Stanley & Hazel: The Winnowing

by Jo Schaffer

  As he held her, feeling her warmth, he knew why her recent weirdness threw him so badly. Because it had broken that safe place in half. Now, here she was again, herself. Beautiful. Unique. Different. Home. She was home.

  How can I tell her all this without sounding like I’m totally full of malarkey?

  Stanley remembered the pretzel. He pulled back and gazed down into her eyes.

  “Stanley, what …” Hazel said, reaching toward him.

  He took her by the hand and stood her up. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the half mashed pretzel.

  “Look, Lady Bananas, the breaking of bread, well, you know, it’s sacred to us Catholics. It binds us to Christ. Sharing food with someone is the second most intimate thing you can do.” He winked.

  Hazel acted shocked. “Stanley!”

  He grinned, and then feeling shy, he held it out to her. “Share this with me, Bananas. Let’s make a sacrament, you and I.”

  She looked at him for a moment and then nodded. Hazel broke off a piece of the soft, salty bread. She paused, placed one hand over her heart and then put the piece of pretzel up to his mouth. He ate it without a word and then did the same for her with one hand over his own pounding heart. Stanley felt his last bit of fear ebb away. Hazel was back. And she felt the same about him.

  They grabbed each other and held on.

  “Haze, it was awful to see what they did to you. They were controlling your heart and mind, the best parts of you. I couldn’t stand it. I had to try to get you back, even if it meant you would never speak to me again.”

  She ran her fingers through the back of his hair. “Shhh, boy, I know. I’m back. I’m sorry.”

  “So am I. I know I’m not much, but I’m all yours, you know. You gonked me from the minute I first saw you.”

  Hazel sniffled, and she gripped him so hard that he gasped. He found her lips again and lost himself in the one girl he knew he’d never shake.

  Hazel clung to Stanley, kissing him back. It was natural but exciting … like dancing to her favorite song. Tingles ran from her toes up her body and went to her head like the bubbles in a champagne glass. No … not bubbles. Sparks.

  This was nothing like the cool, silver kisses on the big screen. Pressing against Stanley was like embracing summer in all of its color. With eyes closed, it felt like the hot, wet breath of a July night soaked into her skin, while fireflies flashed and rose like sparks from a campfire out of the intensely green grass that pushed up from the fertile ground.

  She was floating, waving like limbs in a cloudless sky, roots twining around the boy who held her so tight they seemed to fuse together in a tangle of arms, minutes, breaths, and heartbeats.

  Stanley broke the kiss and buried his face in her neck. She breathed in the smell of his hair. The scent of the outdoors, ivory soap, and salty sweat.

  “Gee whiz, you’re swell,” she sighed.

  “That isn’t news. Where’ve you been?”

  She let out a quiet laugh. “Here, in my castle.”

  “While I’ve been fighting in the St. Louis crusades.” He pulled her closer. “But we found each other, Haze.”

  His hair was long on top and unruly. She ran her fingers through it, thinking how strange it was that they were ever apart. Tears stung her eyes, and she let out a long sigh.

  “How is it that anything ever seemed like a wall between us?” she whispered, pressing her cheek to his.

  “Walls are taught, Lady Bananas,” he said.

  “I see through them now.” She trailed her fingertips down his neck.

  “Maybe because I took a jack hammer to them.” His voice was deep and content.

  Hazel snorted happily. “I like that, wisey. I remember the guy who said all swells were mosquitos living off the backside of hardworking folks.”

  Stanley chuckled and pulled away to look at her. His eyes were bluer than ever and shining. “Yeah. I guess we both had a kind of spell on us.”

  “I like whatever this spell is better.” Hazel smiled up at him, and Stanley smiled back. They stared into each other’s eyes for several moments, peaceful and exhilarating all at once. It was like looking into herself and into Stanley at the same time. Up on her toes, she kissed him again, her heart glowing. His arms tightened around her, and all Hazel knew was the feel and taste of his lips and the rush of her heart and breath.

  “Stanley …” Hazel murmured between kisses. “What if this really is a spell?”

  “I’m aces with this one.” He grinned, his hand moving to her hair.

