1929

by M. L. Gardner

  “A'right!” she yelled, getting everyone’s attention. “Seein’ that all the men are gathered over thar, and all the women are over here, why don’t we split this lil' party up an' ye men grab a plate o' food an' go find somewhere else to be. Let us women alone to talk about ye, and don’t be stealin’ the brandy on yer way out,” she ordered with hands on her hips. All the men looked at each other and nodded in agreement. Jonathan took the box of cigars from under his bed before they filed out the door as Aryl offered his apartment and Caleb offered his last bottle of whiskey.

  “Now that’s better,” Maura said, plopping down on the couch after the door closed. “Ye girls gather round, and let’s get on with the gossip. And bring the brandy.” Ava skipped over with the bottle and sat close to Maura. “Now as I was askin’, what’s gone on since I saw ye last?” she asked, pouring herself a glassful.

  “I got to know our neighbors,” Ava started.

  “The annoyin’ one?”

  “No, no, next door here. Shannon and Patrick. They’re very nice. They’re from Enniskerry.”

  Maura’s eyes lit up. “I know Enniskerry!” she exclaimed. “Me family lives not too far north a' there! Good people, is she?” Ava nodded.

  “She’s very nice. She’s teaching me all kinds of helpful things.”

  “Well, why isn’t she here with us? Go get her to join the party!”

  Ava jumped up, grinning and went next door, rapping impatiently. Shannon opened it and smiled.

  “I’m having a get together at my house, and I was wondering if you would come?” Ava blurted out.

  “I’d love to, when’ll it be?” Shannon asked.

  “Right now.”

  “Oh. Well.” She turned to look at Patrick. “I do have to get the babes down for the night.” Patrick scoffed.

  “Go, Shannon, I’ll put the wee ones to bed.” She looked from Ava to Patrick and smiled.

  “A'right, let me get my sweater.” She put it on and started giving instructions to Patrick. “Now if Roan won’t sleep, give him some warm milk and sing ‘im that lullaby, an’ if he fusses, walk the floor pattin’ his back and–” Patrick hushed her.

  “I think I know how to care for me own babes, Shannon.” He gave her a quick hard kiss and squeezed her bottom.

  “Don’t be too late,” he whispered, glancing at the calendar.

  “I’ll see to you later, don’t you worry.” Her eyes flashed wickedly, as she and Ava scurried away.

  Ava made introductions, and Shannon settled in right away with a drink and talk of Ireland with Maura. With nothing overly pleasant to talk about in their own lives, Arianna, Ava, and Claire listened to stories told by Maura and Shannon that had all of them doubled over with laughter. Arianna handed her drink to Maura after taking two sips. Her stomach was still disagreeable, and she didn’t want to have to leave early from sickness.

  An hour passed and Ava’s side and cheeks hurt from laughing so hard. A harsh rap at the door suddenly interrupted their carousing.

  “If that’s the men tryin’ to get to the last o’ the brandy, shut the door quick!” Maura called as Ava opened the door to the see the beady-eyed one looking very irritated.

  “The noise coming from over here is keeping the whole building up! Have mercy with the yelling and the laughing, how’s a body supposed to get some sleep with all this carrying on, there’s noise ordinances, you know. It’s nearing nine o’clock an’ most impolite to hold a party when there’s been so much sickness and folks are tired with recovery, sickness probably floated across from over here anyhow–”

  “Jaysus sufferin’ Christ!” Maura grabbed Ava’s arm, pulled her out of the doorway, and met the beady-eyed one nose to nose.

  “Yer a yapper, aren’t ye?” she yelled, clearly taking the woman by surprise. “What’s the meanin’ of coming over here distruptin’ our good time with yer whinin' and carryin’ on? If yer so damn sick, maybe ye should be in bed! And if yer not and our carryin’ on is botherin’ ye so much, why can’t ye come speak to Ava civil-like? Stead of bellowin’ on. I’ve heard a heifer giving birth to twin calves make less racket than you!” The beady-eyed one’s eyes were wide, her mouth hanging open. “Now,” Maura said with her arms crossed. “You’ll do one of two things. Either shut yer trap and carry yer disagreeable arse back to yer apartment, or ye’ll shut yer trap an' join us for a drink, leavin’ yer problems at the door.” Maura tapped her foot and looked her up and down quickly. “What’ll it be?” It took the woman a moment to speak and when she did, her tone was in check.

