by Jo Schaffer
“Do you know where Stanley is?” Hazel hoped.
“Nah. I don’t. Altar boy was serving mass earlier … said he was going to meet me here later. Maybe he’s on his way.” Frisky chewed her lip.
“He was going to meet you here? Oh no …” Hazel stared at the collapsing boxcar, her heart aching with worry.
“Say, I’ll go see if I can track him down.” The look on her face was stoic, as if she was forcing herself not to panic for Hazel’s sake, and it made Hazel more unhinged.
“You think maybe he didn’t get here yet, right?”
“Sure, he could have gotten held up someplace. I’ll round up the Knights and see what we can find out about all of this.” She ran a hand through her wild, red hair.
“Will you let me know, please?”
“You bet.” She turned to go and then looked back. “Hey. It’s going to be okay.” Frisky forced a gap-toothed smile and darted away before Hazel could respond. Sometimes when people said that it just meant, “even if it’s not okay, you’ll survive.”
Mumsy led Hazel away from the snapping and crackling that marked the end of an era. Hazel thought back on the first day Stanley had brought her to The Castle and all of the other times they’d gathered there with the Knights over the past few months. The last time she’d been inside, Stanley had held her and kissed her on the old sofa. It was all ashes now.
They wove through the trees and past the wagons of Christmas presents that were now surrounded by shabbily-clothed people, adults, and children, picking through them. They needed this stuff more than anybody. One small boy held the small Christmas tree in his arms, a look of glee on his face.
“Did Santa leave this?” a small, scrawny girl asked her dad.
The scruffy man in the flat cap grinned at her. “I think so, pumpkin. He must have.”
Mumsy tightened her arm around Hazel as they skirted the group of desperate people. “Merry Christmas,” she called out as they drifted away.
“Merry Christmas,” many of them answered automatically.
The scream of fire truck sirens came through the darkness. Hazel fought back tears. There was nothing merry about it.
Stanley sat in the pew and absorbed the peaceful atmosphere of the church. The altar candles burned brightly, casting dancing shadows all around the sanctuary, as if all the dead saints in heaven were celebrating Christ’s birth. He sighed, breathing in the incense Father Timothy had used. After four masses, the smoke floated all around the church, glowing in the candlelight and tickling his throat.
Everyone had gone home after midnight mass, and Stanley decided to stay for a bit. Seamus hadn’t come to midnight mass, and that worried him a bit. If he got home and his uncle wasn’t there, he would have to go find him. But for now, Stanley wanted to assume everything was okay. He had told Father Timothy about the train station, and he was going to send people to explore it too.
If it was up to him, he would just fall asleep here in the church. Father Timothy had given him a key and told him to lock up. For just a moment, Stanley closed his eyes and felt peace in the quiet of the church.
O, Holy Night.
But he did need to go and see Frisky at the boxcar. Sighing, he stood up and locked the two side doors to the church. As he turned to walk down the aisle, Stanley stopped. Peggy stood at the end.
“Peggy, you missed mass.” He smiled as he walked toward her.
“Oh, Stanley, you’re alive.” She raced down the aisle and gripped him in a fierce bear hug.
“Easy, you’re gonna crush me to death before we spend Christmas together.”
She sobbed into his chest for a few moments, and Stanley held her.
“Oh, Hazel is going to be so happy. She was beside herself.”
“What’s this all about? Where is Hazel? Is she okay?” His nerves were on high alert.
Peggy looked up at him, eyes swollen from crying. “Can I sit? I’ve been on my feet all night.”
Leading her over to the nearest pew, Stanley sat down next to her. She grabbed his hand and held it so tight that he winced.
“When we saw the fire, we thought …well, we thought you were inside.”
Stanley’s skin tingled, and he knew. “The boxcar. They burned the boxcar.”
She nodded. “That they did. Right down to the ground. We, well, Mrs. Malloy, Hazel, and I came to bring you and the boys Christmas presents.”
Smiling, Stanley said, “No fooling?”
