by Michelle Cox
“I’ll bet,” Clive scoffed. “Let me guess. You don’t take anything per se, but you get them to tell you things. Like maybe where the safe in their house is located? Then you have some lout who works with you go in and do the dirty. Am I close?”
“This is your fear speaking.”
“Just what are you dispensing? For free,” he added sarcastically. “Let me guess—fortune’s read, the future explained, that sort of thing.”
Madame Pavlovsky did not answer but just gazed at him. “There is much hurt in you,” she said quietly.
If Clive was ruffled by this, he did not show it. “There’s hurt in everyone,” he said wryly. “Try again.”
“What do you give?” Henrietta asked softly before she could stop herself.
Madame Pavlovsky’s eyes flashed to Henrietta and studied her. “So you do allow her to speak,” she said now to Clive.
“Of course, I allow her to speak!” he exclaimed angrily. “I mean, it’s not up to me, of course.”
“Is it not? Of this I am glad,” she said with an arched eyebrow.
Madame Pavlovsky turned her gaze back to Henrietta again. “I speak to the spirits,” she said gently, oddly without her previous air of mystery. “To those who have gone on from this world to the next dimension. I am able to reach through the veil that separates us and hear what they would tell us from beyond.”
“You speak to those in the grave?” Henrietta asked, suddenly feeling goose bumps on her arms and up her neck.
“In grave? No. They are not in grave. They are in different world, and yet they are here with us, too. Never far are the loved ones,” she said, looking from Henrietta to Clive, who merely crossed his legs and rolled his eyes.
“How . . . how can they be in another world and yet here, too?” Henrietta questioned.
“Henrietta, don’t encourage her,” Clive chided.
“Ah. So she does not speak for herself,” Madame Pavlovsky said, pursing her lips.
“You’re good, you know that?” Clive said, nonchalantly scratching his chin. “I’ve seen them all, and you’re pretty slippery. Go on, then, enlighten us,” he said, with a wave of his hand, leaning back into the worn sofa.
Madame Pavlovsky merely gave him a withering glance before looking back at Henrietta. “It is hard to explain. They are able to be in both places at once. There are more—how you say? Dimensions? than we know. More than this,” she said, waving her hand around.
Henrietta just stared at her, aware that her heart was beating a little faster. She longed to ask her more, but she didn’t dare.
“You wish to ask me more,” Madame Pavlovsky said, surprising her.
“That’s obvious,” Clive said disparagingly.
“There are children . . .” Madame Pavlovsky said, closing her eyes as if to concentrate.
“A baby?” Henrietta said, her voice catching with a gasp.
“A baby? No.” Madame Pavlovsky paused, her eyes still closed.
Henrietta’s heart sank, but she supposed it made sense. She had barely been two months along. Of course, Madame Pavlovsky wouldn’t be able to commune with something that had only been a bloody mess. But what did Madame Pavlovsky mean by children? she wondered. Could she possibly mean her brother and sister that had died years ago in the flu epidemic?
“Are they siblings?” Henrietta asked tentatively. “A boy and a girl?”
“Yes! Yes, that is it. They are here. Never far from you. They wish to say they love you.”
“Oh, my,” Henrietta said, tears suddenly coming to the corners of her eyes as she put her hand up to her mouth.
“That’s enough!” Clive barked. “She’s been through a bit of shock lately. She’s been ill, and I won’t have her upset.”
“Losing a child isn’t being ill,” Madame Pavlovsky said to him with a frown.
“Oh, my!” Henrietta said again, wiping away a tear that had spilled down her cheek. “How did you know?”
Madame Pavlovsky didn’t say anything, but merely stared at her.
“Oh, Clive,” Henrietta said, putting her hands over her face and leaning forward into her lap to cry. Clive put his hand protectively on her back.
“There is man—”
“I insist that you stop this instant!” Clive nearly shouted. “We’re leaving.”
“No! Clive, please!” Henrietta said, sitting up with a start, her face wet with tears and flushed. “No. Tell me more! More about the children,” she begged the woman, apparently not having registered Madame Pavlovsky’s mention of a man, and Clive wasn’t about to point it out. “Their names were Lester and Dorothy,” Henrietta said unevenly.
