1929 (19 page)

“I was just going to have us all save every
cent until we had enough for the first shipment,” Aryl said,
disheartened.

“Then there’s storage and delivery, I'm
sorry, it’s just not going to work.”

“I’ll find something else then.” He looked at
Jonathan's soot-covered clothes. “So, why were you shoveling coal
all morning?” Aryl asked, starting on his second sandwich.

“The crane accidentally dumped a ton,
literally,” he scowled, “of coal all over the ground instead of
inside the coal car, and apparently someone told one of the yard
leads I called them a,” tilting his head up to remember the words,
he quoted bitterly, “ . . . ‘lazy, loudmouthed, fat bastard’. So, I
got shit duty.”

“Who said that?” Caleb demanded. Jonathan
shrugged.

“Who knows,” he grumbled.

“Jon, who did you piss off around here? Me ‘n
Aryl get razzed, but you’re getting downright abused.” Jonathan
just shrugged his shoulders again, glancing around the room.

Tony was in the opposite corner of the room
talking to a few other men and occasionally glancing at the trio.
He eyed Caleb and Aryl, sizing them up and decided maybe he better
back off a little.

Harvey Duggins was in the doorway suddenly,
rapping on the frame loudly to get everyone’s attention. The
chatter died down and everyone looked at Harvey.

“Looks like you boys get a day off tomorrow.
Shipments are down, so we’re suspending Saturday work,” Harvey
announced.

“For how long?” a worried German asked from
the back of the room.

“The next two weeks. We’re hoping it picks up
after Thanksgiving. I’ll keep you posted. I also wanted to let you
know we are holding a raffle for Thanksgiving turkeys. We got ten
of ‘em. You can buy raffle tickets for ten cents at the payroll
window.” He turned to leave without waiting for questions.

The whistle blew, and the three went back to
their work areas, worrying about what a missing day on their
paychecks would mean.

∞∞∞

They met up as usual by the gate to walk home
together. It was fully dark at quitting time now. Caleb handed Aryl
and Jonathan a red ticket. “A raffle ticket for a turkey. I bought
us each one. Whoever wins it has to host Thanksgiving,” he said.
Jonathan handed it back.

“My luck hasn’t been that great lately. You
better hang on to it.” Aryl put his ticket in his pocket,
preoccupied with the news of losing a day’s work each week. With
the holidays coming, the first gas and electric bill arriving soon,
and their savings dwindling, he was starting to get extremely
worried. Caleb stopped by the mouth of an alley and pointed to a
pile of broken pallets around a dumpster.

“Hey, look at that,” he said.

“Look at what? It’s a busted pile of
pallets,” Jonathan said and started walking again. The streetlight
he stood next to was the only one on this particular block that
wasn't broken, and it illuminated the corner of the alley where the
pallets were stacked like a spotlight.

“Free fire tonight,” Caleb said, walking
toward the heap of ragged wood. He lifted one, leaned it against
the wall of the alley and kicked it hard, causing several of the
wood planks to fall.

“Good idea, Caleb,” Aryl said and joined him
in kicking pallets apart. Jonathan huffed and positioned a pallet
against the wall, even though his back was aching from shoveling
all day. Later, the three men walked home with a load of pallet
boards on their shoulders.

Aryl shook his head. “I can’t believe I
didn’t see that.”

“I feel like a tramp,” Jonathan grumbled as
he shifted the load, hating the idea of scavenging in an alley for
anything.

“Get over it,” Caleb ordered. “It's free
firewood.”

“And with the heat bill coming soon, every
day we can keep the gas turned down, the better off we’ll be,” Aryl
added. Jonathan relented and picked up his pace, wanting to get
home to Ava.

∞∞∞

Jonathan walked in to find Charles and Sven
sitting on the couch, talking with Ava.

“Hello, sir,” Charles said cheerfully and
stood to greet him. Jonathan started to correct him, but Charles
had said and done this for over five years whenever Jonathan had
walked in the door each evening. Sven stood as well, towering over
everyone in the room.

“My wife sends black bread,” he said and
smiled ever so slightly.

“Thank you,” Jonathan said, setting the wood
by the hearth. “It’s good to see you both. How have you been?”
Jonathan asked, shaking his hand and then removing his coat. Ava
took it, and he grabbed her long enough to kiss her cheek before
she went to put it away.

