“Isn’t it beautiful, Abe?” Hannah said.
Abe held the picture up. “I say we hang it in the Carnegie Museum. Now, who is it in the picture, Alex?”
“It’s Daddy and his girlfriend.”
The aunts beamed. Hannah leaned into Abe’s shoulder. “See?”
As they walked to the trolley stop, Alex thought about the certificate in his pants. He wanted to show it to his father right then and there, but then he thought, what if Daddy gets mad at me for stealing it? He also thought about what might happen if he didn’t put it back like Hannah had said. But he had to know about MALE CHILD.
As soon as they got home, he ran upstairs to tell Benjamin. He found him lying on the floor, flipping a rubber ball at the ceiling and catching it in one hand. Alex jumped on his chest.
“Get off, Stretch.”
“Benjamin, look.” He took the certificate out of his pants. “Male child.”
Benjamin unfolded the certificate. He read it twice. “How’d you get this?”
“From Hannah’s house.
“Wow. Wait until Dad sees this.”
Chapter 27
Benjamin stood next to his father’s easy chair and Alex sat on his lap as Abe read the certificate. He shook his head. “Tell me again how you got this.”
Alex recounted how the first time he’d seen it in the album called Carson Home, and how he hid it under the bed. He described the other document and the blood money receipt. “Are you mad at me, Daddy, because I stole?”
Abe kissed him on the side of the head. “No, son, I’m not mad. I’m just, well, this Hannah, I can’t exactly figure her out.” Alex could have told him that
he’d
figured her out, that she was both very nice and very scary.
Abe felt conflicted. He didn’t know whether he ought to be upset with Hannah or feel sorry for her because she felt she had to lie to him about her family. Sometimes you had to lie—hell, he’d lied to Irene often enough, but this was different, she was lying about her whole life. Maybe she was living with the aunts because her father had tossed her out after she had the kid out of wedlock—the “male child,” as Alex called it—and if he did, well, who really was the bad person—her, or the guy that knocked her up, or her father? “Alex, does Hannah know you took this?”
“She didn’t see me, but maybe she knows.” Alex told him what Hannah had said about stealing and punishment, and how she smashed a stack of crackers with her fist, and how she’d started crying and said she was sure her little boy had come back to her, and then he thought maybe he was MALE CHILD, but he wasn’t MALE CHILD, was he?
“No, you’re Alex Miller, plain and simple.” He touched Alex’s cheek. “You really don’t like Hannah, do you?”
“He’s scared of her, Dad,” Benjamin said. “He told me, but he wouldn’t ever tell you.”
“But why not, Alex?”
“Because maybe you want to marry her. She says you want to. But I don’t want her to be my mommy. I want her.” He held up his drawing. “See? You and Delia.”
It was getting late, and it was time the boys went to bed. Abe allowed them each a glass of ginger ale and some sugar cookies. He couldn’t get rid of the image of Hannah smashing crackers in his boy’s face. What would she smash next, his head? He thought about the circus and what Delia had said, but that was weeks away, and besides, he wasn’t so sure that her plan was such a good idea. In fact, he was pretty sure it wasn’t, it was just that when he was around her, she could make him agree to pretty much any goddamn thing.
Well fine, he’d take Alex to the circus like he’d promised, the kid was dying to go, and he couldn’t break his boy’s heart, but as for the rest of it, the knife throwing, well, he’d have to see about that.
In the meantime, he needed a plan for Alex. Smashing crackers. There was no way he was going to let Hannah keep watching him. He called Benjamin downstairs. The boy was almost as tall as he was now, and he was only fourteen, or was it fifteen? Christ, all this crazy stuff was making him lose his memory almost as fast as his hair. “Benjamin, listen. I need you to stay home for the rest of the summer and take care of Alex.”
“But what about my job?”
“Tell Plotkin you quit.”
“He won’t like it, Dad. He counts on me.”
“I’m counting on you more. Tomorrow is your last day with him. And tomorrow is Alex’s last day with Hannah. And Alex? Don’t say nothing to Hannah about what we just said, O.K.?”
*
Hannah woke early Tuesday morning. She’d been reassured by the aunts that lunch with her father had gone very well, that there had been no mention of Alex’s fainting spell, as they described it, and no castigation of Abe; on the contrary, they had been quite complimentary toward him. Her father had seemed much impressed, and the future was looking up.
