Shadows of the White City

by Jocelyn Green

  Gregor stared. “You jest. This is a symbol of Father’s approval, the one thing you’ve wanted your whole life. You can hold on to it now, wear it like a badge!”

  “I might have envied your possession of it once, but no more. Keep it. Father wanted you to have it, after all.” And at this rate, Gregor might need to pawn it himself. Kristof folded his hands and studied his brother. “I do find it odd that you found enough money to purchase this but not enough to pay half of this month’s rent.”

  Grimacing, Gregor massaged the back of his neck. “So you noticed.” He laughed. “Funny thing, that. As it turns out, Johnny Friendly extended me a loan so I could secure it before anyone else did. Time was of the essence, you know.”

  A coldness spread from the center of Kristof’s chest. “Johnny Friendly,” he repeated, incredulous.

  “Why not? I had a need, and he had the resources. It worked out.” But the tic near his eye betrayed him.

  “Next you’ll tell me he did this out of the kindness of his heart.”

  Gregor laughed again. “No, nothing so sentimental as that. He calls it an investment.”

  Kristof clenched his jaw. “Of what sort?” This didn’t sound like conventional gambling.

  “The profitable kind. For him. I’ll pay him back one way or another. Either with cash, or—” Gregor rubbed the side of his nose. “If not cash, I’ll pay him in kind.”

  Questions and conclusions exploded in Kristof’s mind. “How exactly will you do that? Play the violin for him until your debt is paid?”

  “Ah, if only he appreciated my talent.” Gregor’s smile played false. He was nervous. Scared? “Alas, I’ll provide services of a different variety.”

  The words strung out upon a thin, taut wire, unfurling the dread in Kristof’s middle. Covering his face with his hand, he groaned. “You’re working for him now. You’re not just stuck in his web, you’re part of it.”

  “Only if I’m unlucky! And it would be temporary. Nothing for you to be so worried about.”

  Kristof’s fingers curled into fists. “How in heaven’s name could you agree to this, for any reason? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

  Darkness flattened against the window, transforming the view to a reflection of two brothers at odds. Lightning forked the roiling clouds.

  Gregor’s mottled complexion turned sallow in the gaslight. “I did it for you, Kristof.”

  But such blame found no purchase. “You cannot pin this on me. You know I never would have approved.”

  “No. You rarely do.”

  Kristof bristled. “It’s your risks I take issue with, Gregor, and your reckless disregard for how they affect other people. You’re the only one who hasn’t noticed how destructive your pattern of behavior is.”

  Scooping their father’s timepiece back into his pocket, Gregor pushed back from the table and stood. “I can’t help myself.”

  “Maybe that’s true, maybe it isn’t.” Kristof rose, as well. “Either way, God can.”

  “You imply I want to be helped.” Gregor settled his hat on his head and shrugged his jacket over his shoulders. “You don’t understand the thrill of laying it all on the line, riding that razor-thin edge between winning and losing. There’s nothing like it in the world. I’d suggest you try it sometime instead of judging me for it, but I know you won’t.”

  He was right about that. If Kristof had harbored any qualms about evicting his brother, they would have shattered beneath Gregor’s last speech. He would never change as long as he had no desire to repent.

  “You don’t think you’re in trouble now,” Kristof said, “but one day you’ll realize the depth of your need.”

  “When that day comes, you’ll be the first to know.” Gregor bounced a finger off the brim of his hat.

  “That’s not what I had in mind.” Kristof grasped his brother’s shoulder. “The folks at Pacific Garden Mission on South Clark Street are there to help. They’ll know what to do. Promise me you’ll remember that.”

  Gregor’s bravado slipped, and Kristof glimpsed genuine surprise that Kristof wasn’t offering a future rescue himself. In the next instant, it was up again. “Sure,” Gregor said. “Whatever you say.”

  His throat aching with unspoken words and wishes, Kristof offered his hand. When Gregor shook it, Kristof pulled him close, clapping him twice on the back. “Take care of yourself.”

  He released his brother, and Gregor left.