“Not a bit. I believe that girl has it for you something fierce,” Peggy said, patting his hand.
“Well, ditto. I think I love her,” Stanley said.
“You’re such a man; of course you do, dear. And she loves you back, you know. So, if you hurt her, I’ll box your ears, you can count on it. You’ve had no mother to teach you how to treat ladies, but now you do.”
“Now I do.” He smiled, exhausted.
“Well, now what’s to be done about your boxcar?”
“I knew they were going to come after the boxcar eventually. Something told me they would after what happened at the ball. They always knew where it was. That’s why I hid the typewriter back at the house and anything else valuable in there too, like our maps of the city, and all that business.”
“You’ve got an da shealladh. The Second Sight, lad. Sure as your grandfather did.”
“Grandfather …”
“To be sure. My father could see things … sense things before they happened.”
Stanley nodded. Seamus had often said he had a gift, and it was becoming clearer to him that it was true.
“I wish it did me any good.”
“These are dangerous times … St. Louis isn’t safe for you. You need to go. Get out of here,” Peggy said. “Your father and I didn’t leave soon enough, and look what happened.”
Stanley sat for a moment and didn’t reply. He didn’t want to tell her about his constant dreams of fleeing west, or the recent feelings of foreboding that more terrible things were coming.
“Did my dad run?” he said with one hand clutching the back of a pew. “Did he run when people needed him?”
Peggy sighed. “No. But we were both young and foolish. And we had you. We should’ve been more responsible, that’s for sure.”
“But there were people dying and who needed help. So he stayed.”
“To take care of our son, to raise him and protect him, that would not have been runnin’. We’d already fought well, and no one could object. But we kept pushin’ ourselves, thinkin’ we were the only ones fightin’ evil in the city. And that’s just not so. Someone else would have stepped up. Someone always does, sure.”
Stanley walked toward the altar, as if approaching the answers he had always sought. “Maybe I am a someone … I don’t have a kid. I’m not married. No one relies on me. So my time to fight is now. I thought about running west or something. But something tells me I can’t run from this.”
He reached the altar rail and turned to face her. She stood in the middle of the church, hands at her side, watching him.
“I know you think you must, but Father Timothy and Brother Martin have things in hand. Not to mention the whole Order of St. Michael. They might be small, but there is power to do something, especially with Mr. Malloy pitching in with his money,” she said, wiping away tears.
“You could run yourself,” Stanley said.
Peggy bowed her head “No. No, I won’t.”
Stanley spread his arms. “Then, how can I?”
Peggy shook her head. “It’s different.”
“How? How is it different?” he said, a bit louder than he intended, and his voice echoed through the church.
“Because you’re my child—all that I have left of William … And I don’t want this life for you. It destroyed mine.”
“It’s already destroying mine. They won’t let up, and they would find me if I went west, or joined the army, or got lost in the mountains. Because they�
��re spreading. If they are not stopped, no place will be safe.”
Peggy stared at him, and the silence grew. “Please. Stanley. Please.” Peggy wiped tears from her cheeks.
He looked at her and said, “I’m a grown man now. I’m staying, and that’s it. Besides, someone needs to stay and take care of you in your old age … Ma.”
Peggy smiled and took a step toward him. “Son.”
A loud cracking sound echoed through the church, and Stanley winced, covering his ears in confusion. Peggy cried out, and he glanced up. She’d dropped to the ground, clutching her chest.
“Ma. What happened?” Stanley sprang toward her.
She stared blankly at him and held up her hand, covered in blood. Without a word, she tipped forward and fell to the floor.
“Ma!” Stanley froze, looking down at her lying so still.
“Say goodbye to mommy, Fields,” someone calmly said from behind him.
The last thought Stanley had was that he’d heard that voice before.
Hazel paced the front yard, hoping for some message from Frisky. Her breath came in white blasts in the frigid, night air. Where was Stanley? Her stomach roiled and turned with worry. She thought she might throw up. Why was it that just when life seemed to inflate with joy and possibility, when even the dangers and problems seemed for a moment to be surmountable, that something cold and merciless gleefully blew it all to smithereens?
