by Cathy Pegau
“Not just here,” Charlotte said. The blatant racism across the country made her cringe. Even within her own cause, which was supposed to be fighting for equality for all.
Michael shook his head as he poured them each a cup of coffee. “Attitudes are a little better now, but not by much, and the kids suffer from the adults’ prejudices. Ben Junior had a real rough time of it, from what Mrs. Derenov told me. Lots of fights at school, then later when he was working. He decided to leave town and start over down south.”
Funny how some came to Alaska to start again and others left for the same reason.
“That must have been hard on everyone.” Charlotte sat at his rickety little table and stirred sugar into her coffee. “Did Ben get back up here before his mother passed?”
“Barely,” Michael said. He picked up his pocket watch from the top of the dresser, wound it, then put it to his ear, grimacing as he shook the timepiece and wound it some more. “She was gone within the week he returned. It’s been just him and Rebecca ever since.”
“How sad.” She couldn’t imagine the heartache of traveling so far just to watch your mother die. And for Rebecca to lose both parents so young? It happened all too frequently, and kids usually turned out fine, but Charlotte knew there were hardships and difficulties the Derenov children would face.
She pushed aside the thought of her own parents back in New York. They were both in good health. No reason to worry herself.
“Rebecca’s a good kid, smart as can be,” Michael said, tying his tie. “Be a shame if she had to quit school.”
“Why would she have to do that?”
“I hear Ben’s still having a tough time. Other than the occasional odd job, like for the Fiskes, I don’t know that he has a regular income. Unfortunately, his reputation as a troublemaker hasn’t faded from memory.” He came to the table and sat with her to don his wool socks. “With little to no income, it’ll be very difficult for them to survive up here.”
The idea of sacrificing Rebecca’s education piqued Charlotte’s passions. “That’s not right. The best thing for a young woman—for anyone—is to get as complete an education as possible. It’s the key to equality.”
Michael smoothed down his pant leg. “I agree, and I hope it doesn’t come to that. But the graduation rate is iffy, more so for Native kids. If they make it to the eighth grade they’re doing well. A number of families—white and Native—need the income from as many hands as possible.”
“And that income would be higher the longer they’re able to stay in school, and better if they can go beyond a high school education.” She was gripping the coffee mug tightly with both hands. “Children like Rebecca Derenov and her friend Esther need to go to school.”
“Maybe, if she and Ben stay here, she’ll be able to keep going.” He didn’t sound hopeful. “If they head back to the States, it may be as tough or tougher on them.”
“We can’t let that happen,” Charlotte said. The idea of such a bright and caring young woman missing the opportunity for an education because of basic financial need made her sick to her stomach.
“It’s not up to us,” Michael said. “They have to do what they can to survive.”
“Someone has to convince them, convince Ben, that keeping his sister in school is critical.” She considered the Derenovs’ situation. “Can’t you see if there’s anyone who can give him a good enough job to allow them to stay?”
“People aren’t keen on others butting into their business, you know.”
“I know, Michael, but this girl’s well-being is at stake, don’t you think? And as her doctor . . .” She was playing into his sense of dedication to his patients’ entire health, but she felt no guilt in doing so.
“Okay, I’ll ask, but there are no guarantees.” He rose, rinsed his coffee cup in the sink, then gave her a peck on the cheek. “I have rounds at the hospital, then a few homebound patients to tend.”
Charlotte followed him to the outer office. “We need to do something, Michael.”
He shrugged into his coat and donned his boots. Grabbing his black bag from behind the desk, he said, “We’re outsiders, Charlotte. Ben Derenov is his sister’s closest family and he’s an adult. He makes the final decisions for her. We can advocate, but browbeating isn’t going to work. Lock up when you leave, please. Bye, Sis.”
Charlotte returned to the seat at the desk, her mind only half on the task at hand as she considered Ben and Rebecca Derenov. The situation wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, and it was, unfortunately, not unique. But how to make it better?
