Shoes suddenly become really interesting.
“Anything else?” Mickey asks. He leans over to the spare chair for his coat. “Then I gotta scram. I’ve got a date with a dame.”
“Sorry Boss. But there is another thing.” Henry unconsciously rubs his scar. “The attention on our business because of the botched raid and looking for the kid are causing other problems. Some of the joints are moving their business over to Boo-Boo Hoff. With all the cops right now, they say we’re too hot.”
“Sukinsyn!” Mickey shouts. “What the hell! After all the money we’ve made those sukinsyn bastards, and they’re buying from that scumbag now?” Mickey glares at each one of his men in turn. “What, nobody’s come up with a solution to persuade these turncoats? Huh, nobody?”
None of the men around the table have the nerve to look him in the eyes. A nervous cough is the only thing that breaks the silence.
“I’ll look after it, Boss,” Fingers says, leaning forward. “Me and Gus will go have a little chat with them and convince them that sticking with us is the better business decision.” Mickey looks Fingers up and down. There won’t be any arguing with Fingers. The man looks like he could take more pain than all the trouble Philly had to give. A bull.
Mickey nods. “And Mercer, go talk to the police about wrapping up their search for the kid. Let’s get some of the heat off our backs. Tell ‘em that he ran away to join the circus, or maybe left town to visit his old man. It don’t matter what you tell ‘em. I mean, you boys can keep an eye out for him. But take the heat off; whatever it takes to get ‘em to stop looking around. We don’t need them meddling in our business,” Mickey says.
Porter scoops Mickey’s hat off the dirt floor and brushes it off for him.
“Anyone else have any more gówno they want to share tonight? Or are we done here?” Mickey says.
The choir responds: a mix of nothing else, all done, and ‘night Boss.
Chapter 9
S aturday morning. What a week it’s been. With Tommy already out the door to play with a friend and her lodgers all scattered, Peggy packs another box of food for the searchers. Putting on her coat, hat, and gloves, Peggy smiles to herself. A lady would never leave the house without her hat and gloves—one of Mother’s rules. She puts the box of food in the wagon and heads to Alicja Leszek’s.
Peggy stops in front of Oskar’s house. Tommy’s mentioned a few times they’ve passed that his friend lives here. It’s strange to think that he’s been in that house to play, probably knows it well, and she’s never set foot inside. It’s nice enough, she supposes; a rowhouse much like hers, some kind of shrub near the front step. It could use a coat of paint on the front porch.
Peggy heads knocks at the front door. The knock echoes. Perhaps Mrs. Leszek is out? At the police station? At church? With other family? Frustrated, and put out with the inconvenience, Peggy looks up and down the street. I can’t leave the food on the front door step, it might get stolen. What a bother. Well, they’re probably backdoor people, anyway.
She steps off the veranda, grabs the handle of the wagon and heads around the corner of the house to the back door.
There’s laundry on the line. On a Saturday! Mrs. Leszek’s sitting on the back stoop, laundry basket at her feet, sobbing into a small boy’s school shirt. Painful, heart-wrenching sobs.
Peggy hurries over and begins patting the woman’s shoulder. She looks around, hoping that someone will rescue her and deal with the overwrought woman. Mrs. Leszek continues to sob. Peggy sits beside her and puts her arm around her. “There, there. It will be all right. Come on now, no more tears.”
Mrs. Leszek lifts her head from the shirt. Her hair has come unpinned and strands hang around her face. She lifts the shirt, offering a view to Peggy. “Oskar his shirt,” Mrs. Leszek says, choking on her tears. “My boy’s.”
Peggy gives Mrs. Leszek’s shoulder a squeeze. “Poor Oskar. You’ve not had news, have you?”
Mrs. Leszek shakes her head, clutching the shirt close. “No, nothing. Nic. No news.”
“I’m sure that something will turn up soon.”
Peggy sits on the step, her arm around Mrs. Leszek. She’s unsure what to say. Comforting a stranger is not something she has much familiarity with. How long should I stay? It’s cool out. If I have to stay long, I’m glad I have my coat.
“You know, our boys have played together for years, but I don’t know Oskar very well. What’s he like, your boy?”
Mrs. Leszek regards the shirt, and then shrugs. “Oskar good boy. He in middle, older brothers, younger brother, he never any trouble. Always listen good.”
“You have a big family.”
“Not so big. Only six. Four boys and two girls.”
“Oh, my goodness, Mrs. Leszek. That’s a handful.”
Mrs. Leszek gives her a small smile. “Alicja, Missus Barnes. My name Alicja.”
“Then, you must call me Peggy.”
“Oskar, he no good at school. But that no big deal. He go work with his father when he older.”
“With Mickey’s gang?”
“No. No. Stan, he drive truck. When Prohibition stop, Stan drive truck again.”
“He’s not home right now? Stan?”
“No. He in Allegheny. One year more.”
“I imagine it’s hard. Being on your own with the children, I mean.”
“They need father home. Nobody to keep older boys in line. Tommy’s father gone, too. Yes?”
“Yes. He passed four years ago. We’ve been on our own since then.”
