Stick McLaughlin: The Prohibition Years Page 3

  Within a day of the fire, police started throwing Stick’s name around. In the neighborhood, it was plenty obvious who was missing, and everyone figured the beat cops knew more than they were saying, but nobody was giving up a local girl, one of their own, because of an accident.

  No one knew where Stick had disappeared to anyway. For that, Ellie was sadly grateful because the cops came calling. The third and last time the police knocked, they chose right after supper so her father would be present.

  “Eleanor Marie Weston. Have you seen Stick in these weeks since the fire?”

  Her father’s formal tone just made Ellie sink deeper into the sofa. “No, Dad. I told you and them before.” Her eyes flickered at the two officers standing in the parlor. “I haven’t. And nobody I know has, either.”

  “Miss Weston,” the mustachioed officer injected, “the charges are extremely serious. Breaking and entering with intent to commit larceny, destruction of private property—not to mention arson. You could be considered an accessory if you don’t reveal—”

  “Arson?” Ellie’s expression was incredulous. “Nobody would’ve set fire to the place!” She heard the resentment and indignation in her voice.

  Both officers were nodding. “’Fraid so, miss. Lit it in the cellar. It’s in the official report.”

  Ellie felt her blood pressure rise. All that stuff in the newspapers about corruption was true. It was city-wide. Someone must have something to gain by calling it arson.

  Her mother stepped into her distant line of vision and cocked her head curiously. “Honey? Are you sure you haven’t heard anything, any talk about the fire?”

  “No, Mom. The only time I’m out is with you or Dad, so you’ve heard everything I’ve heard. And at school, all anyone ever mentions is how Davey and Baggers will probably get years in jail when they go to trial.”

  Her father’s baritone made Ellie jump. “And no one mentions Stick? She’s run around this neighborhood her entire life and no one mentions her?” Ellie shook her head. He sighed. “I find that hard to believe.”

  Ellie refused to look at the police officers. She was afraid her façade would crack. But when her father pulled a stack of postcards from his suit jacket pocket and handed them to the officers, she thought she would faint.

  “Take these,” he said to them, handing over Stick’s communiqués. “None of them says anything but foolish dribble, but they’re from her. At least you know she’s still in town.”

  He turned and stared into Ellie’s eyes.

  “We’ll turn these over to the detectives,” the other officer said. He shot his partner a glance and they nodded. They settled their hats on their heads. “If you have anything else, miss, anything at all, please let us know.”

  Mr. Weston opened the door for them. “Thank you, Officers. We certainly will. You boys do good work and we’ll do our best to help.”

  He shut the door after them, exhaled heavily, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “They work practically seven days a week, you know, and for a pittance. They’re even talking about a strike, for God’s sake. They need our help, and we need to do our part as honorable citizens. And that includes you, young lady.”

  Ellie blinked back tears at having lost Stick’s cards. “You didn’t have to give them away, Dad. You know they didn’t say anything.” She hated the invasion of her privacy at the deepest level. And she hated sharing Stick in that way. It was a violation of their love.

  “We will continue to read any more that arrive, Ellie, and hand them right over.”

  “But they’re mine, Daddy! They don’t hurt anyone!” Now tears rolled.

  He waved his finger. “There are people in this city, very important people, mind you, who believe I’m a family man fit for public office, and I’m not going to allow questions about my family’s integrity jeopardize the chance for that raise in pay. Your mother and I taught you right from wrong when you were a little girl. You’re a young lady now. You know better and will behave accordingly.”

  He left for his study, pulling a thick cigar from inside his suit jacket.

  Chapter Three

  Christmas was the hardest to take. As days counted down to single digits, Stick was sending postcards daily. Now she adorned them with little sketches of Christmas trees, wreaths, and snowmen, all around the words she wrote. Two days before Christmas, she mailed the last one Ellie would get before the holiday. So many things were left unsaid once Stick dropped the card into the mailbox on the corner of Washington and Franklin.