  “Well, now . . . I’m not the drinking type,” she said and turned to her apartment.

  Maura closed the door, and Ava pulled on her arm.

  “Why would you invite her in to join us?” she asked, appalled.

  “If ye can help it, never make an enemy of a neighbor, Ava,” she said. “Now that doesn’t mean that ye shouldn’t put ‘em in their place when they cross the line, mind,” she said and smiled. Ava couldn’t help but laugh, thinking that Maura could put a hardened criminal in his place and send him crying to confession.

  November 24th 1929

  Sunday morning, Jonathan and Ava roused at noon. Jonathan stumbled to the bathroom, and Ava went to the kitchen to make coffee; both had a mild headache from the previous evening. Rubbing sleep out of her eyes, she reached for the coffee from the hanging shelf Patrick helped Jonathan build the week before.

  “We’re almost out of coffee,” she called. Jonathan didn’t hear her, having his head fully under water. He had had a good time last night, and just like at the end of the Halloween party, he hadn’t wanted it to end, forcing him to return to the doldrums of reality. The brandy provided a soothing blur to the truth of his circumstances, and the presence of his friends was reassuring and amusing.

  In what was a blend of male bonding and therapy, the five managed to get thoroughly lit with what little alcohol was available, rationing having lowered their thresholds. Mostly it was a night of hilarity, and when conversation became too deep or gloomy, someone would crack an irreverent joke. Caleb was particularly good at timing loud and meaningful bodily emissions to break any quiet tension.

  They sat around the small table, playing cards, and smoking cigars and even created an imaginary barmaid that they would periodically call out to for refills. And Sven, Jonathan remembered with a smile, was the most comedic of them all. Jonathan had only ever seen the hard, serious side of Sven. He laughed heartily, teased the others, and taught them all to swear in Russian. He was the highlight of the evening.

  Of course, they all presumed that the women were talking about them, and Aryl’s only reverent moment was when he secretly hoped that Arianna wouldn’t divulge more details about the trips to Paris. One trip in particular had left him with a pressing burden of guilt that he carried every day. Jonathan remained in his reminiscence until the water grew cold.

  When he walked out of the bathroom in muslin boxers and a white, sleeveless t-shirt, Ava was in the doorway of the small kitchen with coffee in one hand and a plate of biscuits in the other. Her head fell forward slightly and her mouth gaped. She raised one eyebrow as he walked by, looking him over from top to bottom as the biscuits nearly slid off the plate.

  “Wow,” she whispered. Strenuous labor had given his arms and chest masculine definition, and his shorts hung loosely on his hips. He rubbed his wet hair with a towel, glancing over at her with strikingly sapphire eyes.

  “What’s for breakfast?” he asked, leisurely crossing the room toward her.

  “You,” she said, eying him this time from shoulder-to-shoulder.

  “What?”

  “Get back in there,” she said quickly, nodding her head toward the bedroom. She set the plate on the table and pulled off her apron with a yank. He looked at her, confused for a second, until she ran her hands up his arms, over his shoulders and down his chest, grabbing two fistfuls of t-shirt material that was already stretched tight, and he smirked as he got her meaning.


  “Well, you know, honey, they say you shouldn’t perform strenuous exercise on an empty stomach,” he said, grinning slyly.

  “Fine. Eat then.” She loaded the plate with biscuits, shoved it in front of him and sat across from him to wait impatiently.

  He smiled, shaking his head. He enjoyed the newly assertive side of her and ate very slowly, just to tease. She huffed her breath at him to hurry him along.

  “I wouldn’t want to eat too quickly and get indigestion, Ava,” he said seriously but with a mocking look. He still had lingering buoyancy from the night before and smiled at her with more life in his expression than she had seen in a long while, and it made him all the more appetizing. She watched him as he ate; his wet hair tousled and glistening, lingering on every movement and muscle twitch of his hands and arms. She stared at his mouth as it opened for each bite, his tongue occasionally licking his lips and his eyes, deep as the abyss, flashed under dark lashes. She swallowed hard. Unconsciously, her breathing was shallow and fast through her nose as she admired, gripping her own hands like a vise in her lap. He flashed an amused smile.

