A Tiny Piece of Sky (20 page)

OFFICER MCINTYRE ARRIVED ON
the scene. First, he eyed the cart with the block of ice near the stage.
A penny sundae would taste divine in this heat,
he thought.
Dee-vine.
Then he pulled at the waist of his pants, which were giving his middle an uncomfortable squeeze—a reminder that his pants were one and a half sizes too small.

Egg custard, vanilla sugar. He would have one of each.
Dee-vine.

Officer McIntyre always made a point of dismissing any notion that his waist was one and a half sizes too big.

Which it was. Anyone could see that.

He hitched up his trousers and was heading for the cart when he saw a young boy covered in hay. Not too far away from that boy was young Frances Marie Baum, the girl he'd been charged to locate. The same one, in fact, that he'd found weeks before while on patrol in the colored part of town. Trouble, this girl was turning out to be. As soon as he spotted her, he knew the penny sundae, delicious as it may be, would have to wait.

Duty before snowballs.

Officer McIntyre had the young Baum girl in his sights and he would bring her safely home, just as he'd promised her mother. All in a day's work. Dear Mrs. Baum had been a nervous wreck when
she noticed her daughter had disappeared and she telephoned the police. Terrible thing, a young girl disappearing like that without her folks knowing where she'd run off to. What a worry children could be to their parents.

He knew that firsthand. Good thing his son, Robbie, was not the kind of boy to get in trouble. No, sir. A more perfect angel there was not.

“Frances Baum,” said Officer McIntyre as he approached Frankie and Marty.

“Oh, Mother,” said Frankie under her breath.

“I didn't do anything, Officer,” said Marty. “It was all Leroy. He started the whole thing. Tell him, Frankie.”

By that time, Leroy Price had finally gotten to his feet and brushed the hay from his clothes. He gave Marty and Frankie such a look that Marty hid behind Officer McIntyre and clutched his leg.

“Is that so?” asked Officer McIntyre.

“We were just leaving,” said Leroy. “Our father needs our help with some important business.” Then he smirked at Frankie as a reminder of just what business he was talking about. “Come on, Marty.”

Marty reluctantly let go of the officer's leg and followed Leroy, who knuckle-punched him in the arm before they both left the square.

Then Officer McIntyre turned to Frankie. “Your mother is worried sick about you,” he said. “You've given her quite a fright.”

“Sorry,” said Frankie. “I didn't mean to.”

“Mean to or not, it's what you did. And I'm not the one you need to say sorry to.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Well, come along. I'll see that you get home.”

“No, wait,” said Frankie. “I can't go home.”

“Nonsense,” said Officer McIntyre. “I've my orders to find you and return you to your quarters safe and sound.”

Frankie fished the
boycott
german
businesses!
flyer from her dress pocket. “Not home,” she said. “I need to go to our restaurant right away.”

MOTHER AND ELIZABETH WERE
on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant when Officer McIntyre delivered Frankie in his police car. “She was at the square,” Officer McIntyre told them. “She claims she wasn't running away from home, just lost track of the time is all.”

Frankie felt the burn of Mother's glare but kept her eyes on her sandals. “Thank you for your trouble, Officer,” said Mother, trying to put a lid on her anger for the officer's benefit. “My husband just left in the car to look for her.”

“Ah, well, leave it to the police to get the job done,” he said, puffing out his chest. “All in a day's work.”

Frankie took a step toward the restaurant, but Mother caught her by the wrist. My goodness, Mother had such a grip. Frankie looked up at the sky and cursed the clouds she had wished on.

“When you are off duty, why don't you come by this evening?” Mother said to Officer McIntyre. “We're having a party here, with good food and entertainment.”

“And fireworks,” added Elizabeth.

“That's right, fireworks imported directly from Baltimore,” said Mother. “You haven't seen anything until you've seen the Whirling Dervisher.” She smiled. “You are more than welcome.”

Officer McIntyre tipped the bill of his hat with his finger. “I thank you for the offer, ma'am. But I promised Robbie and the missus that we'd go to the square for the festivities. I don't want to disappoint.”

Elizabeth looked away at the mention of Robbie's name.

“Well, then, I hope to see you tomorrow for our grand opening,” said Mother. “Dessert is on us. It's the least we can do.” She nodded in Frankie's direction.

