The Jewel and the Key (42 page)

“It was either that or jail.”

Addie pushed past Reg and put her arms around the girl as if she were as young as Zack. “He's all right,” she said, thinking she would really deserve it if Frida hauled off and punched her. “He sent his love. He ... he wanted you to join him if he got to the peninsula, but it didn't turn out that way.”

“He'll figure out another way,” Meg Turner interjected in a gentle tone Addie had never heard from her. “And Reg is right. The army is much better than jail.”

Over Frida's head, Addie met Meg's eyes. The look of comradeship, of approval, that she saw there seemed totally undeserved. But it helped.

Collecting herself, she grasped Frida's ice-cold hands and led her over to the rocker. The girl let herself be eased into the seat and sat rocking for a moment, pale and frightened-looking.

“I've got a pot of tea in the kitchen,” Meg said. “You all look like you could use it.”

Addie watched Meg turn and head toward the back of the house. She had to resist a sweep of vertigo as the director swished through a curtain of multicolored beads dividing the room. One day this would be her dad's bookstore. But now there wasn't a scrap of familiarity in the whole place, from the bright turquoise walls to the low coffee table scattered with letters and magazines. Though she did see the door of the closet where she'd found Megs crates so long ago—so far in the future.

The only other thing she recognized was the gramophone, its great brass amplifier, shiny and new, sweeping out with familiar flair. Dads Victrola.

Reg went over to it and started pulling big shellac records out of an upright case. Despite herself, Addie smiled. It was exactly what Whaley would do in a stressful situation.

She turned back to Frida. “How did you know to wait for your dad here?”

The color was coming back into the girl's face. “Mr. Sadler telephoned and said there was a mix-up and they'd bring Dad here to catch his ride.” She frowned. “He said it was your idea. What made you think this was a good place?”

“Why wouldn't it be?”

“Because I've been staying here since I started working at the Jewel. The police know that for good and certain. Didn't you?”

Surprised, Addie shook her head. “Why here?”

“Mrs. Turner offered when Mrs. Powell gave me the job. Our landlord turned me out when Dad was arrested,” Frida said.

Meg Turner came back with a teapot and cups on a tray. She put it down, poured some, dumped a teaspoon of sugar into it, and handed it to Frida. The girl held the steaming cup between her hands.

“Meg?” Reg called, holding a record aloft. “May I?”

“Just don't wake Stan.” Meg picked up a shawl from the rocking chair where she'd been sitting and threw it around her shoulders. “Secret of a good marriage, I'll tell you right now, girls. I work late, he works early.”

“Sounds miserable,” Reg said. Addie was relieved to pick up a hint of humor in his voice. “You don't have a romantic bone in your body, Meg.”

“I can't afford to,” Meg said shortly.

“How I'd hate to be you,” Reg teased. He placed the needle carefully on the spinning record and stole a look at Addie. The thin, faraway sound of an orchestra filled the room. Addie smiled to herself, picked up the pot, poured out another steaming cup, and silently handed it to Reg. She'd heard this music before. Melodic. Clear. A cascade of piano notes, slow and deliberate as a stroll down a boulevard on a warm autumn afternoon.

Reg took the cup from her and met her eyes.

“It's Erik Satie,” he said at last. “Meg used it in
Twelfth Night.”
His expression shifted, becoming oddly shy, as if they'd just met. “Sounds like it, doesn't it?”

Addie nodded, and, not really caring if the others saw, reached up and ran her hand along his neck and across his shoulders. “It sounds like you.”

A slow smile answered hers.

Meg Turner looked up from where she sat stirring sugar into her tea, gazing first at Reg and then at Addie. She raised an eyebrow. ‘Act One. ‘If music be the food of love, play on....'”

A firm rap sounded on the back door, and she went to answer it. A moment later, Sam Sadler burst into the room, with Meg following.

He took in all of them and shook his head in annoyance. “Where's Gustaf?”

“What are you doing here, Sam?” Reg asked. “I thought Teddy Nickles was coming.”

“Can't get a logging truck up these little neighborhood streets. He's waiting at the mill on Yesler. Hurry up and get Peterson, will you?”

