The Jewel and the Key (37 page)

A quiver ran up her spine. The breeze that wafted in was sweeter smelling than the dank odor of the alleyway she'd walked through to get here. The hallway was bright with lights from the sconces.

And from the front of the theater, she could hear coughs and the shuffling of feet, and violins and violas. An oboe playing scales. The very air seemed to snap with energy. Opening night!

The door slammed shut. She dropped the mirror into her purse and turned around.

Reg was standing there, staring at her.

Adrenaline surged through her.

“Where have you been?” He looked startled. “You're like a ghost, Addie!”

In a second, she had crossed the space between them and grabbed his elbows. “No, I'm not. I'm not a ghost.”

“I swear that no one was there a second ago, and then suddenly, Addie McNeal, out of her mysterious wanderings in the ether—”

“I
was
here a second ago.” It seemed a stupid conversation when the important thing was that he was here, living and breathing.

She pulled him closer, throwing her arms around his neck, blinking back the tears that were suddenly hot behind her eyelids.

“What's this for?” He tilted her face up. “You'd think I'd returned from the Antarctic with Shackleton.”

Then he slipped his arms around her waist, half lifted her off the ground, and kissed her softly on the lips. Addie hooked her arm tighter around his neck, held him so close the buttons on his jacket pressed into her body, and time, their enemy, slunk away like a scolded cur. All the misery and tension uncurled inside her, and all she could feel was the warmth of his body against hers. When Reg let her go, she just shook her head, smiled, and pulled him back to kiss him again. She stumbled as he released her a second time, and they stared at each other, rattled and uncomfortable and intrigued.

“I guess you're not a ghost.”

Addie found her footing and laughed up into his face, and the laugh felt like a bird flying into the treetops, sailing away from time and death and up into the sun. “You knew I wasn't. Try another excuse.”

Reg spread his hands wide and gave a feckless shrug. “Do you want me to apologize?”

Addie shook her head, her lips twitching with giddy laughter.

“What's that then?” He let Macbeth creep into his voice. “What are you laughing about, darkling creature of the shadows?”

“Nothing. You don't have to apologize. Just do it again.”

He did.

“It comes with the territory, if that's any excuse.” He was speaking into her hair, and his breath was warm on her ear. “Departing soldiers always get kisses.”

Addie sprang out of his arms so fast she would have hit the wall if he hadn't grabbed her. She'd been so overjoyed that she hadn't noticed he was wearing an army uniform—an olive-drab jacket with square shoulders and a big belt, a stiff hat with a visor, and wide trouser legs stuffed into black boots.

“Holy crap!”

“Well, I don't know what
that
means. But I don't think it's pious.”

Addie clamped her free hand over her mouth. “You can't ... you shouldn't...”

“Oh, don't be a goose, Addie. I'm only going for training. I'll be back before we ship out.”

“Ship out? When?”

“How do I know? Whenever they think we're ready to go to France. The train leaves for the Presidio tonight.”

“But”—she knew it was weak, but it was all she could think of—“isn't it opening night?”

The door to the women's dressing room swung open, and teasing and hoots of laughter wafted out.

“I'll have to miss the performance.” He pulled her back toward him. “You're not going to the show, are you? Not the night I'm leaving.” For a moment his expression was uncertain and Addie thought,
He's not sure of me.
She felt a thrill of exultation, and at the same time, a terrible ache. She put out her hand and touched his fingers. “Even if I were Lady Macbeth, I'd skip the performance tonight.”

“Strong words.”

Addie thought of the angel in her dream and said, “Stronger than bombs.”

They stood for a moment, just looking at each other. He ran his fingers down her spine, and she shivered.

Reg was the one who broke the spell. “Are you game for an adventure before waving me tearfully off?”

“What sort of adventure?” Things are already under way, she realized. The current is swift. I have to see if there's anything I can grab on to—a branch over the water, an oar someone cast overboard—to try and slow it down.

“I've got to get Gustaf Peterson across town. Want to come with me?”

“Oh, I'll do whatever you're doing,” she said quickly. “Just don't go, Reg.”