  She saved every cent possible, especially lucky ones she found in the gutter. And she had three books now, old schoolbooks left on trains by students: arithmetic, mechanics, and history. She read them religiously in hopes it would make up for missing school. And everywhere she went, she asked about work, convinced there was a paying job out there for someone like her, strong and hardworking with brains. And then she’d get that experience she’d need to help keep a real roof over their heads. It was their dream. Stick knew she’d die before giving it up. And she knew Ellie certainly would be by her side.

  And then there were the moments when the whole world turned into a blue, empty, bone-chilling gut-wrenching place with no horizon, no Ellie. Stick agonized through those times, focusing on the brilliant smile that lit up Ellie’s face, her carefree laughter, the squeezing of their warm hands. And their always heartfelt, soul-baring kisses.

  Hands in her jacket pockets, she walked with head down into the bitter wind, away from the holiday gaiety along the streets, and settled on a bench on the Common. Tears slowly blurred her vision just as snowflakes started to fall. There was only one thing she wanted for Christmas, and she would see Ellie, kiss Ellie, if it was the last thing she did.

  She’d only been working at Maggie’s Market in Southie for two weeks and had only twenty-five cents to her name, so she couldn’t buy Ellie much of a present. Stick kept most of her pay in a different pocket and vowed to sneak back home as soon as she had fifty cents to give Mama. Meanwhile, she battled the guilt of not providing more. She’d find a few items at the A&P for her family’s Christmas dinner and leave them at the back door, but she was too poor to buy presents for anyone. And all the while, she longed to offer Ellie something special. She wiped away tears with her mismatched gloves and sat up straighter to think.

  By the time she reached the rail yard a half hour later, she was walking on an inch of snow and sporting a headache that would kill a horse. Ahead was the now-familiar little fire the guys had going for warmth. Stick wondered if they had any food. She had a foot-long roll of salami under her jacket, a little something she borrowed from Foster’s Grocery over in Scollay Square two hours before. She’d share it with the guys.

  That thought finally brought a smile to her face as she approached the fire ring. She still hadn’t come up with the ideal present for Ellie, and it weighed heavily on her mind, but she had to admit, this sight was heartwarming. A gap in their circle drew her eye to the Christmas tree they’d erected a few feet away. It was a scrawny-looking pine, probably a reject from the lot down on D Street where they were selling trees. But a few things sparkled on its droopy branches, illuminated by the firelight.

  Stepping closer, Stick saw the shards of glass, wrapped in string and connected to many others, encircling the tree several times.

  “Wow,” she said in a reverent whisper. “You guys did a great job!” She looked at all the faces, but none would look back. The men mumbled their thanks and pretended not to be touched by Stick’s praise. She smiled fondly at their pride. They might not have much in this world, but they had that.

  *

  It was almost dawn on Christmas Eve, and the fire was nearly out by the time Stick finished scraping and polishing the piece of green glass that filled the palm of her hand. Their humble little Christmas tree had inspired her, and she’d spent nearly two hours searching for the right piece, kicking up the snow far across the yard where someone had dumped bottles over the fence. It was the thick bottom of a wine bottle, and she’d sat down with it and scraped the jagged glass edges with a chunk of cement all night until they were ground smooth.

  The long night disappeared with Stick hard at work, her mind drifting far from her shivering hands. Too bad I can’t ground down my own rough edges. All shiny and polished is how Ellie should see me, not as some hoodlum who steals salami from the market…some hobo who needs a good scrubbing and wears stolen underwear.

  Stick could see Ellie’s small, gentle hand absorbing the warmth and desire of Stick’s hand every time she touched this simple piece of glass. Ellie’s slim fingers, delicate and white, would glide along these edges so tenderly, with as much adoration as her touch to Stick’s cheek. Stick would make sure of it.

  She held the glass up to the firelight every so often and marveled at how the circular piece went from a black-green to brilliant emerald in her hand. Then she began scraping a nick into the edge of the glass, running it over a pointed piece of cement, again and again. Eventually, the nick widened, deepening toward the center of the glass, and the more it widened, the more Stick smoothed and rounded back its edges. The guys went wide-eyed when Stick held the glass up again, this time in the shape of a heart.