Despite the good news, Hannah seemed distracted. Belle noticed her gloom at the breakfast table. “Hannah, is your stomach upset?”
“Something is wrong with Alex. I can feel it.”
“But they’re not here yet.”
“I can feel it. You know how I can sense these things. You know my special abilities.”
Lillie said, “I’m sure he’s fine, dear. He just had an accident yesterday. He was curious. All little boys are curious.” She buttered a piece of toast. “Anyway, Belle and I are going to the grocers this morning. Is there anything special you’d like? How about a pomegranate? You used to love them when you were a little girl.”
Hannah brightened a bit. “Do you think Alex would like one?”
“Oh certainly, certainly. Pomegranates are fun to eat.”
Hannah frowned. “Unless you choke on the seeds.” She glanced at the wall clock. “They’ll be here any minute. I have to fix my hair.”
*
The boys went upstairs to get washed and dressed. Abe sipped his coffee. He toyed with various ways to break the news to Hannah. Perhaps he could put it to her gently and say that she and her aunts had done far too much for him already, that he felt uneasy about continuing to accept their kindness, that it made him feel as if he were using them. He could say he found a nice summer nursery school for little children right in his neighborhood, conducted by a kindergarten teacher, the same teacher that Alex would have when he started school in the fall, and he thought it was a good idea it to have him around children his own age. He’d bring Alex by from time to time to visit, of course, if it was all right with them.
Such an approach, he felt, would allow him to avoid the bombshell. Such an approach, he knew also, would certainly fail. The aunts would say don’t be ridiculous, it’s almost the end of the summer, why start him in a nursery school now. Hannah would demand to know why the sudden change of heart, was it something she did, what about them and their future together, all of which would mean he’d have to lie even more, and even though over the years he’d told his shares of lies, he wasn’t much of a liar.
Conversely, he could take the direct approach and confront her fabrications about family, et cetera, with the manifesto of truth, the adoption certificate. Knowing her, there were two possible reactions to this tactic—depression or unbridled anger.
Then there was the third alternative, the path of least resistance. He simply could say nothing, pick Alex up after work, kiss her goodbye and never come back. If she ever showed up at Mellon Street, at least he could deal with her on his own turf.
No matter which way he decided to go, the best thing would be to hold off until the end of the day. No sense creating a scene early in the morning—and besides, the arrangement was only for one more day.
He read the adoption certificate again. She’d been no more than a kid when she’d had the baby. In many ways she still was.
As they walked to the trolley stop, Alex said, “Do I have to go to Hannah’s today?”
“This is the last time, son.” He folded the certificate and put it in his pocket. Now matter how things went with Hannah, he’d leave the damn thing on her front porch.
*
The aunts had left for the grocery store shortly before Abe dropped off Alex. Hannah had set up a chalkboard in the living room with a series of simple addition and subtraction problems for Alex to solve. He liked to do his numbers, as Hannah had called his elementary computations, but as he computed six plus three, eight plus four, seven minus two, he was aware that she was staring hard at him, not at the chalkboard.
He finished the first row of four. “Are they right, Hannah?”
“Yes, dear. Go on.”
He knew he could fill in the answers in the second row without thinking, but he took his time. The last problem was six plus two, and he wrote seven. “Hannah?”
“Yes, very good.”
“But you didn’t even look.”
She stood behind him, so close that he could feel her thighs on his shoulders. “Do you remember what we talked about yesterday, Alex? When we talked about stealing?”
“Yes.”
“Everything?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m going out to the backyard and water the garden, and when I come back, I’m going upstairs to look for something that someone stole, and I hope it’s back where it belongs in the desk. Otherwise.”
She was halfway out the door when Alex said, “Daddy has the paper. I gave it to him.”
The blood drained from her face. She mouthed the words “you little thief.”
Why couldn’t he have been a good little boy? The good little boy she’d always wanted, a loving and obedient child, not a sneaky little thing that pried where it shouldn’t and ruined everything, everything. She clenched her teeth so she wouldn’t scream.
But wait. Abe hadn’t said anything to her about it when he dropped Alex off. Maybe he hadn’t read it. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Or maybe it wouldn’t matter to him—oh, but it would, of course it would, how could it not? She faced Alex through the screen door. “When did you give it to him, Alex?”
“I’m not supposed to say.”