Mumsy was inside waiting by the phone in case Peggy or Seamus called with any news. Hazel’s father had come home, heard what had happened, and rushed back out again. Heaven knew what was going on. Hazel had never felt so alone. Even Henri had retired to his doghouse. There was nothing to distract her from the anxiety clutching at her chest.
What if Stanley’s body had been cremated in the red boxcar? What if he was gone forever? Panic surged through her.
Where was Peggy?
A specter materialized out of the darkness, moving slowly, deliberately toward her. It paused just out of reach of the porch light.
“Who is it?” Hazel backed away, a chill crawling up her back.
The flick of a match lit up a familiar face. Arthur lit his cigarette and strolled closer, smoke trailing behind him like he’d just arrived from the furnaces of Hell.
“People are looking for you,” Hazel seethed.
“No joke,” he said out of the side of his mouth.
“He’s been with me.” Sandy appeared from behind him in a black, fur coat, her scarred face ghoulish in the dark.
Hazel let out a breath. “Of course.” Sandy had been hiding him this whole time. A second of hope jumped into her throat. “Have you seen Stanley?”
“Nah. I ain’t.” Arthur blew out a stream of smoke. He seemed to mull over something he needed to say.
“So I guess you know about the fire.” Hazel put her hands on her hips.
“Yeah. I heard.” Arthur hesitated and removed his bowler hat, tapping it against his leg.
“Well? What have you to say about it? The Castle is gone, Stanley is missing—maybe burned to death!” She hadn’t meant to lose control, but the words came out in an angry sob. “It’s all your fault! Did you start the fire? Because even if you didn’t, you caused it just the same. You declared open war on the VP at the ball, putting us all in danger!”
Arthur came closer, his eyes narrowing. “My fault? You shoulda let me burn that clinic down when I had the chance. I was gonna slow down their snatch and grab program. Now—”
Sandy put a hand on his arm, and he stopped talking, his chest heaving with anger. She leaned close to him. “Not like this, baby. Don’t tell her like this. It isn’t her fault …” Hazel’s best friend gave her a look of pity.
Hazel’s heart dropped. “What! Tell me what? What’s happened?”
Arthur replaced his bowler hat and pointed a finger at Hazel. “You want to protect these people so badly? But you’ll wish you never did. The church was crawling with cops, and one of my pigeons got the skinny. Your maid, Peggy, was shot like an Irish dog by the altar. That’s the kind of people you’re protecting.”
For a few moments, his words didn’t make any sense. Hazel blinked, staring at his mouth and how smoke puffed out as he spoke. When understanding finally clawed into her brain, Hazel let out a shriek. “No! No, that isn’t right. I don’t believe you!”
Arthur frowned, and Sandy pushed him aside to grab Hazel in her arms. “It’s true Hazel. I’m so sorry.”
Hazel shoved Sandy away. “You. Both of you. You did this.” Her whole body shook; tears streamed down her face.
Sandy’s face hardened. “No. They’ve been getting away with this for as long as this city began. The poor have suffered all along. Now it’s touching the fancy edges of your kingdom, and you can’t face it.”
Hazel stared at her best friend, not recognizing her. The ragged scar crinkled on her face; the shadows under her eyes and blunt cut of her bangs made her look like mugshots she’d seen on wanted posters. Hazel covered her face with her hands. It was too much. Peggy couldn’t be gone. She’d been there Hazel’s whole life. A giant hole opened up in the ground and Hazel felt herself being sucked into it. There was no bottom to it and no coming back.
“No … Not Peggy.” It was not real. Hazel could see Peggy’s auburn hair, her dimpled smile … the sparkle in her eyes when she’d tease … the warmth of her hugs. She had counted on her for her comfort and wisdom … she needed her. The world would never keep spinning after this.
Sandy let out a sigh. “I know … how you feel.”
