“Got what backward?”
“The theory that Eloise’s father and my father might not have really been friends. Did you ever stop to think you might not know the real story?”
“Eloise told us everything about your criminal family.”
“Did you ever think Eloise was wrong?”
“Eloise doesn’t lie.”
“I’m not saying she lied, I’m saying maybe she doesn’t know everything. And maybe the Torrios and the Posts just acted like enemies so that they could hide a secret,” Torrio said.
“You mean hide the fact that they kidnapped Julian? Some people think Eloise’s little brother was taken by your family. She missed having a brother for most of her life. She should hate you.”
“Miss, with all due respect, I’m just saying you don’t know everything.”
“Oh really?” Brid said. “Everything Eloise has told me makes me believe I shouldn’t even speak to you.”
Torrio looked dejected, and, in spite of herself, Brid started to feel a little sad for him. “I don’t know why you would choose to live at 2 East 92nd Street. You know you make Eloise very unhappy.”
Torrio kept fidgeting with the flashlight, throwing bursts of light around the subway car. Brid wished Eloise would wake up.
“I need to talk to Eloise,” Torrio said. “And she never lets me speak long enough to explain everything. I thought maybe you kids could convince her to just listen to me. She just thinks the Torrios are a bunch of hoodlums, and they’re not. They never were.”
“If people think your relatives kidnapped her brother, why would she ever even talk to you?”
Torrio began putting his boots back on. “They never actually did that,” he said.
“Don’t listen to this,” came a well-rested and feisty voice. It was Eloise, who had only pretended to be asleep for the past minutes. Moving stiffly, she sat up and adjusted her glasses. “I’ve listened to your whole bunch of hooey. What a story you tell!”
“Listen, Miss Post, it’s not a story. I have a letter from your father, a letter that explains everything. It explains that the Torrio and Post families were friends. If you would ever talk to me long enough, I’d like to read it to you.”
Brid could tell Eloise didn’t believe Mr. Torrio for a second. She clearly thought he was trying to be friends with them to beat them to the treasure. Her voice sounded like a low hiss. “My father may have had secrets, but the last person he would confide in was someone from your family. Why would he ever have given anything to you?”
“Maybe the Torrios helped him out in his time of need and were prepared to spend the rest of their lives under a cloud of suspicion to protect the Post family,” Torrio replied.
“Friends with bootlegging, lawbreaking thugs? I don’t think so,” Eloise said. “You haven’t a clue what you are talking about.”
All of a sudden, Carron sat up, looking sweaty and confused in her snowsuit, her hair sticking straight up. “Baby!” she said to nobody in particular.
“I hate to interrupt,” Brid said, “but can we please go find CJ and Patrick?”
“What! They aren’t here?” Eloise exclaimed.
“Mr. Torrio,” Brid said, “I don’t know whether to believe you or not, but I do know we have no time to waste. My brothers left last night to walk along the tracks, and we haven’t seen them since.”
“What?” Torrio said.
“What?” Eloise echoed.
“It’s true, and I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to go after them and leave Eloise and Carron behind.”
“No, honey, you did the right thing,” Torrio said. “The firemen are in the next station down the line, so we can walk along the tracks. They cut all the electrical power, so it’s safe. It’s just going to be wet.”
“And filthy,” muttered Eloise.
Gingerly, they stepped out of the empty subway car and began sloshing their way slowly toward a distant light. Torrio carried Carron, while Eloise and Brid came behind him, holding hands.
They had trudged along for only a few minutes when they were confronted by a large fireman. He had FDNY RESCUE #2 inscribed on his helmet, and O’ROURKE written on his jacket.
“These the kids you were looking for?” O’Rourke asked Torrio.
“We’re still missing two boys,” Torrio answered.
The fireman said, “We’re going to head down the line a little farther toward the next station, but I kinda doubt we’ll find anyone there. It’s the City Hall station—been closed for years.”
“Well, where else could they be?” Brid asked, with panic in her voice.
