The weatherman was only partway through his forecast when the doorbell bonged. “Wait a minute,” Olivia called out, her eyes focused on the screen. When he finally said, “Now stay tuned for a word from our sponsor,” Olivia rose from the chair and opened the door.
“What’s going on here?” a puffed-up Clara asked.
“I’m trying to see if I can find out something about the girl.” Olivia motioned Clara toward the living room. “Hopefully it’ll be on the news. Watch.”
“Watch what?” Clara asked as she lowered herself onto the sofa.
“About the robbery,” Olivia said. Her voice turned to a whisper. “I think the girl’s brother may have been involved. At least that’s what Ethan Allen—”
“I knew it!” Clara exclaimed. “He’s in trouble, isn’t he?”
“No.” Olivia turned back toward Sara Jean Plott who was finishing up a traffic report. “It’ll be on now, so pay attention.”
Tom Horsham started with the local news.
“Well, folks, it seems that big-city crime is no longer content to plague the metropolitan areas. It has now shown its ugly face right here in Wyattsville.” As he spoke a camera panned across the large crowd gathered outside of Klaussner’s, then zoomed in on the flashing lights of police cars and ambulances. When the film ended the camera blinked back to Horsham, who shook his head sadly.
“This was the scene yesterday at Klaussner’s Grocery on West Main shortly after two armed gunmen held up the store. Store owner Sidney Klaussner was shot twice, once in the chest and again in the abdomen. Now in critical condition at Mercy General Hospital, Klaussner has been unable to identify either of the assailants. According to Sheriff’s Deputy Bob Willis, it is believed that before Klaussner was shot he wounded one of the alleged robbers. That suspect is also in critical condition and has not yet been identified.”
A sketchy rendering of a mature man flashed on the screen and Horsham continued. “If you know or can identify this man, please contact the sheriff’s office. A five-hundred-dollar reward has been offered by the Wyattsville Merchants Association for information leading to an arrest of the suspects.” After several other local stories, Sara Jean was back with a reminder for traffic headed south on Main Street to watch for the detour. When Sara Jean disappeared, an announcer said to stay tuned for the “Dave Garroway Morning Show.”
Olivia clicked off the television and turned to Clara with a worried expression. “There was no mention of a girl.”
“What were you expecting?”
“I’m not exactly certain,” Olivia replied. “I thought maybe they’d give the name of the man they caught or say if there was a missing girl. Wouldn’t you think a policeman or somebody would have noticed a kid all by herself? Did you see the crowd?”
“Well, of course, I did,” Clara answered. “I was sitting right here.”
“No, I mean did you really see the crowd? Ethan Allen was smack in the middle of it.”
“I didn’t see Ethan. I did see someone who could’ve been Seth Porter, but Seth usually wears a baseball cap and this man didn’t have—”
“It was Seth. Ethan saw him there.”
“I don’t understand what they’ve got to do with—”
“It’s not them. I’m worried about the girl,” Olivia said. “Ethan Allen told me she was there, but I didn’t see her in any of the pictures.”
“So?”
“We-ell,” Olivia stretched the word out, making it seem a dalliance. “The girl Ethan Allen brought home told him she was there waiting for her brother. When Ethan asked where the brother was, the girl pointed to Klaussner’s!”
Clara’s sleepy eyes opened so wide you could see the white all around. “No!”
“Yes.” She went on to relate all that Ethan Allen had told her. But before she got to the part about the mysterious Aunt Anita, a sleepy-faced Jubilee appeared in the doorway.
The little girl rubbed her eyes and asked, “Did Paul come back?”
“Not yet, Jubilee, but Ethan Allen is going to stop by the store this afternoon and check to see if he’s there.”
“Oh.” The little girl looked down at her feet with a visible sadness. It was a sadness Olivia knew only too well: the sadness of being alone in the world.
