Dust and Roses

by Wes Brummer

  Especially for the baby.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jason glanced at the abandoned buildings along Broadway as he and Michael walked north from the restaurant. Two men in patched flannel shirts lounged on the steps of a boarded up furniture store. Signs of hard times were as glaring as a movie marquee. The only thing separating the destitute and them was a paycheck—and hope. Hope for a brighter future. Or a prayer that the hard times didn’t turn worse.

  Bigger’s Mercantile lay ahead. There, they’d meet Larry and find out what happened to Sara. Mom would be relieved. At the end of the block, a vendor with bright red hair and short skirt sold apples from a wagon to a suited gentleman. As they approached, the buyer shook his head and hurried away. A nickel for an apple the sign said. For a dime, he could get a whole bagful at a store.

  With a break in traffic at the corner, Jason hurried across the street. On the other side, he stopped. Where was that brother of his? Lagging behind, no doubt. Jason dashed back across the intersection to find him gazing at the comely apple seller.

  She wore a feathery boa and a thin dress. The girl’s smile was an invitation. She held the fruit up to her small bosom, the sheer fabric detailing her charms. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen. “Would you like to buy my apples?” she cooed.

  Michael was transfixed.

  Jason grabbed the back of his brother’s collar, marching him across traffic. “Come on, Romeo.”

  Michael squirmed like a fish on a hook. “Leggo! You’ll rip my shirt!”

  Jason released him on the next block but continued at a brisk pace.

  Michael hurried to keep up. “Can you believe that? I could practically see through her blouse!

  Jason gritted his teeth, but he couldn’t blame his brother. He hadn’t seen much of the world. “Apples weren’t the only things she was selling.”

  “Slow down! What are you talking about?”

  “She’s an apple tart—a floozy. Now, let’s get to that store.”

  Michael pulled his newsboy cap tighter as he rushed to keep pace with Jason. “You’re taking this search way too seriously.”

  Jason whirled around. “You bet it’s serious. We’re not playing at Sam Spade. Sara may be in trouble. Remember that.”

  Michael stared at the sidewalk. “I know you’re worried, but Sis is probably giving Pop the silent treatment.”

  Jason glared at his brother. Michael still thought this was a game.

  Twenty-five minutes later, Jason led the way into Bigger’s Mercantile. The first floor acted as a showcase for new products. Larry wasn’t anywhere in sight. They may have to check all the floors. Or he would. It looked like Michael was distracted again.

  This time, it was a radio the size of an icebox.

  The impressive looking Zenith set in the center of smaller table models. The huge radio had a black dial some eight inches across, centered above a decorative wooden grill. Four ridged columns looking like art deco skyscrapers were at each corner of the massive cabinet. Michael ran his fingers over the smooth finish. “This is a swell looking radio.”

  Jason’s eyes drifted to the stairs. “We haven’t got time—”

  “May I help you, boys?” A well-dressed man with graying hair approached. He took out a handkerchief, buffing the spot where Michael touched the wood. The floorwalker gestured to the radio. “Gorgeous, isn’t it? It’s the Zenith Stratosphere, their best model. The cabinet is handcrafted walnut. The speaker clarity beats anything else on the market. Very natural sound.”

  “How much is it?” Michael asked.

  “Seven hundred fifty dollars. It’s not just a radio. It’s finely made furniture and an engineering marvel.”

  Michael backed away. “I bet it sounds great, but I was just looking.”

  The salesman nodded. “I understand. Perhaps you’d be interested in something more affordable?”

  Time was a-wasting. Jason cleared his throat. “We’re looking for Larry Bigger.”

  The seller frowned. “He’s my son. You can find him on the second floor setting up a display of fabrics.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Jason caught Michael’s eye. “Come on.”

  Near the stairs, Larry stood at a table surrounded by rolls of brightly colored cloth. A wide bandage covered his right cheek. Jason remained behind a rack of clothing patterns as Michael examined the merchandise. Larry kept changing the order of the fabrics. First, he’d alternate solid colors with patterns. Then, he’d group similar colors together. Jason stepped in plain view. “Are you Larry Bigger?”

