The Girl in the Torch (13 page)

O
VER THE NEXT SEVERAL DAYS
, Sarah fell into a regular pattern of working with Mrs. Lee at mealtimes and then helping Tommy sell the morning and afternoon editions of the papers in between. With Sarah's help, Tommy was able to sell more, and she began to amass a sizable collection of pennies, which she kept hidden in a small cloth sack tucked deep under the mattress in Maryk's room, along with the coins she had collected on the island. Her sense of security grew with each coin. Soon she'd have enough money to rent her own room when Mrs. Lee made her leave.

She was cleaning the lunch dishes one afternoon when Mrs. Lee walked over to her.

“Maryk forgot the dinner I make. You go bring it to him.”

She handed Sarah a small tin pot and a container of coffee.

“Where?”

“West side. Take Canal Street all the way over and then turn right. He work at Clews' Stable near the river.”

“A stable?”

“Yes. Place to keep horses. He work there part-time.”

Sarah knew what the word meant. Her stomach dropped.

“You go now,” Mrs. Lee said. “Maryk get cranky if he not have food. But I guess Maryk get cranky if he have food too.”

Sarah took the lunch and reluctantly set off to find the stable. She walked west several blocks until she arrived at a large fenced-in grassy area near the Hudson River filled with horses in various paddocks. Some of the horses trotted and grazed around a large open pasture.

Sarah circled the stable looking for Maryk and finally found him mucking out one of the pens with a metal rake. A large black mare grazed at the opposite end of the pen, which had a worn riding circle along the inside of its perimeter. Maryk's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of her.

“You forgot your meal,” Sarah said, holding up the metal pot and coffee container.

“Thanks,” Maryk grunted as he set the rake aside and approached.

He looked slightly annoyed, or maybe embarrassed that anyone was seeing him doing such lowly work.

Suddenly, the black mare whinnied loudly. Sarah recoiled and took a step back, dropping the metal pail. Half of Maryk's dinner spilled out into the mud.

“Hey!” Maryk said. “Watch what you're doing there.”

“Sorry,” Sarah said, scrambling to pick up the pail and salvage the portion of fried rice that had not hit the ground.

“Aw, just leave it!” Maryk barked.

“There is still some that is all right,” she said, holding up the pail with the remaining food. She fearfully eyed the horse, which had moved closer to her, drawn by the smell of the food. She edged back.

“What's got you so spooked about horses anyway?”

She had a brief flash of the night her father died and the riderless horse barreling through their village.

“I just don't like them,” Sarah replied.

“Put that stuff down and come here,” he said.

Sarah placed the pail and container at her feet. Maryk stepped over to the black mare, which was already tacked up with a saddle and bridle, and grabbed the reins.

“Come on,” he said. “I haven't got all day.”

Sarah warily entered the pen and edged up to Maryk and the horse.

“Name's Betty,” he said. “You're going to ride her.”

“I can't,” she said, shaking her head.

“Course you can,” he said impatiently. “How you going to survive in New York if you're afraid of horses?”

“I can walk on my own feet,” she said.

“I'm not expecting you to enter the Kentucky Derby or anything. Best thing to do is to face your fear head-on.”

She stared at him doubtfully.

“Look, like I said, I haven't got all day.” Maryk frowned. “So you're going to get on this horse right now and give this a try.
Animals smell fear. So I suggest you calm down. She ain't gonna bite you.”

Sarah took a deep breath.

“Come on,” he said. “First thing to remember is to always approach a horse from its left side.”

Sarah inched toward the horse, staring into her large, dark eyes.

“Now put your hand on her neck and rub her shoulder,” he commanded.

She tentatively reached out her hand and stroked the horse's neck, marveling at the smooth and hard muscle beneath. The horse whinnied softly.

“That's good. Now come around and give her a good look in the eye and then blow some breath into her nose.”

“What?”

“Blow some of your breath into her nostrils. Animals learn about things by smelling them. It's kind of like a handshake.”

Maryk's instructions were firm but clear. So Sarah faced the horse and then leaned in and blew into her nose. The horse shook her head calmly.

“Here.” He reached into his pocket and extracted a carrot. “Give her this. Best way to make friends with anyone, man or beast, is to offer them something to eat. Go on.”

Sarah took the carrot and cautiously held it up toward the horse's mouth.

