“What’s your plan this morning?” Natalie asks when she sees our dad.
We both look at her as if the stove just spoke. This is what my father usually asks. Slowly, my father’s face changes from surprise to pleasure.
“Gonna make myself some breakfast,” he tells Natalie. “And you, sweet pea?”
“Moose,” she mutters. “Stay with Moose.”
“Mrs. Mattaman invited us over,” I tell him.
“For breakfast?” He cocks his head and sets the coffeepot down.
“Uh-huh. Dad, what’s happening with Mrs. Williams?”
My dad shrugs. “It’s hard to know. The warden likes to play things close to the vest.”
My mother pokes her head in the kitchen.
“Piper’s mom . . . is she okay?” I ask her.
My mother rubs her eyes and tightens the cord on her bathrobe. “We’re all worried.” She sighs. “You hear something?”
I can’t tell her what I saw without explaining what in the heck I was doing up there. I wish I could, though. I really wish I could.
At the Mattamans’ the first person we see is Riv Mattaman. The whites of his eyes are shot through with pink and his legs are kicked over the arm of the chair, as if he’s too tired to sit the normal way. Mattaman did a shift and a half in the guard tower. No wonder he’s beat.
He groans when he sees me. I can’t meet his bloodshot eyes.
Nat sits right down to a game of button checkers already in progress from last night. She looks up at Theresa, her eyes full of longing, but Theresa has hold of her dad’s hand and won’t let it go. Natalie reluctantly settles in to play by herself.
“Piper’s not here, Dad.” Theresa pulls on his arm. “You can’t start till
she
gets here.”
“Mind your own business, missy,” he tells Theresa, then looks at all of us. “What the heck happened last night?”
Jimmy takes a step forward. “Piper got you and Moose’s dad in trouble because she was mad at Theresa.”
“I didn’t do anything! It wasn’t me,” Theresa cries.
“Was so.” Jimmy glares at her.
Mattaman pulls at his still crisply creased pant leg and rests his foot on the chair rung. “Come again?” he asks.
“She told the warden she saw you and Mr. Flanagan drinking just before you went on duty.”
In the kitchen, Mrs. Mattaman slams her rolling pin down, then yanks her apron off, wads it up, tosses it on the chair, and marches into the living room.
“She said she’d get you out of trouble if Moose would help her meet Capone,” Jimmy explains. “So she and Moose snuck back inside to watch.”
“That true?” Mr. Mattaman directs his question at me.
“Yes, sir. We saw Capone spit in Eliot Ness’s mashed potatoes. He hocked up a gob of phlegm, then he smoothed it over with his finger. Gave it a little swirl. I saw with my own eyes.”
Mr. Mattaman pulls at his mustache.
Theresa makes a face. “Eew,” she says.
“But Natalie didn’t go with you. It was just you and Piper in there?” Mr. Mattaman asks.
“While they were gone, we were watching Natalie with Mrs. Caconi,” Jimmy explains, “but Nat snuck out. She went to the warden’s house.”
“She wanted to see Molly, the mouse Willy One Arm has,” Theresa adds.
Mr. Mattaman points at her. “And you, missy? What did you do that annoyed Piper so much that started this whole thing?”
Theresa’s lower lip puckers up. “Nothing. Piper is the wrong one, not me.”
Jimmy snorts. “C’mon, Theresa.” He glares at his sister, then turns to his dad. “She spies on us, Dad. And she can’t stand that Moose likes Piper.”
The blood rushes to my face. “I do not like Piper.”
“Do so,” Theresa says.
“Theresa! Since when is that your business? You and I need to have a talk about this in private,” Mr. Mattaman tells her. Theresa’s mouth droops.
“And you two.” He points at me and Jimmy. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? For Pete’s sake—” He sighs, his brown eyes softening. “Since when do you think you run the place?”
“Can I ask one little tiny-teeny question?” Theresa’s hand is up by her face like she’s not sure whether to raise it all the way or not. “When are you going to talk to Piper?”
“Listen up, Theresa. I’m not going to say this twice. This . . . is . . . not . . . your . . . business.”
Her shoulders slump down. “If it was my business, would you tell me?”
“Theresa Maria Mattaman.” Her father’s voice gathers steam.
“Okay, okay.” She puts her hand down.
“All right then. I don’t want news of these shenanigans to go farther than this room, do you understand me?” He points to each of us and we nod.
