Grace's Pictures (34 page)

They held a memorial service for Alice Parker in Grace Church on Broadway, a place where respectable people, in Mr. Parker’s opinion, would come to pay last respects. While it was true that Alice Parker never attended First Church, Mr. Parker did, so this arrangement made no sense to Grace. But it was none of her affair anyway.

Alice was not buried there, though. Grace had been told it would be several hours after the service before the mourners
would return to the Parker home because the graveside service was a distance away. Grace had stayed at home with the children and the baby to prepare a meal for their return.

Wee Linden played at her feet while she cooked. The girls were in the playroom and the baby was asleep in his cradle. She pulled meat from the carcass of a goose and consulted the fancy cookbook Mrs. Parker had given her. Aspic jelly with cold slices of goose meat would have to do. Grace was finding it difficult to navigate her way through her duties, and Mr. Parker would just have to accept whatever she could manage to put on the table.

The man had barely spoken to her since his wife died. Grace had expected him to lay blame, but so far that hadn’t happened.

A sad hush hung in the house. The children didn’t argue or complain or even cry, only the baby, who had to get used to a glass bottle feeder and infant formula. Grace would speak to the midwife as soon as she could. Certainly she would know of a wet nurse Mr. Parker could employ.

When the food was ready and the table set, she took Linden up to the playroom to read the children a book. They stood together staring at the bookshelf. Finally Grace pulled one down and Linden settled into her lap while the girls scooted close. The Brothers Grimm. “Here now,
Twelve Brothers
. Doesn’t that sound fair?”

He nodded.

“‘Once upon a time there were a king and a queen. They lived happily together and had twelve children, all boys. One day the king said to his wife, “If our thirteenth child, which you are soon going to bring into the world, is a girl, then the twelve others shall die, so that her wealth may be great, and so that she alone may inherit the kingdom.” Indeed, he had twelve coffins made . . .’ Uh, let me find another.”

Hansel and Gretel
? Nay, the witch wanted to eat the children. She kept looking while Linden twirled one of his army men in his hand. Story after story was about children and the evil adults in their lives. No good. She gave up.

“Just tell us a story, Miss Gracie,” Linden pleaded.

Hazel agreed. “One from Ireland? Please?”

A story did occur to her just that moment.
The Dagda’s Harp
. “Long ago, before the time of Saint Patrick, there was a leader of a great tribe in Ireland. His name was the Dagda. His greatest weapon was not a spear but a harp, a special harp that obeyed only him. Its beautiful music made the seasons change, so they say. I don’t know myself.”

The children giggled. They loved stories that defied logic, Grace assumed.

She continued on. “There came an enemy one day, and they stole away the Dagda’s harp and took it to a faraway place. The Dagda went after it, and it took a very long time to reach the hiding place.”

“Did he get his harp back?” Holly asked.

“Wait for her to tell,” Hazel scolded.

Grace patted the wee girl’s head. “This enemy tribe had a great many warriors with long spears and snarling dogs, and the Dagda had no such weapons for his defense.”

Linden lined his toy soldiers up on the floor. “How did he get his harp back, then?”

“He spoke to the harp, just in time, before the warriors had him in their clutches.” She tickled Linden and he squealed in delight.

“Tell the story, Miss Gracie,” Hazel said.

“Well, the Dagda instructed the harp to play three tunes. The first was a slow, sad tune, and the room full of warriors
fell to the ground sobbing in misery until the floor was soaked with their tears.”

“Then what?” Linden asked.

“Then the harp played the second tune, a merry piece that had everyone chuckling and dancing and holding their bellies because they laughed so hard.”

She might not have gotten the Parker children to laugh, but they smiled, so that was better.

“There was a third tune, Miss Gracie?” Hazel asked.

“There was. This was the sweetest tune of all, very gentle and soothing. Soon, man by man, heads began to nod and shoulders slumped until the warriors were all curled up on the floor snoring away.”

“And he got away with the harp?” Linden asked.

“Oh, aye, he did. See? Didn’t I tell you he had the most powerful weapon? The Dagda, only one man, stood up against a powerful army with only his harp.”

