The Girls at the Kingfisher Club (23 page)

That suited Jo, too; it was good to stay a little cold these days, even with those you thought were your friends. People had a tendency to surprise you, otherwise, and she'd had quite enough surprises recently.

“Jo?” Jake was asking, his hand out for hers.

She glanced at Doris, who nodded encouragement.

New lives for everyone. There was no reason, any more, for Jo to turn down dances.

There was nothing left to be afraid of.

“Sure thing,” she said.

It was a waltz, and for a minute or two she and Jake danced companionably. He was a smooth dancer, and his hand was warm, his thumb just brushing the tops of her fingers.

Then he said softly, “I heard back from my man in Chicago.”

He was a brave man to break that one out in the middle of a dance floor, she thought, but she couldn't quite make herself say it.

Instead she breathed, “Tell me.”

“He couldn't find them,” Jake said, “either one. They came into town, that's for sure, but there's no reaching them now. Some people said Lou went underground and Tom got picked up, some people said they left town again.” After a second, he added, “Together.”

Missing, then. No traces.

Either Lou and Tom had decided to start a new married life in some other city, or Lou was alone, and in so much trouble that Jo would never find her.

Either way, if Lou wrote home to tell her, Jo would never get the letter.

Lou was gone now, truly gone.

“Guess I'll cancel my full-page ad in the
Tribune,
” she said, but it was the joke she'd had ready—the last reflex before the news really set in—and her voice cracked on the last word. Her fingertips went cold under his, and the knot in her stomach tightened so hard she feared, for a moment, that it would pull her entire body down around it.

He must have known how the news would go over. She appreciated his kindness, now, in drawing her away from the others so she could find out alone.

He didn't seem surprised when her open hand tightened against his back, or when she didn't give him any other answer, or when they stayed in the embrace until the next song began.

It was a foxtrot, and Jo thought that was fitting.

When she closed her eyes and turned her forehead to his cheek, he only hesitated a moment before he held her closer.

“Jo,” he said, “how can I help?”

She said, “You can't,” quietly, her voice so hard and final that he shivered.

She was sorry but didn't dare be kinder. Sometimes it was best to stay a little cold, even with people you knew were friends.

• • •

Four nights later, Doris managed to maneuver everyone out onto the dance floor during the waltz.

Jo was watching Sophie dancing with Mr. Walton (that was going somewhere, and Jo was debating whether to let it), and she didn't realize until she saw Violet and Sam dancing together that Doris had done it all to get Jo alone with her.

“All right,” Doris said. “What happened with Jake the other night, General?”

Jo smiled at the nickname but faltered.

“He was trying to find Lou,” Jo said. “But no luck. His friend in Chicago thinks she went underground, or disappeared out of town, but there's no way to know anything, and no sign of her now.”

Doris looked a little ill. “God. What if she's not all right?”

“Yes, thank you,” Jo snapped, “I've got the worrying all covered, Doris.”

Doris flinched. “Sorry.”

She sighed. “I just—I never thought that it would be a mistake to get Lou out of that house. If I had just waited, she'd be all right by now, but I was so anxious to manage it all.”

“You did everything you could,” Doris said, leaning closer. “And when it went sideways, you warned us. But we all did all right for ourselves, I think—Lou got her shot, and here we all are. We did all right. I'm sure the others have, too.”

Free, Jo thought, as I always wanted, and now we're all starting again.

“I've been the General for a long time,” Jo said.

Doris said, “You've been our sister even longer.”

That was a comfort—a strange thought, but a comfort—and Jo was still smiling when Doris said, “Watch out, or Jake's going to fall for you.”

“I don't think so,” Jo said. “I think both our hearts' desires took the road to Chicago a little while back.”

Doris didn't say anything to that (Jo was grateful), but when the song was over and everyone came back, she and Sam had one of their silent conversations, and then Sam was asking Jo for the Charleston.

