by Jo Schaffer
“So, Brother Martin or whatever, he’s been giving you the low down?”
Father Timothy nodded. “Yes, but we seem to be lacking key pieces of information.
We know some of the main players involved. We know some of their plans, like the clinics that are going up in all of the poor areas of St. Louis, especially in the colored areas.”
“Clinics? You mean like the one Haze works in?” Stanley said, curling his fists.
“Yes. She may end up being a handy plant for us there.”
“So, what information are you lacking?”
“Practicalities, boyo, practicalities. We don’t know how they plan to put it all into effect.”
Stanley sat back in his chair and realized that they didn’t know about the diary. He and Haze had kept that part a secret. They’d agreed not to tell anyone about it, but the way she was acting, he didn’t know if she was safe anymore. His stomach rolled. Everything was screwy, and he couldn’t handle it all himself.
He reached into his coat and pulled out the diary. “This is the diary of Evelyn Schmidt. This may contain the missing pieces you want. She talks about The Winnowing and the whole numbers system thing. There are some code in there too—might have some answers.”
Father Timothy reached out and took it from him. He opened it, and his eyes widened as he flipped through it.
“How … how did you get this?” he asked.
“Sandy had it and gave it to Hazel. We promised each other not to sing about it to anyone.”
Father Timothy stood up. “This is what we need, Stanley. This will be the first edition of the paper, the murder of Evelyn Schmidt. The Post-Dispatch and the Democrat all published the official story of the Chouteau boy being crazy. We will start there.”
Stanley nodded. “I’ll help, but you gotta let me be a reporter and write. I don’t just want to be an errand boy in all of this.”
Mr. Malloy smiled. “I would not expect anything less.”
Someone knocked on the door, and Father asked, “Who is it?”
“Tis Peggy, Father. Sorry I’m late.”
Father Timothy gave Seamus a brief glance and said, “Come in.”
Peggy walked in, and all the men got up out of their seats. She seemed startled to see Stanley there.
He couldn’t figure why she was there either. “You a part of this?”
She recovered from her surprise and smiled. “I am. So, lad, you’ve been fighting with Miss Hazel.”
Stanley looked down and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Something isn’t right about her right now. She’s, I dunno, like someone’s messing with her head.”
The maid frowned and turned to Father Timothy. “I’ve noticed that too. Hazel has never been rude or short with me. Lately, she’s been acting like a spoiled debutante who …” She paused and put her hand over her mouth. “Ah, Mr. Malloy, sir, I’m sorry.”
He chuckled. “Speak freely, Peggy. Hazel has always been a willful child. And yes, lately, there seems to have been a change.”
“Okay, so, what’s that about then?” Seamus asked.
Father Timothy furrowed his brow. “I do not know. Attacks come in different forms.”
No one spoke for a moment. Peggy glanced at Stanley and then reached out to his eye.
“Stanley, love, what happened to your eye?”
He didn’t flinch from her warm touch. Her hand was cool and comforting, and he noticed a St. Jude medal, almost exactly like the one he wore, around her neck.
“A stick poked me in the eye. It’s painted black, and was put on my pillow. A little message from Legion, I guess.”
“Bring that stick to me, Stanley. I want to see it,” Father Timothy said.
“Okay, not much to see.”
“Possibly more than meets the eye,” said the priest.
“Well it met my eye, but I didn’t get much out of it.” Stanley smirked.
Peggy started to say something, but Seamus interrupted, “Ah, Peggy, sure, we were just discussing the newspaper. Do you think you have the house help network all square?”
She composed herself and said, “To be sure. They’re all ready to do their part. I’ve already got my spies in place, after all. All I got to do is pull my strings, just like the old days.”
Seamus frowned. “Let’s hope not.”
Stanley was trying to catch up with the fact that Peggy had a network of servant spies. “Uh, old days? What are you two flapping your gums about?”
Mr. Malloy stood up. “That is the past. We have to deal with the now, Stanley. You need to start working on your article about the diary for Father Timothy. It’s time to get this paper up and running.”
Stanley wanted to argue, but the four adults in the room seemed intent on keeping him in the dark on some of it. And he didn’t feel like fighting them.
