by Gillian Chan
Maybe he’d talk to me when he finally got back. I could certainly hope. The only lead I had was that genealogy site, and I needed to get back to the library to investigate it further. Mueller was an unusual name, and Katerina Mueller had lived in Hamilton, and obviously had relatives who had bothered to draw up a family tree. Maybe, just maybe, there were still some Muellers in the area and . . . I stopped myself. It was a lot of maybes, and I could easily add another one. If Jacob did have family here, maybe they were the ones who had beaten him in the first place; maybe they wanted nothing to do with him.
Thinking like that made me careless. I was in history and that was the one class I didn’t share with Paddy, so I could drop my guard a little. I like history, and the guy they had teaching it was okay. He was into his subject and that was pretty much all he cared about. If you did your work then he left you alone, which was fine by me. We were studying World War II, and our assignment was to research something that interested us about Canada’s involvement in the war. I’d chosen the fall of Hong Kong: my dad’s dad had been there with the Royal Rifles of Canada and had been captured by the Japanese. I only knew this because Mom had given me an old military badge and some shoulder flashes when Dad died, telling me that they were the only things he’d never tried to hock. I still have them, hidden in the lining of my coat along with that photo of Jon. I was pretty much ahead on my work, so I snuck out the copy I’d made of the Mueller family tree.
I noticed that Katerina Mueller had gotten married in 1891, the year after her brother Jacob’s death. She’d married a man called Ephraim Sparrow and they had three children in pretty rapid succession. I felt like a dork. The fact that she had been married had never occurred to me. I would have continued pounding away at the Mueller name and come up with nothing at all, but now I wondered: Was our Jacob a relative of hers at all? The Mueller name had died out in this family. But the coincidence of brothers called Jacob and Caspar seemed odd.
It was while I was pondering this and tracing my finger down the twisting lines of Katerina’s children’s children, trying to arrive at the present day, that I got the awful feeling that someone was looking over my shoulder. He’d come up on the side of my bad eye. Mr. Halloran. He didn’t make a huge deal out of it—I wasn’t a kid who normally goofed off—just pulled the paper out from under my hand and walked away, telling me to get back to what I should have been doing.
I stewed for the remaining ten minutes of class, hating the fact that I was going to have to ask for the family tree back, maybe explain why I was looking at it.
Halloran had the sheet on his desk when I slouched up to him at the end of the lesson, waiting until everyone else had left the room.
“Homework for other subjects I’m used to, comic books, porn, maybe even a novel for the more erudite of my students, but I’ve never seen anyone looking at a family tree instead of working.” Halloran was smiling as he spoke. “I suppose I should be glad, Mike, that it has some historical connection. Is it your family?”
I stopped myself from blurting out “no.” I needed to get him off my back, so it seemed easier to say it was. “My dad’s family. I found it when I was looking up stuff on the Internet about my granddad for the project. His mother was a Sparrow.” I pointed vaguely at what I thought was the right time period for it to be true.
Halloran looked up at me, studying my face as if he were trying to gauge how truthful I was being. “The Sparrows were quite a well-known family in the area. They had one of the first farms down near what’s now the east end.” That meant nothing to me. Until I got sent to Medlar House, I’d never been to Hamilton before. “Barton Street,” he added, “down near the lake, where the steel mills are now.”
Those I knew. I’d seen them from the highway—huge smoke stacks billowing flame—when the social worker first drove me to Medlar.
“Are you going to research this further?” There was a pathetic gleam of hope in his eye. I knew what he was thinking; he thought he’d found that one student that all teachers dream about, the one who shares their love of their subject. “Maybe your family could help you.”
Oh yes, my cunning brain was working and I saw a way to turn all of this to my advantage. I looked down, avoided his eyes, and said, “I’d like to, but I’m not with my family anymore.” I hesitated here, hoping he would think that I was struggling not to lose it. “I’m one of the kids from the group home.” He’d probably been told this at some point and it had slipped his mind, but I wasn’t ashamed to make him squirm a little. “It’s not easy to get computer time, or to the library. The other kids give you a hard time if they think you’re a keener when it comes to school. That’s why I was looking at it in class. I’m kind of as far along as I can be with my assignment until I find a way to do some more research.” I allowed myself a quick look at his face, to see if he was buying it.
