by Janet Fox
His hand grew shaky and the pencil thick, worn to a nub.
September 29
Think I must be dead. Raining for two straight days, so the trench filled with water. Haven’t eaten since I can’t remember when. Feeling light-headed.
October 1
Wishing I would die, be done.
October 2
Whatever happens, I can’t take any more. This is rotten and useless. Watched a bullet go through the eye of the guy sitting next to me. Willie O’Shaunnessy, from Chicago. We were smoking, taking a break. Just got a meal, first time in days. Feeling good. Willie, a character, a red-headed Irishman with a sense of humor, made me laugh. Bullet ricocheted off a shovel—a shovel!—propped against the trench. Right in the eye. Done.
Thinking I might’ve been the one put the shovel in that spot. will hate myself forever.
Stop. What was I doing? I had to stop reading. Teddy’s war memories were killing me. My chest was tight, my heart hurt to breaking.
Will hate myself forever. Forever.
A sudden knock at the door. “Jo?” My aunt’s voice.
I jumped to hide the journal beneath the scarf.
“Yes?”
“Dinner, sweetheart.”
“Be right there.”
I wrapped the journal in the scarf that lay on my bed, tying the scarf around both the journal and Teddy’s medal boxes. The misery of his words almost burned my fingers. This journal was a terrible account of his war experiences. Why had he left it for me?
I tucked the scarf and its contents deep in my bottom dresser drawer. I didn’t know when I’d have the strength of mind to pull them out again. Maybe, I prayed, maybe Teddy would return before I had to read more.
At dinner my aunt tried valiantly to hold the party together. John Rushton spoke only when spoken to, his eyes frequently lighting on Melody with what I read as disdain as she filled the awkward spaces by chattering loudly with her friends about the latest gossip, movie news, wedding announcements, and social engagements. My uncle made stabbing efforts at disjointed patter and drank until he finally slipped off to bed, teetering down the hallway. And through it all Chester maintained his persona as the grinning Cheshire cat.
The day caught up with me during dinner, when I had to make polite conversation and as the food filled my belly. By dessert I could barely keep my eyes open. When dinner was over, I went to bed quickly and sank into an exhausted sleep.
I caught Chester at breakfast the next morning, just the two of us. “I need to talk to you.”
Chester tugged the napkin from his shirt collar and downed a swig of coffee. “Jo, Jo. How many times do I have to tell you it was an accident? I was a kid. I had no idea you were in there. I would never have started the fire if I’d thought you were. Okay?”
My skin went cold. That was not what I’d meant; I didn’t want to remember the playhouse, much less discuss it. The skin of my scar tightened involuntarily, as I recalled the pain. My voice came out low. “I’m talking about what’s going on in the family.”
“Ah! You mean you want to know why you’re here at glorious chez Cates.”
“For a start.”
“Honestly, Jo?” Chester leaned across the table. “I only know it’s something to do with Teddy. With stuff that happened right before he disappeared.” Chester waved his hand. “Maybe you know more than you think. Was Teddy mixed up in any funny business?”
I sucked in air. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“That whole thing that went on in ’twenty. You know, the bombings. That’s what they were talking about last night, before you arrived. Was Teddy involved with people who were talking anarchy? Anything like that.”
Bombings? Anarchy? What in the world? “What are you talking about?”
“Jo. Don’t you read the paper? Listen to the news? Well, okay, you were only twelve when it happened. September something, 1920. Bomb blast on Wall Street. The target was J. P. Morgan’s bank, but, as usual, the people killed were mostly messengers and clerks. Not the important bigwigs. The police never caught anyone and blamed the Bolsheviks. Though everyone thought the culprits were Irish. Which takes me back to Teddy.” Chester leaned toward me, eyes shining. “I’ve got a nose for conspiracy. Your brother went to a bunch of meetings around that time, all so mysterious. He used to talk about the Irish, how they were so downtrodden. Talked about how unfair everything was in this country. The unfairness of the situation bothered him like crazy.” Chester paused. “Maybe crazy enough that he got into some funny business, in over his head.”
