A Child Lost

by Michelle Cox

  “I tried to show her how to escape, but the demon blocked her ears from understanding. She died then.”

  “What can you tell me about her death?” Henrietta decided to ask, though it seemed hopeless to try to get any real information.

  “I can tell you how to escape, I can,” the woman whispered cryptically, shifting her eyes from side to side. “The rats come out of the walls at night and whisper it to me,” she went on hurriedly, without waiting for Henrietta to answer. “There’s a golden city, underground. You must dig to the center of the earth where the other humans live,” she said eagerly. “They are the kind ones. Not like these,” she hissed. “The tunnels are already dug, but they are very secret. Only the rats know. But they are very greedy. Very greedy.”

  At this, Henrietta tried to pull her hand away, but the woman held it fast and squeezed it to the point of hurting. “Their civilization is very ancient, but very advanced,” she whispered. “You must find your way there and come back for me. You must promise!”

  She was looking desperately at Henrietta, pleading with her eyes, when suddenly Nurse Collins’s footsteps could be heard approaching, and the woman quickly released her grip on Henrietta’s hand and took a step back. Nurse Collins appeared in the room, then, and shot them a glance.

  “Mrs. Goodman,” she called out, not unkindly, “you’re not bothering our guests with your tales are you?” She paused in her approach to adjust a patient who had slumped over onto the shoulder of the woman sitting next to her.

  Mrs. Goodman took the opportunity to nod at Nurse Collins and whisper, “But that one’s an angel. Floats through the halls she does, at night. Bringing good things to those who wait.”

  Henrietta gave her an uneasy smile. “Well, good-bye,” she said awkwardly. She took Elsie firmly by the arm and walked back toward the desk, leaving Mrs. Goodman to sway on her own. The whole morning’s experience was beginning to wear on Henrietta, but she told herself that she had to be strong.

  “So, there’s nothing more you can tell us?” she asked Nurse Collins, who finally now handed them Liesel’s small bundle. “About Liesel, I mean. She died of heart failure?”

  “As far as we know, yes,” Nurse Collins said gently. “She died in her sleep.”

  “That poor woman,” Elsie said, finally speaking. “I can’t imagine what she went through.” She wiped a tear from her eye, and then paused to mutter, “And poor Anna. What’s to become of her, Henrietta?”

  “I don’t know, Els,” Henrietta answered, shaking her head. It was a good question, but one Henrietta couldn’t focus on at the moment. At this point, she just wanted to get out.

  Chapter 9

  “I’m coming, already!” Stan shouted as he shuffled toward the front door of his parents’ modest bungalow on Mozart, but the furious knocking continued. “Gee whillikers, hold on!” he said, opening the front door to see none other than Rose standing there, shivering like crazy. She had a scarf wrapped over her head and tied under her chin, which oddly concealed much of her face—usually Rose was a bit flashier—and she was nervously smoking a cigarette.

  “Gee whiz, Rose! What are you doing here?” Stan asked, bewildered. “Shouldn’t you be at work now?”

  “Who is it, Stanley?” came the sound of Stanley’s mother’s voice from somewhere deeper in the house.

  “It’s Rose, Ma!” Stanley shouted back, only slightly turning his head toward the inside of the house as he did so, his eyes glued on Rose. There was something wrong; he could tell.

  “Well, ask her to come in!” came the cheery voice.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry,” he said with a lopsided grin, opening the door wider and gesturing for her to come in. “Come in.” But Rose merely shook her head no, as she took another drag of her cigarette.

  “I need to talk to you,” she said in a low voice. “In private?”

  “Right now?” Stan asked, looking over his shoulder back into the house.

  Rose bit the side of her cheek in what looked like annoyance. He didn’t like it when she did that; he knew it meant she was upset.

  “Yeah, now. Can we go somewhere?”

  “Well, I guess so,” Stan said hesitantly and just stood looking at her.

  “Get your coat, then, Stan!” she hissed.

  “Oh, yeah. You want to step in, while I get it?” he gestured again, but she merely shook her head and tossed her cigarette butt on the cement steps, grinding it out.

