Heart of Lies (24 page)

“What did you just say?”

“I said, ‘Of course I speak French.’”

“Wow. Now I
have
to interview you. I’m from Ireland. Well, not exactly. My parents were. We were all born here—”

A cheer from the crowd interrupted the delivery of her autobiography. The redhead pointed. “Oh, gosh. The cops are here to break it up. We better scram. I’m probably related to one of them, and if Ma hears I came to the park alone again, I’m gonna be blistered for sure.”

The girl grabbed Maddy’s hand, and together they ran across the lawn and through the park gate, out onto the crowded sidewalk of
Central Park West. Behind them police whistles blared, as the men in blue demanded to see a permit for such a gathering, and, shown none, quickly dispersed the crowd.

“That was close. I don’t wanna get in another jam.”

By this point the young American’s slang had Maddy completely lost. “Jam? What do you mean? Why were we running because you don’t want a blister?” she asked, wary and bewildered, but too curious to flee.

“Hey, you really are a foreigner, aren’t you? Look. A jam is a scrape, you know, to get in trouble. Blistered is what my Ma will do to my rear end if she catches me in the park alone again. Haven’t you ever caught a good whipping for something?”

“I see. Yes, I have, in fact. Sister Gabriella is very good at ‘blistering,’ as you say.”

“As you say
,” repeated the girl, mimicking her accent. The look on Maddy’s face made clear to her new acquaintance that she did not appreciate being teased about it.

“Aw, don’t get upset. I just like the way you talk. It’s really classy. My name is Katherine. Mary Katherine Anne O’Connor, actually, but I go by Katherine. Just don’t call me Kate. Or Mary. And especially not Mary Kate. I
hate
that.”

Maddy tried to take in this avalanche of information, then smiled and politely held out her hand. “How do you do, Katherine. My name is Madeleine Hoffman. But you—” she stammered, trying to summon enough courage to finish her own introduction “—you may call me Maddy. Please.”

Katherine shook her hand. “Madeleine, huh? Wearing a uniform, too. So you’re Catholic. Well, we have that much in common. Where do
you go to school? Listen, let’s walk this way while we talk. I found a dime in the gutter last week, and I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. I’ll treat you to a soda at the Parkside Grill, over on Columbus. I mean, it’s not every day I make a new friend from China, who happens to be French.”

Maddy looked at her watch. She’d used up half of her time. She imagined the “blistering” she’d receive if she were late. She could say that she’d been sick in the bathroom. She’d probably get a beating, but no one would suspect she’d escaped. She decided to take the chance.

“That would be lovely. Thank you.”

Katherine tucked her pencil behind her ear. This reminded Madeline of the question she was about to ask before their sudden exit from the park.

“What were you writing? And what did you mean by an interview?”

“Well,” Katherine explained, as they headed toward the soda shop, “I’m a reporter. At least, I will be, someday. A journalist. A foreign correspondent. I’ll travel all over the world, and write about wars, and people like Amelia Earhart. Now I only write stories for school. Sister Anne keeps telling me to make ’em up, but I think the real world is much more interesting. Like the newsreels at the movies. That’s where I found out about Hitler.”

“Hitler?” asked Maddy, more lost than ever. The word had a vague ring to it, like the name of someone she’d met a long time ago, but could not place.

“You know, the guy in Germany.”

Maddy looked embarrassed. “I don’t know anything about that. The sisters don’t let us listen to the radio, except for the services on Sunday.”

“Wait, you mean, you’re at school on the weekends? You live there?”

Maddy only nodded, afraid that this fact, and her ignorance of world events, would mean she was no longer acceptable as a friend to a future foreign correspondent.

“Gosh. What did you do to get put in boarding school? Or are you just rich? I’ve heard of some kids who have to go to boarding school because they’re rich. But mostly just the troublemakers have to go, from what
I’ve
heard. Are you a troublemaker?” Katherine’s eyes shone with admiration.

“I suppose so,” replied Maddy slowly, thinking again of the trouble she’d caused. She was responsible for her mother’s death. That must be the worst kind of trouble anyone could get into.

But she decided not to talk about that, nor confess that she had, in the past, been rich. Being rich was not something one talked about. It was just something one was, and one knew it because one need only compare one’s life to the Chinese to see what it was like not to be rich.

Katherine continued talking. “Well, I go to St. Agnes, up on Ninety-first. It’s just a day school. Sometimes I go on reporting investigations, and tell Ma I had to serve detention, which she never doubts, on account of I really do have to, pretty often. So today I was lucky enough to get wind of this rally, and there I was, ready to scoop the story. And meeting you was gravy. What a great day.”

By this time they’d reached the soda shop. Katherine strolled in, completely at home, and hoisted herself up on one of the round stools positioned at the counter.

“Hiya, Tim. A float for me and for my new friend here, Maddy. She’s from China. What kind of float do you want, Maddy?”

Maddy paused. She didn’t want to make a mistake. “Same as yours,” she finally answered.

“But you don’t even know what that is.”

“Don’t worry, miss. I’ll give you the house special,” said the soda jerk. His apron displayed the colorful remains of a day’s work scooping ice cream.

“Good idea,” agreed Katherine. “Tim here will take care of you. The best floats in Manhattan, right Tim?”

“You betcha.” The grin Tim flashed revealed a tooth outlined in silver. Maddy was fascinated, but lowered her eyes when she caught herself staring.