  Wind moaned outside the building. Kristof went to the window, watching for Gregor through rain that had thinned to a drizzle. Suitcase in tow, Gregor appeared below, umbrella swinging from his other hand. A calculated distance behind him, another man stepped away from a lamppost and followed, the light of a cigar flaring and fading as he went.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 1893

  The smell of fresh-brewed coffee permeated the not-yet-open Corner Books & More. Sunlight slanted between the orange velvet drapes, spilling golden ribbons across the floor. On her way to check the cash register, Sylvie smiled in silent greeting at familiar characters framed against the deep purple walls. No wonder she never felt alone here. Then she stilled before the portrait of Fanny Price. “She’s a monster, you know,” Rose had said of Jane Austen’s favorite heroine. “She doesn’t belong anywhere.”

  “You do belong,” Sylvie said aloud, an echo of what she’d told Rose again last night. She’d received the same wordless, thoughtful gaze in response. Rose already seemed to be traveling away from her.

  A creak sounded from the back of the store, followed by footfalls. “Sylvie?” Kristof called.

  “Yes, here.” Brushing out her skirt from her belted waist, she met him in the bistro area.

  The shadows weren’t strong enough to hide the creases on his brow, nor the dark crescents that hung below his eyes. “I did it.” He cleared his throat. “I sent Gregor away last night.” His tone was that of a person announcing the death of a loved one. Full and yet broken.

  Sympathy filled Sylvie. “I’m so sorry it came to this.”

  “I had to.” He swallowed. “I had to let him go.”

  She tangled her fingers with his, wishing she could press into him the empathy she struggled to express in words. She was beginning to feel the tear of letting go herself.

  “Doing the right thing,” she said at length, “often means doing the hard thing. That takes courage. And faith to believe that he’ll be all right without you there to make sure of it.” As soon as she heard the words, she feared she needed them as much as he did.

  Kristof entwined her fingers more securely with his own. “Thank you. He’s at the start of a long and winding journey, but you’re right. God can work in his life without my help.”

  “He can,” Sylvie agreed. “He will.” It was so easy to say when it came to Gregor. Would she sound so sure of herself when it was time to release Rose?

  “I’m keeping you from opening the store.” Kristof released her hand. “Can I help?”

  Sylvie asked him to open all the drapes while she unlocked the front door and flipped the sign. “Have you heard anything back from Mr. Janik?” She blinked at the light suddenly filling the shop and grabbed a dust rag from under the counter.

  “Not directly. I stopped at his hotel to see if I had his room number correct and found they had forwarded my note to a different address.”

  Disappointment stung as Sylvie ran the cloth over the window display table. “So he’s returned to Poland already?” It had been a few weeks since they met him. She wouldn’t be surprised.

  “I don’t think a hotel or the postal service would pay to forward a letter overseas. My guess is he’s sightseeing somewhere else in the U.S. If he gets my letter, I’m sure he’ll respond. We just have to wait and see.”

  Wait. Again. Sylvie tried not to show her impatience as she went to the biography section.

  Kristof joined her. “Has Rose given any thought to resuming her violin lessons?” He took the r
ag from her hand and wiped down the tops of the cases where she couldn’t reach.

  “She hasn’t so much as touched her instrument since receiving the letter in which Jozefa said she was her mother. I suspect she’s honoring Jozefa’s wishes that she not pursue it because it was a shared interest with Magdalena.”

  “That’s a shame.” He kept dusting the tops of the shelves, from biography to history.

  When he moved to the domestic science section, Sylvie stole back the rag. “I have an idea, Kristof. If she isn’t taking violin from you, could she—would you be willing to teach her Polish?”

  “Mimi!” Rose’s voice soared over the towering bookshelves from some unseen place. “Do you mean it?”

  Chuckling, Sylvie threaded between the cases to the checkout counter, where Rose stood bearing pastries from the Hoffmans.

  “Are you going to drop that?” Sylvie gestured to the tilting platter.

  “Oh!” Rose set it down and began arranging sugar-dusted Berliners on the pedestals on the refreshment table. “But did I hear you right? Polish lessons?”

  “You asked Mrs. Górecki for help, and you asked Jozefa,” Sylvie said. “This is obviously important to you.”