  “All right, just a minute.” He reached into the closet by the front door and grabbed his hat and coat.

  “Hurry, Stan!”

  “I’m just going out for a minute, Ma!” he called, thrusting his arms into his coat.

  “I thought Rose was coming in,” Mrs. Dubowski shouted. “Ask her to stay to dinner. It’s meatloaf.”

  “Okay, but I don’t know if she can.”

  “Where are you going, anyway?”

  Stan looked out at Rose for the answer, but she merely shrugged, inclining her head toward the sidewalk.

  “Just for a walk,” Stan shouted.

  “It’s freezing!” said his mother in a normal tone of voice now as she came out of the kitchen and approached the front door where Stanley stood. “Where’s your muffler?”

  “Ma! I don’t need that. We won’t be gone long,” he said and looked toward Rose for confirmation, but she had already retreated down the steps and was standing on the sidewalk.

  “Hi, Rose!” Mrs. Dubowski called down to Rose, as she wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Won’t you come in?”

  “I just felt like a walk, Mrs. Dubowski,” Rose called up thinly. “Thanks, though.”

  “Well, suit yourselves. In my day, courting couples always sat in the front room and had conversation with the parents—”

  “Ma!”

  “Go on, then. Be back by five. Sharp,” she called as Stanley plopped on his hat and rushed out the door. “You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you, Rose?” she called.

  “I . . . I have to work, Mrs. Dubowski. But thank you.”

  “Well, how about Sunday?” she shouted as they began to walk away.

  “Maybe.”

  Stan joined Rose, his hands stuffed in his pockets, and they began walking briskly down the street, though Stan had no idea where they were headed.

  “Want to get a cup of coffee?” she asked without looking at him. They turned onto Armitage, into the wind, causing them to bend slightly forward.

  Stan wanted to point out that they could have had free coffee if they’d stayed at his parents’, but he didn’t say so. Clearly, Rose had something important on her mind. “Sure,” he said and then added, “so what’s this all about, Rose? Something wrong?”

  “I’ll explain in a minute,” she said loudly over the wind, still bent slightly and looking down at the sidewalk as they walked.

  They continued in silence until they reached Kaufmann’s and went inside, the shop bell tinkling as they entered. Rose led them to a back booth, and Stan slid onto the thick, leather seat. Rose sat opposite him. Stan looked at the small chalkboard hanging beside a Coca-Cola sign to peruse the specials before remembering that they weren’t actually here to eat. He pulled his eyes away from the menu to look at Rose now, but as he did so, he nearly cried out loud. She had removed her coat and slightly pulled back her scarf to fully reveal her face, the right side of which was swollen and purple.

  “Jesus, Rose!” Stan bellowed, his stomach churning at the sight of her bruised face. “What happened? Did you fall?” Then it suddenly dawned on him. He could see tiny tears in the corners of her eyes. Jesus Christ. “Was it . . . it wasn’t your dad, was it?” he asked, his breath labored.

  Rose gave the tiniest of nods and looked away.

  Stan felt as though he had been punched himself, fury shooting through him. How dare her old man! He would kill him! he resolved wildly. His urge was to go right then and there. Why were they sitting calmly in a diner? How could . . . how could anyone hit a woman, and your daughter at that? He
knew Rose’s father was a drunk, but it didn’t excuse it.

  “I’m going to kill him, Rose!” Stan huffed, grabbing his hat just as the thick waitress appeared beside the table.

  “What’ll it be, kids?” she asked dully.

  “Stanley, just calm down,” Rose said firmly. “We’ll have two black coffees,” she said to the waitress.

  “That it?” the waitress asked, clearly annoyed.

  “For now,” Rose said, staring her down.

  “Nice shiner,” the waitress said, looking over at Stanley as if he were a piece of dirt.

  “Hey!” Stanley said, realizing the meaning behind her withering look, but she had already moved away.

  “Jeez, Rose. I said if he ever touched you, I’d kill him! So, now I’m going to kill him.” He threw his hat back onto the seat.

  “Come on, Stanley, be serious.”

