Cakewalk

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Well, the Bible says, ‘Know ye the truth and the truth shall set ye free,’ ” Carlotta added.

  “Be that as it may, you may wind up free to starve, free to be beat up, et cetera, et cetera,” Celeste replied.

  “Celeste, is there nothing about our faith that has reached you?” Carlotta griped.

  “That’s a subject for another day. Yashew, lie low. Carlotta, can you and Herbert find things for him to do to keep making money? As it is, there might be a trial.”

  The poor man’s face just fell. “Oh, how can I take the time and I can’t afford it?”

  “I may have a way. Sister?”

  “Of course, we’ll find work.”

  After dropping off Yashew, visiting for a brief spell with his mother, the three climbed back into the car.

  “Where to?”

  “Home.” Carlotta flopped back in her seat.

  “No. Rife Munitions,” Celeste ordered.

  “What!” Carlotta and Fairy shouted at once.

  “Rife Munitions.”

  Once at the imposing factory on the North Runnymede side, the three were swiftly ushered into Julius Caesar’s office, for everyone knew this was a day to remember: two Chalfontes and one Thatcher calling on a Rife.

  He stood when the ladies entered, motioned for the door to be closed. “May I offer something to drink, a sandwich perhaps?”

  “No. We’ve barged in on you and we thank you for seeing us directly.” Celeste smiled, which produced the usual effect.

  “Well, ladies, apart from enjoying your pulchritude, I am curious.”

  They told him everything they knew about Yashew’s arrest, his being set up and by whom.

  Carlotta, knowing full well that this was the man whom her husband had taken as a secret partner, breathed not a syllable about it. Of course, Celeste figured it out but said nothing to her sister. The Chalfontes were disciplined that way. To do so she would betray both men. J.C. paid careful attention to this.

  “A trial would be inconvenient.” He sat on the edge of his desk to be closer to the ladies.

  “Indeed,” Carlotta replied. “He hasn’t much in this world and you know Mrs. Gregorivitch needs medical attention.” She held up her hand. “Herbert and I will see to that, if you see to something else.”

  Surprised, J.C. became still. “If I can.”

  Carlotta had thought this through. “The canning factory. You procure goods from many places, some of it—that which can be preserved—traveling great distances.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yashew’s truck is impounded. If you can remove the barrels, the evidence of contraband, replace it with, say, barrels of molasses which you have not yet canned, who will know? No one.”

  He crossed his arms across his vest. “Mrs. Van Dusen, what an ingenious idea.”

  Next to Carlotta, Celeste said, “I can get into the garage. Archie wouldn’t waste a guard on it. He doesn’t have the men, nor would he think it necessary. But I can get in if you and your men can meet me there, remove the scotch, and substitute the molasses. That will be the end of it and I believe after this incident, Archie will not be looking for tip-offs.”

  “When?” J.C. asked.

  “The sooner the better. Tomorrow night?” Celeste’s voice rose.

  “Tomorrow night at midnight. Good citizens will be asleep.” A smile played on his lips.

  —

  Back in the car, they all talked at once.

  Finally, Carlotta said, “I’ll be there.”

  “No,” said Celeste. “You have more to risk than I do.”

  “I suppose,” Carlotta agreed.

  “I can drive the getaway car,” Fairy offered.

  “Fairy, seeing your car down at the police station would arouse curiosity. I have to walk.”

  “Then I will walk too.” Fairy was adamant.

  “Well, you can be a lookout. Carlotta, stay home. Fairy, we need a replacement lock and a bolt cutter.”

  “How can you get a replacement lock keyed to the same key as the one at the police station?” Carlotta shrewdly asked.

  “I can’t. All we can do is replace the lock and leave the key in it. As nothing will be missing, we might be able to get away with it. As it is, Archie doesn’t really want this to go to trial. It’s bad enough it has to appear in the police record. What saves us, if it does, is that if the barrels are replaced, who can prove the original barrels were alcohol? Fairy, you slip back there, study the lock, and buy a replacement from the hardware store.”

  “Bolt cutters,” Fairy simply said. “I have them.”