Officer McIntyre cleared his throat. “I'm afraid I have to work tomorrow evening.”

Mother nodded. “Well, some other time, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” said Officer McIntyre. Then he looked directly at Frankie. “Now, don't make a habit of running off, young lady.”

“I won't,” said Frankie. She felt her cheeks get hot.

Officer McIntyre tipped his hat once more and then got back into his police car and pulled away from the curb.

Before Mother had a chance to get out even one word, Frankie pulled the wrinkled flyer from her pocket and held it out to her. “They're all over town,” she said. “I saw them hanging on doors and windows of shops on the way back here with Officer McIntyre.”

Mother's face lost its color. “Good Lord,” she said, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

“What does it say?” asked Elizabeth, snatching the paper from Mother's hands. “What's going on?”

“It says that people shouldn't come to the restaurant because Daddy is a supporter of Hitler,” said Frankie. She couldn't help but smile a little when she got to the end. Not because of Hitler, of course, but because for once in her life, Frankie knew something before Elizabeth.

Mother said, “Frances Marie.” Then she looked around to make sure no one heard.

“There's more,” said Frankie.

“Heavens,” said Mother. “What more?” Elizabeth made a grab for Mother just in case she went down. “I'm all right,” said Mother, widening her stance and resting her hands on her knees as if she were getting ready to catch a curveball. “Let's hear it.”

HERMANN CIRCLED THE SQUARE
a few times in the Studebaker before setting out on foot. He had no idea where Frankie would be, but he would find her. At least he hoped he would. That girl could hide like none other. For all he knew, she could be tucked away in a cupboard somewhere.

He made his way through the crowd that was starting to fill up around the stage. It was quite a turnout, and no hay bale sat empty. Bobby Melvich was tap-tapping all over the place and giving a good show when Hermann walked up to the stage, pushed the
vote
for
price
banner aside, and pulled back the red-white-and-blue drapes that hung down in front. He checked under the stage, but nothing.

He hadn't meant to raise his voice at her like that. He just wasn't himself today, and it certainly wasn't her fault things were falling apart at the restaurant. She had only been trying to help, after all. But there was so much riding on the restaurant's success. So much at stake.

Hermann turned back into the crowd. He spotted Mr. and Mrs. Wexler watching the young dancer and eating frankfurts. “Happy Fourth,” he said. “Have you seen Frankie anywhere?”

“Oh, Hermann,” said Mr. Wexler, nearly choking on his sandwich. “I did not expect to see you here.”

“Yes, well, I didn't expect to be here. I'm looking for my daughter.”

“We were, uh, planning to come by the restaurant like you asked,” said Mr. Wexler, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief.

“We certainly appreciated the invitation,” offered Mrs. Wexler, whose face was becoming flushed. “But Mr. Price came by and . . .”

“What?” said Hermann. He wasn't following.

“What she means,” said Mr. Wexler, “is that we were going to stop over, but Mr. Price and some of the council members paid a visit to the store this morning, and, well, we've always come here to the square for the Fourth, and in the end, we felt it was best. You understand, don't you?”

Hermann certainly did understand. The flyer, which Mr. Travers had brought to the restaurant, was tucked in Hermann's shirt pocket. Mr. Price's influence had a far greater reach than Hermann had imagined. But the one thing Hermann hadn't counted on was that people, the people he thought he knew—friends, for Pete's sake—would believe these things about him. It occurred to him then that perhaps you can't really know people at all. And that realization was perhaps worse than anything Mr. Price could do to him. He took a deep breath, for the air around him seemed to be as thick as burlap.

“Are you all right, Hermann?” asked Mr. Wexler.

Hermann wiped his forehead with his jacket sleeve. “Fine, yes,” he said. There were more urgent matters at hand. “Frankie. Have you seen her today?”

Mr. Wexler shook his head. “No, not here. Sorry.”

Hermann pushed past, and a few steps beyond them he saw Mr. and Mrs. Hoffman. They saw him, too, but do you know, they
pretended they didn't. You didn't need two good eyes to see that. Like the Wexlers, the Hoffmans had been invited to Baum's for the Fourth of July party and said they would come. And yet, here they were.