  “Mumsy always said love is like witchcraft …” Hazel pulled back, realizing she’d said the word love. Flustered, she rushed on, “Mumsy is funny.” Though lately, her mother wasn’t very funny at all. “Say … Stanley, my mom’s been acting strange.”

  “Hm?” The tall newsie was busy staring at her mouth.

  “Snooty with Peggy and bossy with the other servants. She’s been pushing me to be a debutante.”

  “Ah.” He squinted and freed Hazel from his arms. “Check under her bed.”

  “Wait here, Snoopy.” Hazel slipped out into the long hallway. Barefoot, she made her way to Mumsy’s room without making noise.

  The door was open, and nobody was inside. The maid had cleaned it and made the bed, but the vanity was scattered with cosmetics, and Mumsy’s floral perfume floated in the air. She must have already gotten ready for the ball and was downstairs.

  Hazel approached the raised bed, piled with satin and fur pillows. Lowering to the ground and lifting the lace skirting, she scanned the shadows under the bed. It only took a moment before she saw it. Resting in a place where Mumsy’s head would be above it, was a white plume with a rusty edge that she knew was dried blood. Hazel reached out and pinched it between her fingers.

  She shivered in disgust. Someone had crept into her mother’s room and placed this awful thing there. Hazel wondered if her father was an intended target too. He had been helping Stanley and acting normal so it hadn’t worked. Perhaps because he was gone a lot and even when he was home, she doubted he slept in Mumsy’s room very often. Hazel had stumbled onto their love nest in the guest house years ago. It seemed Mumsy liked her love to be clandestine—even with her own husband. Nicholas Malloy probably had to do a lot of things to keep Mumsy from being bored. Hazel wrinkled her nose.

  She returned to her room with the feather. Stanley looked up from where he sat on her bed. His face brightened. “Took you long enough, Bananas.”

  “I was quick.” She held up her find.

  “Not quick enough for me. Missed you.” He hopped up and kissed her cheek then took the feather from her fingers. “Bingo.”

  “This explains so much. Stanley … I’m nervous. I don’t want to meet the Veiled Prophet. He has powers …”

  There was worry on his brow, but he said, “No problem. Just go be a snooty debutante—you’re a natural.” He gave her a wink.

  Hazel smirked. “Thanks.”

  Stanley made a face at her, amused with himself. “Act like they still have you in their pocket. I’ll take care of this thing.” He shook the feather. “Baby, you finish getting ready.”

  “You sure?” She liked that he called her baby.

  “Yeah.” He winked and put his cap back on his head. “I’ll be there lurking to make sure you’re safe.”

  Hazel smiled despite the nervous tickle in her stomach. The Veiled Prophet Ball was a big deal and enough to make any girl nervous. But on top of everything else, Hazel knew that there was nothing good behind that veil. The ball could get dangerous for her. Then she remembered what she’d heard Arthur say to Sandy. “Arthur is planning something. I forgot all about it with this brain fog business. But I heard him ask Sandy if she’d help him do something at the ball, and she said she would. Sounded like some kind of revenge on everyone who had hurt them.”

  “That doesn’t sound rosy.” Stanley scratched his head. “Look, let me worry about that. Arthur
listens to me. I’ll see what’s going on.”

  “Okay …” Hazel was unsure but determined to make up for lost time and do whatever it took to stop The Winnowing. “I’ll do my part.” She smiled bravely.

  Stanley gazed at her as if enjoying the view. “By the way … you’re beautiful. Radiant. The loveliest girl I’ve ever seen.” He traced her cheek with his finger. “Been wanting to say that ever since I saw you that day you crawled out the window.”

  Hazel blushed. She could listen to that kind of thing all day long. For some reason it was different when Stanley said it than when anyone else did. “Thank you, Snoopy … Ever since the first time I noticed you selling papers, I knew you were for me. Deep down. Just took me awhile to realize what I was feeling.”

  Stanley grinned. “Well, she’s pretty but a little slow, God bless her.”

  Hazel wrinkled her nose and gave his shoulder a push. “Rudest boy in St. Louis.”

  “As long as that’s okay with you.” He gave an apologetic side smile.

  “You’re okay with me. All of it.”

