The Mirror (Northwest Passage Book 5)

by John A. Heldt

  Katie picked up a dirty dish and lowered it into the suds as she revisited an idea that had first come to her on May 22, when she had met the mother of the boy who now meant so much to her. What if she whisked Mary to 2020 and got her the state-of-the-art medical treatment she needed? Would it make a difference? Even if it did, then what? Would she be able to return Mary to the time and people she knew and loved?

  The possibilities were endless. Katie knew instinctively that it was wrong to change the fates of others, but she found it increasingly difficult to stand on the sidelines as this courageous woman deteriorated. She wanted to do something. She wanted to do something now, but she knew that even a bold move would have to wait at least several more weeks. She wasn't sure Mary Hayes had that kind of time.

  "I agree," Katie said. "I don't know her very well, but I can tell she's a fighter. I admire people who hold up under adversity and – from what I hear – your family has had plenty."

  "You obviously know about Mitch," Patsy said.

  Katie nodded.

  "Mike told me a little about him. So did your mom. That must have been hard on you too."

  Patsy smiled weakly at Katie and then turned away to dry a dish.

  "I was eight when Mitch died," Patsy said. "I was an eight-year-old heading into the third grade. I didn't understand division and fractions, much less mortality. Mitch's death changed us. It changed all of us. Most of all, it changed Mike."

  "Your mom said as much," Katie said. "She said Mike was like a cub without his mother. She said he's been kind of a loner since then."

  "That's the understatement of the year."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean you can count the number of friends Mike's had in his whole life on two hands. James is his only close friend. When Mitch died, my brother just shut down," Patsy said. "That's why I just love seeing him now. He's a different person around you. He's happy."

  "Your mom said that too."

  "It's true," Patsy said. "His eyes lit up the other day when I simply mentioned your name. I don't know what you two have going on, but it's something I'd like to bottle and sell."

  When Katie heard the words she realized that she had a problem – a big one. She had done far more than break a promise she knew she'd never be able to keep. She had profoundly and probably permanently changed the life of another human being.

  Katie smiled sadly at her dishwashing partner and then turned her attention to the suds.

  "You don't look all that happy," Patsy continued. "Don't you like my brother?"

  "Oh, I like him all right," Katie said. She sighed. "I like him more than any boy I've ever dated. I just don't know how permanent my situation is here."

  "Mike told me that."

  "He did?"

  Patsy nodded. She began to dry another dish but stopped about halfway through and turned to face Katie.

  "Can I tell you something?"

  "Sure," Katie said.

  "You don't have to treat Mike with kid gloves. I have no doubt whatsoever that he is head-over-heels in love with you. But if you moved back to California tomorrow, he'd get over it. He'd move on and eventually find someone else. That's the way he is. He's a survivor."

  "I know. I see that in him."

  "If you decide you have to go back home, then go back home. Don't let another family's circumstances keep you from doing what you have to do," Patsy said. She cocked her head and looked at Katie closely. "I'm saying that as someone who wants you to stick around."

  "Thanks," Katie said. "I appreciate the advice."

  "You're welcome."

  Katie grabbed a serving bowl, the last of the dirty dishes, and plopped it in the water, which had changed from a sudsy white to a murky gray in a few minutes. When she finished giving it a proper bath, she handed the bowl to her partner.

  "Patsy?"

  "Yes."

  "Can I ask you a sensitive question?"

  Patsy sighed.

  "I suppose it depends on the question, but go ahead and ask."

  "What's the story with your dad? Your mom and Mike don't talk about him."

  Patsy dried the bowl and stacked it on a rack with the other dishes. When she finished drying her hands, she folded the towel and gave Katie her undivided attention.

  "The reason they don't talk about him is because his story is not particularly pleasant."

  "I'd still like to hear it," Katie said.

  "OK. I'll tell you. The fact is that my father had a sad life from his very first day. My grandma died giving birth to him. He grew up with one parent, no siblings, and a lot of guilt."