Hermann shook his head, hoping they would see that, too, and kept on searching.

The crowd applauded for the young tapper when he finished his routine, and then, lo and behold, Mr. Price took the podium. “Wasn't that just wonderful!” said Mr. Price, clapping his hands.

Hermann, who was scanning the crowd for Frankie, turned to look at him.

“I wonder if I could give that a try.” Mr. Price laughed, along with most of the audience. Then he shuffled his feet about the stage, knocking ashes from his cigar as he went. The harder the crowd laughed, the more disgusted Hermann became. Finally, Mr. Price patted the boy on the head and said, “I think I'd better stick with public service.”

“Public service,” grumbled Hermann under his breath. “Is that what he calls it?”

“And speaking of public service,” said Mr. Price. “You may have heard that I'm running for mayor.” The audience roared and waved their flags, and Mr. Price scanned the crowd for the photographer to make sure he was getting the best shots. And that's when he locked eyes with Hermann Baum. Mr. Price cleared his throat after a moment or two and began his well-rehearsed speech. “My dear ladies and gentlemen, today as we celebrate our nation's independence . . .”

Hermann turned his back and began walking away. He stumbled a few steps, the heat making it increasingly difficult for him to
get his breath. Through the crowd, he saw Mr. Stannum heading toward him.
A friend,
he thought,
finally. A friend
. He lumbered toward him, but just as Mr. Price got to the part in his speech about “the evil that has already reached our shores,” Hermann heard nothing else and fell to the ground.

THERE WAS NOTHING ANY
of them could do but wait.

OVER AT THE BAUMS'
apartment, Grandma Engel held tight to Elizabeth's hand. Aunt Edith was in the kitchen putting the kettle on for tea while Uncle Hal held a sleeping Martha on his lap at the dining room table. Next to them, Katie was teaching Ava how to cut a deck of cards with one hand, while Amy and Mr. Washington sat on the sofa in silence.

They could hear the fireworks from the city square and winced at each boom, which rattled the apartment windows. They were already on edge, as they waited for the telephone to ring or for Mother to come home from the hospital with news, and the sound of their sky exploding only made things worse.

Bismarck paced from one end of the apartment to the other and could not get settled. “I never did care much for fireworks,” said Grandma Engel. “Would somebody stop that dog? All his back and forth is making me a nervous wreck.”

“Dogs don't like fireworks much, either,” said Uncle Hal.

But Frankie knew different. “He knows something is wrong with Daddy,” she said from under the dining room table. She barely had enough room for herself under there, what with Uncle Hal's, Ava's, and Katie's legs there, too, but still, she called Bismarck to her and, when he came, she coaxed him to crawl under Ava's chair and lie
down beside her. Frankie stroked his velvety ears as he panted, and she whispered to him over and over that everything would be all right.

Whether he could tell she was lying, she wasn't sure. But perhaps he couldn't, because afterward, he lay there next to her and rested his head on her knee, quite content.

Every now and then, Grandma Engel would check on Frankie from her easy chair. “You doing all right over there, honey girl?” she'd call out from the living room.

Each time, Frankie told her that she was.

Until finally, when Frankie's worries got so bad they made her start to tremble, so much that Bismarck began to whine, she instead answered, “No, Grandma. I need to know about Daddy.”

“We all do, sugar,” said Grandma Engel. “We just have to wait.”

“That's not what I mean,” said Frankie. “I need to know about that photograph. Who is that woman? And why was it at the bottom of the dresser?” She was glad for the cover of the table and legs around her and found it easier to ask questions from under there than if she were out in the open. She hoped that being under the table would also make it easier to hear the answers.

“Oh, Frankie,” said Grandma Engel in a weary voice.

Ava stuck her head under the table. “What woman?”

“I know you said it isn't your story to tell,” said Frankie, ignoring Ava, “but I can't take not knowing.” Frankie's voice started to crack.

“What woman?” asked Ava again.

“What are you talking about?” asked Elizabeth.

After a few quiet moments, Grandma Engel said, “Fine. But come out from under that table. This isn't the kind of story that should be told from across the room or heard while under furniture.”