“What? To the
Daily Call
office? Why not?”

“No. Don't go to the station. To the war.”

“Addie. It isn't as though I have a choice. You can't just not show up.”

“But”—she hesitated—“I know what will happen.” “Oh, come on, Addie!” There was a faint edge of harshness in his voice. “What? One of your magic-mirror tricks again?”

Someone opened a door and a brighter light shone into the hall. Addie self-consciously stepped away from Reg. He straightened his jacket.

Emma Mae came out of her office wearing a long blue dress, its bodice resplendent with azure beads. There was a boa of pale blue feathers around her neck, and crystal earrings dangled to her shoulders. Dazzled, Addie thought,
She looks perfect.
Exactly how she should look on opening night.
When I'm a director...
She paused. Where had that certainty come from? But she was certain.
When I'm a director, I'll always dress for opening night.

Mrs. Powell pulled a round watch from her pocket. “Its a ten-thirty train, isn't it, darling? Thank goodness! We should be past curtain by then. I can meet you at the station café. Do you think it'll be overrun with doughboys?” She looked calm, but a brittleness in her voice betrayed her. “Oh, I'd imagine so.”

Emma Mae touched Addie's shoulder. “I'm glad you made it for opening night. But where have you been all week?”

Addie colored. “I've ... My father needed me at the bookstore. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be unreliable!”

She could see from Emma Mae's expression that unreliable was exactly what she was. “Well, I'm just letting you know: Meg Turner is gunning for you. She started work on
Peer Gynt,
but no one could find you. Don't you have a telephone?”

The answer had to be no. She shook her head.

“Well, I'd advise you to get one! It's no use being a Luddite. Not if you want Meg to keep you on for
Peer Gynt.
And, speaking of that”—Emma Mae fixed a sharp eye on Reg—“
what
have you been doing to poor Andrew Lindstrom?”

“Nothing, Mother.” Reg placed his hand on his heart. “I give you my word.”

Emma Mae snorted. “Then how come he thinks you're about to steal the lead from him? He came to my office all but accusing me of nepotism and contract breaking because you told him Meg wanted you to take over Peer when you're home on leave.”

“So I teased him a bit. Why not? It's not my fault if he's too stupid to realize I can't just take his part away from him. Anyway, he's been up my nose for months.” Reg gave his mother an angelic look. “Don't I get to enjoy myself a little bit before bravely facing the Huns' dastardly assaults?”

“Don't joke about it.” Emma Mae's eyes darted around, and Addie thought she must be looking for wood to knock on. “Besides, at the moment, I think Andrew is likely to kill you before you even set foot on French soil.”

“Kill me and rumple his costume? Nonsense!” A semblance of repentance crept into Reg's voice. “I'm sure it will be a terrific opening, Ma. I wish I were going to see it.”

Emma Mae dropped her voice. “You'll be taking our friend where he needs to go?”

“That's right.”

The noise of the orchestra swelled and fell away again. Emma Mae turned toward the sound. “I'd better check that everything's in order—”

The buzzer from the alleyway door made all three of them jump.

“Oh, no,” Emma Mae groaned. “I forgot about that wretched APL man! Oh, Reg, why didn't you and Peterson leave already? It's been bad enough with him ghosting around pretending to be our janitor ever since Andrew stumbled onto him....”

“Don't worry, Ma.” The buzzer went again. Reg frowned. “Wait a second. You don't mean a four-minute man, do you?”

“What's a four-minute man?” Addie asked.

“You know,” Reg said. “Four minutes before the curtain. The pitch for war bonds and patriotism and snitch on your neighbors if they don't support the war? From Mr. Creels Committee on Public Information? The city's crawling with them.”

Mrs. Powell nodded. “This one is with the American Protective League.”

“That's what APL stands for? You must be joking. They're thugs. Why did you ask him here?”

“Oh, for goodness' sake! You don't ask them, Reg! They tell you.” She frowned. “Just, please, be careful not to be seen when you leave. God knows what will happen then.”

“Isn't he staying for the show? If you can hustle him out to the audience, it shouldn't be a problem.”

