Forty Days at Kamas (9 page)

In a few mores steps we emerged through yet another steel door onto a loading dock. Two middle–aged men, also in gray suits, turned toward us as we entered.

"This is Mr. Wagner," Daly announced in a voice that was absolutely devoid of civility.

"If you’ll come with us, Mr. Wagner, we’ll be there in a jiffy," the taller one said. Unlike Daly, he spoke with an accent distinctive of Pittsburgh’s working class. With his thick neck and hulking shoulders, he looked more like a professional wrestler than a banker.

He pointed to the open rear doors of a late–model panel truck backed up to the loading dock.

I caught of glimpse of Daly quietly retreating into the corridor from which we had come.

"Wait a second," I protested, suddenly alarmed at being hopelessly lost and at the mercy of my two thuggish–looking companions.

"Come on, pal, let’s get going," the shorter man chimed in. "Don’t you want your cash?"

He stepped toward the van and in the moment that I turned to follow him I felt the larger man grasp my right wrist and wrench it behind my body. In a matter of seconds both my wrists were handcuffed behind my back and I was being hustled forward into the van.

C
HAPTER
8

"Under conditions of tyranny, it is far easier to act than to think."
—Hannah Arendt, philosopher and Holocaust scholar

SATURDAY, MARCH 9

Helen and Claire sat across the white–tiled kitchen counter from each other, staring at neatly stacked piles of dried herbs. Off to the side were an antique apothecary scale with a set of graduated brass weights, a box of plastic sandwich bags, a stack of newspapers, and handwritten labels showing plant names and instructions for their use.

"It’ll go faster if we work as a team," Helen began. "I'm going to weigh out each herb and call out its name and the weight. What I want you to do is find the right label, write the weight on it, and stuff the herb and the label into the plastic bag. Got it?"

"I think so," Claire replied.

They went to work. In fifteen minutes they had bagged the echinacea and moved on to the chamomile flowers.

"Have you given much thought to what Dorothy said last night about places for you to work?" Helen asked a few minutes later. "It seems to me that it boils down to three families. You need to think about picking the one you like best. Then maybe we should visit them on our way to the station tonight. Would that be okay?"

"I suppose so," Claire replied, "but it's kind of confusing. They're all so different."

"Would you like me to compare them for you again?" Helen asked.

"Would you, just one more time?"

"Of course," Helen answered. "Here's how I see it. Of all the families we heard about, we both agreed that there were only three who seemed to make sense. The first one was the older couple with the wife who gets around in a wheel chair. The second one was the Army colonel with five children.

"Now, the third family is the one you seemed to like best. Dorothy said the husband is some important civilian connected with the military. He and his wife have only one child and they also said they could arrange for you to go to school. Dorothy described the wife as young and quite sweet. Does that refresh your memory?"

Claire fidgeted with a bag of chamomile, opening and resealing the zip–lock strip.

"What if we go to their house and I don't like them? Do I get a second pick?"

Helen breathed a deep sigh.

"Ah, there's the rub. In this town, all the government people know each other and are like members of a special club. If you agree to work for one of them and then change your mind, you can't count on having your pick of the others. The next one you interview will ask you where you interviewed before. Then he'll call the first one and when he hears you changed your mind he may not want to hire you. But if you lie about the first one and the others find out later, they might fire you for being dishonest.

"It used to be that a person had the right to work for whomever he pleased and if he didn't like it, he could quit and find another job. But that's not the way it is anymore. Especially in a government town like Heber."

Helen ground a chamomile blossom between her fingertips and let the dust fall onto the table.

"So there it is, Miss Claire. You'll need to make a choice before we leave tonight. And then let's hope to heaven it's a good one."

"Do I have to choose tonight? Can't we wait till after the weekend?"

"They all want someone right away. If you wait, somebody else may get there first."

Claire lowered her eyes and went back to packing herbs. She and Helen spent the rest of the afternoon on herbs and baking fresh rolls and getting Claire cleaned and dressed for her interview. Shortly before sunset, they set off down the hill toward Heber.