“Alone no good. No family? No mother or father to help?”
“No. We’re all on our own. My mother comes by sometimes, but I don’t see my father. And Jack’s parents—Jack was my husband—are older and don’t live near here, so we don’t see them very often. It would be nice if they could be closer. Do you have family here? To help you with all this?”
“Stan’s brother and family here. They big help. My sister and brother, too. Everybody always look for Oskar. Father and mother in Poland.” Alicja heaves a wet sigh. “Oh, Missus, I wish my mother here.” A tear rolls down Alicja’s cheek again. “I miss her. She know how to make this better.”
Peggy gives Alicja’s shoulder another squeeze. “Brrr, are you cold, Alicja? Would you like to go inside?” Alicja sits and stares at the shirt. I can’t just leave her out here. Not like this. Peggy tries again. “Does Oskar want to work with his father?”
“Oh sure. Money good. He like cars and trucks. Good with hands. He fix old bicycle, you know. Put new chain on. New wheel. Just like new.” For the first time since she sat, Peggy sees a small smile on Alicja’s face.
“Ah, so he’s a clever boy, then.”
“Yes, he very smart boy. Not like older brothers. They always trouble, let me tell you. Bad friends. Not like Tommy. He good boy.”
“Thank you. Yes, Tommy is a good boy. He likes school. And he likes to read.”
“Oskar not read much. Always outside.”
“Six children. I don’t know how you do it. Dinner time must be hectic.”
“Stan and I have lots of brothers and sisters. Big families. My mother, she show me. Always cooking. Always laundry.” Alicja nudges the laundry basket with her foot; another small smile.
“Even with one child, it seems like it’s always laundry,” says Peggy. “You know, it’s the worry that gets me. At night. I worry about Tommy and his future. I worry about money. With Stan gone, it must be hard. How do you manage?”
“Stan’s boss, Mr. Duffy. He look after us while Stan gone. He make sure we have money. And Stan’s brother, he help, too. We make do until Stan home.”
“That’s the tough part, isn’t it? Keeping a roof over your head and food on the table. And I only have Tommy. No family. No Mr. Duffy.”
“Mr. Duffy, he good man.”
“Well, Alicja, the rest of this laundry won’t hang itself, now. How about I give you a hand and we can get it done lickety-split.”
&nbs
p; “Lickety-split?”
“It means quick. Come on. I’ll pass and you peg.”
“First, we put food in kitchen. Thank you, Peggy. You kind. You help. Thank you.” Alicja taps her heart. “It good to talk. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it, Alicja. That’s what neighbors do.”
Chapter 10
O n Saturday, Peggy's kitchen is crowded and noisy. The chatter of the women is a new sound compared to the reserved silence usually found in her home. It reminds Peggy of her days working with Jack at the labor rallies. You get a group of people together and there are always sandwiches to be made, coffee to be poured, and gossip to be shared.
Earlier in the morning, a group of ladies, some from the neighborhood, some from the Polish Catholic Church, as well as some of the Leszek women, had appeared at Peggy’s back door. There will be a big search party heading out later this morning and everyone wants to lend a hand. Some are hopeful that Oskar will be found. Sad as it is, others are here for the excitement and break in the daily routine.
Peggy’s getting more comfortable with the different ways of her neighbors. Her Northern Liberties neighborhood is a blend of primarily Polish and other eastern-European immigrants with a few Irish families thrown in. She wishes she had taken the opportunity to sit on the back step with Jack when he was getting to know the folks in the neighborhood. Aloofness has kept her from these generous and kind people.
In the short time of helping out—even though it is over a devastating situation; the disappearance of Oskar—Peggy is picking up a few phrases and has even had a pickle with a glass of vodka. She is beginning to see why Jack admired these people; beginning to understand how big their dreams must be to pull them across the ocean. Or, thinking of it another way, how huge the terrors at home must be to have pushed them all the way to a strange, new land. The community has always been tight-knit as any group of outsiders are, and she is grateful that they have loosened the borders a bit to let her slip in.
To the extent that she can, amongst the tears and the worry of it all, she is finding purpose and connection again, and enjoys it. Conversation in the kitchen swings widely from tales of woe with spouses or children to gasps of shock over juicy bits of gossip. Peggy moves from group to group, passing wax paper, getting the salt and pepper, and pouring endless cups of coffee and tea. She eavesdrops on one particularly raucous story of someone's younger sister and an extra beau at a party; finds herself laughing.
One of the ladies, Magda, asks after Tommy. Magda is trying to get her own son into Boys’ Central High School. “Is a good school. School is important. Maybe my boy be doctor or lawyer, or maybe businessman. He smart, my boy,” she says with pride.
Another neighbor, Berta, has a tip on meat from a butcher’s shop that Peggy has never gone to—she hadn't understood the signs in the window, so had always hurried past. "You go and tell Henrik that Berta send you. He treat you right. Much cheaper than Johnson’s. Better meat, too.” She jabs her finger at Peggy.
“So what’s your story, Mrs. Barnes? You lost your husband in the strike, yeah?”