“Don’t worry,” Olivia said. “Maybe the store was extra busy and needed Paul to work for a longer time.” Her words were not what she would have considered a lie. They were simply a measure of comfort for a frightened child. But when she looked up Clara’s jaw was hanging open, and she wore a look of disbelief.
“Olivia Doyle! You know—”
“My goodness,” Olivia interrupted, “look at the time! Ethan Allen has got to get up and start getting ready for school.”
“But,” Clara stammered, “you told me—”
“Clara, you’d best be getting along now.” Olivia nudged her friend toward the door, cutting off the opportunity for more conversation and things that were better off unsaid. “I’ll give you a buzz after Ethan leaves for school.” Without a moment’s delay, she hustled the bewildered Clara out the door.
“Don’t you think—” Clara started to say, but by then the door was closed.
For the next hour, Olivia tried to make everything appear as normal as possible. Although she had more than a dozen questions about the truth of the robbery, she brushed them aside and tried to focus on the business of the day. On Saturday mornings Ethan Allen was up at the crack of dawn and on his way to the playground before the clock struck eight. School-day mornings were a different story. Ethan had been awake for more than a half-hour, but he was still in his pajamas. Olivia poked her head into his room.
“Get dressed,” she told him for the third time. “You’ll be late again if you don’t get a move on.”
“I got plenty of time,” he answered and continued wrestling with Dog.
Olivia thumped her hands on her hips and glared across the room. “Five minutes,” she said. “Breakfast will be ready in five minutes, and you’d better be sitting at the table.”
“Okay.” Ethan Allen reached for the socks on the floor.
“Those are yesterday’s,” Olivia said. “Get a clean pair.” She turned and headed back to the kitchen. The daily routine of getting Ethan off to school was so hectic that she’d momentarily forgotten about their visitor. Maybe not forgotten, but simply set aside thoughts of the homeless girl, the missing brother and the mysterious aunt. When she passed through the living room she was pushed back into the reality of those things by the sight of Jubilee huddled in the corner of the sofa with her thumb stuck in her mouth.
Olivia stopped and watched the girl for a moment. Curled into a ball as she was, Jubilee had the look of a throw pillow—smaller maybe, but equally zipped up. The two children were so different, and yet in some ways they were alike. Olivia thought back on how Ethan Allen had slammed into her life with an anger that stuck out like the quills of a porcupine. He’d clattered through the apartment, banging into things, filling the emptiness of her days with ball bouncing and boisterousness. Ethan Allen was a boy with a huge chip on his shoulder and the sorrow of life written across his face. Jubilee was a blank chalkboard.
“Jubilee, dear,” Olivia said, “I’m getting ready to make breakfast. Is there something particular you’d like to have?” It had taken almost a year to get Ethan settled into eating things like cereal and eggs, so she was hoping the girl wouldn’t say potato chips.
She didn’t. In fact, she didn’t say anything, just shrugged her shoulders without ever removing her thumb from her mouth.
“Isn’t there some special breakfast you’d enjoy?” Olivia urged. “Cereal maybe? Or waffles with maple syrup?”
There was an almost imperceptible shake of Jubilee’s head.
“Bacon? French toast?”
This time there was not even a head shake.
Olivia tried another approach. “At home what do you have for breakfast?”
Jubilee pulled her thumb from her mout
h and said, “Biscuits and gravy.”
“Oh, dear,” Olivia said. “I’m afraid that’s the one thing I don’t have.” She took Jubilee by the hand and tugged her into the kitchen. “Let’s see if we don’t have something almost as good.”
Promising that pancakes were every bit as good as biscuits and gravy, Olivia began mixing the batter. She wished the girl would talk, even if it was to argue or complain as Ethan had, but instead Jubilee sat there without saying a word. When an uncomfortable silence began to settle into the room, Olivia padded it with the sound of her own words. She began by describing the step-by-step process of pancake making, then moved on to the fact that it promised to be another cloudy day as opposed to the sunshine she’d been wishing for. For almost ten minutes she rattled on about anything and everything except what was at the forefront of her mind: the child’s missing brother. After she’d set three plates of pancakes on the table, she called Ethan.
