would you like to sit down?” Ava asked, suddenly flustered and very embarrassed of her home. Shannon was unaffected by the drab surroundings and commented on Ava’s green velvet drapes covering the living room window as she sat on the edge of the couch.