“And if I ever hear of any of you taking matters into your own hands again, I will go straight to the warden. Is that understood?” Mr. Mattaman looks around the room again, checking in with each of us.
We all nod our heads. Even Theresa. Only Natalie continues to play checkers, one lone player against herself. In the silence of our head nodding, she looks up at us and down again.
On the way back from the Mattamans’, Nat walks even slower than normal, dragging her foot on the ground, running her hand along the wall and humming an empty tune.
“What’s the matter, Nat?” I ask her.
“Peoples are mad at Moose,” she says.
I hold the door of our place open waiting for her to come in. “Yeah, but it’s okay. We got off easy—practically scot-free.”
She touches her own chest. “No one is mad at Natalie. Natalie is a moron.”
“No, Nat, listen to me. Listen very closely. You’re not a moron. Piper is . . . She’s the moron. Not you.”
“Mr. Mattaman shakes his finger at Moose. Not Natalie. Natalie went away.”
“Yeah, and you shouldn’t do that, Nat. You shouldn’t go up to the warden’s house,” I tell her. “But could we discuss this inside?”
“Why?” she asks, suddenly looking directly at me.
“Because it’s not safe to go to the warden’s house and I don’t want to talk about this out here on the balcony where people can hear.”
“Tomorrow, we can see Molly tomorrow. Moose said,” she whispers.
“Yeah, okay, I said that. But I was wrong. We can’t go up there whenever we want. There are things you can’t do. You can’t go up top and”—my voice drops down—“you can’t be friends with 105 either.”
“105,” she mutters.
“Does he visit you, Natalie?”
“Visitors, Natalie. Mommy is here,” she says the way Sadie would say it, only quieter.
“Yeah, Mom visits, but does 105 visit?” I whisper.
“Dad visits,” Nat says.
“Mom and Dad visit, but 105
doesn’t
visit.”
“105
doesn’t
visit,” she mimics.
She’s not just repeating what I said, right? “But how did you get the stuff in your suitcase?”
“Sadie packs my suitcase,” she says.
“Sadie packed the bar spreader?” I whisper, my throat suddenly too small for my words.
Natalie doesn’t answer. She’s busy counting the posts in the porch rail.
“C’mon, Nat!” Again, nothing.
“Nat, please. Let’s get inside,” I plead. “Mom! Dad!” I call in the door, but it’s silent—too silent—inside. Where did they go?
“Natalie.” I’m begging now. Something about the way she seems to have locked up in place is making me very nervous.
“Home Moose. Not home Natalie,” she says.
It’s Monday, but she’s not going back to the Esther P. Marinoff for another week. Some kind of teacher break before the fall semester.
“Moose go. Natalie stay,” she mutters, closing her eyes and spinning round and round like a merry-go-round, pushing herself faster and faster, until she falls in a clump on the balcony.
“Natalie, not here, okay? Just get inside.” But she doesn’t move. She is curled up in a ball frozen there.
“Moose!” a bullhorn bleats. But it isn’t Darby. It’s Janet.
“Leave us alone, Janet,” I call down to her, but as soon as I say this, Darby appears by the first-floor landing.
“What’s going on?” he bellows into his bullhorn. It blasts loud enough for all of 64 to hear.
“Nothing, sir,” I say.
“Don’t look like nothin’ to me, son.”
Mrs. Chudley opens her window. Mrs. Caconi comes out, her hands on her big hips. She still looks exhausted from last night. Bea’s clickety-clackety high heels sound on the stairs.
“Sure ain’t normal what she’s doin’ now,” Darby bellows.
“C’mon, Nat. Let’s get you inside.” I try to scoop her up, but I can’t get her to move.
“Where are your folks?” Darby’s voice echoes in the bullhorn.
“Natalie,” I whisper, “we need to count the dishes. Come inside.” This is lame, but it’s all I can think of.
Nat doesn’t budge. Her eyes are shut tight.
“Natalie, we need you to come and check . . . Mom’s knitting something for the warden’s baby. You need to help,” I lie. My mother doesn’t know how to knit.
Still nothing.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Janet Trixle banging on the Mattamans’ door. “C’mon, Theresa! Jimmy! Moose needs help!” she bellows in her baby bullhorn.
“Janet! You come down here!” Darby shouts, but it’s too late. Janet has Theresa and Jimmy in tow. Jimmy takes one look at Natalie and understands exactly what’s going on.
