She settled on a combination of them all as she made her way toward the door. Each step became lighter than the last, until she reached for the knob.
The safest choice was to take her leave, but an idea was emerging. Not in pieces. Rather like a photograph being developed, an image coming forth, already complete. And it entailed far more than her bigger ambitions.
Empowered by a fresh injection of moxie, she pivoted to face him. “Chief, one thing more,” she said, and he begrudgingly glanced up. “It’s regarding a potential new column for the paper…”
“Ah, Jesus,” he murmured, though not in a way that told her to stop.
“A column,” she said, “about single parenting. The realities of it, the struggles, the highlights. Not just for women. For men too.” Her enthusiasm grew as she spoke. Like her previous vision for a column, this would still be an adventurous endeavor, but with deeper meaning for people like Geraldine.
“There are likely just as many mothers widowed from the Great War as fathers whose wives were lost to childbirth, or other terrible tragedies. I can tell you firsthand, they don’t need advice about how to prepare the perfect dinner by five, or about the latest fashion trends. What they need is understanding. To know they’re not alone. They need to hear—”
“I got it, I got it.” The chief heaved a sigh that sent gray specks drifting from his ashtray. Again his beard twitched, but he didn’t say no. Yet.
He thrummed his fingers on his desk. She knew the concept was progressive, but just maybe it was the type of risk Nellie Bly would have applauded.
At last the chief answered. “I suppose I…might be able to squeeze something in.”
He was agreeing.
To her idea.
For her own column.
Lily could barely contain her smile.
“On two conditions,” he stressed, stunting her joy. “It doesn’t interfere with your regular duties. And second, you don’t dare make all those dead parents out to be martyrs.”
She would agree to both, of course, though the oddity of the latter caused her to hedge.
The chief added with reluctance, “My father drank away near every cent we had before putting himself in the grave. We made out just fine, me and my brothers, but only on account of my mother. We clear on that?”
Lily was stricken by the personal nature of the admission. Even more so, she was astounded by the connections to be made.
For now, she managed to reply, “Completely. Thank you, Chief.”
He simply nodded and resumed his work.
• • •
Today, no challenge in life could temper Lily’s thrill, for this reason: If she could accomplish one seemingly insurmountable task, why not others?
As an added boost, a story broke in the paper. On a recent radio broadcast, Mrs. Lindbergh had made a personal appeal about her kidnapped son, including how to care for him and what baby foods he most enjoyed—right in line with Lily’s suggestion that the chief had waved off. But that didn’t matter now. The broadcast had led to a tip about a suspicious, childless couple who’d just stocked up on those exact food items. Authorities were optimistic.
How wondrous would it be if both families wound up reunited?
On her lunch date with Clayton, after celebrating news about her column, she would speak to him about the Dillards. He was, after all, an ace reporter. It was time to seek his advice—in confidence, of course. She would have to trust that his strict views on right and wrong, on good and bad, wouldn’t prevent him from doing all he could to help.
She later told herself this as they settled into a cushioned booth at Geoffrey’s. The restaurant was on the top floor of a twelve-story building, affording an impressive view of City Hall and William Penn standing tall in bronze. With damask linens and single roses in etched, crystal vases, the restaurant was even lovelier than the Renaissance.
The thought of their forgotten date still caused Lily twists of guilt.
But all of that faded, along with their surroundings—the clinking of ice and tinkering of china, the chattering among diners in their daytime finery—at the announcement of a job offer.
Only it wasn’t Lily’s.
“My, Clayton,” she said. “The national desk.” The waiter had only just stepped away after taking their orders. “That’s marvelous.”
Clayton brightened. “It’s the Chicago Tribune,” he said, throwing her off further.
“Chicago?”
“You know I grew up there,” he reminded her, “and how I’ve always wanted to go back.”
“Yes. Certainly. I remember.” She hadn’t known he meant so soon.
“That’s why I’ve been gone so many weekends lately. With my parents down in southern Illinois now, I needed to go back on my own, to check out areas to live in. Make sure it really made sense.” His expression took a turn, growing serious. “Lily, I want you and Samuel to come.”
“To…Chicago?” She repeated the name again as if it were an alien planet, and Clayton laughed a little at her confusion. Or maybe from a touch of his own nerves, she noted, as he pulled a shiny gold ring from his suit pocket.
“Sweetheart, I want you to marry me.” After the briefest pause, he added with conviction, “And I want to care for Samuel as my own son.”
Lily took in a light gasp. The proposal alone was enough to stun her. The consideration given to her child only multiplied that effect as he continued. “You’d never have to work again. You could be home with him every day, all day. No more buses, no waiting to see him on the weekends. We could be a real family.”
From the row of tall windows, light glinted on the diamond at the center of the band, perfect and round and lovely. In its reflection she envisioned the life he was offering. She saw a home of their very own and a future full of promise.
“I know it’s a bit of a surprise, but a good one I hope.” His tone matched the rising worry in his soft-brown eyes, exposing a vulnerable side of him she had never seen. Moved by this, and so much more, Lily hastened to respond.
