Stanley & Hazel: The Winnowing

by Jo Schaffer

  Without another word, the detective grabbed his hat and was gone.

  Stanley stood in his living room. He felt frozen and locked by all the emotions pouring through him. Watching Seamus crack open right before his eyes, well, that was something. It must be because the truth about Peggy was out. The burden of secrecy and raising Stanley alone was over. Stanley wondered how different things would have been between them if his uncle had displayed that kind of emotion on a regular basis.

  Stanley went upstairs, took a bath, and dressed in the suit that Mr. Malloy bought for him. It wasn’t like anyone would be able to see it under his server robes. But it made him feel more the man. He started to whistle “Jingle Bells” and then reached for his shoes.

  The touch of leather reminded him of Vinnie’s swinging body, and he dropped the shoes to the floor. How, how could he wear these when they’d been with his best friend at the moment of his death? Maybe he should just throw them out or burn them.

  Stanley stared at the shoes for a moment and then picked them back up. No. He wouldn’t throw them away. Instead, he would wear them in honor of his friend, and maybe Vinnie would send some prayers his way. He’d hallowed them with his death, and they were holy shoes now. In them, Stanley would walk forward in life—and grow old for the both of them.

  He put them on, tied them, and said, “All right, Vinnie, if, somehow, you ain’t in purgatory right now, I need your prayers for protection, you big, Italian idiot.”

  Making sure to lock the door, Stanley walked the few blocks to St. James’s parish. Before he headed to the sacristy to “suit up,” as Father Timothy liked to call it, he decided to check the sanctuary to see if Frisky was there. Something told him that she would be.

  Looking out from the side door, he saw the familiar tangle of red hair bowed in prayer amid some other people at the altar rail. He knelt by her and crossed himself.

  “Hey Frisky,” he whispered.

  No reply from the tangle of curls.

  “I really need to talk to you.”

  “I’m talking to someone else, Lord Stanley, who has a bit of a higher claim than yours,” Frisky said without moving her head.

  Sighing, Stanley said, “This isn’t about me; it’s about Teeth.”

  She looked up, eyes wide. “You found him?”

  Somebody shushed them and it echoed in the church.

  Stanley ducked his head. “Nah. Lincoln found him, and he took him to Mama Jefferson.”

  Frisky frowned and whispered, “Who is that?”

  “You’ll meet her soon enough. Meet me at the boxcar later, and I’ll take you there.”

  Frisky didn’t say anything for a moment. “He’s alive. He is actually alive. I need to go home and get some things for him, his little teddy bear …” She got up, crossed herself, and started to walk away.

  He caught her elbow and said, “What about mass?”

  Frisky smiled. “Offer it up for me.”

  With that, she strolled down the aisle and out the door. Stanley smiled a little. Teeth would be spoiled rotten with Mama Jefferson and Frisky looking after him.

  When Hazel got home, Roberts greeted her at the front door. “Your father has gone out, and your mother is waiting for you in the living room.”

  “Thanks, Robbie.” Hazel gave him a wink and walked across the parquet floor to the living room, with Henri at her heels.

  Mumsy sat in the settee, gazing at the Christmas tree, a cocktail in hand. “Hazel. At last. I just can’t seem to stay out of this room today. It’s a grand tree.”

  “It is.”

  “So … mission accomplished? Your father said you were after something in the clinic that would expose some lies the hoity-toity crowd has been handing out.” Mumsy reached down to pet the dog.

  “Yes. I got what I went for.” She pulled out the page from Maxie’s chart and Teeth’s sheet with his serial number. “Here is the proof that they took Stanley’s little pal, Teeth. And that number is how they categorized him. I can’t read German, so I’m not sure about the rest of this. But I’ll bet there’s a page like this for each of the missing people in St. Louis. They didn’t even bother hiding this stuff. They have a cabinet full of the city’s citizens.”

  Mumsy gave the sheet of paper a look of disgust. “Sorted and filed like so many objects.”

  “You got it. And this proves that Maxie Washington went to the clinic and found out she was pregnant … and from what Gabriel tells, Mr. Sinclair is the father. I know this word means thin blood.” Hazel pointed to the word Thrombocytopenia on the chart. “Not sure about the rest.”

