The Sisters of Summit Avenue

by Lynn Cullen

  “Just when she needed you, after she got rich and famous.” Why now? she wondered. “I suppose your mother died.”

  “You really needn’t take that tone with me. No, Mummy is still alive. See what I am risking for your sister? Everything. Mummy will be livid.”

  What about Mother? Would he publicly acknowledge her? Did she want to be acknowledged?

  A single robin fluted in the distance, its tootle muffled as by a heavy snowfall.

  Dizzy or not, her kids needed her. “Goodbye, Mr. Lamb.”

  She took a few steps and then braced herself in the doorway of the cabin and looked out. A gauzy layer of dust topped everything in sight, capping her car listing in the dusty ditch, the fence posts, each blade of grass, in taupe.

  She stepped off the little porch. Pain flared from her ankle. She must have twisted it when she fell. There would be no quick getaways on foot for her.

  “Do you really think that . . . vehicle . . . will start?” he called as she hop-limped to her car.

  The attempts to crank the T proved him right. She slammed the tinny door and started hobbling down the road, her fury enflamed by fear. Please, let her family be safe.

  From the porch, he announced, “I will give you a lift.”

  When she turned to him, he was strolling toward his limousine, fishing in his pocket for keys. The pleats in the wide legs of his expensive blue suit, though a little dusty, were still perfect.

  He was the last person on earth that she wanted to share a car with. Yet a minute later she found herself on the plush upholstered seat next to him. His Cadillac had roared to life with a simple turn of the key. No arm-breaking cranking for him.

  “Isn’t this better, lass?”

  I didn’t realize that Cincinnati was a part of England, she thought irritably.

  He turned to her after backing the vehicle out of the ditch. “I meant to ask, have you had people prospecting for oil or natural gas out here lately?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “I have wondered if there were still unexplored pockets of gas in this region, though the boom south of here in Gas City is getting played out. Oil’s the better chance.”

  “Nobody has mentioned it to me.”

  “You don’t say? While I was getting up the nerve to speak to your mother, I saw a car on your road that didn’t look local, rather a big vehicle, seemed out of place.” He glanced at her. “Well, let me know if they make you an offer. I’m always looking for ways to expand my holdings—diversification kept us Lambs afloat during Prohibition. And besides, what does it ever hurt to want just a little more?”

  The Cadillac roared toward the sunrise.

  “Stop the car.”

  “But we have a little ways.”

  “Stop. I can walk. And don’t come up to the house. My husband’s recuperating and we don’t need company.” She got out. Although, she thought, trudging toward the farm, they could use a dab of that good Lamb luck.

  * * *

  A voice bellowed from the top of the basement stairs. “Mother!”

  Down in the basement, Dorothy lifted her head from the hot tangle of grubby limbs and bobbed haircuts clinging to her. Ruth?

  The roaring, the awful scratching at the house, had stopped. The crow of Jeanne’s rooster floated in its place. Dawn had come.

  The wooden rafters of the basement ceiling creaked with the footsteps overhead. “Mother!” Ruth shouted. “John! June! Girls! Where are you?”

  The girls raised faces sticky with sleep. “Mommy!”

  Dorothy patted grimy heads. “Girls, you stay here. Let me make sure that everything’s all right. I’ll be right back.”

  They started to follow her.

  “I mean it—stay!”

  She left four sets of scowls.

  Ruth wasn’t in the kitchen when Dorothy got there. She ran her finger across the porcelain-topped worktable, then examined the tan powder coating her finger. Dust. It was everywhere, furring the draining board, the windowsill, the floor—even the glass of the kitchen lamp. When she rubbed her fingers on the swag of her collar, it was full of grit, too.

  She banged at her dress, raising a small cloud, as she bustled toward John’s bedroom. She spied her tinting on the desk in the hall. She paused just long enough to lift the wax paper she’d taped over the photo as she always did to protect it.

  It was as if gauze had been pressed into the drying paint—the surface was as textured as the skin of an orange. A beautiful bride, ruined. How Mr. Cryder would yell.