“It’s incredible, Clayton. All of it.” As a smile spread over her lips, his did the same but at an angle she recognized. The kind brimming with an assuredness that made others feel safe.
“If I’d had my way,” he said, “I would’ve preferred to ask you at a nice, long candlelit dinner. Not a lunch hour like this. But I’m supposed to give notice to the chief today, and of course I had to come to you first.”
The scenes in her head, easily formed as hypotheticals, fell away at his last remark. “You’ve accepted the job already?”
“Well…yes.”
In the quiet beat that followed, he reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. “I know it might seem fast. But I’ve thought it all through.”
She didn’t doubt him there. He wouldn’t have asked without thinking of everything. “I’m sure you have, but…”
“Lily.” The sincerity in his voice, from just her name, stopped her. “I love you. And I want to do this for us.”
Us.
That was how he thought of them. With all the benefits the move and promotion would add to their lives, why wouldn’t he have nabbed the offer? He would have been foolish not to. Just as she, too, would be foolish not to accept his.
Wouldn’t she?
Teetering on a choice, toes on the edge of a cliff, she smiled.
• • •
The rest of the day passed in a blur of phone calls, memos, and internal questions with no easy answers. Patches of absentmindedness slowed Lily’s productivity and left her working late to assure her tasks were done with diligence. She couldn’t risk erring today of all days. She could ruin her chance to actually write her own column, the shot of a lifetime. One she would have to abandon if she accepted Clayton’s proposal.
If.
She had asked him for a little time, s
aying she had to be cautious with a child to think about. He said he understood, even insisted she keep the ring in the meanwhile. In agreement, she tucked it with care into a coin pocket of her purse, and they left it at that.
It hadn’t seemed right to share news of her own job opportunity. After all, if they were to marry, the point would be moot. As it ought to be already. Honestly, what was the great debate? To be torn by the prospect of a column, which could wither faster than it bloomed, would be as selfish as it was silly.
Clayton was smart and charming and kind. And he loved her. She was far too protective of her heart to say she loved him in turn, but she cared for him deeply. That much she knew. She also knew she would be safe with Clayton, as would her son. There would be no more critical looks or whispers to endure. No more discomfort during chats on marriage and parenting. No more chances of ending up the fool with another man—like Ellis. The emotional pull she felt around Ellis Reed was enough to warn her off.
The list of no mores continued throughout Lily’s trek to the boardinghouse. There, her room of solitude waited—without Samuel, without anyone. The way it would remain for at least another year if she stayed on her current path.
The bleakness of that vision was so engrossing that she didn’t sense another presence until footsteps registered from behind. A dim city haze further veiled the shadowed figure.
Lily hugged her purse to her body. Clayton’s ring would be a thief’s lucky find. She increased her speed. But like echoes in a cave, the footfalls kept pace with her own. Not stopping, barely slowing, she threw a glance over her shoulder. The head lamps of a passing car threw beams at her eyes. Dots of light floated in the air.
Someone was definitely following.
Chapter 31
Ellis was booked at the Hudson County jail. It smelled exactly as he would have guessed. An aromatic brew of stale booze, mold, and piss. The bowls of slop they served didn’t rate much better.
For assaulting an officer and resisting arrest, his bail was set at fifty bucks. A slight problem, given the sum of eight dollars in his wallet. He was permitted one phone call—and he wasted it. His bank in Manhattan had frozen his account, and no amount of pleading, even with the manager, garnered more than “We’ll gladly look into that, sir.”
A favor paid to Alfred, no doubt. Banking had to be like any other business in that way. Members looked out for their own. Or maybe the man’s underworld ties played a factor. It would certainly explain the guard’s unwillingness to grant him another call, answering “Later” in a gruff baritone to each of Ellis’s requests.
On the upside, he had ample time to choose which person to ring. A whole workday, in fact. It was evening, and he was still stuck in this narrow cage with nothing but a thin, stained mattress on a cot. A good portion of the neighboring cells would surely be occupied by dawn. The drunkards were steadily rolling in.
Rants from one of them competed now with keys clanking as the barrel-chested guard paused at Ellis’s cell. “Let’s go,” he said, unlocking the door.
Ellis scrambled from his bed.
Eager for that second call, he considered various folks as he was escorted down the corridor and through two sets of locked doors. He ruled out Dutch, given the late hour and funds required. The guy had his own family to worry about—same as Lily, naturally the first person who’d rushed to mind. Mr. Walker was an even easier no. Maybe one of the reporters Ellis had traded small favors with in the past, at various papers around town, would be worth a try. If he could reach them.
At the end of a hallway, the guard pointed with his stick. “In there.”
Ellis was directed into a room with no phone. Just two chairs divided by a table, and a man in a dark suit who stood facing a barred window. The setup, likely reserved for legal chats, suggested that somehow a lawyer had come calling, until the guy turned.
Alfred.
“Sit,” the guard ordered.
Dread swirled as Ellis rounded the table and took a seat. He should have expected this.
Alfred dismissed the guard to stand post outside the door and settled into the other chair. Left in privacy, he gestured toward Ellis’s face with the fedora in his hand. “It appears you’ve had a rough day.”