  The clerk took his time before looking up. Sara brought him home last Christmas. Blond hair, skinny, big ears, loud suit.

  “Do you remember us, Mr. Bigger?”

  “No, is there something I can do for you?”

  Michael nudged a roll of cloth, letting it unroll across the table.

  Larry glared at him. “Please, leave the merchandise alone.”

  Jason nodded. “You can help. But we’re not interested in material. We’re looking for our sister. Have you seen her?”

  Larry wrinkled his nose. “I see customers all day. What does she look like?”

  “Quit the act. She was here Saturday morning, telling you she was having a baby. Your baby. Where is she?”

  Michael tapped the roll again, sending the spool to the edge of the table.

  Larry’s eyes shifted between the two. He snapped his fingers. “I know you guys. Sara’s brothers. I remember now. I had dinner with your family. Okay. You’re right. She came Saturday. Very upset. We had a few words. Then she left. Said she didn’t want to see me again. I haven’t talked to her since.”

  Jason glanced at Michael. His younger brother shrugged, unrolling a second spool of fabric. Jason turned back to Larry. “We don’t care what happened between you two. Did she talk about going someplace?”

  Larry tapped his chin with a forefinger. “No. She said her father was upset with her. I was busy and didn’t have time to listen. That got her angry, and she left. That’s all I know.” His voice dripped with insincerity. “Listen, I’m on the clock, guys. Got work to do.”

  Michael unfurled a third bolt of cloth. Three spools teetered on the edge of the table. He gazed at Larry, touching his cheek. “What happened to your face?”

  Larry mirrored the gesture. “I cut it shaving.”

  Jason’s hands balled into fists. He’d heard enough. “You slipped up, Larry. You saw her Sunday. Dad didn’t blow up until Saturday night.”

  Larry scowled. “I told you, boys. I’m busy. Now, scram.”

  “We’ll do that. And you’ll be busy as well.”

  Michael flicked his wrist, sending all three spools flying off the table.

  Larry uttered a curse.

  The boys rushed for the doors. Once outside, Michael doubled over in laughter. Jason allowed himself a small grin. The last thing he saw before hitting the stairs was Larry Bigger chasing three spools of fabric fanning across the show floor.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sara leaned back in the rocker by her bed, savoring the time alone before supper. Tomorrow would begin the infirmary assignment; a grueling, painful challenge compared to today’s activities. By July fifteenth, the county planned to close the tenant house. After the house closed she had no choice but go to her aunt and uncle in Hutchinson—and the all-too- real possibility of giving up her child. Unless something can be done.

  But for now, she needed to do her assigned duties. Coping with the bedridden up those long steps would be tough. Who should she ask for help?

  The supper bell rang.

  Sara stood and shuffled to the dining room. Bea and Patrick were already sitting down to a bowl of soup. Dutch sat with the two older men at the other end of the table.

  “We saved a bowl for you,” Patrick announced. “I thought of it.”

  Sara smiled slightly, eyeing the container of stew. “Thank you, Patrick. You’re very thoughtful.”

  Sara tasted the food. A bit
thin, but at least it was still hot. She ate in silence for a few minutes and then turned to Bea. “The matron has given me a work assignment. It wasn’t what I expected.”

  Bea retrieved her slate.

  NOT COOKING?

  Sara shook her head. “Something more involved. I’ll be working with the people upstairs. Do you have a job you’re supposed to do?”

  I SEW. REPAIR CLOTHES.

  “Mrs. Eisner said you made my dress. Thank you. I’d like to find a belt or cloth to go around the waist. So it looks more like a dress instead of a nightgown.”

  LIKE A SASH?

  Sara nodded. “Or a long scarf.”

  GIVE ME A DAY.

  “Thanks. That would be wonderful.” Sara took a breath. “I was also wondering if you could help me with the people upstairs. I suppose you’d call them patients. Two people working together will make the job a lot easier.”

  WHAT WOULD I DO?