* * *
Another hour of seeing to the files and Charlotte was ready for a real breakfast, the coffee and toast at home having tided her over longer than she’d expected. After a quick bite at the café, she was on her way to the Times office when Mr. Hanson, owner of one of the two jewelry stores in town, caught her eye as he swept muck from the walkway in front of his store. He smiled and waved, then went back to sweeping. An elaborate sign in the window stated a holiday sale on everything in stock.
Good gravy. Christmas was almost upon them and she’d hardly given a thought of what to get Michael. Maybe a new watch, if the price was right. With a month to go, it was unlikely she’d have time to order anything up from the States. Charlotte crossed the frozen mud of Main Street.
“Good morning, Mr. Hanson.”
Hanson looked up from his sweeping and smiled at her again. A wool cap covered his silvery hair, and a heavy coat protected his dapper suit. The unbuckled boots on his feet would likely be changed into more appropriate footwear to tend customers.
“Good morning, Miss Brody. How are you today?”
“Very well, thank you.” Charlotte gestured toward the window. “Is your sale still going on?”
“It certainly is! Go on in and have a look while I finish up here. Won’t be but a few minutes.” He held the door open for her, grinning.
Charlotte went inside, loosening the scarf at her throat and removing the mittens she’d just put on. Three glass cases of rings, earrings, necklaces, and watches, and a wall of clocks sparkled under the delicate shades of overhead lamps hanging throughout the store. Signs advertising a number of manufacturers also adorned the walls, as did one declaring “Repairs Made on Premises.”
She barely glanced at the other offerings as she headed to the watches, their gold and silver cases gleaming, the crystals reflecting the bright light. Many of the metal cases were smooth and plain; a good number were etched with decorative designs or images of animals and scenery. Other than how they worked and how fancy the cases might be, Charlotte knew next to nothing about watches. Her father had a silver one he’d inherited from his father, and as a child she’d been allowed to wind it for him. Michael had had his watch since medical school, but it wasn’t as durable as their father’s. It was also possible Michael hadn’t been as meticulous in caring for his as Father.
With a jingle from the bells over the door, Mr. Hanson came in. He removed his hat and coat, stashed them in the back office, then returned to the counter. “What can I help you with today, Miss Brody?” he asked as he finger-combed his thick hair and smiled.
“Michael needs a new watch,” she said, “and I was thinking of getting him one for Christmas.” She looked down at the display again. “I’m not sure which would be a good value.”
There were no prices on the pieces, but she figured a decent watch would run about ten to fifteen dollars. She could save up a week’s salary or work out a payment plan with Mr. Hanson.
“I guarantee the best prices in town,” he said as he fished a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles from his inside jacket pocket and hooked the earpieces into place. “We have a number of makers, Elgin, Ingersoll, Waltham.” He opened the case and withdrew a gold-cased watch. “This is a 992 Hamilton. It’s a size sixteen case, has twenty-one jewel movement, and is yellow-gold filled.”
“Beautiful,” Charlotte said, reaching out with one finger to stroke the luxurious case.
“It ret
ails for sixty, but with the sale it’s fifty-five dollars,” Mr. Hanson said.
She snatched her hand back as if merely touching the watch would cause her to break it, and therefore have to buy it.
“Fifty-five?” A month’s salary. She loved her brother and wanted to get him a nice gift, but she didn’t have that amount of cash on hand. “Do you have anything else?”
Mr. Hanson smiled graciously and slipped the Hamilton back into its place under the glass. “We have several others that might fit your budget, and we do offer a payment plan. How about this Elgin? It’s fifteen.”
Breathing a little easier, Charlotte listened as he gave her the details of a silver watch down the line from the majority of his inventory and compared it to several others on display.
The bell over the door chimed. Mr. Hanson glanced up. His congenial smile turned into a flattened expression of disapproval. Curious to see who could have caused such a reaction, Charlotte turned.
Ben Derenov stood just inside the door, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched. There was a scowl on his face as well. He looked decidedly uncomfortable.
“What do you want?” Mr. Hanson asked.