  Carlotta, listening intently, remarked, “What about Lottie?”

  “She can’t prove anything,” Fairy replied.

  “Don’t you think she’ll try something else? Those Rhodes girls seem intent on revenge,” Carlotta observed.

  Celeste smiled. “Revenge is a dish best eaten cold.”

  Night’s chill at 52˚F barely touched Celeste, Ben, or the two men J. C. Rife sent to the South Runnymede garage where Yashew’s truck was impounded. Dressed in black like the others, Fairy stood against the building side along the entrance to the alleyway, a small bird whistle on the lanyard around her neck.

  First, the four would-be bootleggers rolled all the barrels off Yashew’s truck, then moved the ramp back to the Rife truck, where they rolled off the molasses barrels, then rolled on the scotch. As the rumble of the barrels couldn’t be muffled, they worked as fast as they could, with the rears of the two trucks facing one another.

  “Go on!” Ben told the Rife men. “We’ll lock up.”

  The two needed little encouragement since a good bonus awaited their efforts, plus the scotch would certainly be more profitable than molasses.

  Ben closed the truck doors. Celeste put the old lock on the back of the truck, leaving the key in the new lock. Then they hurried out to Fairy.

  Using back alleys, they walked Fairy to her home.

  Celeste kissed her cheek. “You’re a brick.”

  “It’s all so exciting,” Fairy replied, turning to slip into her back door.

  Keeping to the cobbled alleyways, Celeste and Ben reached her long lawn and gardens in twenty minutes.

  Once inside, Celeste removed the lad’s cap, shaking out her hair. “Luckily for me I could wear Spotts’s black pants and sweater. We can both wear his pants, although I have to roll them up.”

  Ben heard a meow. “We aren’t undetected.”

  Glue, blinking from sleep, padded out to the hallway.

  “Come on, squirt.” She picked her up, carried her upstairs to the bedroom, and placed the kitten on a plush chair by the fireplace, where Glue fell back to sleep.

  Ben sat on the edge of the bed to untie his shoes. “I do think Fairy had a wonderful time.”

  “Beats being an upper-class housewife.” Celeste smiled. “And thank you for coming out tonight. You’re strong, the work flew along, and you already knew about the scotch. The fewer that know, the better.”

  “How long do you think it will take before the police find out it’s not scotch back there?”

  “Well, I don’t know that they do know. Chief Cadwalder didn’t mention the contents, only that yes, there were barrels. It’s going to be an interesting moment. Lottie can’t prove Yashew was hauling liquor.”

  “Guess not.” He stepped out of his trousers then pulled his sweater over his head.

  “And Lottie can’t press charges.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s nineteen. Still not a legal adult.” Feeling the chill, Celeste slid into bed, pulling the covers up. “I expect if she hasn’t considered that, her mother has.”

  Crawling in next to her, Ben touched her feet with his. “Cold.” Then he touched her shoulder. “You are cold.”

  “I wasn’t when we were rolling out those barrels but the walk home let the night air reach my bones. It’s funny how sometimes night air, even when the temperature is warm, can chill you.”

  “Li
e on top of me. I’ll rub your back. I’m actually pretty warm.”

  She did and he rubbed her back to create a little friction.

  “Feels good.”

  “Celeste, since I’ve met you I’ve had”—he thought—“unusual adventures.”

  She laughed. “So have I. It’s hard to believe how petty people can be, isn’t it? Especially women. I should amend that—especially the Rhodes women.”

  Warmer now, she moved off him to prop herself up on her elbow.

  “There were some petty fellows in my unit, always the ones looking for a promotion. I used to think, ‘Why want a promotion in Hell?’ ” He ran his forefinger over her lips.

  Touching his hand, kissing his fingertips, she answered, “To feel important. To think you’re one up on the next guy. But you’re right, who cares in Hell? I sometimes understand people and sometimes I don’t, but I do know most are weak, abysmally weak.”

