Voices at Whisper Bend (14 page)

Robbie!” Charlotte screamed. Her thoughts raced every which way It was just like the dream, her brother falling overboard. No. She shook her head. It couldn't be the dream. The wrong brother had fallen in the water.

“Charlotte!”

Paul's shout cleared her mind in an instant. This was no dream. She had one very real brother thrashing around in the deepest part of the Monongahela River.

“Go after him,” Paul urged. “I'll keep the boat right with you.”

“Me? In the river? How can I?” She didn't know if she'd spoken aloud. But of course she had to go after him. She kicked off her boots and wrestled free of the oilskin.

“Slide in. Don't jump or I'll capsize,” Paul warned. “Go easy now.”

Easy? Charlotte slipped her legs over the side. Icy water sucked on her feet. Robbie was wearing shoes and a thick oilskin. He'd never be able to swim with all that on. She let herself slide in and cold smacked her in the chest. The river drew her head under and she got a mouthful. That familiar taste—mud and oil. Her clothes felt as heavy as pig iron. She struggled to the surface, shook her head and spit.

Paul had somehow reached the flashlight and was shining it on the river, dancing lights on muddy blackness. “There,” he called. “Behind us. Toward the middle.” He shined the light on a frothy, splashing place.

Fighting the current and the dead weight of her clothes, Charlotte churned upstream. A clumsy stroke, then another and another. The river pushed and she pushed back, swimming in a ragged line toward Robbie.

At last she reached him and grabbed an arm. “Robbie?”

He coughed and twisted, towing her under the surface.

She fought her way upward and pulled him along, spitting and coughing out water. Then there were arms reaching for them. Boats on either side, oars to grab. A grunt, and someone released the burden of Robbie's weight from her arms. Then a strong arm hoisted her upward, shoved her into Paul's boat.

Sprawled on the bottom, she heard voices. Coughing. “Are you all right?”

“Charlie?” More coughs.

She pulled up into a sitting position in the bottom of the boat, leaned against the seat. She was breathing hard, and so cold. She tried to wipe the water from her face, but more streamed down from her hair.

The boat rocked. Under the bottom boards, she could feel the water, angry and roiling. Someone threw a heavy covering over her shoulders, and the boat turned, catching the current.

“Charlotte. Are you all right?” Paul's voice.

“I—I think so. Where's Robbie?”

“Other boat. He's okay. I'll get you home as fast as I can.”

“Yes. Thanks.” She let her eyes drift shut. Let the boat and Paul and the river do what they would. All she could think about was Robbie. He was safe.

That dream. She'd gotten it all wrong. She started to explain to Paul but her voice came out crooked and she was crying. More water, as if she needed more on a night like this.

By the time they climbed out of the rowboat, she'd caught her breath and stopped crying, but she couldn't seem to stop shivering. Paul took an arm to hold her steady as they made their way to her house. She glanced over her shoulder. Mr. Willis was half-carrying Robbie. Joseph marched at the end of their bedraggled parade, towing his brother and sister.

At the back door, Charlotte had to untangle herself enough to reach for her key, still hanging on a soggy string around her neck. At least that hadn't fallen off. But even if it had, they would have been fine—didn't they have a family of thieves coming home with them? She bit back a giddy laugh.

After a quick scrub of her hands and face, and a whole new set of clothes, Charlotte headed downstairs to the kitchen, toweling her hair. She was the last to arrive. Robbie had also changed, wrapping himself into his warmest sweater. The rest had peeled off wet outer clothing. Damp towels and gear lay piled on the counter. Everybody had gathered around the kitchen table.

Robbie and Mr. Willis were handing out plates of scrambled eggs. “Missy?” he asked. “Y-you hurt?”

“No. Just cold.”

Paul was passing out cups of hot chocolate. She couldn't wait to wrap her hands around one.