  "I'm sorry. Did your grandpa ever remarry?"

  "No. He had several lady friends but none that he dated seriously," Patsy said. "He never recovered from my grandma's death. I think he figured he would never again find someone as special. Grandma was apparently quite a lady."

  "What about your dad? He must have had some happy moments."

  "He did. He found a home in the Navy and had a few good years with Mom. Then he went to war and saw the worst in the Pacific. He wasn't the same when he got back. After Mitch died, he sort of gave up on life. He started drinking and eventually left us when I was fourteen."

  "What happened after that?" Katie asked.

  "We don't know. We think he lived on the streets for a while, but we don't know for sure. All we know is that the day before my sixteenth birthday, we got a visit from the Seattle police. They had found him lying in an alley. He'd been dead at least three days."

  Katie lowered her eyes and brought a hand to her forehead. Suddenly every single complaint she'd ever had seemed smaller than a molecule.

  "I'm so sorry, Patsy. I don't even know what to say."

  "You don't need to say anything. These things happen. What was particularly sad is that my dad, despite his problems, had a lot to live for. He had his family, of course, but he also had a promising career as a craftsman. He was absolutely amazing with wood."

  "Is that what he did for a living?" Katie asked.

  "It's what he did when he got out of the Navy. He worked with my grandpa in a shop a few blocks from here. The two produced pieces that fetched hundreds. They even got orders from places like Australia and Japan."

  "Did they make furniture?"

  "Grandpa did. He had apprenticed under a furniture maker as a boy and made little else but chairs, dressers, and dinner tables for many years," Patsy said. "By the time Dad joined the business, however, competition from the big stores had become too much, so he gradually switched to smaller pieces. He and my father became famous making smaller pieces."

  "What do you mean by smaller pieces?"

  "I mean end tables, shelves, and racks – things like that. They also made frames. After Dad died, that's all Grandpa did. He made ornate frames for anyone willing to pay top dollar."

  "You mean frames for paintings?"

  Patsy nodded.

  "He did a lot of those, but he also did the other kind."

  "I didn't know there was another kind," Katie said.

  "There is. In fact, when he died four years ago, he was known mostly for the other."

  "What's that?"

  "Mirror frames," Patsy said. "Grandpa made some of the finest mirror frames in the world."

  CHAPTER 45: GINNY

  Wednesday, June 24, 1964

  Ginny marked the emotions in minutes. Five minutes after she arrived at a diner with James, she was puzzled. At ten minutes, she was annoyed. At fifteen, she was downright angry.

  "Miss, can you take our orders?" Ginny asked forcefully.

  "I'll get to you in a second," the waitress snapped as she walked briskly past their table.

  The server, a pretty but tired-looking woman on the short side of thirty, carried two plates to another table and returned with a pad in her hand. When she arrived at the table, she directed her eyes at Ginny and only Ginny.

  "Sorry for the wait," she said. "It's been kind of busy."

  Ginny scanned the lon
g, narrow dining area and saw six diners, eight empty barstools, and eleven unoccupied tables. Four of the diners had arrived after James and Ginny. All six had food in front of them.

  "I can see that," Ginny said dryly.

  "What can I get you?" the waitress asked.

  How about an ounce of humanity?

  "I'd like some pancakes," Ginny said curtly.

  "Would you like a tall stack or a short one?"

  "I'd like a short one and some coffee … please."

  "How would you like your coffee?"

  "Black," Ginny said.

  The waitress, who went by the nametag Dee, scribbled something on the pad and then turned slowly to face James. She wore a scowl only an ex-husband could love.

  "What can I get you?"

  James smiled slightly and looked at the server with firm but gentle eyes.

  "I think I'll have the same. Thank you."

  Dee tore the top sheet from the pad and walked away. A moment later, she disappeared into the kitchen.

  "I'm sorry, James. I'd heard this place was good."