This was new and unexpected. My stomach clenched, and I put down my fork. “Teddy would have hated that stuff.”
“Sure he would.” Chester’s mouth twisted. “We all do. Especially you, so dreamy and innocent. Right, cuz?”
My aunt’s voice drifted in from the foyer. “No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” By the way she paused every so often, she must have been using the telephone.
Chester pressed on. “So when your perfect brother disappeared, he was up to something, wasn’t he? Up to his shins, or maybe his eyeballs.”
I shrugged, not meeting his eyes. I was sorry I’d asked Chester anything, now.
He continued. “He’d had a pretty bad time of it over there, from what I could see.”
This was true enough. In the years after he’d come home from the war and before he disappeared, Teddy hadn’t been himself, despite the honors and the medals.
“It was an ugly war.”
Chester choked on his coffee, snorting out a short laugh. “They all are.”
Teddy had had bad dreams, ugly memories, bigger than the war. Something else had haunted him. Something he couldn’t let go.
Something that I might now find in his journal. I would have to read on, like it or not. He’d meant for me to read it.
Chester went on. “My father said Teddy couldn’t give up on some scheme to make money, either. He wanted to do something that would finally make your pops proud.” He sat back. “Must’ve been hard for old Ted.”
My stomach twisted. “What? What was hard?”
“Being perfect. Having to be the family savior.” He leaned forward again. “Looks like you’re about to find out how tough a spot that is, Josephine Anne. Think you can save your family?”
My aunt’s voice rose. “I will not. Those are all malicious lies. My daughter is not mixed up in anything of the sort.” Tension thickened the air like a brooding storm.
I said, my voice shaking, “From what do I have to save my family? And just how would I do that?”
“Ah, now. My questions exactly. Mysteries abound.” That grin again.
“Yes, they do.” I was losing patience with Chester. I prodded at the remains of my breakfast. “The least you can do is to tell me what was going on last night.” I thought about Rushton, his aloof condescension. “Who is John Rushton, and why was he here?”
Chester withdrew, lowering his eyes and leaning back in his chair. “Rushton. An old family friend. New York money, old New York. He comes from a long line of robber barons, and for all I know he’s one, too. Lives just around the block on Fifth in one of the big old New York mansions. Lots of floors in that place. Lots of ghosts, too. Just him and his servants and the kid.” Chester chewed his lip, still not meeting my eyes. “Can’t stand him, myself. Too high and mighty.”
I was surprised; for Chester, this was revealing, and I had to say I agreed with him. “So what does Rushton have to do with Teddy?”
Chester leaned toward me, pointing his finger. “The very reason I asked about your brother. Figured that if we put our heads together, we could come up with a few of the answers.”
Putting our heads together was not something I wanted, though it could be useful. I said, “He was prying into my private business with Teddy.”
“Oh?” Chester sat up, staring at me hard. “You have private business with Teddy? What kind?”
I stared back. I knew better—I should neve
r open up to Chester.
He regarded me carefully, then looked away. “John Rushton does have one reason to be prickly. His brother was working down on Wall Street when that bomb went off. Frank Rushton was killed, and John’s never gotten over it. So,” Chester said, smooth as silk, “what’s this about Teddy’s private business? Come on, spill.”
My aunt’s voice broke into our conversation again. This time her shrill shout echoed from the foyer. “I’ve told you, and I’m done telling you. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now leave us alone.” The receiver hit the cradle with a thwack.
Chester raised his eyebrows as we regarded each other across the table.
Aunt Mary stormed into the dining room, stopping short when she saw us. “Oh!” She brushed back her hair and straightened her shoulders. “I didn’t know anyone else was here.” She gestured toward the foyer. “That switchboard operator must have crossed the lines.”