“Yes, Lester and Dorothy,” Madame Pavlovsky repeated. “I see this. They are happy. At peace. No pain, no sadness. They are free. Free to fly where they wish.”
“Oh, Clive! Isn’t it wonderful? Wait till I tell Ma!” she said, but he did not seem to share her enthusiasm. Instead he was looking at her with concern and perhaps pity? Why was he not more affected?
Gently he took her hand. “We must go, darling. It’s time.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Henrietta said, pulling her handkerchief from her handbag and dabbing her eyes. She desperately wanted to ask more, but she didn’t know what to ask and Clive seemed not only impatient to leave, but also clearly annoyed.
They stood up. “Thank you, Madame Pavlovsky,” Henrietta said shakily. “Thank you ever so much.”
“You are welcome, my dearest sparrow. There is more I see, though. It is hard to understand. There is hospital. How you say? Infirmary? Someone is speaking, but I cannot understand it all. She says your work there is not done.”
“All right, all right,” Clive said irritably, ushering Henrietta toward the door. “You’ve cleverly managed to thwart the investigation for today, but don’t think I won’t be back.”
“There is a man near you, too,” Madame Pavlovsky said calmly, even as they walked away from her. “Your father, I believe. He stands by a large house. ‘Linley’ is engraved in cornerstone.”
Her arm through his, Henrietta felt Clive bristle, but he did not turn.
“He sends his love to you,” Madame Pavlovsky called out.
“I’ll be back,” Clive said without turning around, opening up the door to get out.
Chapter 11
Elsie was weary by the time she and Gunther returned to Mundelein, though it was only three in the afternoon. Clive and Henrietta had kindly driven them back, but that meant she and Gunther hadn’t been able to discuss between them the awful news, especially as Gunther sat up front with Clive, and she and Henrietta were tucked into the back seat. Indeed, the whole ride to Mundelein had a funerary air to it, and they mostly rode in silence, all of them seeming to dwell on their own thoughts.
Just before they pulled up in front of Philomena, however, Gunther had turned to Clive and offered his most sincere thanks for his assistance, saying in his broken English that he was indebted to him and that he hoped to be able to do him some kindness someday. Elsie also thanked the two of them and leaned over to give Henrietta a quick kiss and a hug before she climbed out of the Daimler, Clive having the forethought to select a bigger car than the Alfa this morning. Sadly, Elsie realized that he must have been expecting to leave Dunning with Liesel in tow.
Gunther and Elsie stood awkwardly on the icy sidewalk, watching as Henrietta slipped back into the front of the car, saying as she did so that they must come very soon to visit them at Highbury. Henrietta gave Elsie a sad little wave as Clive drove around the circle, and Elsie felt unusually sad to see her sister go. She watched as Clive pulled out onto Sheridan and disappeared into the traffic before slowly turning toward Gunther. She was about to suggest that they go back to his hut to discuss what to do next, but before she could utter any words, he spoke first.
“I must go, Elsie,” he said, his face grim. “I have work to do, and Sister Bernard has already been very generous to give me time off.”
“Oh,” Elsie said,
disappointedly. “I . . . well, what are you going to do? About Anna, I mean? Don’t you want to talk about it?”
“Later maybe. Not now. I need to think.” He twisted his face into a failed sort of smile. “I must go. Later, yes?”
“Yes, all right.” She tried to smile in return. “But what about—” she began, but he was already striding off, either not hearing her or perhaps simply choosing not to respond. She watched him hurry off down the sidewalk toward Piper and waited to see if he would turn and perhaps wave before he rounded the corner, but he did not.
She sighed, then, and turned to mount the stone steps of Philomena. Naturally, he was upset, she reasoned uncomfortably; it had been such a long day. They had both known it was bound to be an emotional one, but neither of them could have predicted how it had eventually turned out.
The first shock of the day had actually occurred when she appeared at his hut earlier this morning with the idea of offering to go with him to the orphanage to drop off Anna. Timidly she had knocked and was rather taken aback when he answered the door without his beard! He had shaved! Why? she wondered, trying not to stare as he warmly gestured her inside. She admitted that she liked this new look very much; it suited him and made him look younger—almost like a boy—but it gnawed at her that it was obviously done for Fraulein Klinkhammer’s benefit, assuming that the two of them were to be reunited this day. Regardless, it definitely threw poor Elsie out of sorts, and she almost lost courage to ask him if he wanted her to accompany him. But she persevered and was glad that he accepted her help (after asking her several times if she was really sure) with what seemed to be, if not overwhelming delight, then at least relief.