“You're not taking Gustaf.” Reg put his cup down on the table with a clunk. “You're taking me.”

“What?”
Addie cried.

“What!” Sadler roared in counterpoint. “Holy hell, why would I go to all this trouble to transport
you
out of town? Peterson's who I want. Where is he?”

“Past Tacoma by now, I should think. On a train bound for San Francisco.”

Sadler shoved a chair out of the way and crossed the room to Reg. “Are you totally out of your mind?”

Reg looked like he found this incredibly funny. “No, I don't think so—”

“Yes,”
Addie interjected.

Sadler just went on. “Who's going to meet him there? What names he gone under? I'm gonna go out on a limb here and bet you don't know a single soul in the Frisco IWW. So what in the name of President Wilson's shriveled behind were you thinking?”

Meg Turner, barely repressing a smile, held out a cup. “Tea, Mr. Sadler?”

Sadler puffed out his cheeks as though detonating a controlled explosion and looked from Reg to Addie. “I want you two to explain this to me. And it better be fast and it better be good.”

He settled himself on the arm of the sofa, listening intently to their overlapping explanations, moving only to accept the cup of tea and down it in one gulp. Frida drew closer, silently hanging on every word. But when they got to the part about Gustaf boarding the train, Sadler interrupted. “What about the name on the enlistment papers? It isn't your uncle's name. It's yours.”

“But that's all the better,” Reg countered. “I'm who they're expecting. It's only that detective who thinks he's my uncle Rob. Peterson will know that.”

“Hmmph.” Sadler looked unconvinced. “As long as that cop was really as sold on your performance as you think.” He shook his head. “The best thing would be to get Gustaf off that train, get you on it, and send him on his way. Why in hell didn't you think this through?”

“We did!” Addie exploded. “We can't help it if everything went wrong.”

“We were just lucky that Addie was so quick-thinking,” Reg cut in, “and my mother and Gustaf caught on so fast. Believe me, if you could get me on that train, I'd be over the moon. But since you can't, you ought to at least help me get out of town, because if I'm swanning around in Seattle when I'm supposed to be at the Presidio, that's going to be a big problem for Peterson. If anyone wants to poke into it. I just think it's better if nothing makes the police suspicious.”

“Thank you,” Frida murmured. Meg gave the girl a quick smile.

Sadler furrowed his brow and thought a minute. Finally, he said, “I think you're right, friend. You shouldn't stick around here. And I reckon Teddy would take you out to Camp Disappointment. Though, if you wanted to disappear, you could do it in more style than sinking into ten inches of muck out in the rainforest.”

“There isn't much else on offer.”

Addie watched Reg with concern and amazement. All of a sudden he seemed so sure of himself.

“Just so you're warned,” Sadler said, “it's not a pastoral scene out there. The Wobs are organizing in the timberlands, and there's plenty of fight-back from big lumber.”

Reg's eyes lit up. “I wouldn't go if I wasn't willing. Besides, it won't be for long. I'll get back into the infantry somehow.”

“No, don't,” Addie said.

But he ignored her. “And right now, I'd like to get moving. The longer I'm around, the more dangerous it is for Gustaf.” He turned to Meg. “You'll tell Mother, won't you?”

Meg nodded. “Of course. I'll telephone your house.” “She's not there. She'll be at the apartment at the Jewel tonight because of the cast party. I know you don't like those shindigs, Meg, but can you drop in and tell her what happened?” Meg nodded. “Tell her I'll...” He hesitated, a troubled look crossing his face. “Tell her I'll try to get word to her.”

Addie stared at Reg. He was leaving. Really leaving. Now.

The current was flowing too swiftly. She couldn't stop it—didn't even know if she should. Or if she had already changed its direction.

Then Meg Turner was leading them to the back of the house. “Stick your money in your boot,” Sadler told Reg. “And don't take much. Bunkhouse is two bits a month, grub included. If the cops catch you with a wad of cash, they won't buy you're a real timber beast.”

Reg laughed. “Don't worry. I haven't got a cent!” The idea seemed to exhilarate him.

Meg reached into the pocket of a coat hanging on the coat rack on the back wall, pulled out a few bills, and stuffed them into Reg's hand.