  He grinned and kissed her. “Just don’t forget about me at your fancy dance with that frat boy of yours.”

  “I have an idea.” Hazel went to her vanity and picked up the string with the Joan of Arc charm on it that Stanley had given her on her birthday. “I’m going to wear this with my elegant getup to remind me of who I am and to take you with me tonight. In fact … I may never take it off.”

  “Yeah? On the level?” A faint blush rose on his face, and he looked down at his shoes for a moment. “I know it isn’t diamonds … I like you wearing it.”

  “I like it too.” Hazel hugged him tight, pulling strength from him for the night ahead. Her mind was clear for the first time in weeks, and her heart had never been so sure.

  “What a lot of nonsense all of this pomp is,” Mumsy muttered. “High hats on parade. Don’t let ‘em infect you, Hazel.”

  Hazel sighed happily. Mumsy was back to being the rebel flapper. They walked arm in arm into the new Municipal Auditorium. Everyone had been talking about the new home for the VP Ball. It had just opened that year and cost millions of dollars to build. It could hold over nine thousand people, making it one of the grandest buildings in St. Louis.

  Gabriel waited for her in a tuxedo at the entrance. “I’m at a loss for words, Hazel. You’re the most beautiful girl here.”

  “Thanks, Gabe.” It didn’t matter what he thought. She took his arm, and he led her inside.

  Upon passing the arena, Hazel was dazzled by what she saw through the doors. All of the finest people, done up like peacocks, filled a vast room, surrounded by stadium seating. There were candelabras and large vases with flowers on pedestals everywhere. On the far end of the auditorium was an elaborate stage with terraced steps and vast pleated curtains, and in front of that was the throne of the Veiled Prophet.

  He sat, robed in layers of white, gold, and purple satin, wearing a lace veil over his face. A crown sat over the veil. Beside him was the empty throne, awaiting the Queen of Love and Beauty. Behind him were lined his Bengal Lancers in their cartoonish Middle Eastern costumes and false beards, holding large, ostrich feather fans on staffs. Hazel remembered how Charles had been one of those guards the year that Evelyn had been crowned.

  They made their way to the back of the stadium. Gabriel leaned close to her ear. “This is where I leave you. Dazzle them.” He beamed at her and brought her hand to his lips to kiss it.

  Hazel gave him a smile. “See you later on the dance floor.”

  Hazel and the other debutantes were ushered to a roped off area behind the stage. Several men dressed as Bengal Lancers circulated, offering the girls a mint or dabbing the sweat on their brow, telling them how beautiful and special they were. It gave her the heebie-jeebies.

  Hazel just wanted this part to be over with. She had been briefed on the ceremony. As one of the maids of honor, she was not in the running for Queen, but would be witness to a sort of mock wedding, where the groom is the one in the veil. While the other girls quietly whispered in excitement, Hazel filled with dread. How could she face the VP?

  They waited behind the golden curtain until one by one, they were announced by name and paraded out to much applause from the crowd. When Hazel’s name was announced, she passed through the curtain, overwhelmed by the size of the room and the people filling it. It felt like how she imagined the Roman Colosseum.

  An orchestra played pompous music as she walked across the stage toward the Veiled Prophet, her heart banging in her chest. Hazel lowered herself in a curtsy. The Veiled Prophet raised his white-gloved hands to her.

  “You are most welcome here, beautiful Hazel.” His voice was low and breathy.

  She bowed her head in reverence. They needed to believe she was still under their thrall. “I am honored,” she whispered.

  He presented her with a small, flat box tied with a gold ribbon. Hazel took it and backed away to take her place among the others. There was no chance she’d bring the little box home. It was probably another curse. Once all of the maids of honor were seated on the stage, The Keeper of the Jewels, flanked by costumed trumpeters, gestured to the orchestra to be quiet. It was time to announce the special maids.

  Reading from a scroll, he heralded the next girl. “His mysterious majesty, the Veiled Prophet, summons Margaret Busch to his Court of Love and Beauty,” he announced.

  Margaret emerged, the long train of her gown carried by two liveried pages, and approached the Prophet. Bowing in a deep curtsy, she knelt as the faceless Mystic placed a feathered crown on her head. The entire routine was repeated for each of the twelve special maids.