Frankie climbed over Bismarck and scrambled into the living room. She sat on the floor by Grandma Engel's feet. Ava soon joined her, and Elizabeth moved to the upholstered chair closest to her. Aunt Edith brought two cups of tea for Amy and Mr. Washington. “What's going on?” she asked.

“I'm telling them about Hermann and Victoria,” said Grandma Engel.

“You aren't,” said Aunt Edith, nearly spilling the tea.

“You just hush,” said Grandma Engel. “There's no reason they shouldn't know. And their father would tell them if he were here and able.” She looked at Frankie. “This one here already knows something of it and has nothing but her imagination to fill in the blanks.”

Mr. Washington stood up. “Maybe me and Amy shouldn't be around to hear.” He nudged Amy to put down her tea and get up.

“Nonsense,” said Grandma Engel. “You're here, you're family. Now sit back down.”

They did.

“Now,” began Grandma Engel. “Frankie, go get that photograph.”

Frankie ran down the hall to the walnut dresser and opened the bottom cupboard. She pulled out the table linens and box of sewing notions and reached back into the far corner where she had left the picture. She grasped it and, leaving everything else where it was, raced back to the living room.

“Let me have it,” said Grandma Engel.

Frankie handed it over.

Grandma Engel turned the frame over in her swollen hands and then rested the picture on her lap so that it faced Frankie, Ava, and Elizabeth. “But that's Daddy,” said Elizabeth, looking confused.

“It is,” said Grandma Engel.

Ava put her face real close to the picture. “Aunt Mildred don't even look like herself.”

“That's because it isn't her,” said Frankie, looking at Grandma Engel.

“This was your daddy's first wife,” said Grandma Engel. “Her name was Victoria.”

“First wife?” said Ava. “How many does he have?”

“Ava,” said Grandma Engel, “would you please?”

“Would I please what?”

Grandma Engel shook her head. “Victoria and Hermann were married before he and Mildred were married.”

“I didn't know Daddy was married before,” said Elizabeth.

“What happened to her?” asked Frankie. “Where is she now? Does she live in Germany?”

“Germany?” said Grandma Engel. “Why in the world would you think that? For goodness' sakes, she lived right here in Maryland. She was a lovely girl.”

“You knew her?” asked Frankie.

“I did,” said Grandma Engel. “Not too well, but this was a smaller town back then and most people knew of each other at least. Not like today. Anyway, she and your father were married a few years and they were expecting a baby.”

This was all too much for Frankie to hear. “A baby!”

“Does Mother know?” asked Elizabeth.

“Well, of course she does. What do you think?” Grandma Engel said.

Frankie didn't know what to think, and apparently neither did Elizabeth.

Grandma Engel lovingly patted the photograph. She sighed. “And, as sometimes happens, sadly, Victoria died while giving birth. They lost the baby, too.”

The words, all of them, hung in the air like smoke.

Frankie found it hard to swallow. “Was it a girl?” she whispered. “The baby, I mean?” She didn't know exactly why she wanted to know this, or why it mattered, just that it did.

“Frankie!” scolded Elizabeth, as if such a thing were nobody's business, especially hers.

Grandma Engel cocked her head to the side as if she were trying to understand the reason behind Frankie's question. “No,” she said finally. “It was a boy.”

A boy.

There weren't any boys in the Baum family, only girls. Which made Frankie wonder if it was an even bigger disappointment to Daddy that he never got to have
that
boy, or any other. Three girls, that's what he ended up with, but was he hoping for a boy each time?

“Huh,” said Ava, and then she went back to the table to practice her card trick.

“Is that it?” asked Frankie.

“That's all she wrote.” Grandma Engel handed the photograph back to Frankie. “Now the story has all been told. You can go ahead and put that back.”

Frankie was about to return it to the cupboard. But then she wondered aloud, “Why did Daddy put it at the bottom of that dresser? It was all covered with dust.”

Grandma shrugged. “You'd have to ask him about that. But sometimes you don't want to be reminded of painful things. Sometimes
you just want to put them away somewhere and forget they ever happened.”

Frankie wasn't sure she understood, and she felt bad for Victoria that she was left in the dresser that Daddy hated, in the thing that left him with bruises. So she went to the kitchen and, with a damp dish towel, wiped off the rest of the dust. Then she laid it carefully on the pile of table linens in the dresser and closed the cupboard doors.