  “I think that’s how we wound up in France.” He continued, “The kaiser couldn’t stand having the English look down on him, or I guess he thought they did, Victoria being his grandmother and all. I used to think when I was over there that none of this had to happen. No one needed to die other than the archduke. That all could have been negotiated but I believe the kaiser really wanted a war. Wouldn’t back down. Stood by his ally. That kind of stuff. He didn’t want to look weak so he wound up being weak. Maybe we all are.”

  “I don’t think so. Hannibal wasn’t weak. Edward the Third wasn’t weak. Before him, Eleanor of Aquitaine wasn’t weak. Maybe the problem is when a weak person winds up as a king or queen or czar.”

  “Here we elect them. They aren’t born to it.” Ben smiled.

  “It’s all rather frightening. No matter how awful a man is once he’s president, we’re stuck for four years.”

  “We can assassinate him.”

  “Ben.” She was surprised.

  “Well, we can, and we can shoot the vice president, wipe out the Senate, bomb the House of Representatives, and just mow down the Supreme Court. We don’t have to put up with anyone if we’re willing to kill.” He added, “The war taught me that. You kill and kill and kill and it doesn’t matter. Human life doesn’t matter at all. I think your life matters and I think my life matters but when you see thousands and thousands killed, learn at war’s end that it was millions, how can I pretend anyone truly thinks human life is valuable unless they personally know that human life?”

  She thought a long time, glad for his warmth. “Put that way, I can understand. I’ve known brutal people. The man who sent the truck tonight, J. C. Rife, his father was brutal and so was his grandfather. It’s how they built their business empire.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Did you ever look at a dead German and think someone loved him? A mother is weeping somewhere, a wife?”

  “You bet I did.”

  “Well, we can’t go back, can we?”

  “No. And I don’t know the way forward.”

  “Ben—” She kissed him again. “No one does. No one walks into the future. We back into it.”

  Delilah took her lunch hour to go with her elder daughter, Lottie, to Chief Cadwalder to press charges.

  Archibald dutifully listened as Wilfred Frothingham, Caesura’s son, wrote everything down. Once done he said to the two, “Mrs. Rhodes, I’ll try to have the hearing on your lunch hour. I can’t give you a date right now, but it won’t be too long.”

  “What about jury selection?” Big Dimps readied herself for courtroom drama.

  “Oh, this doesn’t qualify for that. That’s one of the reasons we have a hearing first, to correctly assess the situation and proceed. This may or may not be a felony. For one thing, Mrs. Rhodes, the law is new and this is our first case. We want to be correct.”

  Leaving the police headquarters, Lottie remarked to her mother, “I thought this would be simple.”

  “Me, too.”

  “That will teach Yashew to call me the things he called me.” Lottie smiled triumphantly.

  Big Dimps didn’t reply. Already, she was harboring doubts.

  As Big Dimps walked out of the imposing South Runnymede police headquarters, Celeste and Ben walked into the once imposing chapel of Immaculata Academy.

  “You’ve done so much work,” Ben admiringly said to Carlotta. Next to her stood Herbert.

  The blown-out one-story windows had been covered with heavy tarps which could be rolled up, rolled down. Carlotta didn’t want them boarded up. She thought it too depressing.

  Ben had a rolled-up canvas under his arm, a painting, while Celeste carried his large drawing notebook.

  Ben looked around. “The light is beautiful in here.”

  “I waited a full year before I sited the chapel, just to make sure I could take advantage of the light. In the middle of the large quad, the sunlight floods in.”

  Celeste walked up to the raised floor, where the altar, scorched, stood, the pulpit on her right, the lectern on her left, as in most every Christian church. She put the large notebook down on the raised floor and Ben unrolled his painting. He held one end and Celeste reached out to hold the other.

  “Oh, my.” Carlotta’s hands flew to her face. “That blue. I’ve only seen that blue in Europe.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ben smiled.

  Herbert looked from his wife to Ben to Celeste. He, too, was impressed.

  “Of course, Mrs. Van Dusen, only you can select those women you wish to celebrate, who you wish the girls to view, but I’ve always been fascinated with Judith in the Old Testament. I thought one side of the chapel might be Old Testament heroines while the opposite side would focus on the New Testament.”