“Yes, of course, I’m sure,” Elsie insisted, trying not to stare at his barren jaw, almost as if it was somehow inappropriate like seeing a part of him naked.
The three of them rode the bus together to Pulaski and Foster, Anna sitting wedged between Elsie and Gunther. Elsie was delighted that Anna allowed her to hold her hand for a little bit while they again read from the Robert Louis Stevenson book. Gunther had thought it best not to tell Anna where they were headed, an opinion Elsie did not share, but she did not say so. Instead, she suggested they bring along Anna’s new book, thinking it might come in handy as a needed distraction. It indeed provided a pleasant occupation on the ride over, but once they alighted and began walking up Pulaski, it failed to further capture Anna’s attention, as she seemed to know almost immediately where they were and promptly began to whine. The whining quickly progressed to crying, which was eventually followed by Anna refusing to walk and pulling back on Gunther’s hand, which churned Elsie’s stomach into a knot. Gunther very smoothly, however, simply scooped the girl up in his strong arms and carried her. His patience was amazing, Elsie thought amid her own distress.
Luckily, the orphanage was not far, and they soon came upon the large three-story brick building set back off the road. Bohemian Home for the Aged and Orphans was carved into the lintel above the wooden, scuffed front doors. There were some evergreen bushes hugging the foundation and a smattering of oak trees off to the left, but it still looked cold and barren to Elsie’s eyes. No wonder Anna didn’t want to return here, Elsie thought, as she hurried up the steps ahead of Gunther to knock on the door with the heavy brass ring that hung there. She looked back at Gunther with an uneasy smile, and again wished he would have taken her suggestion to bring Anna to Palmer Square for the day.
She was about to offer this option once again when the door suddenly opened. Elsie spun around, dropping her hands that were twisting themselves together, and was surprised to see only a small boy. His eyes lit up at the sight of Anna, though her arms were wrapped tightly around Gunther’s neck and her face was buried in his neck.
“Oh, it’s you, Anna!” said the little boy who, to Elsie’s eyes, looked to be about seven. “You’re back early. Mama!” he shouted down the hallway. He opened the door widely, and Gunther awkwardly shuffled inside, followed by a nervous Elsie. Before the little boy could even get the door closed behind them, a young woman who looked not much older than Elsie emerged and walked briskly forward. They were roughly the same height, though the young woman was thinner. Her chestnut hair was tied up in a pretty bun, and she wore a black dress, which seemed fitting if she were indeed the matron of the home. Elsie was surprised that someone so young would already be in such a position of responsibility. She had a determined air to her, however, Elsie assessed, but she seemed kind, too. Elsie diverted her eyes from the woman for a moment and quickly looked around, further surprised by how warm and cozy the home seemed, at least from where they stood, and she thought she could smell cinnamon. Based on Anna’s whining and crying, she had been expecting something terrible inside, but, indeed, it seemed quite pleasant.
“Pavel, there’s no need to shout,” the woman said gently. “Ah, Mr. Stockel,” she said, observing him. “We did not expect you today. Is something wrong?”
“I am sorry, Mrs. Lasik,” Gunther said uneasily, shifting Anna in his arms. “I need to bring Anna back early . . . I . . . there has been a discovery . . .”
“I see,” she said, her eyes darting briefly to Elsie before she turned her attention back to Gunther. He was attempting to put Anna down, unsuccessfully, as she whined and tried to cling to his coat sleeves.
“Anna!” he said. “Sei jetzt ein gutes Mädchen.”
His words had little effect on the girl, however, and she continued to cry.
“I did warn you, Mr. Stockel,” Mrs. Lasik said over Anna’s howls, “not to bring her in and out. You break her routine, and she doesn’t settle. And considering her condition—”
“Anna,” Elsie suddenly broke in, desperate to help and unable to keep silent any longer. “Don’t you want your book?” she asked, holding it out awkwardly. Anna’s face, however, remained pressed against Gunther’s knees.
