by Jo Schaffer
Alarmed, she reached up and felt blood pouring from her nose that was now running down her chin. She took the handkerchief and pressed it to her face.
“I’m scared for you …” he breathed raggedly.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Just a bloody nose that’s all.”
“Yeah … With horrible head pain, confusion, memory loss, and total personality change.”
“I need to go see the doctor.” She gestured toward the door to the clinic.
“Don’t …” Stanley stepped forward, eyes pleading.
Hazel wanted to tell Stanley to get lost—to leave her alone, so she could go back to a happy and uncomplicated life.
“Miss? Do you need assistance?” It was Jennings. He had gotten out of the Buick and was glaring at Stanley.
“Just a nosebleed. I—I’m okay,” Hazel said.
“She’s aces. Just take her home.” Stanley positioned himself to block her from walking toward the clinic. He lowered his voice and spoke to Hazel. “Just go on home and lay down, Haze. Okay?”
She was angry and confused, but exhausted. “Okay …” She raised her voice to her chauffeur. “All right, Jennings. I’d like to go home. Be there in a beat.” Hazel mopped around her nose with the handkerchief.
The older man bowed his head and walked back to the long, black automobile, waiting by her door.
Stanley sighed with relief. “I know you’re sore at me. But … I’m just trying to protect you. I don’t want to lose anyone else,” he said, choking up.
“Teeth will show up,” Hazel said, surprised by his emotion.
Stanley rubbed his face with a bleak expression. He shook his head. “Vinnie. He’s dead. They found him hanging from the rafters along with everyone else at the Rookery.”
Hazel gasped and lowered the handkerchief from her face. “Stanley.”
The tall, tough-looking newsie stared back at her, nodding, eyes washing over with tears. He pressed his lips together and swallowed before forcing out the words, “He’s gone, Haze. Funeral done … threw a handful of dirt over him, myself, just this morning …” He stared down at his hand and flexed it, as if clutching a handful of something.
“No … I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” Hazel wanted to grab Stanley and hug him tight until they both had all the answers, and the pain went away. He had helped her save her best friend and then lost one of his own without her even knowing it. It made her heart ache. “Everything is out of whack. I—I don’t know what’s happening.”
“Then you aren’t paying attention.” Stanley’s jaw clenched. “I need you back, Hazel. And I’m gonna figure out how to fix whatever they’re doing to you.”
“I’m confused—to me? Charles kidnapped me but—”
“Not just him!” Stanley’s face went dark. “I’ll take on the whole pack of swells on Lindell, the Veiled Prophet, and Legion, but I won’t let them have you. They won’t take your soul and mind while I’m around. Got it?” He punched his fist into his open palm.
“My soul and mind?” Hazel furrowed her brow and shook her head. What did he mean by that?
“Yeah. And it burns me to see them make you bleed again.”
Hazel didn’t know what to say to that nonsense. He was clearly not well—upset. Her nose had stopped bleeding, but her head felt as if it was in a wine press. She took a deep breath. “I need to lie down. I feel ill, and I have to be in the parade later … Sorry about the handkerchief. I’ll get you a new one.” She walked off-balance to the Buick, and Jennings opened the door.
Stanley watched her, his whole body tense, cap curled in his fists in front of him. For a moment, she saw him as an untamed lion. His unshaved face was aflame, strawberry blond hair scattered in a mess like it did when he fretfully ran his hands through it. His eyes burned like a hot summer sky.
Geez, but he was beautiful and fierce. Too bad he was out of his mind.
Stanley sipped his coffee at the worn out diner with a grim smile of satisfaction. The pea shooting at the parade the night before couldn’t have been more fun. He’d launched a perfect shot into Hazel’s hair as she waved from the float. She’d picked it out her hair, made a comical face, and mouthed something that seemed like “Stanley.” It gave him hope to see a glimpse of her old self. He knew he could free her from whatever curse was on her.
Writing that paper gave him another kind of hope. Maybe getting the truth out would pierce the darkness. If people knew, they would fight too. He needed to get to the church, pick up copies of the first edition of The Knights Voice, and give them to the newsies.