It had worked. Halloran was one of those guys with really pale skin, and he had gone red with embarrassment, probably as a result of my mentioning my family situation. He cleared his throat and said, “Look, Mike, I can’t do anything about the library, but if you don’t abuse it—by this I mean tell your friends and have them all pile in thinking they can play games—I don’t see why you couldn’t come into my classroom at lunchtime and use the computer here.” He paused, giving me a little smile. “That way you can give your work your full attention during class, right?”
Score! I looked appropriately hangdog and grateful, shuffling my feet. “I won’t. You don’t know how much this means to me, Mr. Halloran.” I couldn’t resist turning the knife a little. “Most teachers think we’re a bunch of thugs—the kids from the group home, I mean.”
I thought that was a good touch. After all, was I not the thug of thugs when I wanted to be? I was already planning what use I could put this unexpected computer access to next week.
I’d almost made it through the door when Halloran called out, “Mike, I’ve just thought of something.”
I turned around, but I wasn’t going back in.
“The local collection and archives at the central library. I’m sure you’ll find stuff on the Sparrow family there.”
He’d gotten my attention. “Can I search it from the computer?”
“Afraid not. It’s on the third floor, tucked away at the back. Everything is on a card index, but if you look up Sparrow, they’ll have all sorts of stuff.”
Damn, I thought. I’d have to find a way to get there somehow.
Chaz was late coming to get us that day. We waited where we always did out in front of the school, in our usual untidy knot. Surprisingly, today Matt was in the middle of the crowd and Paddy stood alone. Paddy kept up his sly grin, though, which pissed me off, but what could I do?
The cold that had almost done Jacob in yesterday had intensified. A few snowflakes drifted down. Gradually the parking lot emptied. The last bus pulled out, and we were the only ones there. I glanced around quickly, making sure that no one was watching and no one was coming through the main doors. I launched myself away from the wall, slamming into Paddy, one arm tight around his neck. To a casual observer, it would have looked innocent enough: two teenage boys roughhousing. Paddy tried to shake free of me, but I held him tight. I was amused that Matt made no effort to come to his friend’s aid. Paddy tore at my arm with his hands, fighting to get free. Lowering my head, so that it was close to his, I whispered, “You know that I know that you did it. What you don’t know is what I am going to do to you, and when it will be. Live in fear!” Okay, that last bit was over the top.
I heard the chugging wheeze of Chaz’s van coming up the driveway and released my grip on Paddy’s neck, taking a step back to distance myself from him a bit. Paddy sprang toward me, swinging his backpack at my head. It was beautiful. All Chaz saw was me standing there, hands in my pockets, and Paddy attacking me. You’d almost think I’d planned that. I sat back and enjoyed the harangue Paddy got about fighting.
As he got on the bus last, Paddy mouthed “Adam!” to me and drew his finger across his throat.
At dinner, Chaz tried to pump me for information. Had I seen anything? Had anyone been talking about who had attacked Jacob? What had caused Paddy to take a swing at me? I could honestly tell him that I’d neither seen nor heard anything useful.
He sighed. It amazed me that someone like Chaz could be so innocent and optimistic after all that he must have seen. I almost felt guilty for what I was about to do.
We’d been silent for a while. “Chaz,” I said, “I need to ask you something.”
Okay, it was the first time I had ever initiated a conversation with him, but even so his reaction was extreme. He blinked, his mouth hung open, a forkful of food suspended in front of it, and the sad thing was that I could see the hope in his goddamned eyes.
“In history, we’re doing a project on World War II, and my teacher told me that some of the information I need might be in the local collection at the central library. Do you think I could go and check it out?”
You could tell he was disappointed, but too bad. What was he thinking, that I was going to say, “Oooh, Chaz, let me tell you my innermost thoughts so I can exorcize the demons that plague me because of my brother’s murder and the rest of my shitty life and everything will be all right from now on”?
