Sirens (31 page)

Just death, for no good reason. I couldn’t believe Patrick could be such a fool. I was too upset even to tell Danny, and then I figured maybe that was wise. Why mix him up in the problem at this point?

I carted the stuff—the boxes of fuses and explosives—in the wheelbarrow down to the Sound and disposed of it. Probably took me eight trips. I thought I’d sink the boat with the weight before I could get out deep enough. And had to do it on a moonless night so no one saw. Took most of the night. I’m exhausted but can’t sleep.

What an idiot that Patrick is. One of these days…

I put the pages down. The investigation. Teddy must have found the bomb materials. And how that finding implicated Patrick.

I finished the removed pages; the entries now picked up again in the journal.

July 12

Ran into John. I can’t even write about it now.

It feels bad, holding this all in, holding myself together. The only time I can think now is out in the greenhouse, when I’m alone.

July 17

I stood in front of the police station for over an hour. Had to move on when I feared someone would get suspicious.

What Pops could do with that $20,000. I keep thinking about Ma and Jo, dressed nice. About Jo getting a real education, going to college, even.

But Danny would know: that’s what I’d be afraid of. And then we’d all be in danger. No, it’s no good.

July 21

John thinks Danny was involved in the business. Naturally, I tried to fend John off. The last thing we need is to invite suspicion.

Danny’s a good guy, working for his people, trying to help. How could he be involved? Still, it’s probably a good thing I didn’t tell Danny about what I found.

I tried to persuade John that Danny was just a businessman, but John is obsessed. And me? There’s a real danger that if—

And there it was again. Another set of missing pages. The last set, as this was where the journal ended. I leaned back and the chair creaked, and I was back in New York, with cars honking and engines accelerating, and brakes squealing, and the smells of grease and dust and frying food. Just as I was so close, another missing section.

Teddy was not involved in the bombing. But Daniel’s brother, Patrick, he was another matter. He was the bomber. And that,
that
was what made trouble for Teddy, for me. He knew the truth, and that’s why Daniel Connor was not letting any of this go.

But Teddy was not involved. I leaned forward until my head rested on the table and breathed a sigh. I hadn’t realized how worried I was until I felt this relief. I thanked all the stars that Teddy, my Teddy, could still be good.

The knock on the door startled me so, I almost dropped the journal on the floor.

The matron peered around me into the room, suspicious, then straightened. “You have a phone call. You can take it in the corridor.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Young men are not allowed in the hotel,” she said over her shoulder.

I picked up the receiver and said hello, then heard the operator click off before I heard Charlie ask, “You okay?”

I thrilled to his voice. “I’m fine.”

“Want to meet me for dinner? I got a big tip for my booking last night. It’s burning a hole in my pocket.”

Charlie was practically grinning through the phone line. I
grinned back, hugging the big black receiver to my cheek. “Sure. Where and when?”

“Would you mind taking a cab down to my place, about six? I’ve got something special in mind.”

I hung up, still smiling.

I took a hot bath and pulled out my one nice dress. It was a soft green rayon with little woven branches running through the fabric, making a raised pattern, the thread of the branches of a darker green. I knew it must have looked good on Melody, but I had to say, as I looked in the bedroom mirror, it suited my darker coloring and blue eyes to a T. And with the dropped waist with its fat loopy dark brown ribbon, it sure was the style. It came with a long skinny brown jacket to cover it, and I’d brought the only jewelry I owned, my grandmother’s pearls, which I fastened around my neck.

Maybe all that preparation paid off, because when I arrived downtown and Charlie opened his door, his mouth dropped open so far I thought his jaw might touch his knees.

“Wow,” he said. “You look…You’re a knockout.”

I started to giggle and drew both hands over my mouth so I wouldn’t look foolish. I swallowed hard and said, “Thanks.”

He stepped aside so I could enter. Feeling sheepish, I gestured at the dress. “It’s Melody’s. Everything I have, I got from her.”

“Well, she has nothing on you. I mean, she’s nice enough. But…” His voice trailed off. Then he squared his shoulders. “Someday I’m going to be rich. I’ll be a hit cornet player in a hit band. You wait. Then if you want a pretty dress, why, you can just ask, and I’ll take you to the finest place in town.” He paused. “Maybe it’s all gonna start when I get to Chicago.”

All sorts of thoughts went through me then, and they went
through my mind so fast I could scarcely keep up. The first thought was, Why, Charlie was willing to buy me pretty dresses sometime in the future, which meant he wanted me in his future. That gave me such a thrill it went right up my spine. The second thought was, Good for you, Charlie, for having a dream.

And the third? It was a contradiction, not a question. The third thought was, Why should you have to pay for my dresses, Charlie O’Keefe? Why shouldn’t I be ready and willing and able to buy my own pretty things, whenever I want, with money that I earn?

“It’s really sweet of you to say, but I can take care of myself.”

I regretted the words the minute they were out. Charlie’s face grew dark, and he turned away.

“I knew it,” he muttered.

“Knew what?” My stomach was all twisted up now.