Ellis resisted touching his cheek. It still stung from the meeting with pavement. “I’ve had better.”
“No question you have.” Alfred set aside his hat that carried the scent of pipe tobacco. He laced his fingers so casually you’d think they were sharing after-dinner bourbons. “I must admit, when I asked an officer to patrol the school area, I imagined only a warning would come of it, if anything at all.”
There it was. The cop’s arrival on the scene hadn’t been a coincidence.
This also meant that Alfred had waited all these hours to make an appearance.
“Guess I’m an overachiever.”
“Apparently so.” Alfred’s smile lifted the edges of his mustache. In contrast to their last encounter, the man’s pleasantries now made Ellis wary. “Mr. Reed, I’m here because I’d like to clear up some confusion. But first, I’d like to thank you.”
“Thank me…”
“I believe we got off on the wrong foot. As I’m sure you’re aware, your female colleague’s recent visit was rather upsetting to my wife. And your intentions appeared even more questionable after I contacted your editor. All of that, however, was before I spoke with Victoria.”
Unless the Millstones had acquired a spiritualist, he was referring to Ruby. But Ellis refrained from pointing this out. Antagonizing Alfred would only hinder the bail situation, let alone an inquiry about Calvin. “How’s that?”
“Once I learned who you were—that you were responsible for her picture in the paper—I realized I actually owed you my gratitude. Indirectly, you helped me and my wife through a very dark time.”
There was no reason to prod. It had become apparent that Alfred was the type who operated with planning and purpose. What that purpose was, Ellis hadn’t figured out yet.
“My wife and I married rather late in life, you understand. So, we felt extremely fortunate when Sylvia gave birth to our daughter. For ten years, Victoria was our absolute pride and joy, and then…she was gone.”
“In the accident,” Ellis volunteered, not unkindly.
“Yes. I suppose you’ve read about that.” Behind his horn-rimmed glasses, Alfred’s eyes lowered a bit. “On a winding road, with so much rain, the car just slid right off. It couldn’t have been prevented, but Sylvia still blamed herself. Officers hammering her with questions didn’t help. Reporters too.” There was resentment in his voice, though seemingly not directed at Ellis.
“After the funeral, she spent nearly a month in bed. It took several more before she left the house at all. Gradually, she improved, even journeying out with old friends on occasion. Then one day, the maid was airing out our daughter’s room. While dusting the shelves, she broke a figurine. Victoria’s favorite glass fairy. Sylvia became hysterical. When the maid phoned, I rushed straight home, but the damage was done. Sylvia’s blue mood returned, even deeper than before. She rarely ate or slept, and her health rapidly declined. As her husband, I felt so helpless to save her, I felt as if—” He stopped suddenly. Bringing his fist to his mouth, he coughed once and cleared his throat.
Ellis withheld any response as Alfred reset himself before going on.
“The doctors agreed she belonged in an asylum. She could receive proper treatment there, they said. The arrangements were finally being made when Sylvia stumbled upon that newspaper. I’d left it folded on my night table. I had barely skimmed the pages myself. If I’d seen the photo, I definitely would’ve noticed the girl’s striking resemblance to our daughter.”
“So you replaced her.” At this point, Ellis couldn’t hide his irritation. This wasn’t a goldfish they were talking about. Flush one down the john, and pick up another.
“I realize it might seem…unconventional. I had reservations myself. But Sylvia was so hopeful. She was entirely convinced it was a sign, a gift straight from heaven. In the end, there was no decision to be made. I set off to Pennsylvania to bring the girl into our family, one who plainly needed us as much as we needed her.”
Ellis winced at the account, or more aptly at what was missing. Because there wasn’t just a girl. There was also a boy. At the thought, Geraldine’s words swung back—the stipulation she’d required—and the scene came together.
“You had to take her brother, though, or there was no deal.”
Alfred looked surprised, almost impressed. “That was the agreement, yes…which I respectfully honored. And now, Mr. Reed, I ask that you do the same for me.” He leaned forward, geniality fading. “After all that I’ve shared, with everything considered, I trust you’ll see how a second article about the children would only cause unnecessary harm.”
And therein lay the goal of this heart-to-heart.
Admittedly, the presumption was sound—Mr. Walker had once proposed an article precisely in that vein—yet it was still mistaken.
“Listen,” Ellis said. “I’ve got no interest in writing a story about the kids. Or your family.” He knew he’d just relinquished the threat that could have served as leverage. But being on the level seemed the wisest route.
Alfred peered intently through his lenses. “What is it you want, then?”
“I need to know the boy is safe, for personal reasons.”
Ellis waited, not adding what he’d been told by Ruby. If he’d learned anything from his job, it was that truths tended to float to the surface when, after a little stirring, you simply let a person talk.
But right then, the door to the room opened. A drunkard’s profanities projected from the hall as the baritone guard delivered a chair to Alfred’s side, an act explained when Sylvia walked into the room. She jolted when the door shut behind the guard, and Alfred stood up.
“Darling, I told you to stay in the waiting area.” His worries were almost as evident as his wife’s unease about her surroundings.
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