Chester tossed his napkin onto the table in a heap. “Well, I’m off. Career beckons. Miles to go and all that. Later, Mumsie. See you, cuz. I’m sure we’ll talk more when I get home. Dying to finish this conversation. Wall Street. Such a blast.” He winked at me and kissed his mother’s cheek as he blew by.
I rose to follow, but my aunt took my arm. “Jo, I need to ask you a favor.”
“Sure, Aunt Mary.” I gave my aunt my full attention, trying to put on a smile, my stomach lurching with uneasiness. “What can I do for you?”
She lifted her eyes to mine. “I’d like you to keep an eye on Melody.”
I had to stop myself from revealing my shock, so I bit my lip. “Um, Aunt Mary, I don’t see how—”
Aunt Mary waved her hand in the air. “I know she appears to be grown up, but I can assure you, she’s made some very bad choices. You’re a steady, smart girl, Josephine. You know right from wrong. If you go out on the town with her, you can be a good influence.”
“Really, Auntie, I’m not sure I can influence Melody at all.”
“Nonsense.” Aunt Mary pushed her hair back in what was becoming a familiar gesture. “I know all about the flapper doings. I know all about the…boys. She drinks too much alcohol—they all drink.” She paused, her eyes troubled. “Do you drink, Josephine?”
“No.”
“There you are! You’re sensible and smart. Not likely to get into trouble with boys and the law and such.”
I shook my head. “Aunt Mary, Melody is pretty strong-willed. If she gets it in her head to do something, I don’t think I can stop her.”
Tears popped into my aunt’s eyes, and her voice trembled. “Just be there, Jo. Please?”
I put my hand on my aunt’s arm. Whenever I’d seen my aunt in the past, she’d seemed breezy and free, not like this, shaken. “I’ll do what I can.”
If Teddy was here, he could keep Melody in check. But me? She’d blow me away like yesterday’s cigarette ash.
“Where is Melody now?” I asked. I had the feeling that my aunt was worried about more than she was letting on.
“She’s still asleep. She’s rarely up before noon.” My aunt shook her head. “I just don’t understand. When I was her age, I wouldn’t have even considered behaving so. Bertram would never have given me a second glance if I’d acted out like you all do today. Dancing all night, smoking cigarettes, pulling silly stunts like sitting atop poles, dressing with no regard to decency…” Aunt Mary looked me up and down. “At least you’re wearing something that isn’t see-through.”
I blushed; there were a few dresses in my closet that I’d considered and rejected for that very reason, and because they’d expose my ugly scar. But maybe that made me old-fashioned. Old-fashioned enough that I was being asked to play nursemaid to my reckless cousin.
“I’ll be in my room,” I said. I would have the chance to read more of Teddy’s journal, if I could steel myself to it. “I’ll find her when she wakes up.”
My aunt nodded, her eyes drifting to the floor.
But my room was being cleaned by talkative Adela, the maid, and it was clear she wouldn’t be finished for a time; there was no way I would fetch Teddy’s journal under anyone’s curious gaze. After shuffling around impatiently, I decided to go for a walk to clear my head.
The weather had turned from warm to downright hot, and now the air had that ominous feel of threat that preceded thunderstorms. The sun baked the streets through a humid haze. The city was in its morning rush, and businessmen in their hats and suits with umbrellas looped over their arms marched forward, chins thrust out like the prows of steamships. I stood under the awning watching the ebb and flow for so long that Ed, the doorman, asked if I’d like a taxi.
“No, thanks. I’m just standing here watching the city go by.” And trying to let my unsettled emotions calm.
Ed nodded, and I felt bad. I wondered at how he must be suffering in that heavy coat and those pristine white gloves that were part of his uniform. His whistle hung across his chest on a long brass chain.
“I’m sorry about that suitcase the other day,” I said to him.
“Excuse me, miss?”
“That it was so heavy. I should have warned you.”
He shrugged. “It’s my job, miss.” He glanced up and down the busy street, always at the ready. “But if you don’t mind my asking…”
“Books.” I smiled. “Just books.”