“Good. I have new job. Large family. Lots of
work, less pay. Good enough for times like these.” He glanced down
at his palm, now covered in black smears from Jonathan’s
soot-covered hand.

“Oh, sorry about that.” He had forgotten that
he was filthy. “I tried scrubbing it off at work, but it doesn’t
come off easily.”

“Lard. Rub lard on hands, then soap,” Sven
informed.

“Huh. I’ll try that,” he said, walking to the
kitchen to look around for the bowl of lard.

“I'll be damned, it worked.” he said,
rejoining the others in the living room a few minutes later. Ava
brought him a large piece of the bread that Sven’s wife sent, a hot
cup of tea, then sat beside him in a chair pulled from the
table.

“Well, the reason for my visit, sir, is this.
I have a proposition for you. My new employer is holding a holiday
party, the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and I could use a little
extra help. I have permission to hire one more man as it will be a
large party. I wondered if you might be interested. It would be
extra money before the holidays. I’m sure I can arrange a spare
black suit, should you need it,” Charles said and smiled
hopefully.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Charles? What
would I be helping you with?” Jonathan shifted uncomfortably and
sipped his tea.

“Well, you would be performing the duties of
a butler for the evening. Serving guests, taking coats, providing
drinks.”

Jonathan cringed inside. “I’m not sure I
would know what to do, Charles. I’ve never . . . .”

“Well, it really isn’t hard, sir. It would
be, how do they say? ‘Easy money’.” Jonathan felt all eyes on him
as he tried to find a dignified way out of the offer. He struggled
between the humiliation of becoming hired help and earning extra
money. He thought about adding it to the savings jar for when Aryl
found an idea that would actually work and finally nodded,
conceding to the voice in his head that yelled at him to make and
save as much as he could.

“Sure, Charles. And I still have a black
suit.” Charles handed him a piece of paper with an address written
on it.

“If you’ll be here at six o’clock, sir, I’ll
meet you at the back of the house.” Jonathan glanced at the
address, noting it was only a few blocks from where he used to
live. He sighed heavily, already regretting his agreement. “Well,
we don’t want to keep you from your dinner, so we’ll be on our
way.”

“So soon?” Jonathan asked, disappointed.
“Maybe you could stay for dinner?”

“My wife is waiting,” Sven stated. He reached
out for Jonathan’s now clean hand.

“I will see you in two weeks, sir,” Charles
said to Jonathan. “And we’d like to plan an evening to get
together. Maura wanted me to ask you if the Saturday after next
would be a good night.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful. Tell her yes,”
Ava said.

Ava went over to her homemade calendar and
wrote down Maura’s visit eight days from then. With that and their
dinner plans with Shannon, she had two things to look forward
to.

∞∞∞

Caleb walked in to the smell of burnt bread,
a room full of billowing smoke and Arianna trying to clear the air
at the window.

“What happened?” he asked, helping her wave
the smoke out.

“I tried, Caleb, that’s what happened. I
tried, and like I told you, I don’t know how to do this. All I did
was waste flour,” she growled at him.

“You tried. That’s what matters. It’ll get
better. And easier.” He walked in the kitchen and saw the oven dial
turned to the highest setting. “Here’s the problem, Ahna,” he said,
pointing to the dial. She grabbed the sheet of paper that had
Maura’s bread recipe, wrinkled and stained.

“No, see right here.” She pointed to the
temperature on the recipe. “Five hundred-seventy-five degrees. The
dial didn’t go that high, so I just put it as high as I could.”
Caleb started laughing.

“No, Ahna. That’s a three. It got smudged.”
She looked closer and threw the paper on the counter in frustration
and crossed her arms to pout. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll go get
some dinner,” he said, and holding the back of her head, kissed her
forehead. “Thank you for trying.”

∞∞∞

“Good evening.” He walked into the shop where
Mr. Goldberg greeted him happily. Caleb was his most regular
customer since moving in, and the old man was always gracious.

“What will you have today, Caleb?”

“Oh, how about a loaf of that rye bread and a
half-pound of salami. Maybe a quarter-pound of provolone, too.”
They would have sandwiches again tonight. He was too hungry to wait
for dinner to cook.