“Yeah, okay, so we need a snappy name; something that sings.”
Father Timothy smiled. “Indeed. Any suggestions?”
Stanley walked over to Father Timothy’s window. What name would really catch people’s attention and make them read?
“How about The Knight’s Voice? And the tagline would be, Defending the Truth. Protecting the People?” Stanley asked.
Everyone smiled, and Seamus said, “Gee, I wonder where that came from, Sir Stanley?”
“It’s time we start doing something beyond just raiding trash cans. The boys will go for it. We got friends disappearing left and right. Nothing else to do now. The war has begun, and it’s time for us to ride.”
The men nodded. Father Timothy looked pleased. There was an energy in the room like a coiled snake. But this time, the good guys had fangs.
Tears streamed down Peggy’s face, and she wiped them away. “You … you look so much …” But she couldn’t finish her sentence.
Seamus draped an arm around her and said, “There, there, lass. Will be all right, saints preserve us.” She buried her head in his shoulder, and her body shook with silent sobs.
Stanley wasn’t sure what was wrong with Peggy; he was about to get nosy when Mr. Malloy said, “So we can count on you to write for us. Can you help spread it?”
“Nobody can spread news like newsies can. We’ll just slip it in with the paper.”
“Perfect. Then you have some things to organize,” Father Timothy said.
Stanley put on his hat, nodded to everyone, and went outside into the sanctuary. He knelt at the altar rail and prayed. For St. Louis. For the forgotten people. For the pigeons disappearing. For the Knights. For himself. And for Hazel. Her eyes shone in his mind, and he gripped his hands together and pressed them into his forehead.
Please. St. Michael, protect her. Please. Let her be all right. Show us the way. Defend us in battle.
Peace and calm flooded his mind. There was no more doubt and anger. Only resolve to fight the fight. He got up, crossed himself, and walked down the aisle of the church.
It was time to gather the Knights and go to war.
Hazel took Sandy’s hand and swung her arm gently as they walked down the boulevard, looking into the sparkling Christmas displays of the store windows. It seemed like forever since she was a child, and the toys on display seemed like relics of a forgotten time of innocence she could no longer connect with. Tinker Toys, dolls, little cars, tops, and toy guns would light up the eyes of kids everywhere on Christmas morning, but Hazel couldn’t think of anything she wanted. Though recently she’d dreamed of kissing Stanley under the mistletoe. But that couldn’t happen.
She’d needed time alone with her best friend to do something normal together like they used to do before Sandy’s world was shattered. A matinee at the Fox Theater downtown was just the ticket. They had decided against a Shirley Temple movie and went instead to see The Girl From Missouri with Jean Harlow, the blond actress who reminded Hazel of Mumsy. During the movie, Sandy had lit up a little. She even smiled and almost laughed. Hazel’s heart lifted each time.
<
br /> Henri followed on a leash in Hazel’s other hand. She was taking Mick’s advice about taking him out more, and the young dog was behaving quite well. Sandy seemed to have a special connection with him. Sometimes Sandy would hug him and bury her face in his neck, and Hazel got the feeling that Henri knew she needed extra affection. He never squirmed away.
“Say, that’s lovely. You’d look just swell in that.” Hazel pointed out a red, velvet coat with white, fox cuffs displayed on a mannequin, surrounded by tinsel and greenery.
Sandy glanced through the shop window with vacant eyes. “Sure, if I want to look like Santa Claus.”
“It’s festive.” Hazel grinned.
“A bit too snazzy to wear around our newsie hero …”
Hazel had that sinking in her stomach again. Bananas. Sandy was sweet on Stanley after all … and they had been pitching woo under the moon at her birthday party. Stanley chased skirts as everyone knew, and Hazel had no claim on him. Still, it felt all wrong that her two best friends would have a romance. She had never admitted to Sandy how she felt about Stanley. Mainly because it seemed to fluctuate like mad ever since her rescue from the cave. Part of her wanted to cling to him and another part wanted to run away, far from all of the memories attached to him.