“I wonder,” Hazel said, resting her chin on her arm. “Did he know the harp could make the men go to sleep or did that just happen?”

Grace gave her a quick hug. “I suppose he had to have faith that it would work.”

“I wish I had a magic harp,” Holly complained.

“Magic harps are only for stories, lass, but you have us, and we love you.” Grace kissed the top of the girl’s head, and it occurred to her that perhaps God would provide what these children needed, despite the loss of their mother. She prayed that she would have as much faith in that as the Dagda did in his harp.

But sadness was not so easily dismissed. Sitting on the floor with a pile of blocks the children used to make a castle, Grace
fought back tears. It was unthinkably sad that these children no longer had a mother nor grieved as Grace might have if it were her own mother who passed away. “Wait here.”

She hurried down a floor and crept into the Parkers’ bedroom. She found the Burpee catalog in a pile under the bed. The snapshot she’d taken of Mrs. Parker and the children lay on the mantel. Grace picked it up. Somehow Alice Parker had known to ask for this. The photograph was sure to be a treasured memento for the children. She brought both things back to the attic.

“Children, I want to show you something.”

They gathered around her. She flipped a few pages. “Here, coralbells.”

Hazel touched the illustration. “Beautiful.”

“Your mother wanted these in the yard. We are going to plant them in the spring. What do you think?”

They agreed and each one took a turn holding the catalog.

“Remember this?” She let each of them hold the tiny photograph. “We’ll get a wee frame and keep it in the day nursery. She wanted you all to have this photograph because she loved you.”

Tears rolled down each child’s face, even Hazel’s.

“Now, now. ’Tis a good thing to miss your mother, but you have these memories of her. Be happy when you look at them.”

Linden sniffed. “We will, Miss Gracie.”

“And don’t hide those tears,” Grace said. “Tears are God’s way of washing your hurting hearts.”

The sound of the front door opening brought her to her feet. “Stay here, children. Hazel, come get me if the baby cries. Do not try to pick him up. You can rock his cradle, but that’s all.”

“I will, Miss Gracie.”

Grace scrambled down the back stairs and began pulling
plates from the icebox. Auntie Edith came to help her. “I’ll be staying for a while, Grace. To help.”

The poor woman had barely left before turning back to come to Alice’s funeral. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to neglect your own affairs.”

The plump woman sliced the butter into pats and placed them on dishes. “I love those children.” She blew out a puff of air. “Alas, I cannot stay more than a week. I have the new term beginning.”

“I’m grateful you will be here. This will be a difficult adjustment for them all.” She knew all about the horrendous turns life could take.

Edith paused and gave Grace a hug. “You all right, dear?”

“I believe I am.” She remembered what her mother had told her before she left for America.
“Fly free.”

32

WHEN OWEN HEARD THE NEWS
about Mrs. Parker, he waited until the day after the burial and then paid a visit. Grace answered the door.

“It was very nice of you to come. I’m sure Mr. Parker will appreciate it. I’m afraid he’s not taking visitors now, though.”

Owen searched for words. He had not anticipated that Grace would assume he’d come only to offer George Parker his condolences. “I’m sorry. I mean, I will leave my regards for you to pass on, but may I speak with you, Grace?”

An older woman came up behind her. “Who is it, child?”

“Edith Milburn, may I present Officer Owen McNulty. He attends First Church. Officer, this is Mr. Parker’s sister.”

“Glad to meet you, madam.”

The woman flung the door wide. “Come in, Officer. So nice of you to stop by.” She ushered him into the parlor. “Grace, get our guest tea.” She took his hat from him. “You are off duty now, Officer?”

“Yes, I hoped to speak to Grace. That is . . . if she is not too busy.”

The woman winked. “She is not. I’ll get the tea.”

A few moments later Grace returned. Owen stood. “This had to be difficult for you.”

She nodded and sat gingerly on the edge of the sofa.

He returned to the chair he had been sitting on. “I just want you to know, you don’t have to worry about things . . . you know . . . that thug and Walter Feeny.”