Hazel uncovered her face. “Nobody does! Peggy and maybe Stanley in one night,” she choked. “I can’t …” She clapped a hand over her own mouth, willing herself to stop. If she kept talking about them being gone, then it would be true … and she would fall into that hole and be lost forever.
“Stanley … he ain’t dead.” Arthur reached into his back pocket and pulled out Stanley’s cap. The one from his father that he always wore.
Hazel’s heart leaped, she grasped at the remaining sliver of hope, wiping her face. “Where did you get that?”
“The steps of Saint Michael’s church—one of my pigeons nicked it before the cops got there. Stanny must’ve been there with Peggy. They got him, like Teeth … like the others.”
The thought of Stanley being at the mercy of those hooded monsters made something snap in Hazel’s head. He had fought them so hard. It seemed impossible that her tall, strong newsie, who seemed to be able to take on the world, could lose a fight.
All feeling drained out of Hazel, and sounds became muffled. Her own voice sounded distant and monotone. “They took Peggy from me. Now they have Stanley … he’s a page in their file cabinet now.”
Hazel stared at the cap in Arthur’s hands. He held it out to her, and she stepped forward and took it. She pressed it to her face and breathed in the smell of Stanley’s hair and sweat. The scent of a living, breathing boy. Hazel set the cap on her own head and pulled it down snug.
Her mind wandered and seemed to grasp at thin air. All she could think about was Peggy and Stanley. Then Hazel thought of the page with Teeth’s serial number. That thing would probably lead them to wherever they had taken Stanley.
“The clinic. They took him there to give him a tattoo and serial number,” she said.
“He’s gone by now.” Arthur spat on the ground.
“It will be empty …” Hazel said.
“We figured.” Sandy reached into her big, fur coat and pulled out the bottle that Arthur had with him the day in the alleyway. “You in?”
Hazel’s pulse hummed. “Yes.”
Sometime later, Hazel stood with Sandy and Arthur outside the tavern up the street from the clinic, in a crowd of drunk people who had gathered on the sidewalk to watch the Family Care Clinic burn to the ground. The firefighters were too late. There would be nothing left.
“An eye for an eye,” Hazel said, a mixture of rage and grief b
listering her insides and scorching up who she used to be.
“That should slow them down a bit,” Sandy said.
“This is only the warm up. Just wait ‘til we get to work.” Arthur flicked his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out.
The people around them shouted and hollered. Many of them lost interest, and laughing returned to the cozy embrace of the tavern. “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” played in jaunty rhythm from inside. The smell of whiskey and tobacco mingled with the smoke of the burning building. The world had ended, and the party went on.
Hazel clenched her fists. She felt the cold of the Joan of Arc medallion at her wrist. She rubbed it between her thumb and finger. Give me strength. What would Stanley do if he were here right now …?
“Gather Frisky and the Knights,” she said, straightening Stanley’s cap. “And let’s find someone who can read German. We have work to do.”
“I’m way ahead of you, swell.” Arthur’s dark eyes met hers, but instead of feeling the usual fear, Hazel saw a reflection of her pain there. “We’ll get Stanley back,” Arthur vowed.
“I’m counting on it, street rat.”
Arthur gave Hazel a crooked smile, and Sandy took his hand. She reached out for Hazel’s hand too. Hazel took it, feeling nothing. She just needed something to hold on to.
The clickety-clack sound of a train woke Stanley up. A swirl of sights and sounds overloaded his senses, and he tried to order them in his aching head.
“Welcome back to the land of the living dead, white boy.”
“Lincoln?” Stanley said and tried to raise his hand.
“Easy, pal. We’re chained together.”
Stanley felt the cold metal against his right wrist and shook the chain. He looked around and saw other pairs of young boys chained together, sitting on the floor, and leaning against the walls in the darkness. Only the dim light of a single, swinging lightbulb in the ceiling revealed the huddled captives. Some looked asleep, others had looks of absolute terror on their faces.
“Where the hell are we?” Stanley said, knowing the answer.