“I'll try. But you'll have to move quickly, too.” Emma Mae went and opened the door. A thickset man in a white suit waddled in. He lifted his straw hat, revealing a slick of greased black hair. “Mrs. Powell? Mr. Humphries from the APL. You ready for us?”

Addie glanced behind Mr. Humphries to see if “us” meant there were more APL men lurking in the alley. But apparently it only meant that Mr. Humphries thought of himself as plural.

Addie would not have been able to tell Emma Mae's smile was fake if she hadn't known. “We've been expecting you, Mr. Humphries. What good work you and the committee are doing!”

“You're doing good work yourself, raising money for our boys.”

“My son is leaving for training tonight, so we thought it would be a nice gesture.”

Mr. Humphries's voice had an oily texture. “Very patriotic, ma'am. Is this your son?” The four-minute man held out his hand, and Reg shook it firmly. “I'd go myself,” Humphries added, “if it weren't for these damned flatfeet.”

Addie heard a clatter in the hall and looked up to see Andrew Lindstrom. He was flushed and nervous. “I heard we were having a visitor from the American Protective League,” he said. “Are you him?”

Mr. Humphries glowed and held out his hand again.

“Why aren't you in costume?” Mrs. Powell said sharply.

“You're looking for people undermining the war effort, aren't you?” Andrew went on, speaking only to Humphries. He was more than flushed, Addie thought. It was like there was a rash on his cheeks.

“Sure,” Humphries said. “That's our job.”

“Andrew.” Emma Mae's voice was whittled thin. “You'd better get ready. It's you and Harrison in the very first scene, in case you've forgotten.”

“The witches are first. And this is important.” Andrew drew a folded paper out of his coat pocket and hesitated just a second before holding it out to the four-minutem an.

Addie stifled a gasp. Then, without a second thought, she snatched the paper out of Andrew's hand.

Mr. Humphries twisted his thick neck around to look at her in surprise. She slapped a pleased look onto her face. “Andrew! You darling!”

She shook open the newspaper and took a cursory look at the close-printed type. As she'd suspected, it was the original copy of the
Daily,
the copy Andrew had snatched from Peterson. “I
thought
you might have the write-up of the previews. Aren't you just wonderful for getting them for me? Meg
said
they'd be useful.”

“I didn't bring it here for
you
.” Andrew turned to Mr. Humphries. “There's an article in here. Propaganda.” He tried to take the paper back from Addie, but she turned casually away, pretending to skim the page.

“What kind of propaganda?” Mr. Humphries asked.

“For the war, of course.” Addie looked up and said lightly, “Isn't that what you do?”

Andrew glared at her. “What do you think you're—”

“Thanks so much!” Addie folded the paper, shoved it into her bag, and, wondering if she was going too far, gave Andrew a peck on the cheek. Then she turned to Emma Mae. “Meg will be delighted, won't she? Shall I run this over to her now?”

Humphries was looking from Andrew to Addie, a frown furrowing his froglike lips.

“No. Not now.” Reg grabbed Addie's elbow and propelled her toward the back door. “We'll be late for that sendoff the fellows are giving me.” He turned to Humphries. “One last evening with my girl. I'd love to stay and chat, but ... you understand.”

The four-minute man smiled indulgently. “No need to explain.”

“So if you'll excuse us?” They were almost at the door now. Reg grabbed a military greatcoat from the coat stand.

Emma Mae followed them. “All right, then. I'll see you at around tenish, is that right? And I'm to bring the duffel?”

“Thanks, Ma.”

Reg pushed open the door and stood aside to let Addie go through first. Hardly daring to breathe, she stepped out into the alley, and the door closed behind them.

Reg grabbed Addie's hand and they ran. She had to sprint to keep up with him, and for a few seconds it didn't even occur to her to wonder where they were running to.

But before they could reach the end of the alley, a cart rattled around the corner and they leaped out of its way. The horse shied, the driver flinched, and bottles of milk clinked together in the back. They had to flatten themselves against the back wall of the Jewel between trash cans and a water pump to let it go past while the driver shook his fist and berated them.