Nothing had ever smelled quite so warm or wonderful. She sipped, and it tasted sweet. And Mr. Willis had made the best eggs. The table was silent as people ate and drank. She wasn't the only cold and hungry person tonight. Just the wettest. Her thick hair wouldn't dry till morning.

Somehow, she found her voice. “Thank you, whoever pulled us out. Are you okay, Robbie? You didn't hurt yourself, did you?”

“Nah, I'm okay. That Joseph, he hauled me in.” Robbie had the grace to look apologetic. He turned. “Thanks.”

“Hey. I got a brother. And a sister.” He looked at Charlotte. “Are you really all right, or should we leave and come back tomorrow? You look like you could use a good night's sleep.”

Charlotte shot a warning look toward Robbie. If he said another word about them running away, she'd pound him. But he didn't. “I'm fine. Just wet. Besides, I'll never sleep if you go home now. What's going on, Joseph? Are you a thief? How come you took our scrap?”

Joseph sat straight, with his hands flat against the kitchen table. “Like I said, I got a brother and a sister—”

“I helped,” Tommy interrupted.

“Hush now, Tom,” Joseph said.

Tommy didn't listen. “I did too help. I stuck gum in that lock so we could bust it open the second time. If you're sending him to jail, you gotta send me too.” He folded his arms across his chest and tried to look ferocious.

To Charlotte's eye, he looked closer to tears. “Nobody's talking about jail just yet,” she said. “Let your brother finish talking.”

Joseph ducked his head as if to say thanks. “I ain't saying what we did was right or nothin.' But I had to do something. Kids got to eat.” Joseph's cheeks were red, but his eyes had dark shadows underneath that made him look like he was sick with a fever.

“How'd you carry all that stuff?” Robbie demanded. “Why'd you dump it by the river?”

“I boosted a truck,” Joseph said. “But I didn't want to use up too much gas and make somebody suspicious. So I dumped the scrap upriver, and figured I'd collect it at night in my boat.”

“Wow, he stole a truck too,” Robbie said.

“Borrowed, not stole.” Tommy said. “He put the truck back.”

Joseph threw an arm around Tommy. “I'll do the talking now.”

Charlotte couldn't help staring at Joseph. He was a medium-sized guy, and bony. His cheeks and jaw looked hard. In the light of the kitchen, she could see that his hair wasn't black, just a dark brown.

“How about your folks? Can't they take care of things?” Paul asked.

“They're gone.”

The little girl sniffed. Joseph threw his other arm around her. “It's all right, Tessa. I promised Ma, remember?”

She nodded and curled into his side. Tommy looked at his lap.

“It's a long story,” Joseph continued. “Our pa left back in the thirties. Tessa was still a baby. He went to find work. Never came back. We don't even know if he's alive.”

“And your ma?” Charlotte asked.

“She died. She'd been real sick, and we was keeping care of her. But her lungs just gave out. It was cold and damp where we was staying. But even if she'd been in the hospital, she was so sick …”

Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut. If Pa left, or if something happened to Ma, what would she and Robbie do?

“You ain't the only one whose pa left.” Paul spoke so softly Charlotte wasn't sure she'd heard the words right. “Mine went for work too, but he never found it. Found the wrong end of somebody's knife instead. At least my ma don't have to worry. She knows the truth.”

“I didn't know …” Charlotte began. Poor Paul. No wonder he wanted to be a cop.

Paul shook his head. He turned back to Joseph. “With your folks gone, then, you've been taking care of these two?”

“Yep.”

A thousand questions leapt into Charlotte's mind. How could he manage? How long had he been doing that? Did he have a job? Where did they live? Did anybody know? How did they get clothes? Food?

Paul's voice cut into her thoughts. “It's what my brothers would do.”

“It's what our Jim would do too.” Robbie's voice sounded like an echo.

Jim. That's who Charlotte had thought of when she'd first seen this Joseph Stankowski. And Robbie was right. Jim would do whatever he could to keep them safe. So this man—this boy—in their kitchen wasn't mostly a thief. He was mostly a brother.

