"And that helps us?"
"We'll just have to go in after it. Meet me after last period."
"That is not exactly how I envisioned my afternoon, Emerson."
"C'mon, where's your sense of adventure?"
"I think it left when you said garbage.”
Jordyn flipped the book right side up, pinched the clasp, and pulled. "It's stuck."
"That's funny.” Will took the book. “It opened for me this morning. It's an old lock." He stashed the book deep in his backpack. "It doesn't matter. I don't think this book will be showing anyone how to build an ark. The pages are blank. Anyway, it doesn't work."
"You tried to use it?"
" I . . ."
"For what?"
"I . . . if I could get her back . . ."
"Your mother?"
“I . . .” Words failed him.
Mrs. Hansen tapped on the courtyard window. Jordyn waved her off. "She probably thinks you're dealing. We better get inside."
They left the courtyard. Jordyn took Will by the arm and led him to an out of the way corner in the corridor. "Promise me you won't do anything with that thing until we know more about it. I swear, Emerson, I won’t let you go until you do."
Will raised his right hand. "I, William Emerson, Jr., solemnly promise . . ."
“Not funny. Come on, we’re late,” said Jordyn and she dragged him down the corridor.
Jordyn met Will after school and rode the train home with him. The dumpster at the alley was wedged into a narrow enclosure. It overflowed with garbage bags covered in half-melted snow. Will stood on tiptoes, poking around the top. "It'll be in this dumpster. It has to be near the top."
"And I thought I wouldn't find anyone interesting in Chicago.”
"There. I see it. Against the back. That clear bag." Will stretched as far as he could. He looked around the alley for a crate or an empty paint can, anything to stand on. The alley was surprisingly clean. He stretched again. "I can't reach it."
Jordyn took off her coat and scarf. She folded them neatly and set them on the driest spot she could find. "Okay, Emerson. Give me a boost."
"You sure?"
"We need that envelope and I can't lift you. Besides, this uniform could use a little character, don't you think?"
Will boosted Jordyn up. "You smell nice," he said.
"Not for long." Jordyn kicked her legs over the edge of the dumpster and waded across. "Where is it?"
"There.” Will pointed to the other side. “At the back, toward the middle."
"Got it." Jordyn ripped open the top of the bag and pulled out the manila envelope. She frowned. "There's no return address."
"It must have come by messenger."
Jordyn waded back to the front of the dumpster and tossed the envelope to Will. "Get me out of here."
He lifted her out and picked up her coat and scarf. "You’re soaked. Come on." They went up the back stairs. Will unlocked the kitchen door and let her in. "Wait here."
Jordyn stayed just inside the door not wanting to spread the smell of garbage any further than necessary. Will returned with sweats and a plastic bag. "Put your uniform in the bag. I think you can make this stuff fit. I'll look for some safety pins or something. At least they won't kick you off the el."
Will left the room and Jordyn changed into his clothes. They hung off her body, but they smelled like fabric softener and that was much better than the dumpster full of who knew what. She put her uniform, sealed tight in the plastic bag, on the back porch.
Will set the kettle to boil. "Tea?"
"Sure. I think I've developed a habit. I never drank so much tea in my life."
"It'll be a minute. Sit down."
"Now what?"
"I still have the file. Maybe there's something there. I’ll get it." Will dug it out of his backpack.
"You're walking around with that, too? I'm beginning to think you might need some help," said Jordyn.
"You're probably right. The note inside the
book . . ."
"The note? What else haven't you told me, Emerson?"
"Nothing. That's it. You would have seen it if the clasp had opened. Anyway, the note had the initials TS." Will leafed through the file. "Here. TS. Timothy Stillman, the caretaker of the museum." He handed the newspaper clipping to Jordyn. "Maybe he can tell us what's going on. How many Timothy Stillman's can there be in Provident, Illinois?"