They stopped in a gated compound that contained some of Heber's better homes, most of which had once been vacation houses for wealthy residents of other states. Now the compound was reserved for the exclusive use of high–ranking government officials. The General Services Administration guard in the tiny guardhouse checked their names against a list on his clipboard and pointed them through the pedestrian gate toward Lt. Col. Chambers's house.

"I thought the dad wasn't in the army," Claire remarked as they walked to the end of a cul–de–sac that contained a single log–and–stucco home.

"I thought so, too. Let’s find out," Helen said.

Before Claire could reply, Helen knocked loudly on the heavy oak door. Both of them heard loud music coming from inside. It sounded to Claire like the blues band her dad had listened to so often during the weeks before his arrest.

The door opened and Claire peered up at a tall dark–haired woman whose oval face, delicate features, and graceful carriage reminded her of the Russian ballerinas she had once seen on stage in Pittsburgh. The woman bore no trace of make–up other than pale lipstick and wore her sleek mahogany hair tied behind her head with a black ribbon. Under a white cotton chef's apron she wore a black wool turtleneck and neatly pressed tan slacks. She pulled the door open wide, shifted her baby on her shoulder and held her hand out to Claire in greeting.

"So you're the young lady Dottie has been saying so many wonderful things about. Please come in," she said in a husky voice. "And Helen, I'm so pleased to meet you. I'm Martha Chambers. I was just putting Marie to bed. Please excuse my husband, but Doug invited some friends from work to join us for a light supper. They're watching hockey in the family room. May I get you something to drink?"

Claire noticed Helen sizing up Martha Chambers as the woman spoke and wondered whether Helen noticed the hint of sadness she saw in Martha’s eyes.

"May I have some ginger ale, please?" Claire inquired.

"Water would be fine for me, if it’s not too much trouble," Helen said.

"Not at all," Martha answered cheerfully before casting a sidelong glance at the baby, now fast asleep.

"Claire, would you like to try holding Marie?" she offered. "I don't think she'll wake up now that she's been fed."

Claire grinned and allowed Martha to place a cloth diaper across her shoulder before handing over her baby. The infant felt soft and warm and made her feel relaxed. Claire looked around the room at the massive stone fireplace, hardwood floors, lush draperies, and the leather chairs and sofa. She could not recall having seen such a beautiful living room since she was a small child, in the days before everyone around her had grown poor. She wondered how this young couple could afford such luxury when her parents had been reduced to living in far humbler surroundings.

Martha Chambers returned with a tray.

"I was so excited when Dottie called to tell me about Claire," she began. "It's not that I was looking for help, really. But our next baby is due in August and I don't know how long I'll be able to keep up the pace. With Marie I spent the last two months of my pregnancy flat on my back. I thought it might be nice to have a helper this time who could keep me company and handle some of the simpler chores. After August, we could see about extending the arrangement."

Helen took a sip of her mineral water. Claire thought she looked tense.

"What kind of a schedule would you have in mind for Claire? Would she be free to attend school?" Helen asked.

"Oh, yes, of course! In fact, Doug thinks we might be able to get Claire into the federal school. I take it Claire hasn't enrolled yet in the town school?"

"Not exactly. Claire lost her national I.D. on her way here from the East and it may take some time to issue a replacement. I don't know how long you and your husband have been in Heber but there's quite a bit of red tape living in a Restricted Zone."

"I know exactly what you mean," Martha replied. She looked past Helen to Claire, who had already finished her ginger ale and was rocking the baby gently as she strolled around the room.

"Claire, do you think you could manage to keep Marie asleep if you took her up to her room and tucked her in? If you do, I know where there are some fresh–baked chocolate chip cookies."

Claire's eyes widened.

"It's a deal!" she replied and started toward the stairs with Marie in her arms.

When Claire was out of earshot, Helen put down her glass and addressed Martha Chambers in a cool businesslike voice.