“Not this time,” Jo said. “I'm shirking work sitting here. Tomorrow night, sure thing.”

Sam smiled. “All yours,” he said, and swiveled to face Rebecca, who laughed and said, “Second-string, I see how it is,” but took his hand anyway.

Doris watched them go with the kind of smile Jo had always hoped to see on them, on any of them—a smile that was open and untroubled.

Jo would have to work to be happy with what she could have. It was no good turning useless over pasts and small things.

She went to the bar to glad-hand a pair of city councilmen she recognized. Half the reason she read the paper these days was to catch up with the clientele.

Then it was checking in with Henry (“Not mixing tears with the champagne, I hope?” “No, General”) and greeting a few of the most finely dressed ladies.

The Charleston was almost over when she saw Myrtle standing on the stairs.

“At last,” she was saying as she moved through the crowd, her voice pitched to carry, “I was wondering when you'd take me up on my invitation.”

Myrtle was turning to look behind her, ushering a young couple to stand beside her—

But it wasn't a young couple, Jo knew even as she thought it.

It was a young girl in a dancing dress, and another with her hair slicked back and wearing trousers, and Jo recognized them at once, out of long habit and long wishing.

She was too happy for dignity—she waved with both hands overhead, like a drowning swimmer, and when Rose and Lily saw her waving they nudged each other and leaned in to say something to one another out of the corners of their mouths.

They had become twins, Jo thought, though it seemed a strange thing to realize only now, when they couldn't have been more differently dressed, and when the truth was so obvious. They'd always been twins. Jo was getting imaginative in her old age, that was all.

By the time Jo reached them, Doris had seen them, too, and Jo only had a moment to pull them into her arms before the others descended (Myrtle stepping back to give way), and it was a flurry of crushing hugs and kisses on the cheek.

Lily had adopted bright red lipstick to go with her new black slacks, and her kisses happened in the air, to preserve the color.

“You look scandalous,” Jo said, but it was a compliment and Lily only beamed.

“The men don't know what to make of it,” she said, “but for some reason the women go wild!”

“
Some
women,” said Rose, and she and Lily shared a fleeting smile.

Doris was crowding Jo from behind, gasping, “Lily,
what
are you wearing?” as Rose laughed, and it gave Jo a moment to cup Rose's chin and get a good look at her.

She was thinner—they both were—and there was something flinty behind the eyes that hadn't been there before, and Jo's stomach sank to think of anything awful happening to them.

“Where have you been?” she asked, every word a plea.

Rose shook off Jo's fingers, looking embarrassed. “Nowhere, General.”

Jo tried not to look too stung. “I'm not asking as a general,” she said. “I'm asking as someone who was worried about you.”

That got a flush. “We're all right,” Rose said. “Don't worry about us.”

Lily appeared at Rose's elbow. “We got your message in the paper,” Lily said, “but we thought for sure it was a trap, at first.”

Rose said, “There are plenty of people in this town who don't mind setting traps.”

Jo glanced down at their hands—Rose's fingertips were red and callused, and even though Lily's hands were in her pockets, Jo could guess that these twins hadn't gotten so close to one another by keeping separate jobs.

They had been factory girls after all, at least for a while, and from the looks of things it had been rough going.

She didn't push them. General Jo would have, but some things were too fragile; reunions were one of them.

“Come and dance,” she said. “We're at our regular table. Catch the ring on Doris's finger, and see what Rebecca's wearing, still.”

“I can't believe she married him,” said Lily. “She hardly knew him! What a way to go about it.”

“He's a nice fellow,” Jo promised, “and he came through in a pinch. Even I like him. Now, stay and have a decent drink. You don't know how long we've all been waiting to see your faces.”

Rose and Lily linked hands without looking (Lily smiled at Jo, Rose not quite), and moved past Jo toward the sisters' table.

“Thank you,” Jo said to Myrtle when the twins were out of hearing.

