Sold on a Monday

by Kristina McMorris

  The words brought tears to Lily’s eyes.

  Her path had detoured so greatly from her parents’ sensible expectations. Her subsequent shame and guilt had been her warranted load to bear. And yet, she felt the remnants of that weight disintegrating now. They dropped away like stale, insignificant crumbs.

  She smiled and held her mother’s hand. “Do you know how much I love you?”

  “I do,” her mother replied, and Lily believed her.

  A mother always knew.

  Chapter 43

  The gun, the kids, the shootings—the scene came back in pieces. When Ellis first awoke in a hospital bed, the images were like the Sunday funnies chopped into strips and all mixed up. He sorted most of them with a nurse’s help, though he did question his grasp on reality upon seeing his parents enter the room.

  After all, his scuffle at the Millstones’ seemed to have just happened, making it impossible for his folks to arrive so soon. This, aside from the stone-cold fact that Jim Reed didn’t go to hospitals. Ellis had known that for as long as he could remember. Granted, he only recently understood the full root of his father’s aversion.

  Nevertheless, here the man was, in an actual hospital. His concern over Ellis appeared to outweigh even the discomfort of his surroundings, yet it was Ellis’s mother who prattled on.

  “When the hospital phoned, you can only imagine what went through my head. We got here just as soon as we could.”

  To help shed his mental fog, Ellis pushed against the mattress to edge himself up, stopping short when a pain stabbed his side. He clenched his jaw, stifling a groan.

  “Do you need a doctor?” she asked. “I can find a nurse.”

  “No, no, I’m fine…” He held his midsection, bound by bandages, catching his breath.

  “Are you certain? Maybe you need more medicine. You did just have surgery.”

  “Honest, I’m okay.”

  “But if you’re hurting—”

  His father jumped in. “Oh, Myrna, let him be. He’s a grown man. He knows what he needs.”

  Ellis sent his father an appreciative glance. Even through the grogginess, the importance of those words didn’t bypass him.

  His mother tsked but moved aside enough to let her husband finally chat with Ellis.

  “You’ve had quite an eventful week,” his father remarked lightly.

  “It hasn’t been dull.” Ellis’s childhood dream of writing an article that made a real impact might have come true in the strangest of ways, but with far more excitement than he counted on. “At least the kids are safe now.”

  “Well, like I said, I knew you’d figure something out.” His father surveyed the hanging bag of clear liquid and the tubes going every which way. “Course, I wasn’t expecting you to end up looking like a science experiment.”

  “Believe me, Pop. Neither was I.”

  His father chuckled, causing Ellis to do to the same until another sharp sensation needled his side.

  “Gracious, Jim.” His mother gave a chiding tap to her husband’s arm. “You’re making it worse.”

  As the pain subsided to a dull ache, a welcomed figure appeared just inside the doorway. A knockout, as always, by any standards that mattered. Ellis couldn’t think of a better distraction.

  “Hey there, Lily.” He smiled, and his parents turned toward the door.

  The brightness in Lily’s face dimmed on a dime. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… I should have checked… I’ll gladly wait until later.”

  “No, hold on,” he said, not wanting her to run off. When he couldn’t form the next words, his mother—the ever-keen observer and mediator—did it for him.

  “It’s fine timing actually. Ellis’s father and I were about to check in with the doctor. And you’re Lily, is that right?”

  “I am. I’m…a friend. From the paper…the Examiner, I mean.” The rarity of seeing her flustered made Ellis rather enjoy the exchange. “Please, though, don’t go on my account. I could come back.”

  “Nonsense,” his mother said. “We’re in no hurry. Isn’t that right, Jim?”

  “No hurry at all.” His father tipped Ellis a knowing look, and his mother angled back.

  “If there’s anything you need, love, we won’t be far.”

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  After a tender pat to the crown of Ellis’s head, as she’d done countless times since he was a kid, she filed out of the room with his father, leaving Lily behind.

  “I didn’t mean to nudge them out. I only came to hear how you’re feeling.”

  “Like I’ve been run over by a roadster,” he answered in truth. “But I’ll make it.”

  She nodded, proceeding toward him. “You’ve heard about Geraldine?”

  “Yeah. Thank God she’ll be okay. I couldn’t imagine…”

  “I know.”

  There was no good reason to dwell. The Dillards would be happy, healthy, and together again, regardless of all the forces that had worked against them.

  “The nurse told me Sylvia’s been arrested,” Ellis said as Lily settled on the chair beside him.

  “For now. An officer expects there to be a deal to place her in an asylum. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  Lily seemed somewhat irked by this, but Ellis didn’t view prison as the place for Sylvia. The woman’s need for serious help had been a long time coming. And even if he shouldn’t, part of him still sympathized.

  “On a positive note,” Lily went on, “any previous charge against you won’t be an issue.”

  “Just like that, huh?” He hadn’t considered it yet. But his bank account, too, ought to be in the clear.

  “You are the hero of the hour.”

  “Right. Some hero.” His banged-up body was far from that of a gallant knight—much less her dapper beau, Clayton Brauer.