  Mumsy wrinkled her nose. “I always knew that Woody Sinclair was a wolf.”

  If what Gabriel said was true, Woodrow Sinclair was perhaps the most wolf-like man that Hazel ever knew.

  Her mother took the paper from Hazel’s hand and squinted at the doctor’s notes. “Hm …

  here’s a term I recognize even if I can’t pronounce it.” She pointed a long, painted nail at the words bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy.

  “What is that?” Hazel raised a brow, curious how Mumsy would know.

  “That’s having both hens removed …” Mumsy rolled her eyes at Hazel’s look of confusion. “The egg factory …”

  “Oh. Your ovaries? Mom, I’m sixteen. I’ve learned the terms in school.” Hazel pursed her lips. “So that means getting your ovaries removed.”

  “Yes …” Mumsy fished the olive out of her drink and popped it into her mouth.

  Hazel cocked her head at her mother with realization. She often wondered why her wild, flapper mother would ever opt into motherhood at all but had always wanted a sibling. “You had it done.”

  “I did,” she said, chewing the olive and swallowing. “You were born and, hell, what a tough act to follow. You’re perfect.” Mumsy grinned and gave Hazel’s cheek a pinch with one hand while the other held the martini; it sloshed a little onto the settee.

  Hazel smiled back. Maybe her birth was an accident … and maybe that explained her parent’s unlikely union. She wasn’t sure of the timeline. Or maybe Mumsy thought she could do it—marry a responsible man and settle down—but found that it just wasn’t in her. That’s why Peggy was around. Hazel decided not to ask. Mumsy deserved to have her own reasons and anyway, Hazel couldn’t fault her for trying. Besides, having both Mumsy and Peggy in her life had turned out just fine.

  “Well, that certainly points to a botched sterilization,” Hazel said.

  “I’d say.” Mumsy shook her head. She let out a dramatic sight and gulped down her cocktail. “Enough of this dreary business! It’s Christmas Eve. Let’s forget all of this … how about you and I have a lovely dinner together? Your father will not be home until late—but there is no reason why we can’t celebrate Santa coming like the good old days.”

  Hazel grinned. “That would be swell.” Yeah … maybe it was a good idea to take a break. There was nothing more she could do tonight.

  “Hi-de-ho!” Mumsy stood up with a flourish of silk. “Why, let’s have old Peggy along. What do you say?”

  Hazel clapped her hands. “Could we?” Having Peggy along would make it extra special. Mumsy was the only dame on Lindell who would invite her maid on an evening out with her daughter, and Hazel loved her for it.

  “You bet.”

  Henri wagged his tail as if he could tell something exciting was happening. Hazel couldn’t bear leaving him behind on Christmas Eve. She’d become quite attached to her goofy, formidable, guard dog. “Can Henri come along?”

  “Sure. We’ll get him a big, juicy bone someplace.”

  After Peggy recovered from her surprise, they called for Jennings and were soon off into the crisp, December evening, with hair set and red lipstick on. As Mumsy put it, “Max Factored” and ready to paint the town. Henri sat at Hazel’s feet, tongue hanging out happily.

  A quaint, Chinese restaurant on the edge of the high end of town served up some simply div
ine noodles and dumplings. Henri curled up under the table with a duck that Mumsy ordered just for him. Somewhere between the chow mein and steamed buns, Mumsy and Peggy began to talk about Stanley.

  “I always knew you had a child, but guess I never thought much of it. Thought maybe he’d died years ago. When you first came to work for us, you mentioned something …” Mumsy scratched her head. “Imagine my surprise when Nicky told me Stanley was yours.”

  Peggy nodded; she seemed ill at ease to be chatting as a friend to her employer. “Well, ma’am, I just needed to keep him safe. I always checked in on him and made sure Seamus had what money I could spare. But I missed raising the lad.” She glanced across the red, enamel table at Hazel. “If it wasn’t for your darlin’ girl, I wouldn’t have known motherhood.”

  Hazel’s eyes glossed over with tears. She reached out and squeezed Peggy’s hand.

  “You’ve done a pip of a job, Peggy. Couldn’t have done it without you. I know she’s snug as a bug with you.” Mumsy looked back and forth between them. There was no note of jealousy or wistfulness to be seen, just a satisfied smirk as if she’d figured out a trick to the system. Then her face brightened. “You know, I should return the favor a little.” Her eyes widened, and Hazel knew the drinks had kicked in, and she was about to get a big idea.