  “You gettin’ started without me over there?” he teased, relishing in her torment. She flushed scarlet, but didn’t look away.

  “Well, if you’d just hurry up,” she insisted.

  He was being downright cruel when he began casual conversation about the night before and the day ahead, their friends and his to-do list, dragging breakfast out as long as he could. As he ate the last bite, he wished that it could be like this all the time; lighthearted and teasing. By the time he looked up from his wish, she was by his side, reaching for his face with both hands and leaned down to kiss him. He stood without breaking their kiss and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her so tight to him that she could hardly breathe. When she pulled away to catch her breath, he teased her further.

  “You know, they say you shouldn’t exercise on a full stomach.”

  “That’s swimming,” she said, pulling the t-shirt over his head so ferociously a few of the stitches on a seam popped.

  “But I might get cramps,” he whined.

  “You’ll live,” she said sternly and attacked his mouth again, ravenous. He put up no more false excuses, returned her greedy kiss and lifted her up by the waist, shuffled toward the bedroom and kicked the door closed behind him.

  November 25th 1929

  Monday morning came with the shrill ring of the alarm, and Jonathan pulled himself from his bed to begin another disciplined week of strenuous work, ravenous eating, and restless sleep. He was particularly discouraged that Thanksgiving interrupted the week. No dinner plans existed yet, and he felt torn between hoping they would furlough the day and working so he wouldn’t lose pay. They had been hemorrhaging cash, setting up a new home that required purchasing several primitive tools for day-to-day life, supplementing heat with bought firewood, and shopping daily for food as they lacked the convenience of an electric icebox. He made a mental note to find a box to put on the fire escape, some chain link and a lock to secure it to the bars like Patrick had devised. It was cold enough outside to keep milk and butter, and when the temperature dropped further, they could freeze some meat. But the box would cause a further dip into their dwindling savings for yet another expense of poverty. He kissed Ava goodbye and she felt saddened by the dejected expression that had returned to his face. She sighed heavily as she closed the door behind him and began her routine.

  ∞∞∞

  Tony walked slowly, waiting until Jonathan passed him on his way into the yard before doubling back and jogging across the street to Victor, who was waiting by a lamppost. “I messed wit’ dat guy like you said to,” he told Victor proudly. Victor nodded.

  “Good. What did you do?”

  “Well, I cut some flour bags, made ‘em spill, and he got docked pay for it, an’ I stole his coat an’ gloves, bastard froze the rest of the day an’ got blisters, too, wit-out his gloves.” He could see Victor was not impressed. “An’ I told a supervisor he was talkin’ disrespectful-like ‘bout him, so he got coal duty for a coupla days, boy, that pissed him right off.” Victor gave a tight smile.

  “Anything else?”

  “Well, not really, sides tellin’ some of the bigger fellas at work 'bout his talkin', too. They get in his face and threaten him regular now, he gets real embarrassed.” Victor nodded.

  “That’s a start, I suppose.”

  “Say, not that it’s any of my business, but what’s ya' beef wit’ this guy anyways?” Tony asked curiously.

  “You’re right. It’s none of your business. You weren’t able to do more than that?”

  Tony shifted uncomfortably. “Well, no. See, he’s always got these two uttha guys wit’ him before an’ afta' work. It’s not that they’re big guys er nothin’, but wit’ three of ‘em, I’m just not wanting to get my ass kicked, if I’m found out, ya' know?” he explained, hoping Victor wasn’t too disappointed.

  “Do you have any friends, Tony?”

  “Well, yeah, course.” He bobbed his head.

  “Big friends?” Victor quizzed.

  “Yeah, some of ‘em are.”

  “Lastly, Tony, do you and your friends want to make some more money?”

  He eyed Victor cautiously. “For doin' wat?” Tony didn’t frighten easily, but something about Victor did frighten him. He started to feel dread well up in his stomach as he expected Victor to ask him to kill Jonathan. Victor could sense the apprehension and took a step closer to him, smiling as he pulled three fifty-dollar bills out of his pocket. Tony began bobbing his head, suddenly not so concerned with morals.