  Everyone had gone for free pancakes at St. Mary’s by the time Stick closed her eyes to sleep. She tucked Ellie’s present into her jacket pocket, wrapped herself in her blankets, and nodded off to get enough rest so she could see Ellie later in the day. A trip to the A&P for last-minute Christmas dinner necessities was the plan she had outlined in code on the last postcard, and she hoped with all her heart Ellie could sell the excuse to her mother and be there.

  *

  Five hours later, with her spirit as bright as the winter sun, Stick spotted her. She tugged her cap d
own harder on her head and cleared her throat. Stay composed, she told herself; no falling apart, no blubbering and wasting time being lovesick. Concentrate.

  Through the crumbling walls of the old horse barn behind the market, Stick watched Ellie shift her parcel to her opposite arm and hold the hem of her long crimson coat out of the snow with the other. Even walking tentatively, she was graceful. And she’s coming to see if I’m here.

  The breeze teased some of Ellie’s hair from beneath her thick collar, and the sight of such golden silk against the deep blue sky made Stick swallow hard. Ellie was the most beautiful creature Stick had ever seen, and she loved her with every beat of her heart. She blinked away joyful tears.

  Ellie disappeared around the corner of the dilapidated building and reappeared in the open doorway. She beamed at Stick, her parcel cast aside, instantly forgotten.

  That happy, knowing smile nearly knocked Stick to the ground. They stepped into each other’s arms and sobbed their hellos. Composure be dammed.

  Stick finally drew back and cupped the chilled, rosy cheeks in her palms. Ellie reached up between Stick’s hands and softly stroked away a tear. Her smile widened when Stick leaned into her touch.

  “Oh, Ellie…I…I don’t have the words to tell you how much you mean to me. You’re everything I need in this world.” She kissed the tip of her nose. “I dream of y—”

  Ellie’s gloved fingertips stilled Stick’s lips. “I love you.” She rose up on her toes to press her kiss to Stick’s trembling mouth. “I hate what’s happened, but don’t you forget that you’re all I need, too.”

  They kissed with intense passion, Stick wrapping her arms around the bulky coat and drawing Ellie down onto the blanket she brought. Both their hats fell away as Stick leaned along Ellie, their kisses unending. Ellie locked her arms around Stick’s shoulders, wiggled her fingers from her gloves, and drove them up into Stick’s hair. She sighed in Stick’s ear as kisses traveled across her mouth to her cheek and neck and returned to her lips with urgent need.

  “My God, I have missed you,” Stick breathed, lifting her head and gazing in wonder at Ellie’s face. “There will never be anyone for me but you.”

  Now Ellie’s eyes filled. She pulled Stick’s head down and sealed her lips to Stick’s. She moaned into Stick’s mouth, squeezing her closer with shaking hands.

  Stick caressed Ellie’s clenched eyes, kissed away the tears, kissed her forehead ever so slowly. “Somehow, we have to stop crying, my beautiful girl,” she whispered against the bridge of Ellie’s nose. “You can’t go home with red eyes even if it is the color of Christmas.”

  She drew back, kissed the sad smile slowly, and sat them up. Ellie rose to her knees and then her feet.

  “Where are you going?”

  Ellie just grinned down at Stick and moved to a pile of discarded boards in the corner of the ramshackle structure. As Stick watched with great curiosity, Ellie moved the wood aside and lifted a bundled blanket from a depression in the floor. She returned to Stick and set it onto her lap.

  “I’ve been collecting things,” Ellie said. “Each time I’ve had to run to the market, I’ve added to the package.” Stick just stared at it, baffled. “Go on. Unwrap it.”

  Stick unfolded the blanket and gave a little gasp. She looked up with disbelief from the odd assortment of very useful items. “Is all this for me?”

  Ellie nodded repeatedly. “See?” she began, and dove into the pile. “Peanut butter, Stick, and that strawberry jam we like so much.” She held up one item after another, and Stick’s eyes just grew more dazed. “Here’s some licorice sticks and peppermints, a bag of crackers, these two apples, some deviled ham, Heinz spaghetti, and Campbell’s vegetable soup. I know you like that. Oh, and also some of my heavy socks, a scarf my nana made years ago, and my favorite mittens. And of course this blanket.”