  "It is good. The pancakes are better than my mom's."

  "The service is not better than your mom's."

  James smiled in a sad sort of way.

  "No. It's not."

  "We can always go somewhere else. I said I'd treat you to a nice breakfast, not just a breakfast thrown in front of you."

  "I'm OK, Ginny. Really. Thank you for doing this," James said. He laughed. "Why are you doing this?

  "I'm paying you back for the other day. I had the best time at your house. I like your family, particularly your parents. I really like your parents."

  James laughed again.

  "They'll both like hearing that."

  "I wasn't so sure about your mom at first. I thought she was going to ask me a bunch of questions and warn me to stay away, but she didn't. She asked me to come to dinner again the next time I could. I liked that."

  "She likes you, all right. There's no doubting that. So does my dad. He doesn't know what to make of you, but he likes you."

  "That's nice to know. I wasn't sure how I'd be received."

  "My parents are fair folks, Ginny. They don't judge people unless they give them a reason. They wanted to get to know you. Now they know what I know. You're a decent person."

  "Thanks, James."

  Ginny looked at her friend and coworker with new admiration. There was still a lot she didn't know – and wanted to know – about this guy, but what she knew she liked.

  "I still don't know how you put up with all the slights," she said.

  "You mean this?"

  James pointed at the waitress with his head. Dee had returned to the dining area and greeted two new customers less than two minutes after they had walked through the door.

  "Yes, that," Ginny said. "I'd be livid. I am livid."

  "That's nothing. I get that sort of thing all the time."

  "What about what happened outside the theater? Aren't you mad about that?"

  James took a breath and looked at Ginny thoughtfully.

  "No. I'm disappointed, but not mad. I'm not a mad person."

  Ginny laughed.

  "OK, smart girl, I am mad," James said. "Even my mom thinks I'm crazy at times. But I'm not angry. I don't go around getting angry at people just because they get angry at me."

  Ginny reached across the table and put her hand on his.

  "But you have a right to get angry, James. What these people are doing is wrong. They should treat you better. They should treat you no differently than me."

  "You sound like Mike. He says the same thing."

  "He's right too. He's totally right. If I were you, I'd want to punch these people in the mouth. Doesn't any of this ever bother you?"

  James began to say something but stopped when Dee the Delinquent Waitress placed two cups of coffee on the table. When the server left, without saying a word, James resumed the conversation.

  "Now, that's a different question. Of course it bothers me. I hate it when customers at Greer's ask me not to touch their produce. I hate it when I walk into a store and the clerk looks me over like I'm going to steal something. I hate it when white ladies cross the street when they see me coming. They don't think I notice, but I do."

  "Then why don't you do something about it?" Ginny asked. "You have every right."

  "I know I do, but I choose not to."

  Ginny gave James an exasperated smile and withdrew her hand. Then she glanced at a nearby table and saw a copy of the Seattle Sun, the same edition she had read before leaving the duplex at nine. She got up from her chair.

  "Where are you going?" James asked.

  "Just sit tight. I want to show you something."

  Ginny walked to the other table, picked up the newspaper, and quickly returned. She sat in her chair, flipped the paper to the front page, and pushed it in front of James.

  "See anything worth reading?"

  James pulled the paper closer. A headline in the upper right corner read: THREE CIVIL RIGHTS WORKERS FEARED SLAIN. He pushed the paper away.

  "My dad showed me that story before I left. He talked about it a lot this morning."

  "He should talk about it. It's a big deal."

  "That happened in Mississippi, Ginny. Seattle isn't Mississippi."

  "No. It's not. But you should care about what happens there," Ginny said. "You should care about what happens here too. We have our own problems."

  James smiled and sighed.

  "Mike was right about you," he said.

  "Right about what?"

  "He said you were an 'incident waiting to happen.'"

  They both laughed.

  "He really said that?" Ginny asked.

  "Yes, he did."

  Ginny smiled warmly.