He slapped a nickel on the counter of the diner and walked out into the nippy, morning air. He moved briskly through the streets, whistling “Still I’m Traveling On” by the Mississippi Sheiks, his favorite blues band. Something about the blues and jazz spoke to him and his soul. The cry of sadness from the blues mixed with the wild creativity of jazz seemed to fit him somehow. He and Hazel had long talks about music and what they liked. She was into Cole Porter and all that, the popular stuff. But they both spent hours listening to each other’s favorites at the Malloy mansion.
Crums, he missed her. He couldn’t wait to get the old Hazel back.
He got to St. James Church and found the bundle of newspapers outside of Father Timothy’s study. More would be coming as Mr. Malloy’s printing press and carefully selected crew got up to speed. But it was a start.
Stanley took one of the one-sheet papers and shook it out. With grim satisfaction, he saw his article with the byline of “Arthur Roundtable,” a name he came up with, thanks to Frisky and her loud mouth.
He grabbed the bundle and threw it over his shoulder. He hiked to Lindell, where he found Jakob ready and waiting.
“Hey, Cat-Lick, what’s the lowdown?”
Stanley smiled. “First of the papers, you Hebrew school dropout.”
Jakob pretended to be outraged. “I was held back!”
They both laughed, as Stanley dropped the papers down.
“So, just put this in with the normal papers, is that it?”
Stanley nodded. “Yeah, and the key is, don’t stay in one place. That way, they’ll have a tough time figuring out who sold them what. We want to be as faceless as possible.”
Jakob nodded, and he picked up one of the papers. “Well, if we got a black branch, they know where we live anyway. But I’ll make sure these are spread out.” He read some of the headlines and gave a low whistle. “You guys aren’t pulling any punches, are ya?”
“Nope. Father says we have to hit them hard. And he’s probably right.”
Adjusting his yarmulke, Jakob gazed up and down the road.
“Well, the morning papers should be here any moment. And the ball is tonight. What are you going to do about Hazel going with that Gabe twit?”
Stanley shrugged. “I don’t know. But whatever happens, I have to help her. I think she’s been cursed.”
“Huh. No Foolin’?”
“Yeah, that’s what Father Timothy thinks. And he seems to know all about that stuff.”
“Father Timothy. Say, that reminds me. I saw him coming out of my Synagogue the other day. I think he was meeting with my Rabbi. Wonder what’s shaking?”
Stanley thought for a moment. “I think he’s gathering all the help he can get. The way these people think spells trouble for anyone that doesn’t have piles of cash.”
Jakob nodded but didn’t say anything for a moment. “You know, we’ve got relatives in Germany. And they’ve been writing to us constantly about what’s going on over there with that Hitler cat. Their stores are being vandalized, and Jews are getting beaten up in the streets. And afterward, everyone goes deaf and dumb. They’re thinking about coming here, but I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, after what I’ve seen.”
Stanley wished he could argue with his friend, but he couldn’t. The whole thing seemed connected somehow, and even the land of the free and home of the brave didn’t seem
all that it was cracked up to be. Never was really, for anyone who didn’t fit the profile.
“Well, let’s let them know they haven’t won yet, shall we?”
Jakob grinned. “Sounds aces, professor. I’ll be seein’ ya. Go save the Princess of Lindell.”
Stanley started to walk away and then turned around. “Any word on Teeth?”
“Nah. I ain’t seen Artie either, which is not usual. He’s always prowling about. Don’t you think he’s been acting a bit strange?”
Stanley snorted. “You mean, more than usual?”
“Yeah, I do. I mean, he just seems unhinged lately. Usually, you can talk him down, but after the past few days, I dunno.”
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Stanley frowned. “Yeah, I know. Something is up. And Teeth going missing hasn’t helped. I wish we could find that kid. I kept my eyes peeled after the parade last night, but no dice. That was usually his favorite thing ever—he’s a great shot.”