  “I am being serious!” He was filled with rage and . . . and what? Mortification? Humiliation? Rose was his! No one had the right to touch her but him, and even then . . . Suddenly, he felt he might vomit. He couldn’t look at her face for more than a few seconds at a time.

  “Stanley, I don’t know what I’m going to do!” she said suddenly, cradling her forehead on the tips of her fingers and beginning to cry.

  Stanley felt a flood of something else release within him now, a desperate sort of pity mixed with panic. “Rose . . . hey, Rose!” he said gently. “Hey, it’s going to be all right. We’ll think of something.”

  “He’s getting worse, Stan. He beat Billy again. And I can’t keep taking him to Lucy and Gwen’s. They were nice enough to keep him for a while. I thought things had calmed down, so I brought him back a few nights ago. It was a mistake, I guess. The ol’ man had a go at him the very first night. I tried to stop it, and this is what I got,” she said pointing to her damaged face. “I took Billy back to Lucy and Gwen’s, but I could tell they weren’t too happy. I mean, I guess I wouldn’t be, either. He can’t just stay there forever.”

  The waitress appeared with two coffees. Seeing Rose’s tears, she gave Stanley another snide look and walked away, mumbling “men” under her breath.

  Stanley wrapped his hands around one of the thick white mugs and tried to calm himself. What the hell was he going to do? So far he had been elusive in describing Rose’s familial situation to his parents, particularly his mother, only giving the barest of facts that Rose’s mother was dead and that she lived with her father and younger brother. Rose had been elusive, too, during the few times she managed to come to dinner at the Dubowski’s, and Stanley had taken his cues from her—not only on this subject but regarding many topics, actually. He was impressed, truth be told, by how smoothly she outfoxed his mother—a difficult feat by any stretch, one which he and his father had given up trying to achieve long ago. His first thought was that they should explain the situation—partially, maybe?—to his parents. But to what end? He could maybe talk them into letting Rose move into the spare bedroom, but where did that leave Billy? That seemed to be the real problem here. Billy. He hadn’t yet mentioned to his parents that his fiancé’s brother was backward. He wasn’t sure what they would say to that. Well, he could guess . . .

  “I . . . I’m desperate, Stan,” Rose was saying. “I don’t have enough money to move out on my own, and we can’t stay there anymore. I can’t take it. I don’t mind for myself, but I can’t take Billy being punched and kicked and . . .” She broke down into sobs, covering her face with her hands.

  “You all right, doll?” the waitress called from where she poured coffee at the counter for other customers.

  “Yeah, she’s fine,” Stan called out weakly, turning slightly toward the counter. The waitress, holding the coffee pot midair, continued to stare at Rose, waiting for some kind of confirmation from her.

  As if sensing the waitress’s eyes on her, Rose looked up and nodded sadly.

  “Jeez,” Stan mumbled. “A guy can’t win.”

  “I . . . I have an aunt. A great-aunt, actually,” Rose said faintly, blowing her nose into the handkerchief she had fished out of her pocket. “My mom’s aunt, Millie. She lives in Indiana. It’s the only family I know of that’s left on her side. I’m . . . I’m thinking about writing to her. Asking her if Billy and I can move in.”

  “What!?” Stan exclaimed. “Move in? What . . . what about our wedding?” A new level of panic coursing through him.

  “Well, I don’t know,” Rose said, twisting her lips into a grimace.

  “What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’?” he hissed, dread filling him that yet another woman was going to slip through his grasp. First Henrietta, then Elsie. Well, he wasn’t going to let that happen with Rose. He had made his choice, once and for all, and that was that. And, anyway, he loved Rose; he was sure of it this time. She was so very pretty with her blonde hair and green eyes, and especially her long legs. Stan longed to run his hand up them, but so far he hadn’t dared. They had kissed plenty of times now, and each time he had been left breathless and almost panting. Somehow, she knew all the right places to put her hands until he was positively on fire. Many times, after an evening with her, he had had to . . . well, let’s just say, he had done things in his room at night that required him to go to confession the following Saturday. Only once had a stray thought come into his mind while they were kissing that had disturbed him. He had pulled back, his lips wet, and he dared to ask her if she was . . . well . . . if she was still a virgin. Not that it mattered, he had mumbled—but in truth, it did matter to him. He wanted to be the first. And he wanted her to be his first, too. “Of course,” she had whispered as she kissed his neck and then sucked his earlobe, causing him not to care at that moment. “What did he take her for?” she had asked. He had chosen to believe her then, and still did, he told himself, but every once in a while, she seemed . . . well, very experienced. Put it that way. But it was more than her looks and her sexual prowess that attracted him, he had told himself many times. He just liked being with her. She usually went along with whatever he said, which always caused his chest to swell, but on the other hand, she had a way of helping him to know just what to do in every situation. He felt comfortable with her. And she was even converting for him. That said something, for sure. So the thought now of not being with her, of not marrying her, caused a fresh burst of anxiety to wash over him.