“Anna,” Mrs. Lasik said gently, squatting down near the girl and fluidly putting her arm around Pavel as she did so, pulling him close. “Come now. We’ve all missed you. And see who’s here? It’s your friend, Pavel.” Her eyes glanced up briefly at the book Elsie still held. “And what is this?” she asked expertly. “A new book? Your very own? My, it’s quite lovely. Full of beautiful pictures, I’m sure.”
Anna lifted her head slightly from Gunther’s knees and out of the corner of her eye, glanced at Mrs. Lasik and Pavel.
“Wouldn’t you like to show Pavel your treasure?” Mrs. Lasik asked. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Pavel?”
“Oh, yes, Mama!” he said, his blue eyes very bright. “Come on, Anna, show me your book. Please,” he begged. “I won’t mess it. I promise.”
Elsie watched, almost holding her breath, as Anna turned slowly to look at Pavel. She wanted to encourage Anna, but she didn’t dare break the fragile tension of the moment.
“Come on, Anna,” Pavel went on. “I’ll let you hold my marbles,” he tempted, pulling a lumpy brown suede bag tied with a leather cord from his pocket and holding them up.
Anna hesitated and looked back up at Gunther then. “Papa?” she asked, her voice quivering.
“Go now, Anna,” Gunther answered softly. “I will come back soon. I have to work. But I will come back for you soon. Stay here with kind Mr. and Mrs. Lasik.”
For a brief moment, Elsie was afraid that Anna was going to cry again, but Mrs. Lasik smoothly intervened before that could happen. She held out her hand for the book, which Elsie hastily gave her. “Papa will be back soon,” Mrs. Lasik said, handing the book to Anna now. “Go to the dayroom with Pavel and show him. I’ll bring you each a cookie, later, if you’re good,” she promised.
Pavel’s face lit up. “Race you!” he said to Anna encouragingly. He looked barely older than Anna, and yet there was something very knowing about him. He was a curious little thing.
Elsie watched as Anna’s face finally broke into a small smile, and with just one final look at Gunther, she ran off after Pavel as best she could with the big book
in her arms.
Elsie breathed a sigh of relief and tried to ignore the little stab of disappointment that Anna had not said good-bye to her. Well, that was to be expected, wasn’t it? She barely knew Elsie. But there was something else that was needling Elsie, which she also fought to push away. Why had Mrs. Lasik referred to Gunther as “Papa?” Surely she knew the truth, didn’t she? Or maybe not?
“Thank you,” Gunther said now to Mrs. Lasik. “I am sorry to have caused this trouble.”
“Well, like I said, Mr. Stockel, this is most upsetting. You need to let her be, let her settle here. You think you are doing a kindness, but it is really making things so much worse. Surely you can see this?”
“Yes, I am sorry, Mrs. Lasik. I will try to remember in future,” Gunther said, rubbing his forehead.
“You spoke of a discovery,” Mrs. Lasik finally said, looking briefly at Elsie again. “I’m Josephine Lasik, by the way.” She held out her hand to Elsie.
“Ach. I am sorry,” Gunther said. “I am not myself today. Mrs. Lasik, this is Miss Elsie Von Harmon. She is a friend who is helping me to find Anna’s mother. Elsie’s sister is married to a detective, which is good fortune for me, and he believes he maybe has found her. We go now to see.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful news, Mr. Stockel,” Mrs. Lasik said happily.
“Well, maybe yes, but maybe no,” he said, looking over at Elsie uneasily. “She is in place called Dunning,” he said quietly. “It is for the feebleminded, no?” He gave her a pleading sort of look, as if begging her to correct him.
“Oh,” she said instead, her face blanching a little. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”
“Maybe it is mistake, or not same woman. I do not know,” Gunther said sadly. “Or maybe she has already left there. We will see.”
“Ah, Mr. Stockel,” came a deep, smooth voice from down the hallway, and a tall, wide-shouldered man approached them. “Good to see you. I thought I heard your voice. Or rather, Anna’s,” he said with a grin, as he peeled off his wire-rim spectacles. He was dressed in shirtsleeves only, and his yellow-and-blue-striped tie hung loosely about his neck as though he were just finishing the day, not beginning it. He was a very handsome man with deep-blue eyes and dark-brown hair that was thick and wavy.