“Thanks, Meg. I owe you. Hey! D'you have paper and a pencil you can spare?”

The director slid open a coffee-table drawer and handed Reg a small notebook. “You're not going to get in more trouble, are you? Writing subversive literature?”

Reg looked from her to Addie and grinned. “Oh, probably.”

Addie met his eyes. “That's good. I think you should give a lot of people a lot more trouble.” Despite herself, she returned his grin. She was always telling Whaley to stay out of trouble. But for some reason, what distressed her in Whaley seemed to delight her in Reg.

Sadler opened the back door and stepped out with Frida beside him. Addie heard her ask him if there was any way to get a message to her father but didn't hear his reply. Meg followed them, but Reg and Addie lingered behind in the kitchen.

“Give people all the trouble you can for the rest of your life, if that's what you want to do, Reg,” she added. “Just don't go over into the fighting looking for it. Promise me.”

Addie. How can I—” But she didn't let him finish, just pulled him to her and kissed him, hanging on with all the strength she had. She smoothed her palm up and down his back through the heavy workman's flannel, memorizing the feel of him, letting the warmth of his hands sink into her like permanent marks on her skin. In another moment he would be gone.

Then, reluctantly, she pulled away. “Reg, will you give me something?”

He swept his hand over his heart. “Anything.” Color flamed into his face. “No jest.”

She paused. It was hard to think of it, at this moment. “I need the photos. The ones Tom took of the Jewel that you printed on the front page of the paper with your article. Like I said when we were at the
Daily Call
office.”

He nodded, looking slightly puzzled. “You don't think I forgot, do you?”

From the alley behind the house, Sadler tapped his horn impatiently.

Reg pulled her to him once more and kissed her so hard she felt her head spin. For a moment she forgot everything, all swept out on a deep tide in which the past and the present slipped together, collapsed into a single moment.

And then he'd let her go and was saying something. “I'll telephone Tom and tell him to drop them by the theater. I'm sure there's a phone at the ferry dock. Don't worry.” He cracked a smile. “No matter how beery Tom seems, he always comes through.”

Relief swept through her. “Oh, Reg, thank you!” She threw her arms around him again. But Reg gently pushed her away and put his hands on either side of her face, as if memorizing every detail. Behind him, the shadows seemed to deepen. The horn honked again, more insistently.

“You'll be at the theater, won't you, Addie? When I come back?”

Addie returned his steady gaze and said carefully, “I'll be at the Jewel, Reg. Its my future. Of course I'll be there.” That much was true. But she could hardly get the next words out, knowing that they might be a lie. “I'll be there when you come back.”

“Promise?”

More than anything she wanted to say yes and to mean it. She
did
mean it! But the words thumped in her head:
Be honest. Tell him. You can't promise anything.

She promised.

And when he let her go and picked up her hand and kissed her palm, she looked away, ashamed that she had lied to him now, of all times. Except it would have broken her heart if she couldn't let him think that just for once, he could count on her.

He turned and walked out the door, the cuffs of Peterson's work shirt dangling around his wrists.

Addie took a deep breath before she stepped out onto the back landing and went down the steps after him. She crossed the yard to the Douglas fir and joined Meg and Frida. Meg threw her arms around Reg in a quick hug, and Addie heard her say, “Take care of yourself.” Frida shook his hand, and he patted her on the shoulder.

“Meg?” Her throat tightened as she watched Reg get into the car. The door closed. Sadler swung the car away from the side of the house and turned it around. “Reg's friend Tom is going to bring a copy of the paper that Reg told you about. With the photos of the Jewel on the front and his article about Gustaf's friends on the second page.” She tore her gaze away from the car for a moment, to make sure Meg was listening. “Can he leave them for me in your office? I promised Reg I'd hold on to it. It's—it's important.”

Meg put her arm around Addie's shoulders. “Of course he can. What do you think?”

Addie breathed out and turned back to the alley. “Thanks, Meg. You'd better hide it somewhere until I can pick it up. I'm afraid of the APL guy or the police coming back soon.” It was hard, hard to give specific directions as she strained and failed to see Reg in the passenger's seat. She forced herself to continue. “You could hide it under that loose floorboard, he said. In the closet in your office.”