Jazz music echoed out of a bar; automobiles hummed and rumbled down the street. An old Model T without a top, looking like a horseless carriage, coughed smoke into the air. Several kids about her age rode inside, whooping and hollering. Hazel recognized all but one of them. It was some of Stanley’s Knights. Anino, Jakob, Shuffles, and also a girl with red hair. Crouched on the back, riding the back bumper, was Arthur, bowler hat at a slant, black suspenders over an open collar shirt.
After the automobile had passed, it screeched to a stop at the side of the street, one front tire coming up onto the sidewalk. Henri let out a bark.
“Hiya, Haze!” Jakob shouted back over his shoulder, giving her a wave.
Hazel let go of Sandy’s hand to wave back. “Hey, chums. What’s this?” She approached the rattling vehicle, chuckling.
“Meet my old lady. My grandpop gave me this jalopy. It’s been dead in his garage since 1929. He said it died with the stock market.” Jakob let out a laugh. “But I got her running. She’s a honey!”
Hazel grinned and touched the hood; it shook and jumped under her hand. “Not sure this is good for St. Louis. You clowns with wheels?”
Anino threw back his head and howled. Arthur straightened to a stand on the bumper and gave Hazel a slight nod before fixing his eyes on Sandy.
Shuffles gave Hazel a wink. “It’s okay, kiddo. Hop in. We’ll drive you home.” He wrinkled his freckled nose. “Come here, pooch!” He pushed open the door and patted the seat between him and the girl with red hair. Henri jumped in, wagged his tail, and attacked Shuffles’ face with kisses.
“What do you say, Sandy?” Hazel looked over at her friend for approval. Sandy’s golden-brown eyes were glued to the redhead.
“Looks crowded,” she muttered.
Hazel examined the stranger who sat beside Shuffles in the back seat. The girl had long, curly, red hair that she let hang down wild to the middle of her back. It wasn’t styled or set at all. Her gray sweater was form fitting, and she wore black trousers. She had a frank and direct gaze as she looked back at Hazel, chewing pink bubblegum.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Hazel.” She held out a hand, and the girl shook it with a firm grip and calloused fingers.
“Mutual.” She blew a large, round bubble and let it pop. She peeled it off her mouth and nose and put it back into her mouth. “I’m Frisky.” Her voice was hoarse and low, and she had a small gap between her two front teeth.
“Are you? Well … I’m feeling quite spirited myself,” Hazel said.
“Nah, her name’s Frisky. She’s Arthur’s pal.” Shuffles grinned.
“Frisky Jones. And who’s this?” The girl with red hair gave a side smile and raised her chin at Sandy.
“I’m Alesandra Schmidt. Always nice to meet any pal of Arthur’s.” Sandy and Frisky looked at each other for a moment.
“Hop on in. I can ride the back with Artie. Ain’t no trouble.” The redhead slid onto the sidewalk and joined Arthur on the bumper. The boy in the bowler hat remained expressionless, staring out at the street and passing cars.
“My driver was going to come for us soon. We were just window shopping until then.”
“Now he won’t have to. We’ll get you back quicker than he can leave to get ya.”
She thought a moment. “Guess it wouldn’t hurt to give old Jennings a break.”
Hazel climbed in, and Sandy followed. Jakob backed off of the curb, and with a jolt, they were off, swerving between cars and skidding around corners. Hazel clapped a hand down on the top of her head to keep her hat from flying off. Henri barked with glee, attracting even more attention. She hoped nobody from Lindell would recognize her. She liked the boys and all, but this would be a world of gossip for the likes of the Regina and Brigitte.
Jakob got her back to Lindell quicker than she could have imagined possible. They came to a stop in front of the Malloy mansion. Heart pounding, Hazel eagerly exited the car to get her feet on steady ground. Sandy followed, and Anino opened the back door for Henri to jump out.
“Thanks, boys,” Hazel called out.
“You bet.” Jakob waved.
Arthur jumped off the back bumper where he’d been hanging on who-knows-how through that ride. “Yous go on without me, fellas. Catch you around.”
“You got it.” Anino saluted, and the Model T pulled away with a gasp of black smoke.
The girl called Frisky clung to the back and looked back at them until the car turned a corner.