  Sara thought for a moment. “Help me serve meals, change bedding, do sponge baths, move people to rockers or potty chairs if necessary. Anything you can imagine making old people more comfortable, that’s what we’ll do.”

  I CAN HELP. IS TWO ENOUGH?

  “Probably not.” Sara pursed her lips. “I can’t lift anything without hurting. We could use a strong back.”

  Bea pointed to Patrick.

  “Patrick?” Sara peered at the youth who was tipping the bowl to his lips. The job would require lifting patients, transferring them from bed to chair and back again. He seemed strong. But could he take instruction? Would he be gentle?

  Bea tapped her slate.

  ASK HIM.

  Why not. Sara touched the boy’s arm. “Patrick, I need help with a job. Can you lift a person?”

  Patrick’s eyes lit with excitement. “I bet I can lift you!” He sprang from his chair, circled the table, and stood behind Sara. Two pudgy hands gripped the seat of her chair and raised her off the ground.

  Sara grabbed the table. “Hey wait! I believe you. Set me down, now!” Sara held her breath while Patrick plopped her chair to the floor.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Sara. Are you mad at me?” The youth collapsed back to his seat.

  “No, of course not. I know you’re strong. Would you like to help me work upstairs? You’ll be lifting old people from their beds. Work starts tomorrow.”

  Patrick’s face brightened. “Yip-pee!” He leaped to his feet and ran around the dining room. “I can work because I’m strong.” The other diners watched as he shouted and careened around the tables. On his third lap, his foot caught on the back wheel of Mrs. Chapman’s wheelchair. He crashed headlong, sliding across the rough pine floor, but he rose again and completed one more circuit before dropping in his chair, his mouth in a wide smile. “Hey, Miss Sara?” He rubbed a scrape on his forehead.

  “Yes, Patrick?”

  “I can help because I’m strong.”

  Sara gave a polite smile. “You are.”

  “Hey, Miss Sara?”

  “Yes, Patrick?”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  Bea tapped Sara’s shoulder.

  THIS WILL BE FUN.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jason sat at the edge of his bed writing on a Big Chief tablet. “We need to decide what our next step should be to find Sara. I’ve already started a list of what we know, but I need your help to finish it.”

  Michael flipped the detective story pulp upside down on his bed. “What have you got so far?”

  “That Sara told the mailroom ladies she was having a baby. She got the news from the doctor’s office, went to the mercantile, talked to Larry Bigger, and headed to work. All during Saturday morning.” He stared at the page. “What do we know about their meeting?”

  “Sara told him of her situation. Larry said they broke up and denied knowing anything about a baby.”

  Jason jotted down the main points. “Keep going.”

  “The ladies at the office never mentioned a breakup, but they didn’t think Larry took the news of the baby well.”

  “So, why would Larry say they broke up and deny knowing about the baby?”

  Michael shrugged. “He’s hiding something.”

  Jason rubbed his chin. “What’s he covering up?”

  “That would answer the mystery.” Michael turned the magazine over, flipping pages.

  “Hey. I thought you were going to help me with this list.”

  “I can think better when I’m doing something else.”

  Jason moved to Michael’s bed, looking over his shoulder as his brother stopped to look at an illustration. What could he be looking for?

  Michael turned to the title page of “Cross Country Car Chase” showing a tilted angle drawing of a sedan leaping over a hill in pursuit of another vehicle. His younger brother glanced at Jason. “We could turn Larry’s lies against him and see how he reacts.”

  Jason sighed. “I’d like to pin some evidence on that mug.”

  Michael turned more pages, stopping at a sketch of a man in topcoat standing in the path of an oncoming car.

  Jason snapped his fingers. “We can talk to the waitress at the diner this Wednesday. Or search Larry’s house during the day. What do you think?”

  “Sam Spade would never get caught searching a room, but I don’t think we’d be as lucky.” He found a two-page drawing of a locomotive smashing into a car.

  “There’s one thing that bothers me,” Jason said. “Remember what Larry said about Pop?”

  Michael was on the last page of the short story. The drawing showed a man peering through the smashed window of the sedan.