“With miles of track to walk on? Could be anywhere,” O’Rourke said. He added kindly, “Those boys are probably home in their beds by now. Let’s get you kids up to the rig and get you home. We’ll stay here and keep looking.”
“No!” shouted Brid, louder than she had intended. Impulsively, she grabbed Torrio’s flashlight and took off running into the blackness toward the next station.
“Get back here, kid,” said the fireman, but he was no match for Brid’s speed. He carried many pounds of equipment, tanks, a helmet, boots, and rain gear. And nobody could run like Brid, even with a backpack on. She went splashing down the tracks into a black hole of darkness, the flashlight bouncing with every step she took. She knew the mud was splattering her white snow pants, but she didn’t care. She was beginning to think something terrible had happened to her brothers.
When she came to the next station, she stopped. There were danger signs between unlit brass light fixtures. Brid heard a shuffling noise and aimed her light at a family of rats, skillfully avoiding the water as they scurried across four sets of train tracks. She could see stained-glass skylights that were letting in faint morning glow high above. Most of the glass was broken, and she recognized the twisted metal detailing as the beaux arts style, the style Eloise had told them about.
Far ahead, Brid thought she saw a light go on and off. “CJ!” she called, listening to the echo of her voice. “Patrick,” she hollered, hearing the sound carrying and bouncing, carrying and bouncing. The space reminded her of Grand Central Terminal, with its rounded ceilings and no right angles anywhere. And then she heard a faint voice. “Brid?” She saw a little light come on, flicker, and go out, and she began to run again. “CJ!”
“Brid?”
It was her brothers—her pesky, bossy, silly brothers—and they were heading toward her. As she got closer, she saw that CJ had Pat on his back, piggyback style. She ran and caught up to them and hugged them harder than she ever knew she could.
“Where have you guys been?” she said, realizing that she was actually a bit mad at them.
CJ answered. “We had no light except my cell phone, so we must have passed the station stairs to the street. Then we got this far, and everything was chained shut. We couldn’t get out of here.”
“Couldn’t you have used the cell phone to call Mom?”
“There’s no cell service in New York City subways.”
“What is this place?” Brid said, squinting as she looked around.
“We think it’s an abandoned station, because we tried to walk up the stairs, but they’re mostly crumbling, and the door to the street is barred. We couldn’t get out of here,” Patrick repeated, sounding very scared.
“We followed the tracks until we realized they were going in a circle. It’s like the trains turn around here or something, so we were really walking nowhere,” CJ said. “And then Pat cut his leg on something.”
“Ew,” Brid said, seeing dried blood on Patrick’s snow pants.
“So what did you do all night?” Brid asked.
“Shivered,” Pat said. And he wasn’t even joking.
Brid shone her light on the white, green, and gold tiling that rose above them like the dome of an enormous church. Some skylight far above dimly lit the forgotten station, showing its giant leaded-glass windows.
“I think Guastavino built this station,” Patrick said. “It’
s been—”
“Roger that. Here they are.” Running toward them came the firefighter and a team of men, with Eloise, Carron, and Joe Torrio bringing up the rear. Helmet lights flooded the cavernous station, and Brid felt so happy to have responsibility pass on to an adult.
She heard CJ explaining, “Well, I was carrying him back, but he’s so heavy, and when the tracks widened, we weren’t sure which way we came from.”
The firefighter, Kevin O’Rourke, swooped Patrick off CJ’s back and into his own arms while another man looked at Patrick’s leg. “Kid needs this cleaned out. It’s pretty dank and dirty down here.”
“What is this place?” asked CJ.
“City Hall station. Not many New Yorkers get to see this little gem. Been closed since 1945,” said O’Rourke.
“Why did it close?” CJ said, with a shiver in his voice. Brid reached out to hold his hand, and he didn’t pull it away.
“The trains got longer and wider, so the platforms in this station couldn’t get everyone on and off safely. This is where the empty number six train turns from the downtown to the uptown tracks, but people hardly ever get to see it. They’re all told to get off at the Brooklyn Bridge stop.”