His gruffness startled Charlotte. All Ben had done was walk into the store.
“I got something to sell.” Ben pulled his hands out of his pockets. The right one was closed into a fist. The left clenched and unclenched. “You buy jewelry, don’t ya?”
Mr. Hanson narrowed his eyes at the younger man. “I’m with a customer. You’ll have to come back later.”
“It’s fine, Mr. Hanson,” Charlotte said. “I want to look at these two pieces a little more closely before I decide. Please, take care of Mr. Derenov.”
Ben glared at both of them, a hint of suspicion in his eyes.
Hanson mumbled something, then strode toward Ben, keeping the glass display cases between them. “Make it quick. What do you have?”
Ben stepped closer and opened his hand. Charlotte couldn’t tell what he held, but it wasn’t a large item. Hanson held his hand out, palm up, just under Ben’s. Ben dumped the jewelry into the other man’s hand, and Charlotte caught a glimpse of gold.
“Real gold and pearls,” Ben said as Hanson held a teardrop-shaped earring up to the light.
“I’ll tell you if it’s real or not, boy.” Hanson removed his spectacles and fitted the jeweler’s loupe that hung on a chain around his neck to his right eye. His scowl never wavered. He peered at it for several long moments, then exchanged the one for the other, giving it the same close inspection. He handed both back to Ben and removed the loupe from his eye. “Where’d you get them?”
“They were my mother’s,” Ben said flatly.
Charlotte inwardly winced, her heart aching for Ben and Rebecca. It had to be difficult for them to sell her things, but if Ben wasn’t working a regular job, what choice did they have?
“I’ll give you a dollar,” Hanson said.
Ben’s jaw dropped open. “A dollar? That’s it? They’re real, worth at least ten.”
“Says who?” Hanson challenged, chin up.
“That’s what—That’s what my father paid for them.”
“Then your father got cheated,” Hanson said unkindly. “These are worth no more than five. The pearls are real, but not great quality, and the gold is just plate, not solid.”
“Then how about five for them?”
Hanson shook his head. “No. A dollar and a half.”
Ben’s face darkened. “Three.”
The jeweler folded his arms. “Dollar and a half.”
“I can get that much for them at a poker game.” Ben’s voice cracked with disbelief.
Hanson shrugged. “Off with you then.”
Ben closed his hand around the earrings, shot Charlotte an embarrassed glare, then stormed out of the store, the bell tinkling wildly.
Hanson watched as the younger man disappeared past the corner of the building. He took a breath, visibly calming himself, and came back over to Charlotte. “I apologize for the interruption, Miss Brody. I try to run a respectable establishment.”
Charlotte tilted her head. “What was not respectable about what happened, Mr. Hanson? It appeared to me that Mr. Derenov was merely mistaken about the value of his mother’s earrings.”
She felt bad for Ben, thinking he’d be able to sell the jewelry for almost a week’s pay.
Hanson sneered. “If those were his mother’s.”
The implication caught her by surprise. “What do you mean? Do you honestly think he stole them?”
He held out both hands in a “who’s to say?” shrug. “I wouldn’t put it past the likes of him. Ben Derenov was a bad seed from the time he was a kid. Got into all manner of trouble, nicked candy and baubles from the drugstore. He grew up to be a no-good adult. No one was sorry to see him go when he left town.”
Charlotte immediately felt defensive of Ben, though she had no other reason than because Mr. Hanson was so damn hard on him. “I’m sure his mother and sister missed him terribly.” Hanson had the courtesy to look embarrassed. “He did return when he heard his mother was ill, and he’s trying to make an honest living to take care of Rebecca now. That deserves some credit, don’t you think?”
“Maybe so,” Hanson conceded, “but it’ll take time for people here to get over the things he’s done. Actions speak louder than words, and right now Ben Derenov is still needing to prove himself.”
Charlotte had the feeling it would take Ben Derenov years of near-perfect behavior before the likes of Mr. Hanson considered him redeemed. Was Hanson’s opinion of Ben typical of the town? No wonder he was having such a hard time finding a job.