  “May I see the drawings?” Carlotta pointed to the big pad.

  “Yes, of course. I tried to think of stories that would appeal to a young woman. You will know better than I.” He flipped open to the first page, Queen Esther looking regal.

  Excited, Carlotta studied this drawing, then they moved through the Old Testament. “Ah, Ruth and Naomi. Such a lovely story of friendship and finding truth.”

  Wisely, Celeste said nothing.

  “Mary Magdalene. Yes, yes, I see where you’re heading. I, myself, find the stories of her occupation vulgar. Even if true, I think we should present her as a faithful follower of our dear Lord, a woman redeemed.”

  “As we all hope to be.” Ben simply nodded.

  Carlotta stared at him. “You were raised in the One Truth Faith, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Van Dusen, I was. I wouldn’t say that I am a good Catholic, but I am a Catholic.”

  Celeste kept silent.

  “Celeste, where did you find this artist?”

  “Carlotta, you will be surprised. Fannie Jump Creighton. Baseball. She took me to a practice game.”

  “Really?”

  Herbert stepped in. “My wife noted the blue in your painting. Can you find glass like that here?”

  “Yes, but I have to go to Italian glassmakers.”

  “Can you bring me samples?” Carlotta touched her immense pearls.

  “I can. The deep colors we both love that we’ve seen in Europe can be reproduced here. There are people that good, but they are expensive.”

  “How expensive?” Carlotta asked.

  “Off the top of my head, I would guess one large, tall window would be perhaps as much as five thousand dollars, depending on the glass. You can always do this for less if you will accept less vibrant colors. A big savings could be had if you used figures in plain glass, just outlined.”

  “It has to be stained glass. I want people to make pilgrimages to see our reborn chapel. I want them awash in God’s beauty and glory.”

  “Ben, tell Carlotta your idea for the Blessed Virgin Mother.”

  He flipped to the last page, where a drawing of the Virgin Mary, arms extended, halo diffuse and soft, beckoned. “Celeste said she is special to you.”

  “Yes.” Overcome, Carlotta stared rapturously at the drawing.

  �
�So I thought, one can’t put her on the side of the chapel. She has to be the focus. You could create a huge stained-glass window behind the altar and backlight it or you could have this inside as one enters the chapel. That is, if you like it.”

  Taking Herbert’s hand, Carlotta, voice low, said to her husband, “Herbert, this is the sign I have been waiting for. This is what I must do for the Blessed Virgin Mother.”

  “Carlotta, it is stunning, but the expense,” he sensibly demurred.

  She cast her eyes back on Ben. “How much do you want?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “I have. Ten percent of the project.” Celeste spoke clearly.

  “Celeste, that’s a great deal of money,” Ben blurted out.

  Celeste was firm. “It’s a great deal of work, and you will have to hire help for the simpler tasks. You can’t do all this yourself.”

  He looked from his lover to her sister. “Mrs. Van Dusen, I really hadn’t considered any of this. I didn’t even know if you would like the drawings.”

  “I must have it.” Carlotta’s jaw set. “I must.”

  Herbert knew he was lost.

  “What if we do this?” Ben suggested. “Let me do one window. We’ll see what it truly costs. I worry about transporting the glass. There can be unexpected costs and then again, we might get lucky.” He smiled, which just melted Carlotta. “If you like what I do, if it truly brings the Bible stories to life for the girls, then pay me. If not, pay me only for my time.”

  Herbert, dumbfounded, said, “Why would you do this?”

  Very quietly, Ben replied, “For my comrades who didn’t come home. These girls are the future, you see?” He couldn’t express himself as he wished, but they understood.

  Tears filled Carlotta’s eyes. She reached over, taking Ben’s right hand in both of hers. “Yes.” Then she turned to Celeste. “Buy a building in Runnymede where trucks can get in and out, where the materials will be safe and where”—she looked at Ben—“there’s good light.”

  “Ma’am, I have to play baseball.”

  “Of course you do, but when you aren’t playing you will be working, and the season lasts but so long. Start the minute you can.” Again, turning to Celeste, “Can I count on you?”