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: CEILI
Will sat on the steps in front of Eastview, thankful for a Friday. The last of the fall leaves collected at the bottom in papery curls, undampened by the previous day’s snow. A banner announcing the annual formal hung above the school doors.
Jordyn came around the corner. “Emerson! What are you doing here? First bell doesn’t ring for another five minutes.” She shot him a sideways smile. “Did you get your invitation?”
“For what?”
Jordyn pointed up the stairs. “For that."
“Oh, that," said Will.
"My dad’s buying a table.”
"Haven’t seen anything,” said Will.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re sitting with us. It’s at the Field this year. You’ll need a tux. I’m sure my dad’s tailor can set you up.”
“Thanks. But I already have one. A tuxedo, not a tailor.” Will stood, not bothering to brush off the back of his pants.
Jordyn stepped back and looked at him, his uniform blazer faded and his trousers frayed at the heel. “No way.”
“Yes way. My father drags, well, he used to drag me to university fundraisers. The pants are probably too short now. Maybe your father’s guy can do the alterations.”
“Emerson, I am truly shocked.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem like your thing.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Quig.”
“Such as?” Jordyn prodded.
“You still coming over before the Ceili tonight?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
Will smirked.
She squinted at him then conceded. “Yeah, I’ll be there at five.”
“Good. I found a phone number for Stillman.”
"You think it's our guy?"
"We'll see. Do you think we need to dress up for tonight?"
"I'm not. But Deirdre will be there, so you can."
"It's not what you think,” said Will.
"Whatever you say, Emerson." The first bell rang. Will held the door and they went inside.
When Will got home, the mail carrier was still stuffing the boxes. "Just one today." She handed him an oversized ivory envelope, the Eastview crest letterpressed on the flap at the back. Will took it inside and opened it at the kitchen table.
Eastview College Preparatory Academy
Presents
The Annual Black and White Ball
Scholarship Benefit
Saturday, December 20th
7pm to Midnight
The Field Museum
Dinner and Dancing
Formal Attire
Will left the invitation on the table and went to shower. He dressed in jeans and his nicest sweater.
Jordyn arrived precisely at five. Will buzzed her in.
He led her down the hall to the study. "We can call from here."
Jordyn took off her coat and draped it over the back of one of the armchairs. She wore a snug black t-shirt with a small rhinestone circle at her breastbone.
Will looked her over. "You sure you won't be cold?"
"I told you, Emerson, jeans and a t-shirt. I'll be fine. I’ll take a cab home." She picked up the phone. "Where's the number?"
"I don't know if we should do this," said Will.
"Do you want to know if this thing is real, or not?"
"Of course I do. But then what?"
"I don't know. Give it back to the insurance company. It's probably nothing, anyway. Just an old book with a nice rock. Are we doing this or not?"
Will nodded
. Jordyn took the paper, found a pen, and dialed.
A woman answered, “Twila’s. This is Sadie. How may I help you?”
“Sorry. I must have dialed the wrong number. I’m looking for a Mr. Timothy Stillman.”
“Mr. Stillman isn’t here. Might I ask why you’re calling?”
“My name is J-Julie Smith. I’m a reporter for the Chicago Tribune. Just following up on a story our paper did a few months ago. The one about Mr. Stillman and the museum.”
“Oh, yes. I remember that,” said Sadie.
“Yes, well, we’d like to interview Mr. Stillman to find out more about his experience since then. We think it would have real human interest appeal.”
Will crossed his arms and stood back to watch Jordyn’s performance.
“Would you happen to know how I could reach Mr. Stillman?” Jordyn continued.
“When I said he wasn’t here, I meant to say he left town some time ago. He went back to Chicago. That’s where he was from. Dotty had him come do an appraisal of all her museum stuff so she could update her insurance. Been a while since she had all of it accounted for. Anyhow, that was before she, you know, before she died.” Sadie's voice wavered.
“I read about that. I'm very sorry for your loss."
"Oh, listen to me. I still get so upset. Dotty was very dear to us all."
"I'm sure she was.”