“Nothing, never mind.”

“No, Charlie, tell me—”

“It’s that…that you’re better than me. Smarter. You come from a better class. I’ve been waiting for you to throw me off. You probably think this place”—and he cast his arm around the room—“is pretty shabby.”

“No, Charlie, no. That’s not what I meant.”

He stood there, hulking, his broad back to me. “I thought you might want to come to Chicago, maybe, after I get settled. I guess not.”

I sighed. “Charlie, that’s not it. I want to be independent, that’s all. I want to be on my own, making my own way. Pops wants me to get married just for the sake of it. He doesn’t believe in me. And he certainly doesn’t think a girl can do things, make something of herself. Please, Charlie. And I’m not smarter than you. And
you’ve got such a talent.” I hesitated. My words came out small and squeaky. “I meant what I said before. I really like you.”

His shoulders drew back a little.

“Honest,” I said.

He turned toward me.

I said to him, “You’ve been so nice and all. I’m sorry I said anything. I was wrong.”

Our eyes met, and we stood there for a long moment before he smiled. “I guess it’s no secret that I like you, Jo Winter.” He raised his head. “I hope you’re not playing with me. I want to believe you. And I do believe in you.”

I felt a flutter of happiness at that. “The only thing is…”

His smile sagged, and his lips formed a thin line.

“I just don’t know that I can come to Chicago. I hadn’t realized it before, but I think New York is where I belong.”

Even as I said the words, I knew it to be true in my heart—that the crazy, busy, clamorous island of Manhattan had grabbed my heart, just as firmly as this boy had. I wanted them both. But I might have to give one of them up. “Charlie, I do like you. I’m just trying to follow my heart. And you have to follow your heart, too. If you need to go to Chicago to make music, why then…” My voice broke.

“I want to make music,” he said. “But now I know I want to make music with you around.”

We stood, the two of us, in awkward silence, looking anywhere but at each other.

“I like you, Charlie,” I whispered.

His voice was gruff, low. “I like you, too, Jo Winter. Really like you.” He worked his hands. “Maybe Danny’ll help get me a
booking here. It’s not like I want to leave.” He shook his head. “I’ve got a few days. Something’ll work out.”

Oh, how I prayed for that to be true. Even as I grimaced inwardly at the mention of Danny.

He smiled. “Right now I’d like to show off this pretty girl I’m with. Show New York what a star really looks like. Okay with you?”

I nodded, and we stepped out into the June evening, with my whole being singing like an electric wire in a high wind.

The street was alive with activity. The vendor carts still carried the day’s fresh produce, and women were out buying for the evening meal. Old women in black from head to toe, the old style, complete with shawl and button shoes and skirt to the ankles; younger women in shorter skirts but still handmade muslins with white linen shirtwaists, certainly not flapper fashion, and usually these younger ones had a child or two or three in tow. The alleys were festooned, from one balcony to the one across, with lines of laundry that could be winched back and forth. Shirts flapped like flags, sheets billowed like sails.

What men were around were hawking—or pickpocketing. One such, a young guy, younger than me, bumped up against Charlie, who stopped and seized the boy by the shoulders.

“You’ll not be doing any of that here, if you know what’s good for you,” Charlie said, his voice a low growl.

The boy slunk away, melting into the crowd.

Charlie took my hand in his, mine feeling so small and delicate in that big maw of his that I felt insignificant. But happy.

To our left was a storefront whose sign was in Hebrew; to our right was one that sold nothing but handkerchiefs. We had to walk down the middle of the street, dodging autos and horse-drawn wagons, because the sidewalks were stuffed, all the way to the curb, with pushcarts holding goods to be sold.

Charlie’s building had one telephone in the hallway outside the landlady’s apartment. It was ringing as we stepped outside; seconds later she came running down the street after us.

“Mr. Charlie! Telephone call for you. Important.” As we followed her she said to Charlie, “I hope your cousin”—and she narrowed her eyes while looking at me—“is getting on well, being newly arrived from the old country, and all.”

Charlie raised his eyebrows at me, mouthed, I lied.

I smiled and nodded, trying to look like Charlie’s cousin, and keeping my mouth shut, for there was no way I could feign a brogue.

“Thanks, Mrs. Daly,” Charlie said. We walked back to the tenement and up the steps; Charlie lifted the dangling phone. “Hello?”

He was silent, listening, and he turned away from me so that I could not see his face. The tinny sound of the voice from the receiver filled the air: a woman’s voice. I guessed it must be Lou.

“Uh-huh…okay…yes…right.” Charlie hung up and turned toward me, his expression solemn.

“What?” My belly clenched.

Charlie nodded toward the landlady’s open door, took my elbow, and steered me back out to the street. We faced each other on the busy sidewalk. “The problems for your family aren’t behind you. Leaving them didn’t change anything.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“That was Lou. She’s just heard from Melody. Someone roughed up Chester. Picked him up in a speak last night and gave him a real going-over. He’s in the hospital, Jo. This isn’t over just because you wish it was.”