  “Every major paper in the city is vying for an exclusive. A detective wants to speak with you first, about the Millstones as well as the Gantrys. But after that, you’ll virtually have your choice of reporters.”

  She was serious.

  He almost laughed but caught himself, preventing another stab of pain. “Well, if I really have any pick, that’s an easy one.”

  She scrunched her nose. “Who?”

  “You.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m only a columnist, and barely that.”

  “Lily—”

  “Ellis, I’m flattered. But this story is too important, and I’m far too close to it. There must be somebody else you’d trust to get it right.”

  As he gave it some thought, one other person did come to mind. A strong writer and a real pal: Dutch Vernon. No question, the guy wouldn’t rest until he did the story justice.

  “Just promise me, then,” Ellis said, “that you’ll tell your side too. The whole thing, beginning to end.”

  She still looked uncertain, and it occurred to him that this might come across as an excuse to keep her close, even as her life was moving on.

  Sure, he couldn’t deny wanting that. But he did have another reason. “How I see it, if my first feature brought in that many donations for the Dillards, they’ll be able to fill a barge after this one. It’d definitely give the family a nice new start.”

  Maybe, if they were lucky, they wouldn’t ever need to use Alfred’s cash payment to get by, though at least they had the option.

  “True,” Lily said, coming around. “Of course, if you’d like, I could always leave certain elements out.”

  It took him a second to decode the offer, a reference to the substitution of a photo that led to a lot of good, but absent of noble intentions.

  “You could,” he said. “But I wouldn’t want you to.”

  “Your editor at the Tribune, though—he�
�ll be comfortable with that?”

  “Probably not.” Ellis smiled wryly, as career aspirations were currently the least of his worries. “But heck, there’s bound to be a paper on the lookout for a highly skilled Society reporter. Or who knows? When you leave for Chicago, the chief’ll need a new secretary, won’t he?”

  Any amusement slid from her face. An echo of their past argument, of her role as a secretary, might have pushed a sore button.

  Before he could backtrack, she explained, “I won’t be leaving the Examiner. Not for the time being. Clayton and I… We’ve decided to go our separate ways.”

  Ellis reviewed her words, hoping medication hadn’t affected his hearing. Because if true, this was the sort of news he’d jump straight out of bed for—if the consequent pain wasn’t sure to toss him back on his rear.

  Tentative, he asked, “What about Samuel? And you two being together?”

  “I’ve juggled our lives for this long. In one more year, he’ll be of school age.” She shrugged. “By then, I’ll have even more savings. Especially if the column does well—”

  “Which it will,” he told her.

  “You think so?”

  “Right up there with Nellie Bly’s.”

  Lily’s mouth curved up, and he realized her stunning change of plans was in fact reality.

  “Anyhow,” she went on, “I was thinking we could find an apartment of our own in the city, near a park and other families. Perhaps with space for a table to hold a typewriter by a window, where we could even hang a planter box.” She suddenly stopped and motioned back and forth between them. “I didn’t mean we, we—I meant ‘we’ as in… Never mind.” She looked away, her skin going flush.

  “Lily.” When she didn’t turn, he reached as far as he was able, and guided her face back toward him. As their eyes held, he said, “It’s a perfect plan.”

  A slow smile moved over her lips, which were just as perfect. Like everything about her. Then she covered his hand on her cheek, and leaning toward him, she pressed her mouth to his. The kiss was long, tender, and warm, and as she drew away, he felt genuinely thankful for every blessed mistake and pang of regret that had ever led him right here to her.

  “Mommy!” The voice came only a second before Samuel sprinted into the room and over to Lily.

  Her mother arrived at the doorway directly after. “Samuel Ray Palmer, I told you not to disturb them.”

  “But he needs my gift. To make him feel better.”

  Ellis assured her, “It’s fine, Mrs. Palmer. Really.”

  With a kind look, she nodded her approval and watched Samuel place an object on the bed.

  “What’ve you got there, you rascal?” Ellis picked it up and studied the small towel, knotted and twisted into an indistinct blob. The kid was staring expectantly, eager for Ellis’s response. “This wouldn’t be…a rabbit, now would it?”

  Samuel nodded with zeal, highlighted by his dimples.

  How? Lily mouthed to Ellis, clearly perplexed over how he managed to decipher its shape.

  “It’s his favorite,” he reminded her, and her green eyes glimmered.

  “Will he be okay, Mommy?” Samuel asked in a near whisper.

  “He sure will, sugar bug.” Then Lily kissed her son’s forehead and slid Ellis a gentle smile. We all will, she seemed to say.

  Author’s Note

  (Spoilers included)

  For the characters in this story, their journey started with a picture—and the same can aptly be said of my endeavor to write this book. When I first stumbled upon an old newspaper photo of four young siblings huddled on the steps of an apartment building in Chicago, their mother shielding her face from the camera, the sign in the foreground stunned me.