Hazel had a feeling something was weird. Aside from the goose pimples Arthur always gave her. She and Sandy waited and watched him while Henri circled them restlessly.
With his usual detachment, Arthur slowly approached them. He took out a cigarette and a match. He struck it on the heel of his shoe.
“Hear anything yet?” He took a drag on his cigarette. He squinted at Hazel and let the smoke cloud out of his mouth.
Hazel coughed. “About what?”
“Come on, Princess … you were supposed to be on the inside. Watchin’ all the pretty people so you’d help us figure out who the ring master is in this circus.”
“Haven’t noticed anything. I think Charles was working alone. The diary …” Hazel’s mind went blank, and a sharp pain went through her head. She rubbed her temples.
Arthur gave her a look of disgust. “You jerkin’ my chain, swell?” He blew smoke out his nose. “Soakin’ in all that fame has made you screwy. Somethin’ ain’t right about you. Like you’ve forgotten everything.”
“Everyone keeps saying that. It’s stale.” Hazel frowned, rattled.
Sandy, who had been silent ever since they had gotten into the car, spoke up as if she had not been paying any attention to the conversation. “Who’s Frisky to you?”
Arthur rolled his eyes and took another puff of his cigarette. “What’s it to you, doll?”
Sandy stepped forward, and her hand shot out. The sound of the slap made Hazel jump and knocked the cigarette out of Arthur’s mouth. It hit the sidewalk and threw sparks.
Arthur blinked but didn’t react. Hazel was alarmed. What was going on? Henri growled, and Hazel put a hand on his head until he stopped.
“Is that her?” Sandy demanded.
“Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.”
Sandy raised her hand to slap him again, but he caught her wrist and scowled at her.
“Look, swell. You don’t own me like you own that fancy bracelet and that ridiculous hat.
I ain’t yours. Hit me again, and you’ll wish God never gave you hands.”
“Let go of her.” Hazel heard her voice tremble. “How dare you threaten her? She’s been through enough.”
Arthur released Sandy�
��s wrist and cut his gaze at Hazel. “Don’t I know it? You two dames have bigger fish to gut. Teeth is missing. One of your famous newsies. That means none of us are safe. They aren’t even being careful now about who they pick off. Just ask Stanley.”
“Teeth?” Hazel’s heart seemed to freeze. She pictured the young, scrappy boy, and fear prickled over her skin. “What are we going to do?”
Arthur bent down and picked up the smoldering cigarette that was on the ground. “You? Nothin’, as usual.” He gave her a glance as if she were a pile of useless trash, and stuck the cigarette back between his lips. He gave Sandy a look that sent a chill down Hazel’s back. He rubbed his cheek where there was a red imprint of her hand. “I’ll see you later.” He turned and sauntered away.
“No you won’t. You stay away from her!” Hazel shouted at him, terrified he’d turn around. He didn’t.
Sandy watched him go, a small smile on her face. “It’s a date,” she whispered.
Hazel shook her head. “Why do I feel like I just walked into a motion picture thirty minutes late? What was all of that?”
“He wants to see me later,” Sandy breathed, with a look of triumph on her face. She was breathing hard as she watched Arthur move farther away and round the corner. She rubbed her wrist where he’d gripped her.
“Did he hurt you?”
“Yeah.” Sandy smirked.
“You should tell Stanley. He won’t allow that.”
“What does Stanley have to do with it? Arthur isn’t his dog,” Sandy snapped.
“No, but … you and Stanley …” Hazel swallowed, feeling awkward.
Sandy raised her brows, her eyes wide with surprise. She began to chuckle, low and mocking. “Stanley? And me? Me and the White Knight?”
“But … he rescued you in the caves, and at my party the two of you in the garden …”
“He never rescued me in the caves. He left me there in the dark with Charles. A broken doll.”
“You were out cold—we tied him up good and tight, and we couldn’t carry you …” Realization seeped into Hazel’s brain. Arthur and Sandy.
Sandy got a faraway look on her face. “I know,” she rasped in a broken whisper. Her face scrunched up, and tears ran down her cheeks. In all this time Hazel had not seen Sandy cry about what happened, and it made her heart feel like it was tearing. “I understand all that but … I woke up, you see.”