“But why isn’t it open to the public just to visit? It’s as beautiful as any piece of art,” Brid said.
“Oh, you know, progress. People forget. They let things decay and fall apart. The guy who built this place probably thought he’d be famous or something, and here we are, and I’ve never even heard his name. One day it’ll just fall apart, and then it’ll be demolished and turned into something else.”
“The guy’s name was Guastavino,” Patrick offered.
“Guasta-who?” the fireman said.
“Rafael Guastavino. Once you know about him, you sorta see him everywhere,” Pat said.
“Oh. Well, now you’ve taught me something. And now I’ll tell you a little-known fact. This little station used to be the spot where our city bragged about its transit system. The mayors in the first half of the nineteen hundreds liked to come down here for press conferences,” O’Rourke said. “That’s a good story about this station.”
“Or how about this story?” his partner, named McHugh, offered. “Remember that blizzard in 2010 when some nutty kids spent the night here? Yeah, their mom was crazy with worry, but the kids stayed all night telling stories about architectural builders.” With that he winked.
“Well, we’ll remember,” said Brid.
“I will, too.” O’Rourke grinned.
“Brid, are you crying?” said CJ.
“No, I’m just, I don’t know. We just need to get back to Mom,” Brid said, sniffling.
“Yeah,” said CJ. “We need to tell her everything.”
“Dad, too,” said Patrick.
“Yes,” said CJ. “I think it’s time everyone got to know about everything.”
“Everything,” said Brid. “I’m sick of secrets.”
Eloise said nothing, but she nodded approvingly.
CHAPTER 39
Riding home in the front seat of a fire truck was the perfect end to Patrick’s day. Because he hadn’t really slept, his body told him it was night, even though he knew it was early morning. The firefighters had cut the bottom of his pant leg, cleaned his wound, bandaged it, and plopped him into the truck. He said it didn’t hurt a bit, but still his mother insisted he sit in her lap.
Anne Smithfork had met them at City Hall, and she was so happy to have them safe again that CJ thought she might even forget to punish them. As the bumpy rig moved its way up Park Avenue, Carron sat on Eloise’s lap going, “Choo choo.” Nobody bothered to correct her with the fact that fire trucks made a much different sound.
It was magnificent to sweep through Manhattan after a blizzard. The plow had pushed the remaining mountains of snow up along the sides of every street, and it looked like they were driving through an endless white valley on an enormous red sleigh. The trees in the middle of Park Avenue had Christmas lights on them, which added to the magical shimmer.
“Torrio left the station after we were all safe,” Brid said to CJ. “I just don’t know what to think of him.”
“It’s not like he saved us,” CJ said. “We would have found our way out eventually.”
“True, I guess,” Brid said, unconvinced.
“So let me get this straight,” CJ said. “Torrio’s family didn’t kidnap Julian.”
“So he says,” snorted Eloise.
“But Mr. Post thought he did?”
“Well, that’s what everyone suspected at the time,” Eloise replied. “They were a suspicious family with ties to bad characters. My father had some dealings with the elder Mr. Torrio regarding his food plants.”
“So, you’re not certain that the Torrios took Julian?” CJ asked.
“It was so long ago, it’s so hard to remember. That’s what everyone else told me.” Eloise looked confused. “I was only eight years old.”
CJ said, “Joe Torrio told Brid he had a letter from Mr. Post that proved the Torrio family was innocent. Why wouldn’t he have shown you that letter years ago?”
“That part makes no sense,” Eloise admitted. “Honestly, I’m not certain what is true. I just know that Joe Torrio moved into this building a very long time ago. I always thought he was just trying to get closer to me to get closer to the treasure so he could take it for himself,” Eloise said.
