We had to switch trains several times, in big, echoing stations bustling with people who looked like they knew where they were going. Adam seemed to be one of them.
I stayed close to Adam the whole way. He made sure we had food—not much, but enough to keep hunger pangs at bay. He cheered me by poking fun at some of the passengers. He led with confidence even when he wasn’t sure which train we needed to be on, and I kept thinking if I could be half the man he was, I’d be sure of my place in the world. And as long as Adam was around, I’d felt safe. He had taken Ma’s words to heart, looking after me in ways big and small.
He was always there, nudging me forward with a “here you go, Carl.”
Here you go, Carl, this is our train.
Here you go, Carl, a fresh apple and some coffee.
Here you go, Carl, Uncle Pete’s house is up this street.
Adam, Pete, and I all lived together now in a rickety bungalow near the river. Portland’s nearly a hundred miles inland from the sea, so it hardly seems like a real seaport to me. But it’s supposed to be a busy one. I don’t know. Nothing seems as busy or as big as what we left back East.
Once we’d arrived at Pete’s last year, I was happy to be done with traveling. But now not a day goes by that I don’t think of traveling home.
It became a dream of mine to save up enough money to go back East, where things happen, where the air smells like people do things—not as empty as it did here—and maybe even to pay off the last of the family debts and buy back our little home near the harbor. Working together, Adam and I could do it, and he agreed. Without Adam knowing it, I even wrote a letter to Esther a couple months ago, telling her we were going to come back. That was before Adam got into trouble.
Adam had been working odd jobs since we came to Oregon, but Pete wanted me to go to school. I did a year at St. Clare’s but could hardly wait to get out. First off, Pete had to work a double shift, and still had to scrimp to pay the tuition. And I was the oldest kid in my class, which made me feel even more like the odd fellow out. I talked Pete into letting me drop it this year. I was eager to get to work.
I had two jobs: I delivered newspapers, and I worked a few hours each day at St. Mary’s Academy. The handyman there, Lester, was teaching me how to repair things. Pete knew Lester from church and got me the job. I wished Adam had found a regular job like that. It might have saved us from the trouble we were in.
You see, a month or so ago, Adam hooked up with a plumbing outfit on Yamhill Road. They sent him out to a house in the hills on the west side of town to fix some leaky kitchen pipes for the Peterson family.
Adam had always been a good-looking kid—not like me. I was thin and pale, and nothing to boast about. Adam was tall and dark-haired with a great smile that melted the hearts of everyone who met him, like Rose, the daughter in that swanky Peterson household. Adam talked her into sneaking away and meeting him for a night on the town at least twice, until her parents caught on and forbade her to ever see him again.
Adam wasn’t too upset, though. He just said he had to be more careful. “Her parents’ll come around,” he told me when he arrived home late one night, smelling like fancy perfume. “She’s going to talk them into it. And just you wait, then, Carl. We’ll be on Easy Street.”
Easy Street? Hah! Adam had this crazy idea he could actually marry this girl, after which her parents would set him up for life. That dream came to a crashing end, however, when the Peterson family was reported burglarized, and some jewelry stolen by the burglar—a diamond bracelet, a pearl pin, and a couple pairs of ruby earrings. The stuff was worth a pretty penny, and whoever took it had to know the house and where the jewelry had been hidden—had to know the family even had the stuff.
That’s why Adam was in trouble. The girl’s father told the police “some Polish papist” stole the jewelry. That was three days ago, and Adam had been on the run ever since.
“Papist” is a word I’d never heard before coming to Portland. Back in Baltimore, it seemed like everybody was a Catholic. But here, I’d heard some folks at St. Mary’s complaining about a “campaign against Catholics.”
Pete was upset about all this “papist” talk. He sometimes went to meetings about it, and when he came home, he never looked happy. I wanted to find out more so I could help him—but first, I had to dig Adam out of his hole.