  “Say. What if I was Santa for your Stanley this year?” She grinned, and then she flapped her hands. “I know, I know! How about all his little Knight pals too? They dig in the trash to feed folks—even after we started donating food and cash … can’t waste a thing. What if we filled their fort with food, and presents, and maybe a tree!”

  Peggy let out a chuckle. “Well, now, ma’am I think that would be a welcome Christmas surprise.”

  “What do you say, Hazel? You know where their little fort is, yeah?”

  Hazel was touched that her mother wanted to do something for her newsie friends, but she was hesitant about descending on The Castle unannounced. “Wow … that sounds grand …”

  “Then it’s a plan!” Mumsy crowed, lighting a cigarette. “Let’s get Jennings to run us around to buy a few things.”

  The department stores were in a wild, Christmas Eve frenzy. Mumsy faced it like a general leading her troops to battle. Charging here and charging there. It seemed she had charge accounts everywhere. The Buick was packed to capacity. Mumsy bought piles of new clothes in approximate teenaged boy sizes, toys and games, and a few big boxes of canned food, bread, apples, and oranges. At one shop, she haggled with the manager to buy a small pre-decorated tree from one of the window displays. The poor man was so overwhelmed by the shopping rush and Mumsy’s loud voice, he finally just gave in. Three red, Radio Flyer wagons were purchased to transport it all.

  Jennings pulled the Buick up to the edge of Forest Park, closest to where the Knights’ hideout was.

  “Guess we gotta hoof it from here,” said Mumsy.

  They loaded the wagons with Jennings’s help, and the four of them made their way into the park with Henri trotting along. They followed Hazel, who led with the beam of a flashlight the chauffeur took from the trunk. Henri loped ahead, knowing the way, then circled back as if to tell them to hurry before running ahead again.

  “Isn’t this a scream?” Mumsy laughed as they bumped along with their loads.

  “A wee adventure, to be sure,” Peggy chuckled.

  It was a frosty night with a clear sky, and Hazel was filled with a sudden hope and euphoria. They were together, like a family, bringing Christmas to the boys. They would be so thrilled when they discovered it all. Even if they played tough, they needed somebody to look after them for once. She hoped Stanley was pleased.

  They trudged on in quiet excitement. Hazel held the flashlight in one hand and had her other arm wrapped around the little Christmas tree. Stanley was probably there right now, typing away for the next issue of The Knight’s Voice. A thrill went through her at the chance to see him, and with Peggy too. She hadn’t seen them side by side since finding out Stanley was Peggy’s son.

  As they made their way through the trees, getting closer to the hideout of the Knights of St. Louis the King, Henri began to bark. It echoed low and continuous through the grove from up ahead. An alarm. Danger.

  Hazel stopped. “Something’s wrong.”

  The air became hazy, dancing with fluttering, small bits of black.

  “Smoke!” Peggy cried.

  “Ladies. Stand back—I’ll have a look.” Jennings abandoned his wagon and jogged ahead, swifter than Hazel would have thought possible for a man his age.

  Hazel glanced anxiously at her mother. Mumsy stared ahead, biting her lip. “What do you suppose is going on?”

  Hazel’s gut told her it was bad. The jolt of going from high merriment to this left her unsteady on her feet.

  Jennings reappeared with Henri behind him. The old man was out of breath. “I’m going back to get help. There’s a fire.”

  “Where?” Hazel croaked.

  “An abandoned train car, but it is catching the trees as well.” Jennings disappeared in the direction they had come.

  “Stanley,” Hazel whispered. She dropped the small Christmas tree and ran toward the now apparent orange that glowed like a sunset through the trees.

  Mumsy and Peggy cried out behind her, but she didn’t look back. Her feet pounded the ground with Henri barking at her side.

  She stumbled into the small clearing where a few homeless people stood, watching the red boxcar engulfed in flames. The surrounding treetops had caught fire, and smoke billowed all around. Burning copies of Stanley’s writings lay scattered on the ground and drifted through the air.