  The image had first appeared in the Vidette-Messenger of Valparaiso, Indiana, in 1948 and, in a brief caption, claimed to exhibit the desperation of the Chalifoux family. The picture troubled me so much that I bookmarked the page on my computer. (One of many odd compulsions that differentiate historical fiction writers from normal people.) As a mom myself, I kept wondering what could have possibly pushed their mother, or both parents, to that point. In the direst of times, I could fathom perhaps having to give up my children for the sake of their well-being. But why on earth ask for money in return? Over breakfast with a writers’ group, I stated that very question, meant rhetorically, yet my friend Maggie answered without missing a beat: “Because they wanted to eat.”

  There was such logic in her tone, and she was right to challenge my assumptions. I was judging the family through the lens of modern times, as well as by my own set of standards. My mind spun with scenarios with which I could fully empathize. Unfortunately, in the end, the purported truth behind the photograph matched none of those.

  While delving into research, I discovered an article by Vanessa Renderman published in the Times of Northwest Indiana in 2013. It was a follow-up on the siblings who had once been the children in that haunting picture. Among the most stunning elements of their tale was this: an accusation by some family members who say the mother actually received money to stage the photograph. Looking at the sign again, I noticed how perfectly the letters were painted. They even appeared to have been embellished with reflective marks.

  And that was when the premise of Sold on a Monday emerged, rooted in an unexpected what-if: Specifically, what if a reporter’s seemingly harmless choice to stage a photo led to unintended consequences for everyone involved? Whether or not there was any deception involved in the real picture I couldn’t tell you, but it did wind up going viral (to use a contemporary term). The captioned photo, much like in my story, was soon published in other newspapers throughout the country and prompted a wave of donations and offers of everything from money and jobs to homes for the kids.

  Nonetheless, within two years, all the children, including the baby boy who was in his mother’s womb at the time of the photo, were given away—or, in fact, sold. One of the daughters reportedly recalled her mother selling her for bingo money and tacking on her younger brother for free, at least partly because the man her mother was dating had no interest in the children. The total price was two measly dollars. Assigned new names, the siblings were then used as forced labor on the acquiring couple’s farm, where they were often hideously mistreated.

  Although several decades have passed since then, I couldn’t help but wish I could go back and alter those appalling events. So, while my characters are entirely fictional, it would be safe to say that the book in your hands was my attempt to give the children in the photo the loving and compassionate outcome that, in my heart, I felt they deserved.

  Reading Group Guide

  1. Which character became your favorite? Your least favorite? How did your opinions of the major characters change throughout the story?

  2. In the prologue, the unidentified narrator reflects upon “the interwoven paths that had delivered each of us here. Every step a domino essential to knocking over the next.” After reading the book, do you agree with that view? Can you pinpoint a single decision in your own life that spurred a series of significant unforeseen effects?

  3. At the Royal, Max Trevino makes a difficult decision regarding his sister. Do you agree with his choice? Do you believe he intended to stick with the plan he proposed? For readers of McMorris’s novel The Edge of Lost, did your impression of Max Trevino differ while reading this book?

  4. Early in the story, Lily carries a burden of shame and guilt regarding her son, due to societal norms and her own dark secret. Would you have felt the same in her shoes? Would you, or Lily, feel differently in present times?

  5. Like many parents during the Great Depression, Geraldine Dillard faces a near-impossible choice when Alfred Millstone appears at her house with an offer. In her position, would you have made the same decision?

  6. People deal with grief in various, sometimes extreme ways. How do you fee
l about the manner in which Sylvia Millstone and Ellis’s father, Jim Reed, came to grips with the loss of a child? Do you sympathize with them equally? What are your thoughts on Alfred Millstone’s choices and actions?

  7. Throughout the story, Lily struggles to balance motherhood and work. Do you believe her career ambitions were solely for the sake of her son’s future? If not, would she ever admit this to herself or another person? Have these considerations changed in today’s society?

  8. Lily and Ellis break several laws while on their mission to find and rescue Calvin. Do you agree or disagree with their actions? Would you have done anything differently in their situation?

  9. In positive and/or negative ways, how do you think Ruby and Calvin were affected by the whole of their experiences in the story? How would these elements likely shape who they’d become as adults, or as parents themselves?

  10. Where do you envision the characters soon after the story ends? How about five years from now?

  For a special book-club kit with recipes and more, visit KristinaMcMorris.com.

  A Conversation with the Author

  Truth in journalism has certainly become a hot topic amid current events. Was this one of the major reasons you chose to write Sold on a Monday?

  It was never my main purpose for writing the book, though I did realize early on that it was going to pertain to that subject area. There’s obviously a poor decision made by Ellis, being a desperate but well-meaning reporter. And from there, the chief—along with thousands of readers throughout the country—formed their own view of what was captured in Ellis’s photo. Specifically, the mother turning away from the camera was seen as evidence of her shame, and Sylvia even interpreted the picture as a sign from her late daughter.

  I think it’s really important to remember in today’s world of viral posts, images, and sound bites that we all bring our own perceptions to the table. And that inevitably these are skewed by our past experiences or even an unconscious desire to see what we want to see. More than ever, quick judgments based on those snippets, and certainly pushing the moral line in reporting, too often can have devastating consequences to others—as Ellis learned the hard way.