Peggy pauses, her hands full of bread. She thinks the woman is Mrs. Barry, another neighbor; short, busty, red arms, red face, red hair.
“Yes,” replies Peggy, not wanting to share, but also not wanting to interrupt the easy camaraderie in the kitchen. “He was one of the organizers, and got caught in a riot when the mounted police charged.”
“Dark times indeed,” says an aproned woman, shaking her head. Other women echo how lives have been affected by the Great Steel Strike in 1919. A lot of men in the neighborhood had been, like Jack, laid off after Hog Island Shipyards closed after the war.
“You can’t put thirty thousand men out on the street and expect them to go quietly,” says Mrs. Barry.
She steps close to Peggy, chin thrust forward. “Mrs. Barnes, is it true that your own Da’ worked for American International, them that owned the Shipyard? He was one of them swells that locked our men out?” There is a definite challenge to Mrs. Barry’s question, and a sudden chill in the room.
Peggy is cautious. Four-and-a-half years have passed since the layoffs, but feelings run deep. Jack’s reputation and sacrifice give her some protection, but her father is seen as the enemy by the women in this room, a sentiment she doesn’t disagree with. “We haven’t spoken since the strike. Jack was a good man. He’s Tommy’s father. But, yes, my father worked in the Accounting Office. He was the one that called in the police to break the strike, and that was the day my dear Jack was killed.”
“Well, that must have been a difficult funeral,” says a woman who lives beside Mrs. Barry.
There is a collective gasp.
"Not really,” says Peggy. “My father is dead to me. I told my family that I didn't want them at Jack's funeral. Lines were drawn when we got married, and the trench has been dug deeper with each year. My family, my real family, was with my husband—our son Tommy, and Jack's parents."
While there are a few lingering looks, the women perceive the drama is over and resume their tasks and their chatter.
Suddenly, Peggy’s back door swings open. Alicja Leszek is almost doubled over, weeping. A small child at her knees tries to hold the adult upright.
Peggy rushes over to lend support. “Alicja, come, let me help.” She guides her to a chair. “Please, take your time. What’s happened?”
In a flood of Polish, Mrs. Leszek pours out the horrific news. Those who understand the language look on in shock.
“The police are calling off the search for Oskar,” someone translates.
“They say he’s run away. Maybe even joined the circus,” says another.
“Damn them, cholera policja.”
“Sukinsyn!”
“Trust them to turn their backs on us.”
“Well, I never.” says Peggy. The circus? Not a chance. Tommy would have said something about a circus. Had one even been through the city?
The women try and adapt to the news. “What will happen now?”
“The men have to go back to work on Monday.”
“They can’t take any more time off to look.”
“We’ve already looked everywhere.”
“If the police aren’t going to help, we’ll need more than eyes and legs. We’ll need someone who knows what they’re doing.”
“Those policja have it out for us.”
“Always give trouble, never help.”
“Because we can’t pay the bribes.”
Alicja Leszek has remained silent since her outburst, tears streaming.
“But who will look for Oskar?” asks Peggy. “They can’t get away this.” Peggy wraps her arms around Alicja. “There, there. Don’t worry. We’ll keep looking. We won’t give up. We’ll bring Oskar home.”
Chapter 11
The street lights begin to flicker in the gathering dusk. A cup of coffee balances on the front railing, and Peggy, bundled in her winter coat, sits in a tattered wicker chair on the veranda. She needed to get out of the house, away from people. The walls were closing in on her.
Peggy’s home has been a hive of activity and tension, what with the women in the morning and Alicja Leszek’s visit. It is as if the very house absorbed Alicja’s news about the police calling off the search for her son, Oskar. That news, and the wails of the mothers, are now part of the plaster and lath. It had taken several hours before Alicja could be persuaded to return home. The rest of the women had also lingered, wanting solidarity in numbers against a decision they didn’t understand.
Emotions have been high. By the time Peggy prepared the evening meal for her lodgers, Tommy, and herself, she was emotionally spent.
At dinner, Tommy had poked at his food. He said that everyone had abandoned his friend. Peggy wondered if he wasn’t feeling that he had too; she tried to reassure him that there was nothing more he could do.
Guilt doesn’t sit easily on his narrow, young shoulders. His small lie lives in his chest, pressing down and
making it hard to breathe sometimes. It has him firmly now, and is growing. The way to get back to telling the truth about that night at the warehouse is getting harder to find.
As a member of the police, poor Constable Kelly was given a rough ride over dinner. Eugene Smith had been particularly nasty in his comments, to the point of blaming the police for allowing harm to come to the boy. Peggy silently agreed with the man. The police have shirked their duty, and now the safety of a young boy, a friend of Tommy’s, is at risk. She wouldn’t say anything aloud, but her pinched lips gave her away. Tommy hadn’t even waited for his pudding; he’d stormed upstairs, loudly slamming his door. Peggy envied him that release. Adding to the evening’s upsets, Constable Kelly had been called away before he got to finish his dinner. Peggy couldn’t help but think that the bitterness at dinner was the perfect topper for a really horrible day.
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