Adam sat calmly at Pete’s kitchen table. He looked serene, as if he were thinking about what pleasurable thing he wanted to do that day—go fishing, meet up with some friends, or just sit in a chair reading a book. He didn’t look like a fellow who was on the run. I was more worried than he was.
“Not going to work today?” Adam asked me. He held a knife in one hand and a round of cheese in the other.
“They can get on without me,” I said, staring out the window, onto a backyard and dirt alley between Pete’s house and the next house in the neighborhood. Most of all, though, I was looking out for Miller.
“Watch it, or they will get on without you.”
Quickly, I turned toward him and said, “If the Academy doesn’t want me anymore, I’ll do odd jobs, just like you.”
He snorted a laugh. “Regular work is better than what I do, kid.”
“Don’t call me ‘kid,’” I said. “I can make my way on my own.” But as soon as I said it, the untruth in it seemed to light up the room. I’d needed Adam’s help when we traveled west, and I didn’t think I could face the return trip without him. He probably knew it, too. My face warmed as I waited for a retort. But none came. Instead, he cut off a large chunk of cheese and ate in silence for awhile.
And then, as if he’d read my mind, he started talking about going home. Pointing the knife at me, he said, “In Baltimore, you should look into going back to school. You always were a good student.”
“I didn’t do so well last year,” I said. It had been a tough year in a tough school—mostly Italian kids, and I was the only newcomer.
“That was different,” Adam said, waving the knife. “Before that, you were always bringing home the good grades. Not like me.”
He was right. While Adam had barely made it through school each year, I easily passed my classes, hardly needing to study in order to score high grades. It was like our faults and assets had been precisely divided between us, with no overlap. He was good-looking and charming, while I was plain and shy. I was a good student and obedient, while he struggled at learning and behaving.
But I envied even his faults because they seemed so much better than my strengths. He might have seemed tactless and shallow to some, always poking fun at people and events he had nothing to do with, but that was part of his charm—he could take something heavy and sad and make it seem light as air and more than bearable. I didn’t have that gift. If not for his charm, I would have spent the past year a hopeless mope.
As for his other big fault, he’d gotten into a few scrapes before the Peterson problem, but nothing serious. He’d broken a window with a baseball once in Baltimore, but it had been an honest mistake. And he’d soaped up Mr. Warton’s store windows one Halloween, but only because old Warton had been mean to us kids who stopped by after school. At his core, Adam was a good boy with a good heart. It bothered me when others didn’t see him that way.
As I studied my brother now, I wondered why he couldn’t turn all his good points into something better, why he couldn’t take the good advice he gave me and use it for himself. He thought having a “regular” job was a good thing, yet he didn’t go after one. He picked up work here and there. Even Pete had told him more than once that he should find something permanent. Yet Adam was the one who’d gotten me the newspaper delivery job with cranky Gus Winston. Adam had told me I’d like it, that it would make me feel like a man to be earning regular money. If that worked for me, why didn’t it also work for him?
Gus Winston hadn’t wanted to hire me at first. He’d made some comment about my last name, saying “Matuski” sounded “Bolshevik” to him and he didn’t want
“none of those radical foreigners” handling a route in a proper neighborhood. But Adam, who could be pretty menacing when he wanted to be, stared down at squat Gus, saying, “You don’t hire this kid and nobody in this neighborhood buys the paper. You can count on it.” Gus said I’d do until he found someone better. I don’t think he ever tried.
Adam looked out for me without me asking him to. Maybe that was the problem. He used up all his best parts helping me and didn’t have much left for himself. All the more reason for me to pitch in for him now.
“If we find the real thief, this will all go away,” I said to him, still keeping a lookout for Miller. What I didn’t add was that we could then go back to planning our trip back home.
Adam shook his head. “They want me, kid. They’ve already decided whose name is on this crime.”
“Come on, Adam, we can figure this out together. And then you’re home free.” What I meant was we would both be home free, really home—away from Portland.