“Not my idea,” Myrtle said, around the cigarette holder clamped in her teeth. “The cat dragged them in. Jake pointed them out to me as two of yours, and I thought I might as well bring them over—they seemed so lost that I pitied them, that's all.”

Jo let it pass. If Myrtle wanted to do a good deed, Jo wasn't going to stop her, and if Myrtle didn't want to be thanked twice, Jo was happy not to thank her.

“There's a nice whiskey at the bar,” Jo said instead. “Even Jake thinks it's top-shelf. Come and have a taste of some quality, as long as you're here.”

That offer Myrtle was happier to accept, with a wink at Henry, who was already smiling ear to ear at the sight of two more Princesses who had come home.

Then Myrtle was happy to accept a dance, and another dance, and finally a dance from Lily.

(Lily had gotten better at leading, Jo noticed. Whatever they'd been doing when they were out of sight, they'd been dancing.

Though it must have been a strange time, all the same. Lily wore her trousers like armor, and Jo had no doubt it was a habit of necessity as much as whim.

Poor girls, Jo thought. Where have you been?)

Jo kept busy and let the others crowd around and fight to tell stories and disappear for dances. She didn't want to push them—she didn't dare lose them.

When Rose was left alone for a moment, Jo took a seat at the edge of the booth.

Jo said, “What have you been up to, with those hands?”

She'd tried to make it sound as kind as she could, but Rose still pulled her hands under the table.

“The Palmolive factory,” she said finally. “Over in Hell's Kitchen.”

Jo pulled a face before she could help it. “Oh, Rose, how did you ever end up there?”

Rose shrugged and shook her head without conviction. “We ran until we couldn't anymore, and that's where we were. We didn't want to be caught, and we knew he'd never look for us there. Once you get used to a place, it's amazing what happens. There's a dead dog outside our boardinghouse, and I didn't notice for three days. Everything just smells like soap by now.”

Jo knew that whatever she said next was important, but she also guessed that it was pride as much as anything that had kept them away from their sisters until Jo had gone begging, and she'd have to be careful.

“Well,” she said, “if you're happy there, then stay, but I can help you find something if you ever feel like a change. Let me know.”

It hurt—every inch of her wanted to tell them to move out of wherever was starving and overworking them before the sun was up, to just stay here and leave behind whatever was left where they were living now, and let her take care of things.

But those days were over.

And after so long a pause that Jo feared the worst, Rose looked up and said, “I'll talk to Lily.”

Jo nudged her shoulder before she slid back out into the crush of people, all the way behind the bar.

There was a bottle she wanted to set aside for Jake. A little decent drink was the least you could do when someone sent you two of your sisters back.

• • •

The twins had replied to the ad, gloriously and in person, and so it was more than a week before Jo returned to the post office.

She'd intended to close out the box (she had already closed out the advertisement at the newspaper office).

It surprised her, then, when she asked if anything had been delivered and the gentleman at the post office counter handed her a letter from an attorney.

Oh God, she thought for a terrible moment, please don't let anyone have found me at the Marquee. I don't want to have to run from home again.

It was from van de Maar, she saw when she opened it; it was sent from his address, and the header named him as estate executor to a Joseph Hamilton.

She skipped the pleasantries—her father always had—and caught the first sentence that mattered.

Your father is taken ill,
the letter read.
He wishes very much to see you on an urgent matter.

He must have been combing the paper with a pretty fine tooth, she thought, her skin crawling, to contact her here from one small reference in the paper, with no names or places to give them away.

(It helped a little to know that the three weeks she had suffered with no word to anyone had been a necessary precaution. God only knew what would have happened.)

Jo would have stopped reading and thrown it in the trash with a “Good riddance,” but she caught something that gave her pause.

It would never have occurred to her that the letter could be anything but a trap, but underneath the official typed letter was a handwritten note that she suspected her father had never seen.

And so she hesitated, and stood beside the trash can, crushing the side of the paper from the pressure of her fingers, reading the note over and over.