“When … when did your mother die?” she asked. “How long have you been taking care of everything?”

“About six months ago Ma got too sick to work anymore. We had to move then. Couldn't pay rent. I found us a shack down near the Rankin Bridge. Ain't much, but it keeps the worst of the weather out. She died a few weeks back. End of April.”

“What did you do then?” Paul asked.

“Kept going, best we could. I fish some. The sisters at the convent help out with used clothes for the kids. They been doing that for a long while. I chop wood to keep a fire going. Work odd jobs when I can.”

Paul shook his head. “No. I mean, what did you do about your mother? When she died?”

Charlotte rubbed at a scratch on the kitchen table. She didn't want to hear any more about dead mothers.

“We took her to church,” Joseph said. He pulled his brother and sister closer to him. “Once we knew she was gone, we said our good-byes. Prayed over her. Then I tucked a blanket around her and wrapped her rosary around her hand. So they'd know she was a good Catholic. And we took her down to the Polish church in Pittsburgh.”

“The woman on the church steps,” Paul whispered. “St. Stanislas. Wow.”

“Why?” The questions popped out before Charlotte could stop them. “Why didn't you tell the sisters at the convent and have the funeral here? We've got plenty of churches.”

Joseph shook his head at her. “Don't you see? I couldn't tell the sisters. If I told, they'd take Tommy and Tessa away. Put them in an orphanage. Split up the family.”

Tommy spoke again. He sat straight and stared right at Robbie. “Joey didn't tell nobody. And you can't neither. Me and Tessa, we ain't going to no orphanage.”

“I—I wouldn't tell,” Robbie said. “I promise. Cross my heart. But I do have a question. How come you didn't get the scrap last night? We heard you on the river.”

“We weren't on the river last night,” Joseph said. “Tessa had a stomachache.”

“But I heard you,” Robbie insisted. “There was a guy and he was yelling at a kid. Sounded just like you and Tommy. Tell him, Charlotte. You heard it too.”

“We did,” Charlotte said. “And we heard other people tonight, before you came. They sounded so close, but we didn't see any boats. It was spooky.”

Joseph nodded. “Whisper Bend.”

“What?” Paul asked.

“Whisper Bend. That's the name the river people give to the place where I stashed the scrap. There's something special about the limestone cliffs and the hill across the way. Makes sounds carry a long distance. When I was little, my pa had a pal stand way back on the top of the hill and sing old country songs in a real soft voice. Then Pa took me out in his boat. At Whisper Bend we could hear every word the guy sang. We could even hear when he stopped to cough and clear his throat.”

“Whisper Bend,” Charlotte repeated. She wondered if her pa knew about it. Wouldn't he be surprised if she could tell him something new about the river?

While Joseph talked, Mr. Willis had been leaning back next to the stove, watching. Now he stepped closer to the table and pointed to Tessa.

“L-little missy. Going to s-sleep.”

He was right. She'd nodded off.

“Put her on the sofa in the living room, Joseph,” Charlotte said. “I'll get a blanket.”

It felt so good to move away from the table, away from the ugly facts Joseph had told. Charlotte climbed the steps to her room and pulled a quilt off her bed. Bending, she picked up a small soft doll and carried them both downstairs.

Joseph tucked his sister in, careful as any mother, and kissed her forehead. He was a good brother all right. He was Tessa's Jim. Charlotte glanced toward the front window, to Jim's star. She took a few steps and reached out to touch the points and whisper his name.

As she did, familiar footsteps sounded on the sidewalk. It was only ten-thirty, not nearly time for the shift change at the mill, but Ma was home. Charlotte heard more footsteps, then the kitchen door opening and shutting. She turned.

Ma strode into the living room, sooty and smudged. “Charlotte! Robbie! Who are these people? What in thunderation is going on?”

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