“Ah, no gold bricks then. Or,” he dropped his voice, “bottles of you know what.” He shook his head. “Not that you’d need to hide that in a suitcase. Everyone looks the other way. Why, there was a delivery right to this door last week, cases of the stuff, broad daylight, and nobody blinked.” He bounced on the balls of his feet. He lowered his voice further, talked out of the corner of his mouth. “Not that I forgo the stuff myself, mind you.” Then he stepped back. “Sorry, miss. Don’t know why I’d say something like that, speak to you like that. My apologies.”
He was a decent guy. “Ed, I assure you I can keep a secret.”
“Thank you, miss. Much obliged. Our secret.” A woman pushed out the door, and Ed moved off to help her to a taxi.
I could keep a secret, couldn’t I? I could keep the deepest of secrets.
The air was heavy and my heart was heavy and my mind full of doubts. Spying on Melody, and my aunt’s deep worry, and Teddy having something to do with bombings.
Teddy, war hero, my hero, would never, could never…
Cars rushed by honking and weaving, and people threaded the sidewalks in the shimmering heat, and I thought about the last time I had seen Teddy, in similar shimmering heat, and about that promise that I had made to him, that I kept even as it haunted me, wormed through me, tortured me, and showed the crack in my fastidious belief in all things right.
CHAPTER 13
Lou
I think, if I’d known, I would’ve told Charlie, don’t do it. Don’t take that job. I don’t like you mixed up in this stuff. But then, where would we be?
Danny was always doing stuff like that, stuff that drove me crazy. He drove me crazy. Yeah, I knew about the others. I knew what he did for a living. I knew there was a part of him that was dangerous.
You boys getting the picture?
‘Cause, if not, here’s a clue. That time in ’23. We were in the mansion on Long Island by then. Business was really picking up as Danny had taken over most of Big Al’s operations. I walked in on something I shouldn’t have. How was I to know?
Danny and his brother Pat, they were out in the greenhouse. I went out there, ’cause they’d been at it so long and Cook had prepared a nice dinner, quail, for pete’s sake, and when I knocked, they didn’t answer, so I opened the door.
“Danny?”
Up they popped like a couple of rabbits, covered in dirt. I couldn’t help it; I started to giggle.
But Danny, he didn’t think it was funny. He came at me so fast it was like watching a bull charge down a field, horns first. He shoved me back out the door and slammed it so hard one of the glass panes cracked.
“Don’t you ever surprise me again,” he said, right through his teeth.
I didn’t say a word, just nodded.
He took a deep breath. “Patrick was helping me unload some fresh soil. That’s what you saw. You understand?”
I nodded again. I wasn’t a dummy; I saw his clenched fist.
“Get back to the house.”
I did. Danny, he didn’t talk to me for almost a week, and he went out every evening, which was worse than anything else he could’ve done. It was downright hurtful. Oh, I could’ve left him, sure, since I knew he was up to no good.
But I didn’t. I was stuck on Danny, like lint on wool. I was goofy over him. Danny was my one and only, even if I wasn’t his.
So maybe it was a good thing I didn’t know about Charlie’s little job until after. ’Cause if I’d stopped Charlie, asked him not to do it—and I would have, thinking the wrong thing altogether—then none of it would’ve happened with Charlie and Jo, and me. And you boys probably wouldn’t be talking to me. No, the story would’ve had a different ending.
So there’s your proof. Nothing happens by chance.
CHAPTER 14
MAY 22, 1925
Body of King Tut Is Found in Sarcophagus
—Headline from The Washington Reporter, February 12, 1924
Jo
I walked over to Fifth, intending to head uptown through Central Park toward the Metropolitan Museum. The new Egyptian discoveries were all the rage, but that wasn’t what I had in mind. It had to do with Teddy. I went to the Met to revisit a series of paintings.
Between receiving Teddy’s journal out of the blue, Rushton’s peculiar interest in Teddy, and Chester’s insinuations, I was feeling my way through a labyrinth. All I could do was try to follow the thread as I waited for Teddy’s return.