They both stood there for a moment, and then Jakob bent down to cut the string on the paper. “Well, get going, Lord Stanley. Your damsel is waiting.”
“Ah, Geez, are you fellas ever going to let that one go? Damn Frisky and her motor mouth.”
Jakob burst out laughing. “She’s got your number, Irish.”
Stanley followed the familiar path through Forest Park to the boxcar. He needed to do some writing before he visited Hazel. She would be getting ready for the ball later, and he wanted to see her before she went.
The inside of the boxcar was chilly. He pushed the door open to let in the morning light. Stanley sat at the typewriter a moment, deep in thought. He was finally getting his words published. This was his first taste of being a reporter. Even if his name would remain unknown—his message would be heard. There were wrongs to be righted in his town, and it felt good to be a part of that. Especially since he was not doing it alone. Father Timothy, Mr. Malloy, and the others were facing it all too.
After a few hours of typing, he put away the typewriter and jumped down from the boxcar. How, he wondered, was he going to break the curse on Hazel? He assumed that if he found a branch, he could destroy it the way the priest had.
Hopefully Mr. Malloy would be home, and he could explain, because he couldn’t just barge right into Hazel’s room. No one would allow him even close to the upstairs. Even though the servants loved him, they considered themselves protectors of Miss Hazel’s virtue. Not that he wanted to take advantage; he just wanted to help her get back into her right mind.
A picture of kissing Hazel swam into his mind. Okay, he thought, maybe he did want to take advantage a little.
Stanley grinned and made a decision. On the walk to Hazel’s house, he found the nearest pretzel vendor and bought one. He remembered how they’d shared one of these the night they met after finding Evelyn dead by the statue of St. Louis. Hazel had been so upset. It helped knock down the walls between them and calm her down. Maybe it would work the same magic again.
When he reached Hazel’s house, he decided he wanted to confront her alone. Stanley realized that he could just climb up the ivy trellis to her window the same way she climbed down the first time he saw her. No one seemed to be standing guard on that side of the house, so he snuck through the bushes, ran to the wall, and started up. He reached the window and pushed it open. Peering into her room, he didn’t see Hazel anywhere. So he crawled through the window and walked over to her bed.
Before he searched for the black branch, Stanley gazed all around Hazel’s room. Framed pictures of movie stars lined her mantle and dresser. She had a shelf full of books and a newer-looking phonograph near her bed. He wondered if she listened to records at night. Her gown for the VP Ball lay draped over the fancy, satin covered bed. Her room was posh, and how.
He took a deep breath; the room smelled like her, and it almost made him dizzy. Before he could compose himself, Hazel walked into the room, wearing only a silk slip, as she pulled the last few curlers from her hair. She caught sight of him and gave a little scream.
“Stanley, what in the world? You masher, you need to leave right now.”
He put up his hands. “Easy, Lady Bananas, I’m not here for your virtue. Put your robe on. Something is cursing you, and it’s in this room. I need to find it.”
She grabbed a frilly, pink robe off the back of the chair at her vanity and threw it over herself, tying it in a hurry. “This is getting ridiculous.”
Stanley faced her, as serious as possible, trying not to think about how she’d looked in her slip. “Haze, it’s true. There are unnatural forces at work, and you know it.”
She crossed her arms and let out a sigh. “Fine. Have your look around and then go. And why, Mr. Street Rat, could you not have used the door like a normal, civilized human being?”
Stanley grinned. “Because no one would’ve believed me and would never have let me up here.”
She snorted. “For good reason. I think this is just an excuse to see me in my slip.”
“As pleasant as that was, I’m not here for that.”
He walked over to the bed and moved the piles of downy pillows aside. Then he pulled the billowing comforter back. Nothing. He scratched his head. If they wanted long term control of Hazel, they would put the cursed item out of sight. Stanley knelt down and looked under the bed. Reaching beneath it, he felt around until his fingers brushed something tickly and soft that sent a shock up his arm. Fighting the urge to yelp and draw back, he grasped it pulled it out. It was a large, pure white feather with what looked like dried blood on the tip. It wasn’t a black stick, but this had to be it.