“Yeah, that can be arranged,” he said, his voice flat and tired-sounding now. “It’s Saturday tomorrow. I’m not officially on duty, but I’m going to pick Luce and Jacob up and bring them home.” He winced as he said that last word, as conscious as I was that this was the last place you would want to think of as home. “I could swing by here and pick you up, if it’s okay with whoever is in charge tomorrow, then run you down there, do some errands, and come back for you before I go to the hospital. How much time do you need?”
I had no idea. “An hour, maybe two. Mr. Halloran says that none of it is computerized so it might take me a while to find what I’m looking for.”
“Let’s split the difference, make it an hour and a half. I’ll be here at 9:30.”
It was all too easy. Looking back now, I wish it hadn’t been, because if I hadn’t gone to the library and found that stuff, then I wouldn’t be up to my ears in shit now.
Chapter Eight
I was waiting at the door when Chaz arrived the next morning. I’d gone to my room immediately after dinner the night before and stayed there. Adam had given me a plaintive look, but Chaz was on duty for part of the night so I knew he’d be okay. I had a lot to think about, and I wanted to run through everything I knew about Jacob and try to come up with a story that hung together. I didn’t succeed, just gave myself a headache.
In places like these, the weekends are the worst. There is nothing to do. For a few unlucky people there are visitors. There are always more arguments, mainly out of boredom. So, you can imagine it didn’t sit well with the kids who had overheard my conversation with Chaz last night that I was getting to go out, even if it was to the library.
Adam had been waiting outside my room again that morning. He didn’t bother with any small talk, just greeted me by stating baldly, “You have to take me. Paddy will get me if you don’t. He said he knew I’d told.” His face was white and pinched, the bruises around his eye even more noticeable today.
Shit. I hadn’t exactly forgotten about him, but I was just too hung up on the possibility of finally finding Jacob’s family. “I don’t know, buddy. I’m just going to the library; it’ll be boring as hell.”
His upper lip started to quiver and the finger-twisting started up again.
“Look, I’ll ask Chaz. It’ll be up to him, okay?” God, I was getting soft.
Adam didn’t leave my side all through breakfast, even managing to finagle himself into Jacob’s usual place. I concentrated on my breakfast, but whenever I looked up, he was giving me puppy dog eyes.
Paddy was waiting in the hall when Adam and I came out of the dining room, leaning against the wall nearest the common room. Matt was nowhere in sight. Maybe I had succeeded in frightening him away with my antics outside the school yesterday.
At first Paddy said nothing, just stood there staring at me. Then he started making wet kissing noises. I could see a few curious faces peering out of the common room, eyes round with anticipation. A couple of kids giggled, which spurred him on. He opened his mouth and let his tongue flicker back and forth suggestively.
The giggling rose in volume.
“So what are we talking about here? Butt boys together?” Paddy’s voice was low, but loud enough so that everyone could hear.
I didn’t answer.
“I mean, that must be the explanation.” Paddy looked around at his audience before continuing. “Why you’re so concerned about Jacob, and, of course, why Chaz is always willing to help you out. Although I would have thought that face of yours would turn most people off. What are you going to do for him in return, Mike?” He did an exaggerated double take when he saw Adam next to me, clutching his coat. “Maybe he likes them young, younger than you. I’m getting a bit of a pedo vibe here. Are you his supplier?”
I felt anger rising in me, a wash of hate that would only be stopped when I pounded the smirk off Paddy’s face. I was stepping toward him, fist raised, when I felt a tug on my sleeve. Adam was there, shaking his head. He nodded toward Paddy, who was moving forward, clearly not preparing to defend himself, just smiling and almost offering his face to be hit. I shuddered with the realization of how close he had come to making me blow my chance to get to the library. I shook myself free of Adam’s grasp roughly, gave him the slightest nod, and stepped back. Lowering my arm, I turned my attention back to the door. I made myself give him a smile and muttered, “Nice try, Paddy. It almost worked.”
He snarled something I didn’t catch and then I heard the thump of a fist and a squeal as he took out his frustration on someone else. Since I could see Chaz was pulling up outside, I didn’t bother to turn around to find out how or on whom.