  “Larry said he and Sara broke up Saturday morning. And he said Sara was distraught because Pop was upset with her. But that didn’t happen until Saturday night. That means the two of them met Sunday. But if Larry denies it, what do we have left?”

  Michael kept staring at the illustration of the wrecked car. What’s gotten into him? “Hey, Sherlock!” Jason thumped his brother on the back. “Get your head out of that mag and help me come up with a plan.”

  Michael scowled. “I’m thinking.”

  “Well write me a letter when you come up with an idea.”

  “And you shall have it.” Michael tapped the picture. “This is what we will do.”

  Jason stared at the picture. “We’re looking inside cars?”

  “Not just any car. Larry’s car. All we have to do is find it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  After supper, Sara knocked on the matron’s open office door. “Mrs. Eisner? At your convenience, I’d like to go over the infirmary duties.”

  She was writing entries in an oversized ledger that took up most of the space on her makeshift desk. A finger went up as she continued writing. One minute.

  The office was well furnished with a Royal typewriter, a rotary telephone, and trays filled with neatly stacked papers. Group photographs of residents hung on the back wall. In the corner set a varnished bookshelf containing several ledgers. The fabric covers of a couple hung in tatters. Sara wrinkled her nose. The room smelled of old paper.

  Mrs. Eisner set her pencil aside and slipped a red ribbon between the pages of the book, then motioned to one of the two cushioned chairs in front of the table. Sara sank, delighting in the comfort. “Is that an accounting book, Mrs. Eisner?”

  She rested a hand on the massive volume. “Some of it is. I’ve filled this ledger with narratives as well as transactions. There’s information about purchases and those passing through these doors going back six years. I think of it as a journal.”

  “I can’t imagine much changing from one week to the next.”

  “Oh, but you’re wrong, child. Your arrival has created a quiet stir among the residents. Have you noticed the gentlemen stealing glances at you? Or the reactions of some of the women, especially Mrs. Chapman?”

  “The lady in the wheelchair? I don’t think she likes me.”

  “Irene wants to be noticed by the men but likes to be pam
pered like an infirmed patient. It’s an exercise in frustration.” The matron sighed. “Even small changes get noticed. Mr. Emerson complained to me this afternoon that someone took his newspapers from the common room.”

  Sara pursed her lips. “Dust covered those papers. No one has touched them in days. I threw them out.”

  Her lips twitched, holding back a smile. “My husband will find a use for them. Paper makes a good insulator. I assured Mr. Emerson the culprit would not disturb his reading material again. Consider yourself told.”

  “Thank you,” said Sara.

  “I’m glad you did it. Now, you wished to discuss the infirmary?”

  “I wanted to understand my duties so I’d be better prepared for tomorrow.”

  “Of course.” Gloria closed the big book. “There are ten invalids upstairs. Nearly all of them are sixty or more. Up to now, Mrs. Robson and Miss Underwood—an amazingly strong woman—have cared for the infirmary. They know the patients and the duties of the job. I’m assuming they will assist you tomorrow.”

  Sara crossed her arms. “I’ve asked Bea and Patrick to help me.”

  Mrs. Eisner tilted her head like a raptor sensing food. “They are children, Miss McGuire. Infirmary work is not for the immature. You would be wise to go with experienced help.”

  Sara bit her lip to keep from gritting her teeth. “You told me to pick my help. I’ve done that. Both have agreed to assist me. Patrick, in particular, seems thrilled to lend a hand.”

  The matron shook her head. “You’ll be serving meals three times a day, and that’s the easy part. Neither Bea nor Patrick can handle a real job. Instead of ten patients, you’ll have twelve. I advise you to change your mind.”

  Sara leaned back in her chair. “I’ve already decided. You’re welcome to reassign the work to someone else, but I think the three of us will do a good job.”

  Mrs. Eisner rested her elbows on the table, bridging her fingers together. “You’re a stubborn one. That’s not always a good trait.” She reached for a sheet of paper. “We’ll try your little experiment, but I’ll be keeping tabs on your work.”