  Oh, to hell with him.

  Her pulse lurched as she trundled down the hall. What had come over her? The language! What a mess we’d be in, if others could hear our thoughts.

  Nick loped from John’s bedroom, with the hunch of a swatted dog.

  “What’s wrong?” she cried. “Is it John?”

  “Goodbye, Mrs. Dowdy.”

  “Where are you going?”

  He paused. “She said to pack my bags.”

  “But you don’t have any bags, do you?”

  “I will go because she said to go. But Root is scared, Mrs. Dowdy.”

  “Ruth’s allowed to be scared.”

  He studied her a moment, then nodded. “Goodbye, Mother.” He shook her hand. “You are a good mama.”

  “Me?” She nestled his words to her heart as he strode away, precious treasure. If only that were true.

  Her daughters were hovering over the bed when she entered John’s room. Ruth looked up from wiping John’s face with a corner of sheet and, seeing Dorothy, frowned as if she were trying to place something.

  Dorothy sucked in her breath. “Is he up?”

  “No,” Ruth snapped.

  June kept her face turned to John.

  Dorothy’s flesh prickled. “Maybe all he needs is another vitamin shot. Where’s Richard?”

  Ruth all but growled. “He’s still at the Squibbs’.” She glanced at June. “Don’t blame me for leaving him there. He made me.”

  A knock came on the back door.

  “There he is!” Dorothy exclaimed. Though why in the world would he knock? Was it Nick again—though surely he would have barged right back in.

  The knock sounded once more, louder.

  “I didn’t think it was locked,” said Dorothy.

  “Just answer it!” Ruth cried.

  “All right.”

  Dust scrunching underfoot, she trundled toward the door, making a quick jog out of the way, to the front room, to snap off the hissing radio.

  The knocking rocked the outer door as she entered the kitchen. She grabbed her sweater hanging on a hook by the door—my, it had gotten chilly! The temperature must have plunged forty degrees overnight.

  The sight of Richard’s gray fedora through the back door window unleashed the irritability that comes after surviving something big. For crying out loud, why was he being such a nuisance?

  “Coming!” She felt as cross as Venus when awakened from a nap. Her skin jumped: Venus! Where was she? Her agitation boosted by a fresh shot of fear, she paused on the landing to yell down the basement steps. “Girls, you can come up now!”

  She flung open the door. “Family doesn’t have to kn—”

  The word died on her lips. Edward Lamb took off his hat.

  “Hello, Dorothy.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  Indiana-Michigan line, 1934

  The blood rushed from Dorothy’s head, leaving her strangely aware of her skull. Its bony cap seemed to be the only thing holding her upright as she gaped out the kitchen door.

  Thirty-three years had whitened Edward’s majestic mane, swagged his leonine eyes with flesh, and bulged his middle against his watch chain, but she would have known him anywhere. Who wouldn’t? With his chin up and shoulders back, albeit both a little meatier now, and that massive head, cushioned these days with a chin-strap of flesh, he was Lamb Pride personified.

  “Dorothy?”

  A kaleidoscope of Edwards spun before her: Little Edward
in velvet shorts, darting after her in a game of tag; Edward the Youth, looking up from behind a forest of glass at the family table and winking at her as she filled his mother’s cup; Edward in his Prime, strolling through the Lambs’ garden gate with a small amused smile. The girl in her reached for them with longing, even as the old woman recoiled from the lion peering through the farmhouse door.

  “Looking as beautiful as ever.” His voice was as rich and fruity as she remembered it, with his special hint of London fog. “You have not changed a bit.”

  Dorothy swallowed back some dust. “I don’t know about that.”

  “It has been a long time.”

  She could not speak. How many years, decades, had she yearned for this moment? She had pined for this man, dreamed of him, had planned her escape with him when he came for her. And now he was standing on her doorstep.