  "He's more right than wrong," she said. "I do care about stuff like this. When I see people get shoved around for no reason, I want to do something about it."

  "There's nothing wrong with that. I feel that way too."

  Ginny's smile grew into a grin.

  "I'm glad to hear it."

  "Oh, jeez, what did I step in now?"

  "There's a march next month in support of open-housing legislation," Ginny said. "I'm sure you can relate to that."

  "Yeah. I guess I can."

  "I've already talked to Katie about it. We're going to participate. I think Mike is too. If he doesn't, I'm going to sic my sister on him."

  Ginny again extended her hand across the table.

  "I want you to come with us."

  James stared at her with a poker face.

  "Please," she said.

  Ginny waited a few seconds for an affirmative response. When she didn't get one, she abandoned the soft sell. She went straight to the pout.

  James laughed.

  "OK. OK. I give."

  James shook his head.

  "Now, put that lip away," he said.

  "You'll go?"

  "Yeah … I'll go."

  CHAPTER 46: GINNY

  Friday, June 26, 1964

  As she approached the four-story building overlooking Elliott Bay, Ginny had to hand it to the architects. They hadn't cut corners. With imposing stone arches, intricate ironwork, and a twelve-ton solar ball mounted on the roof, the headquarters of the Seattle Sun was as impressive as any building on the university campus or even in the city.

  Ginny climbed the stairs to the newsroom on the top floor, talked to a receptionist, and then worked her way through a sea of editors, reporters, and manual typewriters to a cluster of small glass-sided offices in back. She knocked on the door of the second office on the left and waited until Virginia Jorgenson, aka Nana, waved her in.

  Virginia smiled at her visitor as she closed the door. She pulled a telephone handset from her ear, placed a hand over the mouthpiece, and pointed to a cushioned chair in front of her desk.

  "I'll just be a moment, Ginny," she said. "Please make yourself comfortable."

  Ginny did
as instructed as the features editor returned to her call. When it was clear that the call would last more than a few seconds, she let her eyes wander. She glanced first at the editor's desk, which was covered with papers, and then at the back wall, which was covered with awards, diplomas, and, of course, photographs. Most were as impressive as those that hung in the house.

  Virginia hung up the phone a few minutes later, sighed, and reached for a small package that sat atop her desk. She pulled out a cigarette, grabbed a lighter, and started to light a smoke but stopped herself before striking the flint. She laughed and shook her head.

  "How thoughtless of me. I keep forgetting."

  "It's all right," Ginny said.

  Ginny found the whole scene comical. Great-grandma may have been a woman, but in this pressure-packed, male-dominated work environment she was clearly one of the boys. She would not at all have been surprised to find a flask of whiskey in one of her desk drawers.

  "Sorry to keep you waiting, but I had to address an emergency," Virginia said.

  "What kind of emergency?"

  "Oh, the usual kind. It appears a reporter we sent on assignment has nothing to report. A white buffalo born in Moses Lake last year is turning brown. From a news standpoint, that makes him more a potential source of protein than a sacred object."

  Ginny smiled.

  "I'm sure your reporter will find something to write about."

  "I'm sure he will. Roger has a way of making something out of nothing," Virginia said. She collected the papers on her desk and pushed them to the side. "I'm so glad you could make it. How was the bus ride over?"

  "It was OK. I got to sit near the front and listen to a woman talk about her ex-husbands. She has four – five if you count a fiancé. They all sounded a lot like my ex-boyfriend."

  Virginia laughed.

  "That's why you have to pick a winner, dear. For every man like your great-grandfather, there are six or seven who should be doing time in Walla Walla."

  Ginny laughed to herself. No wonder her father had idolized this woman. They had more in common than most siblings and even some twins, though probably not the ones occupying Unit A of the duplex on Dalton Avenue.

  "I'll keep that in mind," Ginny said. "What did you want to see me about?"

  Virginia sat up in her chair and folded her hands on top of the desk.