Chaz looked a bit better than he had the day before. He raised his eyebrows when he saw Adam standing next to me, his coat on, looking hopeful. I thought on my feet and came up with some hokey story about Adam having homework that needed research in the library, too, adding that I would look after him. I could almost see the questions forming in Chaz’s mind. I was willing to bet that the first would be: When had Adam and I started to talk to each other? If he was as smart as I thought he was, then Chaz would try and find some way to make use of this information. In the end, he just shrugged. After all, Adam was one of the good kids, one of the ones who rarely caused trouble.
Saturday was obviously a big day downtown; the library was way busier than it had been during my weekday visit. I was never one for crowds, even before, but now I outright hate them. I am always conscious of the stares, the quick aversion of eyes, and the whispers. I was glad when we reached the local collection. Following Mr. Halloran’s directions, it was easy to find. Best of all, the librarians outnumbered the visitors there. There were maybe three other people in the room, all sitting quietly at their tables. Only one looked up when we came in, and he dropped his gaze back to whatever he was reading in a matter of seconds. Adam stuck close to me, almost tripping on my heels. He started to tell me that the library was a place he used to go to a lot with his mother, because it was free. I told him to can it, that I wasn’t interested.
It was like stepping back in time. I’m sure this is how libraries looked before computers. It was just a big room with huge wooden tables. At one end there were racks of what looked like file folders, at the other a bank of wooden card-catalog boxes.
Adam’s eyes widened. “Where are the computers?” he asked.
I pointed to the card catalogs. “There’s cards in there, in alphabetical order.” I’d brought a pad and pencil with me; now I tore off a piece of paper and gave it to him. There were stubby pencils sitting
on top of the catalogs so I got him one of those, too, telling him to go look for anything on Sparrow, particularly Katerina. I tried looking up Jacob Mueller first of all, but there was nothing. Just as I was looking for Caspar, I heard a whoop from Adam. It was so quiet in there that everyone turned to stare at him; the librarian just smiled and put a finger to her lips.
He turned scarlet, but he waved me over, looking very pleased with himself.
He had found a card for the Sparrow family; apparently, it referred to a newspaper article from a 1975 issue of The Spectator. There was also a separate catalog entry for Katerina Sparrow, and this was odd: it listed her as the author of a pamphlet printed in 1890 called “The Prophet.”
I’ll admit it. I’m a computer guy through and through. I had no idea how to get hold of the stuff that was listed on the cards. The librarian at the desk was good. She looked me straight in the eye, no flinching, and explained what I needed to do. The newspaper article was the easier of the two to access. I just had to write down the volume number and page, and I could find it myself in the folders at the back of the room. As for the pamphlet, the original was available if I wanted to apply for an archive card, or they had a photocopy of it. For that, I just had to fill out a form and they would bring it to me at one of the tables. She also said that I could photocopy it myself if I wanted to. There was a machine for this behind the card boxes. To say I was excited would have been an understatement. Adam was still pumped about being the one to find the Sparrow family card. I think our enthusiasm tickled the librarian.
We found an unoccupied table and sat down, Adam hovering as close to me as possible so he could read over my shoulder. I whispered to him to explain what I was looking for and he nodded sagely, as if this was the most logical thing he had ever heard. The article was part of a series on local history that had been published over the years in The Spectator. From it, we learned that the Sparrows had settled in Head of the Lake, which was what Hamilton was known as in the early part of the nineteenth century. They were loyalists who’d sided with the British in the Revolutionary War and were chased out of America, north to Canada, at the end of the war. There was even a Sparrow Street named after them, but the name had died out in the area. Ephraim Sparrow and Katerina had only had daughters, one of whom never married. The other had married a man from Waterloo County and moved there with him. That sucked big time. I’d hit another dead end, unless Jacob might possibly be a descendant of that daughter, but then why would he have the surname Mueller? The only explanation I could come up with was that perhaps he was trying to hide his real identity. Waterloo County was near Kitchener, not that far away, but it all seemed flimsy and unlikely.