"Let me be frank, Mrs. Chambers. Claire is for all intents and purposes an orphan. She came to Heber without travel documents and has no residence permit to stay. The town schools are full and because Claire has no special ties to Heber, she won't be eligible to enroll until they reach her number on the waiting list.

"My only purpose in saying all this is to do what’s best for Claire. Though I hope we can eventually get her back to her family, it's just not possible for me to care for her indefinitely while we look for them. I sensed that you and your husband might be able to offer Claire something better. She's a very bright girl and has been raised well. If you would be willing to take her in as a sort of junior
au pair,
so to speak, I’m confident that she’ll live up to your expectations."

Martha Chambers listened attentively.

"It takes a special sort of person to do what you’ve done for Claire," Martha replied. "And I want to thank you for bringing her to us first. But at this point I’d like to include my husband in the discussion. Once we’ve talked some more among the four of us and come to some sort of agreement, I see no reason why Claire couldn't join us as early as tonight."

Claire came bounding down the stairs as Martha finished her last sentence. She stood beside Helen and tugged at her sleeve.

"Helen, you've got to see the upstairs," she said excitedly. "They have a huge bathroom with a whirlpool tub and a marble floor. And there's a sewing room right next to the baby's room. It's incredibly cool!"

Martha rose and took Claire by the hand.

"But you haven't seen the kitchen. Come on, let's find those chocolate chip cookies before Doug and the men eat them all."

The kitchen was grander than any Claire had seen since they moved out of the old stone house in Sewickley. There was a huge refrigerator–freezer, full–size gas range, a microwave oven, and even a dishwasher.

Separated from the kitchen by a food–preparation island was a family room equipped with a massive sofa, stereo system, and flat–screen television.

Claire turned her attention to the five men seated on the sofa and adjacent easy chairs, drinking beer and raging at the television screen over a hockey goal that had just been scored. She tried to guess which one was Mr. Chambers. She guessed wrong when the youngest–looking of the five men left his seat and joined the women in the kitchen. Claire was happy it was he because she didn't have very good feelings about any of the others. There was something hard and mean about their eyes. She looked over at Helen and saw that Helen had sensed it, too.

"Don't mind these guys," Doug Chambers began without introducing himself. "They're sore losers for the moment but they'll get over it when they accept the fact that the Avalanche are going to win the Stanley Cup again this year."

The other men paid no attention. Their eyes were on the next face–off.

"Say, can I offer you something to drink," he asked. "Or did Martha already take care of that?"

Doug flashed a charming smile lit up by sparkling blue eyes. He possessed a restless energy that made him appear boyish and impulsive.

Something about him made Claire think of her former gym teacher, a father of teenage girls who had coached girls soccer. The physical resemblance between the two men was remarkable, both having wiry blond hair, a broad forehead, dimpled chin, and a fleshy bow–shaped mouth. She pondered the prediction Mr. Chambers had made about the Flyers and wondered if he was as fanatical about winning as her gym teacher had been.

"Doug, could you tear yourself away from the game for a moment so we can have a talk with Claire? Helen brought her over to meet us because Dottie thought you might be out of town after the weekend."

"Be right with you," he answered, and then took a last peek at the television screen before following the women into the living room.

"Doug," Martha began when all were seated, "Helen has been kind enough to tell me a bit about Claire's background. From what she’s said, I can't think of a better match for us. But I know it's not easy for Helen to leave Claire with total strangers, or for Claire to decide to stay. I thought they might like to learn a little more about us."

Martha turned to her visitors.

"Do either of you have any questions about us?"

"Perhaps you could tell us a few words about where each of you came from and how the two of you met," Helen suggested with a relaxed smile.

Doug and Martha glanced at each other, each seeking a cue to begin. Martha spoke first.

"Well, I grew up in a small town in New Jersey. I had just finished a degree in art history when the Events came along. When the riots spread, my parents decided it might be better for me to leave the country until things settled down. So I flew to Paris, rented a room, and started taking lessons in figure painting and color. I was in my fourth year and happy as a bird when I met Doug at a dinner party.