  “Holy mackerel, Ellie!” Stick studied the lapful of treasures. “I can’t believe you did all this. I…I…”

  “Oh, and these too.” Ellie pulled a small bag out of one of the socks. “My cookies.”

  Stick’s head popped up. “Your special cookies with the peanuts?”

  Ellie wiped a tear from the corner of Stick’s eye. “How else could I take care of you? God knows, Stick, you have to eat and stay warm, be careful not to get this influenza. It’s so, so dangerous. I’ve been going crazy, waiting for this day.” She leaned close and pressed a soft, lingering kiss onto Stick’s lips. “Now, keep your eyes closed.”

  Her opened hand resting in Ellie’s, Stick felt the feather-weight touch of chain draping across her fingers, and then the press of something the size of nickel into her palm.

  “Okay, open.”

  Stick stared down at the gold chain and the heart it carried, and tears fell immediately. Ellie quickly captured Stick’s wet face and kissed her. “Merry Christmas to my love.”

  Stick hung her head, sagged heavily into Ellie’s arms, and cried. “Oh, h-how did you do—”

  “Shh. Don’t worry about that.”

  “I-I love this, Ellie,” she managed. “So much.” She sniffed hard and sat up, ogling the jewelry. Ellie’s hands appeared then, and she took the necklace and lowered it over Stick’s head. “Ellie, I…I’ll never take it off. I swear.”

  “I want you to have a reminder of me, of us, wherever you go. To know I’m with you, Stick, through all of this…and more.”

  They cried, kissed, and just held each other for what seemed like mere seconds when it came time to part. Ellie piled all the items together and wrapped the blanket around them.

  “Before your kisses get my brain any more mushy, Miss McLaughlin, I need to let you know something.” She stroked Stick’s hands. “Your postcards. Be careful, honey. My father takes them.”

  Stick was outraged. “That’s not fair. It’s against the law to take someone’s mail!”

  “Shh. Yes, I know. But I guess until I’m eighteen, he can do as he pleases with me—and my rights. I’m lucky that Mama gets the mail from the mailman every day and lets me read your cards. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t read them! She stands right there while I do, then takes them to give to Dad. He…” Her head lowered. “He gives them all to the police, Stick.”

  “Oh.” It was another gut punch to withstand. “But at least you get to read them. I’m not stopping. I’ll be careful.” She set her forehead against Ellie’s. “So far so good with our code.”

  “Thank God,” Ellie said with a sob, and thrust herself into Stick’s arms, crying as she kissed her.

  Stick returned her kiss with equal fervor until they had to break apart to breathe. “I know we should go soon,” she murmured, her eyes filling again. “I can’t get you in trouble.” Ellie traced Stick’s jaw with a fingertip and the wisps of Ellie’s short, excited breaths tickled her face. They matched her own, and she knew Ellie’s heart raced just like hers. She closed her eyes to concentrate. “This mess will probably be over soon, but until then, I don’t want—”

  “What do you mean, ‘over soon’?”

  Stick leaned in and kissed her tenderly. “I heard about the trial starting, so Davey and Baggers will finally get to say how the fire was all an accident. Once that’s official, I—” Stick frowned at Ellie’s frown. “What?”

  “Stick, listen please.”

  Stick cringed at the sight of Ellie’s deepening frown, and when Ellie pressed her palm to her cheek, Stick knew there was more bad news to come.

  “They’re after you for breaking in, yes, but they’re also charging you with arson.”

  Stick jerked back. “No! That’s not true, Ellie.” She moved to get up, but Ellie grabbed her arm and held her in place on the blanket. “It was an accident. Honest.” Stick’s eyes were watering again, and her voice shook.

  Ellie pulled her into her arms. “Honey, you don’t have to explain to me. You know I’ve believed you from the beginning. But every damn one of them is on the take.”