Her head popped up. “Why? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if you realize it, but some folks thought you were snapping photographs all over town, and they didn’t want their pictures made.”

She wrung her hands in her lap. “Who said that?”

She seemed inappropriately nervous. “Grace, is there any more to the story? Anything I should know? I mean, I’m hot on Smokey Davis’s trail. He’s not going to—”

“You mean he’s not in jail?”

“Well, no, but you know that business I said I was involved in, in the Battery?”

“Aye.”

“Well, Jake—my partner—and me . . . we’re getting close to shutting down Smokey’s gang.”

She was visibly shaken. “Officer?”

“Call me Owen, Grace. I believe we’re friends.”

“Owen, I got a note from Smokey. I didn’t tell anyone, but he threatened me.”

Owen’s jaw tightened. “Was it the Middleton business? The photograph of the stuss game?”

“I believe so. Do you think I’m in trouble? Am I putting the children at risk by being in this house?”

“No, not so long as I draw breath.”

She looked surprised.

“Do you have the photograph?”

“I don’t know. I got a package from Kodak, but after I found
the photograph I took of Alice and the children, I put the rest aside. They are right here in my bag.”

She opened a cardboard envelope, and they both looked at the small photographs. There were two of Linden romping in a park. Another of a newsboy and some tenements. Grace set those aside on a tea table. Then she pulled out one of the card game.

“Say, this is a nice clear shot.” He took it and held it up toward the light coming from the window. “There’s old Middleton. Well, no one would care about this photograph except him. Mind if I take it?”

“I don’t mind.”

“Don’t worry about that threat, Grace. Smokey’s bark is worse than his bite. I’ll see that he gets this. It’s all he wants. But don’t be snapping any more photographs in this neighborhood, all right?”

“I promise I won’t.”

The worry on her face was still there.

“Is there something else?”

“I’m not sure.” She squeezed her hands together in her lap.

“Just tell me. Even if you think it might not matter. Let me be the judge.”

She glanced up at him. “It was some time ago, when I first got my camera. I was in the park and heard some voices behind the statue. You know, the one of the man with the boat?”

“Yes, the Ericsson statue.”

“I was curious, and when I saw the men on the other side, they thought I was spying on them. I thought they wanted to steal my camera and I ran.”

“Was Smokey among the men there?”

“He was. He found me in the fish house.”

“Yes, the aquarium. I saw you talking to him there.”

“He thought I was trying to take someone’s photograph. Someone who was with him there. But I wasn’t! I didn’t even have the camera loaded.”

“Did you hear the man’s name, the one who didn’t want his photograph taken?”

“Something foolish-sounding.” She wrinkled her brow and gazed at a corner of the ceiling while she considered it.

“Goo Goo, perhaps?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“So you did not take his photograph?”

“I did not. I didn’t take any that day.”

“But you saw this Goo Goo?”

“Well, briefly.”

Owen rubbed his chin. “Can you draw?”

“I try.”

“Do me a favor and practice a bit. See if you can recall what that man looked like. Don’t tell anyone you’re doing that, all right? I’ll check back with you in a couple of days. Can you do that?”

“It would help you catch that mean fellow and keep Smokey from bothering people?”

“Most certainly. But it must be our secret, Grace.”

“All right, so.”

“Good.”

They smiled at each other for a moment. It felt fine. “I should be going.”

She walked him to the door.

“Tell Mr. Parker’s sister thank you, but I could not stay for tea.”

“Another time?”

“Yes, thank you. And, Grace, don’t worry. I’m looking out for you.”

33

GRACE WAS SO BUSY
the next day that she could only spare a moment here and there to practice with her pencil. When Officer McNulty came back, she’d have to tell him she needed more time. Memories could be hard to summon. If only she
had
taken that thug’s photograph that day.

Edith had helped Grace prepare some meals in advance, and she did all the mending of the children’s clothes Grace hadn’t had time to do. But she would be leaving soon, and Grace expected Mr. Parker would want her to stay permanently with the children. She would miss her comfortable bed and Annie and Mrs. Hawkins, who were becoming her family. But the children needed her.