  Besides, Ivan’s point at the restaurant, while distastefully made, had hit its mark. If Rose was set on going to Poland, Sylvie wanted her to understand as much of the language as possible. If she decided to stay in Chicago, having a grasp of her native tongue would still be fulfilling and useful in a city of immigrants.

  “Will you teach me, Mr. Bartok? Please?”

  Kristof placed the glass domes over the pastry-laden platters, a task clearly beyond Rose’s attention. “We’d need to meet often in order to make real progress in the next several weeks. Would you be up for daily lessons?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll work harder than you’ve ever seen me do before.”

  He agreed, and Sylvie smiled her thanks at Kristof. This was the right thing to do for Rose. That didn’t mean reaching this conclusion had been easy.

  The bell chimed over the door when Tessa arrived, unpinning her hat from her dark hair. As Rose glided over to chat with her, a customer entered.

  “Rose!” Mrs. Abbott called loudly. “It’s so good to see you again. I’ve been wondering where you’ve been this last month. Where have you been hiding?”

  “Nice to see you, too, Mrs. Abbott.” Despite Rose’s polite greeting, she stepped back, away from the well-meaning woman and the question she had no desire to answer.

  While Tessa informed Mrs. Abbott about the special offer for Chicago Day tickets to the Fair, Kristof quietly called to Rose. “I’ve got a date with Karl and Anna in a few minutes to play their favorite board game. Play on my team?”

  Rose brightened. “I saw they kept back some Berliners. We should probably help them take care of those. They’re best when they’re fresh, you know.”

  “Ah. The Hoffmans never fail to feed my sweet teeth.”

  A giggle tripped out of Rose. “Um. That’s sweet tooth, Mr. Bartok. Let’s not keep them waiting.”

  Kristof winked over her head at Sylvie, then left with Rose.

  Sylvie was still smiling when she rang up the purchases Tessa had helped Mrs. Abbott select.

  The rest of the day drifted by on a string of pleasant conversations with beloved customers and friends. Tessa mentioned that Rose was welcome to join her roommates for dinner any time. Meg stopped by to invite Sylvie, Rose, and Kristof to Olive’s birthday party. She also extended an invitation from Hazel for Rose to lunch with her after church tomorrow. Beth visited, too, sharing stories from the Fair and inquiring about Rose. Her lips all but disappeared in a thin line when Sylvie shared briefly about the incident at the Polish Café.

  “Quite right that she wanted you with her,” Beth replied gruffly, her complexion pale on Rose’s behalf. “If she steers clear of him altogether from now on, it won’t be too soon.”

  Closing time came, Tessa left, and Sylvie locked up the store. Before she headed upstairs for the evening, she paused at the portrait of Fanny Price and saw Rose in her troubled face. “You are loved,” Sylvie whispered. “You belong. You’re already home.”

  SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 1893

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go?” Kristof craned his neck to take in Mr. Ferris’s colossal steel wheel. He and Sylvie were here to celebrate Olive’s birthday, and the adventurous eight-year-old wanted nothing more than to spend a few hours on the Midway, including a trip around the giant wheel. The entire Pierce family, along with Rose, was already in line to buy tickets.

  Sylvie wrinkled her nose. “I’m staying right here on solid ground. But if you’ve never been, don’t stay behind on my account.” A tendril of her rich brown hair swayed against her cheek.

  “And miss out on twenty minutes I could be spending with you?”

  She peered at him from beneath the brim of her straw hat. “I’ve seen you every day for the last two weeks.”

  Every evening, Kristof had tutored Rose in Polish at Sylvie’s kitchen table. Sylvie brought them mugs of steaming hot chocolate—“for your sweet teeth”—and then read in the parlor. Rose was progressing quickly, and he enjoyed teaching her. But it wasn’t an adequate substitute for spending time with Sylvie. To say that he missed her sounded ridiculous. But it was no less true.

  With a gleam in her eye, Sylvie pinched his necktie and skewed it slightly off-center behind his vest. He straightened it with an extra show of precision to draw that particular smile that bloomed only for him.

  There.

  He chuckled, even as he felt the returning ache of wanting more than just her smile. Their friendship had become a suspended chord unresolved, a fermata held too long.