“Hurry up,” she said, “or you’ll be late for school.”
Jubilee’s eyes brightened. “We’re going to school?”
Olivia turned and smiled. “Ethan has to go to school today, but you can stay here with me.”
“I don’t want to stay here. I want to go to school with Ethan.”
Before Olivia could answer Ethan Allen slid into his seat and said, “You can’t. My school’s just for big kids.”
“I go to school with Paul, and he’s big.”
Ethan shoved a chunk of pancake into his mouth and didn’t answer.
Although Olivia tried to avoid thinking about Paul, he had come to breakfast. He was in the room, a ghost, as real as a person waiting to be served up an order of pancakes. The missing brother was as Charlie had been in the early months, not here and not quite gone. How strange it seemed that a woman with so many years of living behind her and a child with a like number of years in front of her should experience the same empty-hearted longing.
“Well, Jubilee,” she said, “I have a lot of baking to do today, and I was hoping you’d be able to help me. You do like to bake cookies, don’t you?”
Jubilee gave a half-hearted shrug. “I never made cookies.”
“Well, wouldn’t you like to learn?”
Before Jubilee could answer Ethan volunteered to stay home and help.
“Absolutely not,” Olivia replied. “You’re going to school.”
“Grandma, I gotta tell you, making me go to school ain’t such a good idea.”
“Isn’t such a good idea,” Olivia corrected. “And why isn’t it?”
“We got a history test today, and I studied but I ain’t nowhere near ready. Gimme a few more days and—”
“You’re going to school.” The finality of Olivia’s words ended the discussion. Fifteen minutes later Ethan Allen begrudgingly picked up his books and headed for the door.
Jubilee followed him through the living room and stopped when he opened the door. “Bye, Ethan” she said sadly.
“Bye,” he answered, then was gone.
Once Olivia was alone with the child, the uncomfortable silence was back. Olivia pulled the flour and sugar from the cabinet.
“Cooking and baking always helps me to feel better when I’m worried about something,” she told Jubilee. “I bet it will help you too.”
There was no answer.
Olivia continued on. Just as she’d given the step-by-step of pancake making, she now went into cookie baking. Once she’d mixed in the melted butter and eggs, she fluffed a covering of flour on the counter and plopped the ball of dough in the middle. She pulled a rolling pin from the drawer, and for the first time since Ethan left the girl spoke.
“I can do that,” she said and reached for the rolling pin.
Olivia smiled. “I thought you said you never made cookies.”
Jubilee looked up with a sly smile. “This’s same as making biscuits,” she countered and began rolling out the dough.
Once Olivia busied Jubilee with the second batch, she slipped into the living room and called Clara. “I apologize for hustling you out the door,” she said, “but I was afraid you’d say something to upset the child.”
“I hardly think that excuses—”
“I know,” Olivia replied, “but under the circumstances…”
She went on to say that she didn’t want to burden the girl with such bad news until she had a bit of good news. She explained how there was an aunt who hopefully lived in Wyattsville and hopefully had the last name of Walker. “I’m hoping to find this woman, so Jubilee can at least be with family.”
“That sounds like a whole lot of hoping without much to go on.”
“I know.” Olivia sighed. “But I was thinking maybe you’d be able to help.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because you’re my friend.”
Clara was wordless for a few moments. Then she said, “I suppose I could lend a hand, but I’m not gonna stand around and listen to you telling the kid those bare-faced lies.”
“Fair enough.”
“Okay then, if we’re really gonna try and find the kid’s aunt we need more information,” Clara said. “When Ethan brought the girl home, did she have anything with her? A bag or suitcase maybe?”
“Yes, a travel bag.”
“Go through it. If the brother was planning to go to the aunt’s house, maybe her address is in there. You might also find out something more about him.”