Anne Smithfork suddenly interrupted them. “Enough!” she said. “All I know about the man is that he was truly worried about your safety, and he knew where to look for you when you went missing.” She gave Eloise a stern look. “When we get home, you must all take showers, get dressed, meet in the living room, and begin at the very beginning of this story. With this secret life, you would think you children had no parents. Things are going to change around here. Enjoy this ride; it may be the last time you are outside for a very long time.” Her face contorted in that strange way it did when she was trying to be strict and realizing she was very bad at it.
Brid suddenly remembered something. “Doesn’t Dad come home Friday?”
“Well, he was supposed to, but he called me yesterday and told me he’d changed his flight to come home today,” Anne said. “Now I’m worried that all this snow will delay him.” Suddenly, they all wanted to see him very much.
An hour later, after they’d said good-bye to Eloise and the firemen and had taken showers, CJ came into Brid’s room. He still was wrestling with the new information.
“Creepy,” CJ said, “yet cool.” He lay on Brid’s bed, which looked like a bed in a store, all perfectly plumped pillows and coordinated shams.
“CJ, let’s walk to Torrio’s apartment through the silver room and the fire stairwell on the Williamsons’ side,” Brid said.
But CJ didn’t answer. He was quiet, deep in thought, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. It took a minute before Brid realized that CJ had fallen into a deep sleep, and that the silver room would have to wait.
Patrick and CJ slept and slept through the morning and afternoon, and the snow started to fall again. Brid felt restless as she kept going over her notes, trying to make sense of everything. Eloise came by later to check on everyone, and when she did, Anne Smithfork went to bed, too. She had been up all night worrying, and was now too tired to hear the story.
“Eloise, do you think we have all the information we need to solve the puzzle behind the wall?” Brid said as they sat in front of the living room fireplace, passing a bowl of chocolate-covered pretzels back and forth.
“Yes, I think we do.”
“So maybe when the boys wake up?”
“I think we need to let your mother know what we are up to,” Eloise said.
“Is something wrong?” Brid asked.
“Not wrong, really,” Eloise said, adjusting her skirt. “I’m confused about Mr. Torrio. I still don’t think I believe him, but what if he’s telling the truth?”
CJ came sauntering into the room, rubbing h
is eyes. “He is.”
“How do you know?”
“It doesn’t make sense that he would be living here just to hunt for some shot-in-the-dark treasure that isn’t even his. There has to be something about this whole thing we’re missing.”
“There is only one way to find out.”
“Yup. The minute Patrick wakes up, it’s back behind the wall.”
“With your mother’s permission,” said Eloise, with a funny lilt in her voice.
“Yeah, with Mom’s permission,” Brid repeated, just as the doorbell buzzed.
CJ rubbed his hair. “Doorbells don’t buzz in New York City, unless…”
“The Williamsons?” asked Brid as she went bounding for the door. But it was Ray.
“Mr. Torrio left this for you,” Ray said, and handed her a padded envelope. But instead of turning away, he just stood there and watched expectantly. “Wewuzworried boutya,” Ray said, crinkling up his giant eyebrows. “Glad yur back.”
“Who? Us? Don’t worry about us, Ray,” Brid said, and smiled as she opened the envelope. Inside was the DigiSpy pod. “It’s from Torrio,” she said. “Here’s a note from him. ‘Please let me know if I can be of any help.’”
“Dittoforme,” Ray said. “I’ll help you. We’re getting kinda used to you kids, we like havin’ you here, and we donwantanythingbadhappenen.”
“What, are you friends with Torrio now?” Brid asked with a grin.
“Yeah, well, he was really worried about you last night. I didn’t know he cared about anybody. Made me kinda change my opinionudaguy.”
An hour later, CJ and Patrick were up and all set to solve the mystery. CJ had rebooted the DigiSpy, and Patrick was ready to go. Best of all, Anne Smithfork had heard every last detail, and now seemed the most excited of anyone.
Brid got Torrio’s phone number from Ray and called to tell him they would be traveling behind his wall. It felt strange not to be that afraid of him. “You may want to come to my house,” he said. “We can watch Pat through the vents, make sure he’s safe. Come through the silver room and downstairs.”
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