  The door to the boxcar hung open like a screaming mouth as flames devoured the inside. Hazel’s heart seemed to explode. “Stanley!” She lurched toward the boxcar. A strong hand gripped her arm.

  She turned back to see Peggy and Mumsy lit up by the glow of the fire. “Hazel. There’s nothing to be done. You can’t run in there,” Peggy said, releasing her arm.

  “Stanley!” Hazel sobbed.

  Mumsy put her arms around Hazel. “Oh, baby. I’m sure he’s safe. He’s a tough kid.”

  “That’s right, lass. I’ll go and find Seamus. I’m sure he knows where Stanley is. Don’t you worry.”

  Hazel pulled out of her mother’s arms and grabbed Peggy in a fierce hug. “I hope you’re right,” she wept into her maid’s shoulder.

  Peggy lifted Hazel’s chin. Her familiar and beloved face was creased with worry, but her eyes glowed with love and strength. “See now, my girl. No matter what happens, you’ve got the strength. Do ya hear me? You’re a Malloy. You’ve got the Irish fight in you.”

  Hazel sniffed back tears, the heat from the fire on her back, smoke blurring the air. “I can’t lose him, Peggy.”

  “I know, I know. Losing William almost killed me. And giving up Stanley nearly broke my spirit. But I went on.”

  Hazel looked into Peggy’s face, wanting her strength, but her whole body trembled. She swallowed. “You’ll find him.”

  Peggy nodded, though Hazel saw the doubt on her face. The fire was no accident. Whoever set it may have killed Stanley before setting the boxcar aflame … Hazel shut her eyes, trying not to imagine a hooded figure creeping up behind Stanley as he hunkered over the small typewriter, tapping away.

  “I’ll be off now. Stay with your mother. Wait for news … I love you, sweet girl.”

  Hazel nodded, trying to hope. “I love you too. I’ll be strong. No matter what.” Hazel raised her chin, trying to be brave.

  Peggy smiled and winked. “That’s my girl.”

  Mumsy put her arm through Hazel’s, as Peggy passed through the smoke and disappeared into the trees in the opposite direction they’d come.

  Hazel and Mumsy distanced themselves from the flames, watching the red boxcar become surrounded. Something nagged at the back of Hazel’s mind. Perhaps as a distraction from the painful thought that Stanley co
uld be gone. But she had to know who did this. Needed someone to blame. Obviously, the Veiled Prophet would want to destroy Stanley and the work he was doing. This could be a direct retaliation to what Arthur had done at the ball.

  Arthur.

  Anger sparked inside of Hazel. This was all his fault … and maybe … could he have done it? He was so keen to burn things up that were in the way of him getting his revenge. She remembered the look of hatred on his face when Stanley had wrestled the gun away from him the night he tried to shoot the VP. Then he’d quit the Knights. She shuddered. It was possible.

  “I’m sorry, Hazel …” Mumsy said, clutching her arm. “What a crummy thing to happen on Christmas Eve.”

  Yeah. It was no party. Henri let out a sudden growl.

  “Hazel? That you?”

  Hazel whipped around at the sound of the husky voice. It was that redhead. “Oh …”

  “Frisky Jones? Remember me?” She had a knapsack slung over one shoulder and was dressed like a boy.

  “Sure.”

  “Frisky? That’s a hell of a name.” Mumsy eyed the girl warily.

  “That it is. You must be Mrs. Malloy. Can you believe this?” Frisky watched the fire spreading, the flickering lights on her face and red hair made her look like a part of it. She let out a deep breath. “I sure hope nobody was in there.”

  Hazel examined the girl she didn’t know. Arthur’s sidekick. “Yeah … where’s Arthur?” She seemed like a tough tomato, but Hazel thought she noticed a tear.

  Frisky pursed her lips and stuck her hands into the pocket of her trousers. “Been looking for him. No sign yet.”

  Hazel wasn’t sure if that was true. “The Knights are going to be crushed about this,” she said.

  “That’s for sure. I guess when you mess with a snake, you’re gonna get venom.” She shook her head at the fire, an expression of regret on her face.

  Hazel scowled. “They were doing their best to help people.”

  Frisky raised her hands in apology. “I know … just made some big enemies. But if I know Stan and the boys, they’ll just find a new place to gather.”