She flinched as the animal leaned in and snatched the carrot with her huge yellow teeth. Her body tingled.

“Okay, now take the reins right there. Hold them tight, but don't pull them. Then grab the saddle with your other hand. Put your left foot into that stirrup and kind of push yourself up.”

Sarah took a deep breath and attempted to mount. Her right leg grazed the horse's back, causing the animal to shuffle. Sarah flailed, lost her balance, and fell.

“Ow!” she grunted as she hit the ground. Sharp pain spread from her tailbone up her back.

“You almost had it,” he said. “Give yourself more of a push up with that left leg.”

Sarah stood up, dusted herself off, and again grabbled the reins and put her left foot into the stirrup. She gritted her teeth, flexed her muscles, and hauled herself up onto the horse.

“That's it,” he said. “Now balance yourself.”

Sarah wobbled and gripped the saddle for dear life.

“Just relax,” Maryk said. “Don't forget to breathe.”

Sarah took a deep breath, straightened her back, and paused a moment to admire her surroundings from the unfamiliar height. The city spread out before her to her left; the majestic river rolled by on her right. For the first time she was able to see that Maryk had a small bald patch at the crown of his otherwise thick head of hair.

“Okay, now just squeeze your legs together. That should get her going.”

Sarah gently applied pressure with her legs to the horse's sides, and the animal instantly moved forward. Jarred off balance, Sarah
almost slipped, but she held on. The powerful muscles of the mare flexed beneath her and she started to move around the riding circle. Slowly, Sarah relaxed and got into sync with the rhythm of the horse's motion.

“That's it,” Maryk said. “Now just pull the reins the way you want to turn.”

Sarah did as instructed and guided the horse around the circle.

As the animal picked up speed, the breeze from the river blew back Sarah's hair. She saw flashes of the blue sky, clouds, sun, and the other horses and buildings whir past.

She rode for several minutes, until she finally noticed Maryk leaning against the fence watching her. He wore a strange expression on his face, and at first she thought he was grimacing in pain. She didn't want to stare, so she sneaked quick glances as she rode in the circle. It took a few turns around the ring for Sarah to realize that Maryk was actually smiling. She had never seen his face bent into such an unnatural position. And she felt an unexpected rush of warmth at having pleased him.

A
FTER HER RIDE
, S
ARAH HELPED
Maryk finish mucking out the horse pens, and then they walked to Mrs. Lee's together in the gathering twilight.

“Thank you,” she said.

“It was nothing,” he grunted. “Hold on a minute.”

He paused and removed his pipe and tobacco pouch from his jacket. As he did, something fell from the pocket and fluttered to the ground.

Sarah bent to pick it up. It was the photograph of the woman and the baby, the one she had found hidden in the chess set. She held it out toward him, but he nodded at her, wordlessly giving her permission to look at it.

She carefully examined the image of the young mother and child. The woman had thick, dark hair parted in the middle and arranged in an elaborate braid that hung over her shoulder. She wore a white dress with simple embroidered flowers around the neckline. She had a shy expression on her face, and almost seemed
to be turning away from the camera. The baby sat in her lap and wore a ribbon in her hair with a lace-trimmed nightgown.

“Beautiful,” Sarah said. “Both beautiful.”

“Yeah.” He nodded solemnly. “She would've been about your age by now.”

He took the photo from her and put it back in his pocket, and then put his pipe and tobacco away without lighting up.

“Come on,” he said. “Let's go.”

They continued walking together. Maryk's eyes were fixed in the distance, as if he were lost in his memories. Sarah yearned to know more about his secret past.

“What happened to them?”

Maryk cleared his throat.

“The pox got them,” he said without breaking stride.

“What is that?”

“A bad sickness. Some people die from it. Some don't. Some don't have to.”

“I don't understand.”

“There're ways to treat the pox. Doctors have medicines that can stop it.”

“Medicines didn't work for them?”

“It wasn't the medicine. It was the damn doctor who didn't work.”

“I do not understand.”

He sighed and took in another deep breath but never stopped walking, his eyes fixed in the distance.

“I was a horseman like my father. Working for a traveling circus going from state to state. We were in the middle of the country in a small town. The baby got sick first, fever so high I thought she was going to fry in her own skin. I took her to see the local doctor. It was the middle of the night, so I had to rouse him out of bed. But he took one look at my child and my wife and wouldn't treat her. Said he didn't want to risk infection for a dark baby.”