“Good idea,” Olivia answered. She glanced over and saw the small bag that had arrived with Jubilee. It was still sitting in the far corner of the living room.
After Clara promised to check out the remaining Walkers listed in the telephone book and call Seth Porter to get more information, they hung up.
Olivia returned to the kitchen and pulled a second cookie cutter from the drawer. “Do you want the circle or the tree?”
Jubilee laughed. “That’s a Christmas tree! It’s not Christmas.”
“I know,” Olivia said, “but Christmas tree cookies taste good any time of year.”
Jubilee scrunched her nose as if she doubted such a thing was true. “I’m gonna do the round ones,” she said and kept a tight grip on the cookie cutter she already had.
As they worked, Olivia talked. She peppered the girl with questions but learned nothing more. Every answer was a yes, no, or obscure statement that gave no hint of where the brother was headed or what their plans had been.
When the last tray of cookies was pulled from the oven, Olivia said, “Well, now that that’s done, let’s get you cleaned up.” She retrieved Jubilee’s bag and carried it into the bedroom. “First we’ll get you a clean dress, then a bath.” She unzipped the bag and right on the top were three slightly faded pictures.
“That’s me,” Jubilee said, pointing to a baby the woman held in her arms.
“And is this Paul?” Olivia pointed to the young boy in the picture.
Jubilee nodded, then went on to say the other two were her mama and daddy. “That’s when I was bab-sized,” she said proudly.
Olivia turned the picture over and on the back was a hand-written date—July 17, 1949. She was hoping for something more recent, something that would let her know if the missing Paul resembled the man in the television sketch. In this picture he was just a boy, so it was impossible to tell.
The second picture was a studio portrait of a young woman. The logo of Milburn Photography was gold stamped in the lower right hand corner.
“That’s Mama,” Jubilee said.
On the back of the photograph was written “Ruthie Jean Walker, 1931.”
The third picture was a group of coal miners, but it was so faded that the faces were almost impossible to make out. Olivia checked the back. Nothing. “Who’s this?”
Jubilee pointed to the man third from the right. “That’s my grandpa,” she said, “but I never knowed him.”
Beneath the pictures she found a handful of threadbare underwear, a coal miner’s hat, a music box with a picture of a rose on the top o
f it, a worn Bible, and a book of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Olivia pulled these things from the bag, then asked, “Did your brother have another suitcase?”
Jubilee shook her head, “No, ma’am.”
“You didn’t bring any clothes?”
“We just brought what was important.”
Olivia looked at the hard hat. It was greyed with coal dust. In the front just below the lantern light were black letters reading B. Jones.
Olivia
I can understand holding on to things that were part of someone you’ve lost. God knows I did it for way longer than I should have. If it wasn’t for Clara and the girls, Charlie’s toothbrush would probably still be hanging in the bathroom. What I don’t understand is children leaving home with stuff like that and not a stitch of clothes. If Jubilee’s brother is old enough to work, then he ought to know the girl would need something to wear.
While Jubilee was taking her bath, I started putting the stuff back in the bag. That’s when I discovered the letters folded inside the Bible. Maybe it’s wrong to go prying through someone else’s personal belongings, but since the envelopes were postmarked Wyattsville I thought they’d give information enough to find the aunt.
The letters were from Anita all right, but there was not one word about her last name or where she lived. There was plenty of criticizing her sister. Downright scorn for Bartholomew, who I’m assuming was Jubilee’s daddy, and one mention of a baby. Right off Anita struck me as a person who was heavy handed on advice and short on tolerance.
Her mean-spirited words had me riled, until I thought back on how I used to squabble with my sister. We’d get to fussing over some silly nonsense and say the awfulest things to one another. Then before a week went by we’d make up and go right back to being friends. Sisters don’t weigh their words with each other; that’s just how it is. When you’ve got a gripe on your chest you say what you’re thinking, whether it’s hurtful or not. You never stop to consider there might not be a tomorrow when you can take it back.
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