  Then a hush of expectation fell over the cavernous auditorium. The Keeper of the Jewels held his scroll high. “The fairest maid of his beloved city, our Queen of Love and Beauty, Jane Wells.”

  There was a gasp and a flutter of fans like countless moths flitting across the crowd. Hazel did not know Jane, but her reputation was stellar. She did a lot of charity work and was a state champion in track and field, as well as one who received high marks in school. She had graduated from the Mary Institute a couple of years ago.

  Jane Wells glided toward the Veiled Prophet as if on a cloud. Her glossy, blond head bowed before the man in the throne. The Veiled Prophet leaned close as she knelt at his feet, and he slipped the crown with the white feather over her head and whispered into her ear. He stood and took her hand, and Jane rose, her face shining with excitement as the auditorium thundered with applause.

  The orchestra began to play, and Jane was led to the dance floor by her veiled master. They danced the Royal Quadrille, turning and floating, on display for all to envy. Hazel’s eyes wandered over the people crowded into the huge arena. Some were familiar to her, but most were not. Her city was full of rich and powerful people with whom she had never interacted. Which of them were part of the whole underground society and The Winnowing?

  Jane’s dance with the Veiled Prophet ended with more applause, and they ascended the stage again. The Keeper of the Jewels brought the Veiled Prophet a black, velvet box which he opened and reached into. He pulled out a stunning, pearl necklace. Jane covered her mouth with a gloved hand, eyes wide. As the necklace was put around her neck, like a noose, Hazel thought, the crowd clapped and murmured with approval. It was not that long ago that Evelyn Schmidt stood in Jane’s place. On top of the world. Most admired and beautiful in all of St. Louis. The VP had placed a ruby ring on her finger and sealed her doom.

  Jane took her place of honor on the plush throne next to the robed man in the lace veil. The Bengal Lancers did a semi-comical marching routine for the entertainment of the assembly. Hazel scanned the auditorium again and saw Sandy with her escort, watching the proceedings with a dark look on her face. It was hours until the ball ended, and following it would a special midnight dinner for the maids of honor and the special maids, as well as some honored guests. Hazel had no intentions to
remain for that.

  Music began again, and the ballroom floor filled with couples. The maids were all dismissed from the stage to find their escorts who waited at the bottom of the stage steps for them. The next hour or so was fuzzy and strange in Hazel’s mind. She felt detached and outside of her body.

  Hazel danced with Gabriel and several of the boys of her set. She made mindless chit chat befitting a debutante and smiled when appropriate. It wasn’t like other parties and dances. There was a solemn air of propriety and decorum. She flirted with Gabriel just the proper amount and nodded to all of the important people. But she was distracted by the veiled figure who seemed to loom over the entire auditorium and the thought that Arthur and Sandy were up to no good.

  “Next dance, Hazel Malloy?” Gabriel grinned down at her, straightening his spectacles. His hair was slicked in place, and his tuxedo made him look like a leading man in a motion picture.

  “Gabriel, I need to rest my feet for a minute. Do you mind?”

  “Not a bit. Let me get you a drink. You’re as beautiful as a bouquet of flowers, and we don’t want you to wilt.”

  “You’re a pip.” Hazel smiled. Gabriel gave a slight bow and moved away, disappearing into the crowd.

  Hazel searched the auditorium for Sandy. So far, nothing bad had happened, and although she trusted Stanley to intervene with Arthur, she was concerned about her friend. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, or rather, were succeeding at seeming to have a good time. She eyed Mr. Slayback with a circle of important men around them. They were the power in the city. Possibly in with the VP. She should probably try to wiggle her way into the Slayback’s graces. It made her sick to think of, but it had to be done.

  Brigitte Slayback glided by on the arm of her escort. She nodded at Hazel when their eyes met. It was time to get in with her. But how?

  Hazel pictured her favorite actresses. Who could she be to approach Brigitte? Being Greta Garbo, Hazel would only come across superior or aloof and just anger her. Brigitte liked to be the tops. Hazel could be like Myrna Loy … no, too confident and smart. Jean Harlow … too saucy and perhaps cheap. Joan Crawford … yikes. No. She didn’t want to scare her.