“Coming right up,” he called as he set to
work slicing and wrapping. “Not that I mind your business, but you
know, if there was a Mrs. Caleb, you wouldn’t have to come here
every night for your dinner. You should be thinking on finding a
nice girl and getting married,” he said with a Jewish accent and
waggled a crooked finger at him. Caleb simply looked down and
laughed.

November 9th 1929

Jonathan knocked on Shannon’s door while Ava
held a small cake.

Shannon smiled when she opened it.
“Welcome!”

They stepped inside as Shannon’s husband came
around the corner.

“Babes are asleep,” he told Shannon.

The table now set away from the wall. The two
regular chairs were set on one side for Ava and Jonathan, and the
luggage trunk was on the other for the hosts to sit on. Wonderful
aromas filled the apartment.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Shannon said
cheerfully. “Can I get ye anythin’ to drink?”

“Thank you,” Ava said, unsure of what to ask
for. Shannon had already prepared mugs of fresh coffee, to which
she now added a generous helping of cream, sugar and Irish whiskey.
She passed the mugs out, and the kick caught Ava off-guard.

“Whew!” She laughed with watering eyes, took
another sip, and gave Shannon a nod. “Delicious.”

Patrick stuck out his work-weathered hand to
Jonathan. “I’m Patrick. Me wife has no manners to introduce me
proper.” He smirked at Shannon. He was a lanky man with sandy-blond
hair grown out just over his ears. His brown eyes were deep set and
kind.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Patrick, I’m just so excited
to have company,” she said apologetically.

“Don’t fret, woman,” he said and smiled,
giving her a hard pat on the bottom.

“Jonathan. My friends call me Jon. Nice to
meet you, Patrick.”

“Come sit. Shannon said you work at the
docks. That’d be the shipping docks or the dry docks?” he asked,
folding his long legs over the chest across from Jonathan.

“Shipping–” Jonathan began.

“Patrick, would you do me a favor an grab me
some more butter?” Shannon interrupted. He twisted his legs from
under the table, went to the living room window and opened it.
Frigid air blew past him, and he worked quickly. He reached out to
the fire escape, used a key to open a lock on a box chained to the
bars and pulled out a round of butter wrapped in paper. He handed
it to Shannon, who paid him for the favor with a quick kiss.

“You like it there?” Patrick asked when he
returned to the table.

“Honestly, no,” Jonathan snorted.

“What don’t you like about it?”

“Too many things to mention. What about you?
Where do you work?”

“Dry-docks. I rivet mainly, but they often
call me to do other things. Lately, I’ve been working on a section
of wood deckin’ an’ week ‘fore that I was putting in pipes for the
privies.” Patrick was proud of his versatility.

“You like it down there,” Jonathan
assumed.

“Yes.” Patrick nodded. “I’ve had much worse.
Good people I work with for the most part. Don’t catch too much
trouble for bein' a mick.”

“Patrick Michael Mulligan!” Shannon cried,
her accent rolling as deep as her anger. Patrick jumped and
mockingly cringed as if being scolded by an angry mother with a
switch.

“Don’t ye dare use that profanity in me
house!” She was by his side and glaring at him.

“T’isnt profanity, woman. Just slang,” he
rebutted with a boyish grin.

“Offensive slang at that. An insult to our
Irish heritage. I know all too well what’s implied when it’s said
and it’s only said out a’ meanness. I’ll not hear it in me own
house. Not when I have to hear it on the streets in insult.”

Patrick nodded. “Fine, fine. You’ll not hear
it from me in our home.” He pulled her over and stretched up to
kiss her cheek. “Now don’t go showin’ yer temper to our
guests.”

“Don’t give me cause to,” she chided back,
glancing at him from the corner of her eye. Her face was hard, but
her eyes teasing.

“The way I see it, people are too damned
sensitive.” He looked at Shannon but was speaking to Jonathan. “I
once seen a fight break out between two fellas at work, Jewish and
Italian, I think, or maybe Jew and German. Anyhow, they started
with talkin’ and callin’ each other names like feckin’ schoolgirls
then started boxin’. Both their daft arses lost their jobs. Now
what’s the sense in that? Losin’ a job over words,” he said,
shaking his head.