“Let’s carry her in,” Jimmy says. He scoops up her arms, Theresa gets her feet, and I carry her middle. It’s awkward, but it’s not far, only a few feet really. We manage to lug her over the threshold of our apartment and close the door.
I can’t believe it’s Janet helping, but it is. “Thanks,” I tell all of them.
Janet’s face glows. “You want to play?” she whispers to Theresa.
Theresa looks at me. I nod.
“ ’Kay,” Theresa says as she, Jimmy, and Janet go out. I breathe a huge sigh of relief as I close the door after them.
“Jeez, Natalie. I wish you wouldn’t do that,” I tell my sister, who is curled up in a ball like a potato bug.
At least she’s quiet. It could be a lot worse, I’m thinking, when I hear a knock on the door.
“Moose, can I come in?” Darby Trixle wipes his feet on the mat and steps inside without waiting for my answer.
“Uh, Officer Trixle, sir, my parents aren’t here right now,” I say, but it’s too late, he’s headed straight for our sofa.
“It’s you I want to have the conversation with. How’s she doin’?” He eyes Natalie, who is still curled up on the floor.
“Fine, sir,” I whisper.
“She ain’t fine, Moose. Now you look here. She ain’t no reflection on you. I want you to know that.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, wishing he would just leave, but he settles in on the couch.
He pokes his chin in Natalie’s direction. “Happens in families sometimes. You think I don’t know how it is, but I do. I had me a brother wasn’t right in the head. But my folks they did the right thing. Put him away with his own kind. And we got a clean slate. He was happier for it, we all were. That’s the way to do it. Get a clean slate.”
He waits for me to respond. “Yes, sir,” I finally mutter.
“A girl like her. She don’t belong. And this visiting back and forth.” He waggles his head. “Can’t have a pig half in the poke . . . you know what I’m saying?”
I look down at the coffee table, wishing I could pull it out from under his feet.
“You look at me when I’m speaking to you, boy.”
“Yes, sir,” I mutter.
He squints his eyes at me. “You ought to be taught right about this.”
I can feel the anger grow inside me, until it just about bursts out of my skin. “Officer Trixle, sir?” I struggle to keep my voice under control. “Do you visit your brother?”
“That’s what I’m saying, boy.” He says this louder now, like I’m too stupid to understand. “You make a
clean
break. He got his life. I got mine.”
“So you never visit. Ever,” I whisper.
“You just move on from the bad things. You understand me, boy.”
“She’s not a bad thing,” I whisper.
“You and your parents is too soft.” He clucks. “I blame your dad. Women can’t see these things right. They don’t got the power up here.” He points to his head. “But your dad, he’s got his head where his arse ought to be. I’m not gonna have you putting this whole island in jeopardy because you people is soft in the head, you hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper. “I hear you, but she’s not soft in the head.”
“You Flanagans”—he spits into his hanky, wads it up and stuffs it in his pocket—“can’t see the forest for the trees. It’s a shame really,” he mutters softly, almost gently. “I feel bad for you. I do.”
29.
A SWEET SPOT FOR MOOSE
Monday, September 9, and Tuesday, September 10, 1935
When my mom gets back, she stays with Natalie. The two of them hole up in Nat’s room, Nat lying on the bed, her arms tucked under her as if she’s flown apart and she’s bringing herself together again. Fits exhaust Natalie. They exhaust my mom too. Sometimes it seems like there’s still an umbilical cord between them.
After I get home from school the next day I head for the canteen with Annie, Jimmy, and Theresa. Jimmy doesn’t say much. He helped me with Natalie when she was having her fit, but he still feels bad about not keeping his eyes on her the night Hoover was here. He goes down to check his flies, which now occupy two barrels under the dock. But he doesn’t invite me down there. Not anymore.
While Jimmy’s gone, Theresa and Annie and I help Bea unpack boxes. There really isn’t that much to do.
Late in the afternoon, Mrs. Mattaman, Mrs. Caconi, Annie’s mom, Bea and Janet Trixle come sweeping into the canteen, practically clearing out the baking aisle. Even Mrs. Caconi, who never buys from the canteen because she thinks the prices are too high, gets butter and eggs.
“What’s going on, Mom?” Jimmy asks.
“Bea’s closing up early so we can get the baking done.”