“And Mr. Stillman, bless his heart. He stayed to clean everything up after the storm. Make it proper.”
“Yes, and we'd really like to tell the story. It’s very important that we get in touch with Mr. Stillman. Without him our hands are tied.”
“Well, I normally wouldn’t give out anyone’s phone number, but since you’re with the paper I think that would be okay. Are you ready?”
“Yes, thank you. Go ahead.” Jordyn wrote the number. “Thank you very much, Sadie. You’ve been very helpful.”
“Don’t mention it. Mr. Stillman deserves to tell his story. He tried so hard to protect Dotty’s. Everything went up for auction not too long ago. Dotty didn’t have any heirs. The whole place was sold to some museum up in Canada. Shame, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Yes, it is. Thanks again.” Jordyn disconnected.
Will applauded. "Brilliant!"
Jordyn bowed. "Why, thank you. Unfortunately, we still only have a phone number. She said he was only there to do the appraisal. He left after he was done. I guess he lives in the city." Jordyn re-cradled the phone and put her coat on. "Ready?"
By the time they got to Molly's, the place was already bustling. On stage, a band played an energetic Irish reel. The fiddle player stomped out the beat, raking his bow across the fiddle with such ferocity it seemed as if it would turn to sawdust in his hands. Small girls with huge mops of curly hair congregated nearby, their dresses decorated with knots and birds and lions in violet and emerald and canary. Their hard shoes clacked on the wood floor as they stomped out the beat waiting for their turn under the lights. Spectators in front of the stage chatted loudly with the strangers all around them as if they’d know each other forever.
White candles in every shape and size lit the room, casting a golden light that flickered brightly off the newly polished silver. Sprigs of holly decorated the tabletops. Christmas was around the corner.
Servers rushed past, their trays heavy with stews and big glasses of foamy stout, expertly balanced. They called everyone by name. Will smiled at Jordyn.
Deirdre pushed toward the door. "Will! Jordyn!" Oisin followed her. “You remember Oisin?”
Jordyn nodded. Will shook his hand. Deirdre took their coats.
"So, what, exactly, happens at a ceili?" Will asked.
The fiddle wailed on. "Rowan plays like the devil, don't you think?" said Deirdre. "Come on." She hung their coats on pegs in the hall and led them deep into Molly's, back to the room with the ochre chairs which were now lined up against the walls. The table overflowed with crusty loaves of bread, boiled potatoes, roasted birds, and puddings in shapes fancy and plain.
"First, you eat," said Deirdre. So they filled their plates and found a table. They ate and talked and laughed and went back for more.
Will pushed his plate away. "I'm stuffed." Jordyn looked at him sideways. "What? It happens. Sometimes," he said.
A middle-aged man with a white apron at his waist cleared the table. "Thanks, Brendan," Deirdre called behind him. "The ceili dances won't be starting yet. The dart room is empty. Want to play?"
"I've never played," said Jordyn.
"I'll teach you," said Oisin. "We'll play as a team, against Will and Deirdre."
Deirdre hopped out of her seat. "Okay, then. Let's go."
"We'll play three-oh-one. No double-in," said Oisin. They walked to the back of Molly's.
Jordyn looked at Will. "Any idea what he's talking about?” she asked. Will shrugged.
"It's simple," said Oisin. "We start at three-hundred-one points and count down. The spaces on the dartboard are marked. You just need to add."
“And know how to throw darts,” said Will.
“Don’t worry. It’s easy enough,” said Deirdre.
They entered the room. Oisin gathered the darts. He handed three to Jordyn. "Stand at the line.” The black mark on the floor consisted of tape adhesive and dirt. "Now, aim for the center."
Jordyn let the dart fly. It landed in red, near the seven. She threw two more.
Deirdre clapped. "Very good. You did double-in. Our turn." She handed Will three darts. He threw. The first landed in the wall.
"Aim for the center." Jordyn reminded Will.