“Dark?”

“Dark-skinned. My wife was Mexican. Our child looked like a cross between her and my Indian mother.” His face took on a serene expression as he described her. “So her skin was reddish brown. Like the color of coffee, milk, and cinnamon all mixed together.”

Maryk's face darkened as he continued.

“Anyway, when he refused to treat her, I took a horse from the circus's stable and rode thirty miles with both of them to a reservation of the Pawnee tribe. My mother's people were Dakota, but it didn't matter to them. They took us in and the tribe's healer did what he could, but by then it was too late to save her. Soon after that, it was clear that my wife had the pox too.”

He lapsed into a heavy silence.

“What were their names?”

“My wife was Maria-Elena. And the baby's name was Daisy. Daisy Raye.”

“They are nice names.”

“This country has a lot of good to it. But there's another America
out there that's not so pretty. They don't write poems about that America and put them on postcards of the Statue of Liberty.”

Sarah thought about what Smitty had said about people not wanting to hire him because of his skin color. When Sarah and her mother had dreamed of the promised land, it had never occurred to them that Americans were so different from each other and weren't all treated equally.

“My father and I were the only redheads in our village. The other children used to make fun of me and call me Carrot Head and other stupid names. My father said that we were special and that we were the last of the family redheads and should be proud of it. But it wasn't easy to do that when I was little. I really am the last one now.”

Maryk grunted and nodded. Sarah fell silent for a moment, as the full truth of the words sank in.

“He also told me that God doesn't pay attention to hair color, so people shouldn't either.”

“Sounds like he was a very wise man.”

“He was.” Sarah nodded.

Talking about her father made Sarah feel sad, but it also brought back some warm memories, and sharing them made her feel closer to Maryk.

“Do you have any other family?” she asked.

“My mother had a brother and he had a couple of kids—my cousins. Jim and Wayne. They live out on reservation land somewhere near Oklahoma City.”

“What is reservation land?”

“A place they put all the Indians, keep 'em in one place so they don't cause trouble except to themselves.”

His voice was tinged with bitterness, and he looked away as if he was ashamed to be even talking about it.

“Do you see them?”

“Naw, I haven't been back there in years. Decades.”

“Why?”

“Guess I've been trying to stay as far away from the past as I can. We send each other postcards at the holidays. That's about it. I know they've got families of their own. They're good people but . . . they've got their lives, and I've got mine.”

“Why did you come to the city?”

Maryk looked up at the buildings and people rushing around them.

“New York is a good place to disappear. I found a part-time job as a horse trainer at the stable. But there wasn't enough work there to keep me fed, so I started working as a night watchman on the island. At least I did until now.”

“What do you mean?”

He coughed and cleared his throat.

“I got suspended from the job.”

“What is suspended?”

“That means I can't go to work for a while.”

“Why?”

“For having an unauthorized visitor during my shift.”

“Unauthorized?”

“That means someone who wasn't supposed to be there.”

Sarah's throat went dry. “Me?”

Maryk nodded.

“You remember Johnson? The little guy with the glasses?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling the blood in her veins run cold.

“He's always had it out for me,” Maryk said. “Doesn't like my kind.”

Sarah wondered if she should tell Maryk that she had seen Johnson in Chinatown, but she held her tongue, not wanting to upset him further.

“He must've told my boss as soon as he saw you in the guardhouse.”

“I'm sorry. I will go and explain—”

“No.”

“I can't let you lose your job because of me. . . .”

“I haven't been fired yet. There's going to be an investigation.”

“An investigation?”

“That just means they're going to look into my work record, ask people questions about me. That kind of thing.”

“I should leave here. You'll get in trouble if they find me.”

“They don't know anything about you. This is about me. And they won't come here looking. I just have to sober up for a while and tuck in my shirt when I go talk to my supervisor. That kind of thing. Don't worry. I've been suspended before. I've just got to
lay off the booze and turn on the charm, not that I have any left to turn on.”

“What does that mean, ‘turn on the charm'?”

“It means that I've got to start acting like a human being again, instead of a mean old drunkard.”

“Drunkard?”

“Yeah.”

She stared at him, still not quite comprehending.

“That's someone who drinks too much and acts like an animal. Like me.”

They walked on in silence.