  Edward’s smile dashed into a perturbed frown. Goodness, what’d she do? He was as changeable as Ruth. It struck Dorothy then that, though she had never dwelled on it, Ruth was his kin, too. They were all touched by Lamb blood. Except for William.

  “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

  She could not make her hand move. Words popped from her mouth, words that she didn’t know were there, they had been stuffed down so deep. “What would your mother say?”

  “Pardon me?”

  She cleared her throat. “How is your mother?”

  He raised his eyebrows, then spoke cautiously. “Mother is Mother. Fine, for her age. I suppose she’ll outlive us all.”

  She nodded.

  They both glanced at the latch of the door. What was keeping her from the simple courtesy of letting him in? It wasn’t like her to misbehave.

  She sensed movement from below the basement landing: Ruth’s girls were creeping up the steps.

  He noticed her distraction. “Who’s that?” He brightened. “June?”

  “My grandkids.”

  He craned his neck to get a view of them. “Grandchildren,” he marveled. “I have grandchildren. Both of my wives died before we had offspring.”

  The children gazed up from the stairwell like baby birds in the nest.

  “Get!” Dorothy hissed. When they didn’t move, she whisked them back, surprising herself. She usually relished an opportunity to show them off.

  The girls stared at her, not sure what to make of the novelty of her bossing them when it wasn’t an emergency. Reluctantly, they retreated down the steps, except for Irene, who couldn’t be convinced, the very image of her doubting mother.

  How precious this child—all of them—were to her! “Scoot!”

  Dorothy could see the offense on the girl’s face. But Edward’s confident smile made her stamp her foot at the child. He was not getting her.

  She inwardly sagged as Irene took one step at a time back down, holding the wooden rail. If she’d ever had this child’s love, she had lost it now.

  “Dorothy,” Edward said. “I want to say I am sorry.”

  Dorothy shook her head.

  “I should have said so long ago.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It does. I know that. Actually, I did try to apologize, a number of years ago, after I got your greeting card. I came by your husband’s store to find your house.”

  “You did?”

  “The brute had the nerve to punch me.”

  Disbelief poked through her anxiety. “William? Socked you?”

  “Right in the chin, he did. And I had told him that I came in peace!”

  She stared at the man she had dreamed of for decades. Rowdy Dowdy was actually rowdy?

  “All I said to him was that you wrote to me.”

  Something cracked open in her chest; sorrow came rushing in. William had known that she loved Edward and yet he protected her. He had taken care of her and their children the whole of his adult life, knowing that her heart was not his, that June was not his, and yet he continued to give and give and give.

  Dorothy felt movement just inside the house. Oh, that Irene! She whirled around to yell at her.

  But it wasn’t Irene. June was edging her way back deeper into the kitchen. She must have come out and heard them and was now retreating.

  Dorothy’s pulse jumped. She turned back around guiltily. Please don’t let Edward have seen June.

  Excitement animated Edward’s lordly features. “June! It’s your father!”

  June froze by the worktable. She turned around slowly.

  “Mother.” Her voice was stiff. “Come in the house now.”

  “Come closer!” Edward put his face to the screen. “I want a look at you.”

  Run! Dorothy wanted to shout. But it wasn’t her decision to make. Maybe June would want to be a Lamb. Heaven knows, she herself had wanted that for so many years.

  Ruth dashed into the kitchen. “Mother, June, come quick. It’s John! He’s awake!” A glimpse toward the back door stopped her mid-stride.

  The little girls were thumping up the stairs again. “Mommy! Mommy!”

  Ruth came to the steps and flagged them back down as Dorothy blocked the door. In her side vision, she saw a child-sized blur. One of the girls had escaped.

  Dorothy faced Edward rigidly so as not to give her away. Let her go up to her room, play that Monopoly game, stay out of sight.

  He clapped on his hat. “For Christ’s sake, what is wrong with you people? Isn’t anyone going to open this door?”

  Ruth drew up next to Dorothy and pulled back her chin, long like her father’s. She looked to her mother for instructions, whom she had never consulted in her life.