After eating some more cheese and bread, he stood and got himself a glass of water. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he leaned against the porcelain sink. “You’re a smart one,” he said, “but this is beyond you.”
I let the insult slide by. “We can do it together. You just have to tell me things about the Petersons and then I’ll follow up with—”
“Tell you what? What do I know?”
“Like who knew about the jewelry,” I said, irritation raising my voice.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he shook his head, didn’t look at me, and said nothing.
“Damn it, Adam, who knew about the jewelry?” I repeated.
Grimacing, he shot me a look. “Pete’ll wash your mouth out if you keep up that kind of talk.”
“You talk that way. So does Lester at the Academy. So does Pete.”
Adam laughed. “Yeah, and look how far we’ve gotten.”
I brushed past his concern for my language and returned to the question. “C’mon, Adam. Think. Who knew about the jewels? That’s the first step.”
“Everybody knew about them!” His good humor left him and he strode to the back door and stared out. “Everybody in the world—at least everybody in the house. Rose’s parents, her brothers,” he mumbled. “Stupid jewelry. They probably have a cartload left, and they’re crying like it was a favorite son they lost.”
I ignored his bitterness and pressed on with my questions. “Who exactly owned it? Was it Rose’s?”
“Nope. Her mother’s. Something she inherited.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Rose showed it to me one day.”
“How many brothers does she have?”
“Two. One’s married and lives in Irvington,” he said. Irvington was a posh area of town. It fit. “The other’s just ten.”
“The married one visit a lot?”
“I don’t know.”
“They visit any time before the stuff went missing?” I asked.
“I don’t know, Carl. I was never really invited into the family circle, you know.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and turned to me. “Look, this is useless. You won’t figure this out. The best thing is for me to just get away, at least ’til things cool down. How long before you get that cash from Gus?”
“Not ’til this afternoon.” Adam knew the Academy wouldn’t pay me for another week, so he didn’t bother to ask about that check. Besides, I could cheat Pete out of my newspaper money, but I knew he counted on using some of my Academy pay for rent and food. I didn’t think Adam would want me denying our uncle his due.
“When?”
“Well, I usually pick up my papers after school, at the Jasluzek store. Gus’ll be there with my pay.”
Adam, apparently relieved, walked toward the stairs. “I’m going to catch some sleep. Wake me up before you go, kid.”
Chapter Three
While Adam slept, I felt on edge, waiting for the cops to come around or Pete to come home early.
I should have been at the Academy working. Despite my bravado around Adam, I felt guilty letting Lester down. I knew he was repainting an office today, and I would have made the task go twice as fast for him. Not being there meant I’d be docked for a day’s pay, too.
Oh, heck, I’d get over to the Academy, help out Lester, and be back before anyone stumbled onto Adam. With Officer Miller sure he was still on the lam, Adam was safe sleeping off his troubles at Pete’s for the day. We’d plot out his next move after he was rested. So I struck out into the morning, heading on Fifth Avenue toward the school.
It was a bright day with just a hint of autumn in the air. I didn’t need my jacket, so I took it off and held it with one finger over my shoulder. My cap I kept on because it cut down the glare of the sun.
The walk gave me time to think. If Adam was too beat up inside to help figure out who the real thief was, I’d have to do it as best I could on my own. Maybe he was just tired—tired of always being the one in charge.
Even before Ma passed away, Adam had helped out. He helped her in the corner store where she worked, filling in for her when she was sick. He delivered newspapers after school. He fixed meals for us when she was bedridden, and paid the bills, sweet-talking more than one creditor into accepting payments late. He made sure I did my schoolwork and got me a new pair of shoes when my old ones cramped my toes. Sometimes, it seemed like he could do anything. If I needed something, Adam got it for me. Now it was my turn to return the favor.
Rose told Adam she had two brothers. The young one might be ten, but he still might have done it. I’d known kids who played craps before school for pennies. If he lost a lot, the brother would have run up big debts and might have needed the jewelry to pawn for some easy cash. If he’d been home at the time of the robbery, he was a possibility. I wouldn’t rule him out just because he was a kid.