  From the line ahead of them, Meg turned and beckoned, and Kristof waited while Sylvie hurried to her sister, her hips twisting as she set a brisk pace. “We’re sitting this one out,” he heard her say. “My stomach will thank me for it. You doing all right?”

  He knew she was asking if Meg was able to enjoy Olive and set aside thoughts of Louise’s death. Meg nodded and replied too quietly for him to hear. Sylvie kissed her cheek, bent to speak to Olive, then returned to Kristof’s side.

  “How is she?” He guided her to a bench. “How’s Nate?”

  “Both well.” Sylvie adjusted her plum-colored skirt over her knees as she sat. “The Midway is a merciful distraction. And, of course, Olive’s enthusiasm for it all is contagious.”

  Behind them, an orchestra played on the second floor of the Vienna Café, the music cascading from the open windows. To their right was a model of St. Peter’s basilica, whose spire pointed to the purpling evening sky. Thrilled screams of Ice Railway riders floated over its top. From where they sat, he could see the minarets of Cairo Street on the left and the great blue dome of the Moorish Palace on the right. Aromas of coffee and sausage mixed with those of cumin, coriander, and slow-roasting lamb.

  “Still,” Sylvie murmured, “I should have checked on her more these last couple of weeks. It’s a difficult time of year.”

  “You visited her twice,” he gently reminded her. Meanwhile, Kristof hadn’t heard from Gregor since the day he left the apartment. Not that he expected to. He had hoped, however, to see his brother playing the violin somewhere on the Midway and at least find out how he was. Kristof had checked with the Hungarian Orpheum, the Vienna Café, the German Village, and every other concession that featured a stringed instrument. He’d even asked Maestro Thomas if Gregor had been in touch to re-audition.

  No sign of him.

  Kristof had stopped himself from checking the opium dens. Old habits of keeping watch on his brother proved painfully hard to break.

  A camel walked by with its driver. Bells jingled from the animal’s tasseled bridle, snapping Kristof’s line of thought. He turned back to Sylvie.

  “Meg understands you’ve had your own cares, too,” he said. From what Sylvie had told him, Rose had received at least four more letters from Jozefa in the l
ast two weeks. And up until last week, Ivan had been sending her messages through Lottie.

  Thankfully, Wiktor Janik had finally replied. Sylvie had been thrilled to learn that Janik would be coming back through Chicago and would meet with them, and with Rose, on Monday, October 9. Because that date was Chicago Day and full of special events at the Fair, no tours would be scheduled.

  In a break between pieces played by the Vienna Café’s orchestra, Kristof heard the distinctive notes of a snake charmer’s pungi. He scanned the main thoroughfare outside Cairo Street until he found a cobra rising from a wicker basket. Onlookers gathered in a wide circle.

  One of them disregarded the snake. Thumbs hooked in his belt, Ivan Mazurek watched the wheel ascend toward the sky. A muscle bunched in Kristof’s jaw. The realization that Ivan had been following Rose again lined his gut with lead. What would he do if he got her alone?

  Eventually the young man noticed Kristof. Shoulders slumping, he walked away.

  “Has Ivan sent any notes to Rose lately?” Keeping his tone casual, Kristof watched Ivan until he was out of sight.

  “Since you threw him out on his ear?” Sylvie laughed.

  He wasn’t sure what on his ear meant exactly, but he’d gotten pretty good at guessing. “At least I didn’t break his nose.”

  “You looked like you were thinking about it.”

  “Don’t pretend you blame me.”

  “I don’t.” She inched closer to him on the bench, the folds of her swagged skirt brushing his knee, draping him with warmth on this mild September evening.

  Kristof stretched his arm on the bench behind her, feeling again the protective instinct that had fired through him on Rose’s behalf last Friday. During their Polish lesson, Ivan had burst into the apartment, at first claiming he was there to escort Lottie and her weekly wages home. Then he’d demanded to be alone with Rose, becoming more irate with her refusal.

  “You’re making a huge mistake,” Ivan had growled when he found her preparing to live in Poland.

  “This is my decision, my life, we’re talking about,” Rose had spat back.