“Got it.” He crinkled his brow in concentration and scored a total of two.
Oisin threw three quick darts and scored twenty-two. Deirdre, six. Jordyn, nineteen.
"I thought you hadn't played before, Quig," said Will.
"She’s a natural," said Oisin.
"Yeah, right," grumbled Will. He scored seven, his third dart bouncing off the chalkboard where they kept score. He shrugged at Deirdre. "I'm not sure we'll ever get to zero."
The gap widened with each turn.
On stage, the band played tune after tune, traditional and not, each more vibrant than the last. Deirdre poked her head out of the room. "Looks like the party’s moving to the front. It's almost time for the ceili dances. We should call it a game."
Will sighed. "There is mercy."
Deirdre took Will’s hand. "Always."
The four of them found a place amongst the crowd in front of the stage. In a gravelly brogue, the fiddle player announced the ceili dance. "We'll be starting with the "Siege of Ennis." Most of you know it. If you don't, just follow along best you can."
The music started. The dancers formed lines and skipped forward and back and through each others’ arms, always leaving Jordyn a step or two behind. At the end of the dance, she fanned herself with both hands. "I need some water."
Oisin took her hand. "Come with me."
They found an empty booth tucked into the corner of the room. On three sides, it was paneled floor to ceiling in rough-hewn pine. Thick velvet curtains hung down the sides of the open end. Inside, the sound of the crowd, though they were very near, faded to a low murmur.
"Wait here," said Oisin.
He returned with two glasses of water. They sat and caught their breath. On the index finger of his left hand, he wore a pewter ring with an intertwining knot at the center of a circle.
"That knot, on your ring. It's the same as on the door," said Jordyn.
Oisin looked at his hand. "It is. I've had it a long time."
"What does it mean?"
"It's an ancient symbol. Some say it represents past, present, and future. And the circle, it represents unbreakable unity." Oisin reached across the table and traced the rhinestones on Jordyn’s t-shirt.
The band stopped playing. The fiddle player spoke. "We'll be taking a break, now. I'm told the dining room table is still full of good food. Enjoy! We'll be back shortly." The party guests, and the n
oise, migrated down the hall.
“Would you like more to eat?” asked Oisin.
“I’m not really hungry. But you should go. If you want.”
“No. Thanks. There’ll be plenty left for later.”
They sat together in the quiet room until Jordyn slid out of the booth. She smiled sideways then half-skipped to the front of the stage. She climbed up and sat on the edge, feet dangling. Oisin followed, stopping squarely in front of her. He put his hands in his front pockets and shrugged.
Jordyn laughed. “That dance was fun. Maybe next time I won’t trip over everyone else’s feet so much.”
“It’s easy once you get the steps.” Oisin lifted her down from the stage and went behind the bar to turn on some music. When he returned, he led her to the center of the floor, stepped a few feet away, and turned to face her. “Now, follow me,” he directed. “You’ll be holding hands with the person beside you. Like this.” He held his hand up near the side of his face and took the hand of his imaginary partner. Jordyn snickered then straightened up and mirrored his movement.
“OK, now. Listen for the beat.” He counted down, “Four, three, two, advance, advance.”
Jordyn stutter stepped to catch up. They skipped toward each other.
“Retreat, retreat,” Oisin called. “Again.” They skipped forward and back. “Now side step, side step, hold, hold, side step, side step, advance and turn." The music stopped. They finished the last steps of the dance to his call. Oisin applauded his approval. “And I still have all of my toes.”
The band took the stage. The drummer beat a large, flat drum cradled in his arm, the rhythm slow, the sound deep. The fiddle began to weep.
A few people trickled in from the dining room, quietly settling at tables or standing at the bar.
"I guess we’re done," said Jordyn, looking for an empty table.
Oisin held out his hand. “May I?”
Jordyn smiled. “Why not?”
Oisin wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. A woman began to sing, her voice fragile against the haunting melody.
“What is this song?” whispered Jordyn.
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