And then there was the older, married brother living in Irving-ton. He could need cash for any number of things. If he was desperate, nabbing some of his mother’s jewelry could solve a lot of problems pretty easily.
There had to be others as well—tradesmen and repairmen, maybe even a maid or butler. Or maybe it had just been a lucky burglar, breaking into the house to steal it clean, hearing something that made him hurry, grabbing the first shiny things that caught his eyes.
As I put together my list of possibilities, my muscles relaxed and some of my worry lifted. It felt good to be walking on this beautiful day. When the sun was shining and the air was a warm touch on my brow, it was easy to think that all problems could be solved by reasonable people getting together and talking. I started building a dream—one where I figured out who the real thief was, after which the Petersons were so mortified at accusing Adam that they paid him a generous reward. We’d take the extra cash and head eastward before the weather turned cool. The sky, a washed-out blue decorated with wisps of clouds, made it easy to nourish dreams like that, and by the time I got to the Academy, I was actually whistling an upbeat tune.
But then something caught my eye: a broadside tacked to a telephone pole, sending a hot rush of indignation from my head to my feet.
“SISTER LUCRETIA, AN ESCAPED NUN, TO TALK OF HER FEARFUL EXPERIENCES!” it read in big block letters. It advertised an event at the public school auditorium downtown. “Sister Lucretia” was going to inform the good citizens of Portland, as she’d done in other great cities in the land, of the “frightful rituals” and “perversions of flesh and spirit” that she’d witnessed as a Catholic nun.
I ripped the sheet from the pole, quickly looking around to make sure no one had seen me, and stuffed it in my pocket. How could this nun betray her sisters and give such a talk? Surely she was lying. The nuns who taught me had been strict. But they weren’t what this paper implied—wicked, evil, or strange.
At the Academy, I found Lester in the basement near the boiler. He looked up and smiled when he saw me.
“Just in time,” he said. “I was wondering if you were sick.” He turned back to a cabinet and
pulled out paintbrushes and rags. An older man, he had the short, stocky build of a prize-fighter. His face was fleshy and full of deep creases, and he was the only man I’d ever describe as having eyes that sparkled.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
He turned quickly at the sound of my gloomy voice. “You sure you’re not sick?”
“I’m fine,” I protested. But my irritation betrayed me. I didn’t want to—in fact, I couldn’t—tell him about Adam. So I pulled the paper from my pocket. “Who is this? You ever hear of her?”
Lester took the page from my hand and read it, scratching his head as he did so. His smile left him and he frowned once or twice. When he was done, he ripped the paper in two and fed it into the furnace, clanging the door shut with a loud bang.
“Did you notice any other ones around the school?” he asked.
“I didn’t look.”
“When we’re done painting, we’ll go out and see. Get them down before any of the sisters find them.” He muttered a curse under his breath, something about people whose names I didn’t recognize.
As we walked up to the office to be painted, I pressed Lester for more information. “Why would a nun do that sort of thing—give talks like that?” I wanted him to tell me she was a charlatan, but I didn’t want to ask outright. I was always afraid of something—in this case, disappointment.
Lester stopped on a first floor landing and jabbed his finger at my chest. “You don’t believe that crap, do you? That Sister Lucretia is no more an ex-nun than I’m an ex-pope. She’s a crazy woman. Was in an insane asylum.” He lowered his voice when a student came onto the landing and scurried upstairs. “The local Klan probably invited her here to get people all riled up before the vote.”
He led the way upstairs but didn’t say any more. When we reached the empty office, he spread cloths over the desk, opened the window, laid out the brushes, and began mixing the paint—all in quick succession. He told me to put my jacket and cap where they wouldn’t get stained, and gave me an old, oversized shirt to protect my other clothes.
The Case Against My Brother Page 2