  “Yeah, yeah, I'll off ‘im for ya’,” he volunteered before Victor could ask.

  “No!” Victor said, loud and stern. “I don’t want him dead, you understand?”

  “Yeah, I understan’, but if ya’ don’t wanna off 'im, wat then?”

  “I have a very simple but specific request, Tony.” He waited for Victor’s instructions, glancing from his face to the money in his fist and back again. Victor could see he was itching for the cash and would do anything for it. “You gather a couple of your bigger friends. Catch Jonathan alone. Here’s where it gets specific, so listen closely, Tony. I want you to beat him, but strike where it counts. The ribs, kidneys, stomach, but not the face. I don’t want his pain to be obvious. I want it to be his alone to suffer through. And not so badly that he can’t work. I wouldn’t want him to not be able to pay his rent, after all.” Victor said and smiled cruelly. “But for a couple of weeks, I want him to feel lingering pain with every move he makes.”

  “I can do that easy,” Tony reassured and reached toward the money. Victor snapped his wrist away.

  “No. You get this when the job’s finished. I’m going to be out of town for a week, and you have that long to catch him alone. Next Monday, I’ll be waiting here. If it isn’t done by then, don’t bother to approach me.”

  “It’ll be done. Don’t you worry ‘bout that,” he said with his eyes on the money as Victor stuffed it back into his pocket.

  “Good. I’ll see you in a week then.”

  Tony hurried through the gate just as the whistle blew, thinking about which of his friends he would recruit.

  ∞∞∞

  Patrick knocked softly on Aryl’s door.

  “Patrick, how are ya’?”

  “Good and yourself?”

  “Good. We really appreciate you showing us how to make those hanging shelves last week. It’s a great idea. Hopefully now there’ll be no more cases of the runs.” He laughed, patting his stomach.

  “No bother a'tall. I was wonderin’ if I could speak to yer wife real quick. Shannon’s puttin' the wee ones to sleep, and I snuck out on the sly.” Aryl stepped aside.

  “Come in. Claire, Patrick needs to speak to you.”

  “Hello, Patrick,” she said, smiling and wiping her hands on her apron.

  “Ma’am.” He nodded. “I had a question to ask ye, if ye have a moment.”
/>   “Of course, what is it?”

  “Well, I know tis a bit early, but I’ve been thinkin’ on Christmas for Shannon. The babes are young and don’t know better, but I wanted to do something special for Shannon, and well, when I found out ye painted and then seeing this,” He pointed to the mural in progress above the fireplace. “I’ve got to say, that’s some talent. Absolutely amazin’.”

  “Thank you,” Claire said modestly.

  “Anyway, I was wonderin’, an’ I kin pay ye, if ye’d paint a picture for Shannon.” Claire beamed.

  “I’d love to, Patrick. What a sweet thing to think of. What do you think she’d like?”

  “Well, I have this picture.” He pulled a folded piece of newspaper out of his back pocket. “It’s a picture of a statue, an angel that sits in the gardens of Powerscourt Manor in County Wicklow near where we grew up. She found this picture in the newspaper and tore it out to keep as a reminder of home ‘fore we left. The paper’s gettin’ mighty tattered. I’d love to have it painted for her.” He handed Claire the faded scrap of fragile newspaper carefully. She laid it flat in the palm of her hand and took it over to the light.

  “Yes, I can do a painting of that. It’s beautiful. I’d be happy to.”

  “That would be wonderful, just let me know what would be the cost.”

  “Oh, I don’t know? How about I trade you for black paint?” she offered.

  “Black paint?” He looked confused.

  “Well, I’m almost out from painting the storm, so how about I do it for paint?”

  “That would be fine. Could it be ready by Christmas?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful, Claire, thank ye so much, ye have no idea how much this will mean to her. I better go now before she notices me gone.” He waved goodbye, joyful at the thought of having something so special to give Shannon on Christmas. Claire carefully laid the faded paper between two pages of a book, then sorted through the remaining canvases Aryl had brought with them until she found the right size.