“C’mere, dollface.”
Hazel held her robe to her chest. “Not a chance, pal.”
Stanley sighed in frustration. “Look, Haze, I have other things in mind other than making woo to you.” He stood and held up the feather so that she could see it. “They’re cursing you and trying to control your mind. You’re in serious danger, and that’s facts.”
She let out a laugh, but her eyes darted to the feather uneasily. “Oh come on, Stanley, that’s just superstition. I seriously doubt the VP has time to go around putting feathers under people’s beds.”
“Okay, little Ms. Know-It-All, how did it get there?”
Hazel didn’t answer for a moment. “I … I don’t know. Probably … I don’t know.”
She grimaced and touched her head. “Ugh. Headache. You always give me a headache.”
“It isn’t me, at least, not this time. They’re using this to control your mind.”
He dug into his pocket and pulled out the small vial of holy water he had gotten from Father. Stanley glanced around and then took the feather over to the porcelain bowl on Hazel’s dresser. He placed it in the bowl, relieved to put it down. He wiped his hand off on his pants. That thing had a serious bad buzz. He sprinkled it with holy water and then reached into the jacket of his coat for his lighter.
“What are you doing?” Hazel asked, pressing her hands against her temples.
Stanley flicked the lighter.
“Don’t.” She shook her head as if in pain. “Stop. You’re gonna burn the house down.” She moved toward him, hand outstretched with a frantic look on her face.
Gritting his teeth, Stanley lit the feather on fire, and to his surprise, it burst into flame on contact and burned to ashes in seconds.
Hazel bumped into his back, and he turned. Her face had drained to white, and her eyelids fluttered, her eyes rolling back. She stumbled, and Stanley caught her. Carrying her over to the bed, he laid her down and smoothed out her hair. Her body trembled and then went still.
Stanley sat there for a few minutes, staring at her face and watching her breathe. A flood of thoughts and feelings flowed through him, coming so fast he couldn’t process them. He felt tired, exhausted, elated, and worried. What would she be like when she woke up? Did burning the feather help? Would it be better?
Risking a slap to the face, he k
issed her softly on the forehead. “Come back to me, Lady Bananas, we have to go to war.”
She stirred but didn’t open her eyes. “Stanley. I’ve been wandering in the dark. I’ve been so awful.”
“No, it’s okay, it wasn’t you. I know it wasn’t you,” Stanley whispered.
Hazel moaned and then lay still. He waited for a few minutes, then took her hand. It was cold and limp. “Hey, come back to me.”
She slowly opened her eyes, and they looked clear, blue, and full of light again.
“Oh. Boy. You’re here. I thought I was dreaming.”
“Maybe I’m the man of your dreams, dollface,” Stanley said, smiling.
She sat up and looked down at where he grasped her hand. “Don’t get your hopes up, street rat.” But she said it the way she used to, with affection and without pulling her hand away.
Stanley let out a breath of relief and squeezed her hand. “Hazel.”
They stared at each other for a moment. He sat beside her on the bed and leaned toward her. She pressed her nose into his, and he could feel her breath on his lips. He breathed her in.
“You really shouldn’t be here, you know. Pops would flip.”
“Maybe,” Stanley said, touching her cheek.
“Oh, Stanley. I feel like I’ve been on a long journey.”
“You’re home.”
“Finally.” She closed her eyes and kissed him with an intensity that overwhelmed him. Stanley held her tight to him and cradled her against his chest. He was kissing Hazel. His heart seemed to burn like his tattoo.
“I feel safe here, Snoopy,” she whispered between kisses.
“You are safe. Always with me.”
They kissed again, gentler this time. He could tell she hadn’t done a lot of kissing. He’d kissed dames with experience, but this was better. Way better. More passion and less guarded, while not demanding anything else. It was honest and innocent.
This was a new experience for him. He’d been used to surviving, nothing feeling quite right. But with Hazel, everything felt right, in place, and at peace. Real.