  “You can’t leave, Rose. I . . . I love you; you know that, don’t you?” he whined.

  “Well, I love you, too, Stanley, but . . . but things are just too terrible at home. We . . . we might have to give each other up.”

  Stanley could swear she was batting her eyelashes at him, and he found himself staring at her lips. “No, we’re not!” he almost shouted. “We’re getting married. I gave you a ring!” he squeaked.

  She let out a small sigh. “Stanley, we’ve never really talked in detail about what will happen when—if—we do get married. About where we’ll live. I need to know,” she said quietly.

  Stanley fidgeted and twisted his feet under the table. He hadn’t fully thought this through. His parents were suggesting that Rose move in until the young couple had saved enough to get their own place. That’s what they had done, they had told him a hundred times. Lived with Grandma and Grandpa for nearly five years before they got their own apartment. In fact, Stanley had been born at Grandma and Grandpa’s. He would be happy enough with the proposed arrangement, he knew, but he had hesitated bringing it up to Rose, as somehow he sensed she would not be all that enthused. “Well,” he said tentatively. “I was thinking you could move in with us . . . you know, till we have enough money to get our own place . . .”

  He saw her bite the side of her cheek again and therefore knew she didn’t like the idea. She was silent for a moment, gripping her own mug. “That’s a swell idea, Stan,” she said stiffly, “but what am I going to do with Billy? I can’t leave him.”

  Damn it! Stan thought to himself. He hadn’t entered Billy into the equation at all. He had assumed
he would keep living with the father. But he saw now that that plan wasn’t going to work. This was a two-for-one type of situation, he realized with a sinking feeling. “You mean Billy would have to live with us?” Stan said slowly.

  “I know it’s not ideal, Stan, but I can’t just leave him there,” she repeated. “I know it’s not what you signed up for, though. You’ve been a real sport. But we . . . we don’t have to go through with this. Billy and I can go live with my aunt—if she’ll have us, that is—and we can go our separate ways.” She moved one of her hands to his and rubbed his thumb with one of her fingers. Even that small gesture madly elicited a response in his lower regions, but he managed to ignore it.

  Slowly, she pulled her hand away then and tugged at the tiny ring he had given her, setting it on the table between them. “It’s all right,” she said, smiling weakly. “I understand. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”

  She looked up at him with her big green eyes that somehow, even in their sadness, mesmerized him. An errant thought zipped through his mind, suggesting that she was perhaps testing him, but he pushed this thought away. It was replaced almost immediately by a similar thought, however, that perhaps he should be cautious here. He picked up the ring and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. A part of him knew that if he proceeded now, there was only one path forward. But he didn’t want to think about the alternative, about losing her, which meant there was nothing to do but plow ahead.

  “Whaddya mean?” he tried to ask lightly. “I asked you to marry me, and I meant it! We can’t let the first obstacle derail us, can we, Rose?” he asked resolutely. “For better or worse, don’t they say?”

  “Are you sure, Stan?” she asked hesitantly. It almost seemed like she was having second thoughts . . . why wasn’t she happier?

  “Course I’m sure! Aren’t you?”

  She looked at the table and let out a deep breath, and for a few awful moments, he thought she was going to actually back out after all. When she finally looked up at him, she gave him a smile, though it seemed false, and said, “Course I am. But I’ll . . . we’ll have to take care of Billy . . . You understand that, right? You’re okay with that?”