“Can I show you anything else, Miss Brody?” The jeweler gestured toward another display. “We have some cigarette cases and lighters that your brother might enjoy.”
“He doesn’t smoke. I think the Elgin will be just fine,” she said without really knowing if having seventeen or twenty-one jewels really made much difference to Michael. “I have a little money on me right now and can come back later with the balance.”
Hanson scooped up the silver watch, the pleasant smile back on his face. “Of course. We’re happy to work out a plan that’s satisfactory. Step over here, if you would.”
As she made the arrangements with Mr. Hanson, Charlotte couldn’t help but compare her experience with the jeweler to Ben’s. What a vast difference. If Hanson had known of her own run-ins with the authorities or her stance on women’s rights or her indiscretions, would he have refused to sell to her? Proprietors often discriminated against people due to race, creed, color, or reputation.
That gave more credence to Lyle Fiske’s backroom pawn operation. He was willing to do business with anyone needing cash and charged everyone horrible interest.
“How terribly evenhanded of him,” she muttered.
“Pardon me, Miss Brody? Did you say something?” Mr. Hanson was holding out her receipt for the three dollars she’d given as a down payment.
“Nothing, Mr. Hanson. Thank you. I’ll be back later.”
She left the store, agitation still prickling at the back of her neck. Hanson’s attitude rubbed her the wrong way. Surely not everyone in town felt that way toward Ben Derenov. His difficulty finding work, however, made her think he might have burned some bridges in Cordova. No wonder he was considering moving away.
She had no say in how Ben Derenov lived his life, or what he decided was going to be best for himself and his sister. But damnation, the idea of Rebecca losing out because of those decisions or some people’s prejudices aggravated Charlotte to the bone.
* * *
Charlotte spent the day in the Times office, mostly at the Linotype, or designing a few simple advertisements and writing new announcements. With the holidays approaching, many of the businesses were having sales, and there seemed to be a dance or holiday party scheduled for every week, sometimes several, on top of the weekly gathering at the Prism Social Club. The Cordova Jazz Orchestra would
be playing at the upcoming dance. The seven-piece band was quite good and Charlotte made a mental note to attend.
When she had everything ready for Mr. Toliver’s night of printing, Charlotte tidied the desk, donned her winter gear, and stepped out onto the walkway. It was just after five in the afternoon and black as midnight. The electric streetlight glow was softened by the lazy spirals of snow. A scant covering on the walk and streets meant getting home wouldn’t be too messy, but Charlotte had the feeling she’d be shoveling off the steps come morning.
Many of the shops were closing for the evening, but several still had their lights on. On the second floor of the building housing the laundry and the barber, the light was on in Adam Kenner’s office.
Leave it be, Charlotte, she told herself. Yet there she was, crossing the street to the door sandwiched between the two other establishments. Painted in black script on the frosted glass was Adam’s name, with “Accounting and Bookkeeping Services” below it.
She opened the door onto a narrow staircase and went in. Listening for any indication that Adam Kenner was with a client, and hearing nothing over the sounds of the launderer coming through the wall, Charlotte started up the stairs. Halfway to the top, the office door flung open, in toward the office, and hit the wall with a rattling thunk. Charlotte froze.
“I don’t know why you care what happened to Fiske.” Otto Kenner came out onto the landing but had half turned to look back into the office. “We both get what we want now. Give it a rest.”
He faced the stairs, large fists clenched at his sides and face flushed with anger. His thick eyebrows met in a scowl when he saw Charlotte. Otto headed down, his broad shoulders practically touching the walls of the narrow stairwell. His heavy boots thundered on the wood, sending vibrations up through her legs.
She pressed her back against the wall to allow him to pass. When he reached the same step, Otto glared at her. “Keep your nose out of our business, lady,” he growled.
His tone was low and menacing, and Charlotte was sure Adam hadn’t heard it upstairs.
Indignation vied with wariness, keeping her nerves on edge. She’d expected him to be curt, angry even, but threatening?