  Edward went red. “This is preposterous. Come, now, Dode, quit playing around. Tell June who I am, like the good girl that you are.”

  At that moment, little Jeanne, she of the perpetual worries, ran up to the outer door and flung it open.

  “Here!” Panting, she held out a shoebox. “Now leave us alone.”

  Edward crooked his mouth. “Thank you for the shoes, my child, but this is serious business.”

  “It’s not shoes.” She put the box in his hands then propped open the door with her bony body. She shoved grubby bangs from her eyes as he slipped off the box lid, plucked through the tissue, then drew out the small golden casket. The embossed cavorting cupids shone in the light of day.

  “For the love of God.”

  “It’s valuable. See, it’s got a bird?” Jeanne stepped onto the porch to push the slender knob near its base. Out popped the feathered automaton, clacking its beak and twirling to the birdsong produced by the rotating metal cylinder hidden inside the box.

  “Why are you giving him that?” Ruth said. “You must have spent every cent you had, buying that at the dime store.”

  Edward was red to the roots of his hair.

  “You said it was your mother’s,” Dorothy said.

  “It was.” Edward glanced away. “Well, technically, it was my niece’s. Mother bought it for her at a carnival when she came for a visit.”

  A blue haze fuzzed Dorothy’s vision. Even as Edward grimaced at her through it, in her mind’s eye mild-mannered William, fury flashing from his wire glasses, was rearing back and delivering him a wallop.

  “Why don’t you leave us alone?” Jeanne piped.

  Edward squatted next to her with a grunt. “Who do you think I am, princess, that you want to chase me away so badly?”

  She looked up at Dorothy.

  She nodded.

  The child glared. “Pretty Boy Floyd.”

  “Pretty Boy Floyd! You don’t say. Well, I suppose that’s a step up from Dillinger. No, princess, I own banks, not rob them.”

  Jeanne’s face crumpled. She trampled down the stairs to the basement.

  “You shouldn’t have laughed at her,” said Ruth. “It’s not such a wild guess. I told you that there have been bank robbers crawling around the countryside.” She touched Dorothy’s arm. “Mother, about John . . .”

  Gripping the open outer door for support, Edward stra
ightened his knees. He sought out June, who’d drawn closer to the door. “June Marie. Dear. I did not want to do this so crudely, but have been given no choice. Have you ever heard of Lamb Brewing Company?” He gave her time to answer, then cleared his throat. “That’s me. I’m Edward Lamb.”

  She glanced at her mother. Dorothy roasted with shame.

  “I’m your father.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “My dad told me, years ago.”

  “Is that a fact? I suppose he’s done my work for me, then. Nice of him.” He spread his hands. “Well, perhaps you’d like to chat. We’ve a lot of ground to cover.” He stepped forward.

  June pulled back. “I thought he was just telling me a fairy tale, to make me feel good after he’d driven us down Forest Park Boulevard once, and he saw that I was sad. He dropped the subject when he saw how it upset me, and never spoke of it again.”

  “Well, believe it, dear. You’ve got my blood.”

  “But, sir”—June smiled woodenly—“I don’t want it.”

  “You don’t want Lamb blood?”

  One look at her sister and Ruth stepped in front of her. “Hey, I have Lamb blood. How about me?”

  “How do you have Lamb blood?” asked June.

  Edward stroked his cuff. “You do have darling children . . .”

  Ruth pulled back with a repulsed laugh. “No!”

  “Stop!” Dorothy cried. “Everyone, please, stop.”

  Her heart pounded when they did. She was not used to people listening to her. She rubbed her chin hair then expelled a long breath.

  “I don’t know who knows what, so here are the facts: I grew up with Edward. I loved Edward. I had Edward’s baby. Edward is my half-brother. His mother took our baby. His mother put her in the State School when she was six months old.” She turned to June, her gumption, her joy in life, draining from her fast. This might be the last time they ever spoke. “I let you stay in there for five months. For five months, Junie. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. It’s despicable. Now I will go.”

  Edward reached out to her as she turned.