She squeezed his shoulders. “You tell me right now.”
“Yesterday.”
“Did he look at it?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“I told him about the blood money paper, too.” He twisted away from her. “You’re mad at me.”
Mad? Was there a better word? Distraught? Devastated? Disgusted? No, mad was correct. She was quite mad. But better not to let him see it. In a calm voice, she said, “Oh, Alex, I can never get mad at you, not really. Just a little disappointed, that’s all. You’re my baby boy.” She glanced at the chalkboard. “Oh goodness, would you look at that, six plus two equals seven? Are you sure that’s the correct answer?”
Alex shook his head. “My head hurts. I don’t want to do numbers anymore.”
“You’re right. No more arithmetic today. I have a better idea.” She took his hands. “It’s such a beautiful day. So sunny and warm. Let’s go to the park and have a picnic. Oh, it will be so much fun.”
Alex hesitated. “Can the aunts come?”
“Oh no, Alex, not today, just you and me.”
“What about punishment?”
“What?”
“You said if a little boy is bad he gets a punishment.”
She thought, well, maybe she really should give him a punishment, teach him a lesson, just like her father had tried to teach her—but what was the lesson? She couldn’t undo what she had done. Hadn’t giving up the child been punishment enough? “No, Alex. I forgive you. You didn’t mean to do anything wrong, did you?”
“No.”
“Of course not. You were just curious. All little boys are curious, that’s what Lillie says, and my boy is no exception. So. You play with Pudgy awhile, all right?”
She took the stairs two at a time to the aunts’ bedroom. She opened drawer after drawer until she found a round cookie tin filled with buttons, thread and a wad of money, over one hundred dollars. She put the money in a large quilted sewing bag and dashed back down to the kitchen. In five minutes she’d wrapped four sandwiches, cookies, crackers and apples and filled a thermos with lemonade. She paused to gulp a glass of water. “Alex, are you ready?”
“Can Pudgy come?”
“I told you no.”
“But shouldn’t we wait until the aunts come home?”
He’s a smart little boy, a clever little boy, a devious little boy. “I’ll leave them a note. Put your shoes on.” She slipped into the bathroom and rummaged through the medicine chest until she found the bottle of Hostetter’s Bitters. It was nearly full. She dropped it into the bag. “Alex, are we ready?”
Alex walked into the kitchen, his hands in his pockets. “Why can’t we take Pudgy?”
Hannah almost said they don’t allow dogs on trains, but that someday, as soon as possible, she would get him another dog, just like Pudgy or maybe a different kind of dog, but what did that matter, they had to go, leave now, before Belle and Lillie came home. “You’ll see Pudgy later, all right? We’re going to have so much fun together. I have a big surprise for you.”
He thought about the surprise Delia had mentioned. “What?”
“I can’t tell you now, silly, it’s a secret.” She took his hand. “Come on, little boy. We’re going on an adventure.”
“But my head hurts.”
“Oh dear, again, really? I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” She reached into the bag. “Here, drink this.” She poured an ounce of tonic into a glass.
*
In the early 1800s, train travel from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia was quite an odyssey. It could take anywhere from three to four days to get from one end of the state to the other. However, as the century marched on, the railroad tycoons made remarkable advances in moving freight, both human and commercial, and by the 1870s travel time on the same route had been cut to around fourteen hours; by the early 1900s, when the Broadway Limited Line had replaced the Pennsylvania Special, the trip took—conditions cooperating—less than nine hours.
At approximately 11:00 a.m., Hannah got out of her taxi. Over one shoulder was her bag. On the other was Alex, who looked as if he were sleeping. She hailed a porter to take her bag and asked him where they sold the tickets.
When Alex began to stir, Hannah forced another teaspoon of tonic into his mouth, but most of it dribbled down his chin. She looked up at the train schedule on the large board mounted high on the opposite wall. Did she know anyone in Philadelphia, or Altoona? She thought her father may have mentioned that they had cousins in New York City, on the lower East Side, or maybe it was the upper East Side, but the schedule said New York, not New York City, and what was their cousins’ names, she couldn’t remember. No, it was better not to go to New York. She needed to go somewhere else and make a new start with her little boy, and she had more than a hundred dollars. Altoona sounded nice, she was sure that people there would be friendly and understanding in a small town. Pittsburgh and New York City were much too large.