Tim chattered away, dipping into the ice cream bin with professional ease. “So you’re with Miss Pulitzer here, eh? From China? That’s a ways to come for a soda, even the house special.”

Maddy did not know what to say. She looked at Katherine for help. Misunderstanding her confusion, Katherine explained, “That’s just what Tim calls me. Miss Pulitzer, on account of I’m gonna win the Pulitzer Prize some day. He probably doesn’t even believe you’re from China; he’s always accusing me of making stuff up. But, I tell him, a reporter deals in facts, facts, facts, facts. Right, Tim?”

“Ab-sa-lootly,” Tim placed two tall Coca-Cola ice cream floats in front of the girls with a flourish. “Betcha never had a float so good in China, eh Maddy?”

Maddy took a small sip of the drink. “
Sheh-sheh
. That’s Chinese for thank you.”

Katherine grinned with satisfaction and looked back at Tim. “See? What did I tell you?”

“You’re one of a kind, kid,” he said, and then turned to his next customer.

“So, where do you go to school?” Katherine quizzed Maddy, after taking a big swig of her own float.

“St. Mary’s.”

“Ouch. That’s the worst. So you’re one of Gabby’s girls.”

“What?” Maddy was both dumbfounded and delighted at the disrespect that Katherine’s nickname for the Mother Superior conveyed.

“Sister Gabriella. One of her boarders. You know, word gets around. How did you get out today?”

“I snuck out.”

“No kidding? You really are amazing. What grade are you in?”

“Fifth.”

“Me too. Are you nine?”

“No. I’m still eight.”

“Oh. Well, I’m already nine. But I won’t hold that against you. So where are your parents? How come you’re one of Gabby’s girls?”

Maddy thought of all the lies she’d told the girls at St. Mary’s.
My parents are traveling. My mother died in a plane crash coming to get me. My father is in Hawaii, growing sugar cane.
No. Something about Katherine made her want to tell the truth.

“My mother died over a year ago. She got killed in the war. A bomb. My father sent me to New York to live with my step—his new wife. She put me in St. Mary’s.”

“Holy cow. That’s lousy. Can’t you get your dad to come get you?”

“He doesn’t want me.”

Katherine looked astounded. She came from a big Irish family. Her own father died when she was only two years old, but surrounded by
older siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles, she never much noticed the loss. Her mother was the matriarch of the family, keeper of a boarding house that sheltered as many family and near-family members as it could hold, as they made their way in from the old country and up the economic ladder in the new. The idea that someone in your own family could exile you to a strange country with a stranger was the most appalling thing she had ever heard. Her heart went out to her new friend.

“Well, my dad died. So we’re both half-orphans. How did you manage to get out from under old Gabby’s nose today?”

Maddy told the story of her escape from the convent, punctuated by frequent questions from Katherine.

“So how’re you gonna get back in?” asked Katherine, finishing her soda and her question with a loud slurp.

Maddy, who had never in her life been able to make such a noise without being reprimanded, slurped the last of her own drink before answering. “I left the door unlocked, so I could sneak back in. I think I’ll just tell them I was in the bathroom.”

“Are you late?”

“I guess so.”

“Me too. We better go.” Bending over, she fished a dime out of her sock and laid it on the counter.

“That should cover it, Tim. Until next time,” she called out, like a regular bar fly.

“Anytime, Miss P,” Tim hollered back over the noise of the milk-shake blender.

“Hey,” Katherine added, “can you spare a couple of extra napkins?”

“Anything for you, doll.”

“Thanks.” After grabbing a small stack of paper, she hopped off her stool. “C’mon, Maddy, I’ll walk you back.”

As they walked along, Katherine kept an eye on the curb, hoping, Maddy assumed, to find another wayward coin. When they were about a block away from the convent, Katherine halted.

“That oughta do.”

To Maddy’s astonishment, Katherine squatted down, and carefully, with the assistance of Tim’s napkins, picked up a largish piece of dog excrement.

“What are you staring at?” she asked Maddy with a trace of pique.

“I’m doing this to help you out, you know.”

Maddy could not take her eyes off Katherine’s meticulously wrapped bundle. “You must be joking.”

“Geez, you act like you never saw a turd before. Look, this turd is your friend. When you go back in the convent, sneak into the bathroom, smear a little of this on the inside of the toilet, where the water doesn’t really reach, then stick the whole little bundle behind the commode so you can’t see it, but you can still smell it. This is fresh, so it’ll stink up the place great in a minute or two. Then sit on the pot and howl. Be sure to flush it before anyone comes in. No one will doubt you’ve been in there, sick as a dog—ha, ha—for an hour.”

“I can’t carry that,” Maddy protested. “I’ll be sick.”

“So much the better. If you puke, too, you’ll definitely be in the clear. Maddy, if they catch you now, you’ll never get out again, and I’ll never see you again. The bathroom plan you were hatching was a good one, but take it from me, what you need is some evidence to back you up. This works. It even fooled Ma one time. It’s not my idea, you know. It’s been handed down, kid to kid, in my family, like a special family
recipe. Remember,” she offered Maddy the small bundle, “facts, facts, facts. Nobody can argue with the facts.”

Maddy gingerly accepted the gift. “Well, if I do make it out next week, how will I find you?

“I’m usually home after school, at least for a while. I’ll make sure to be home next Thursday.” She gave Maddy the address. “It’s not far. Just hop on over.”

“Okay.”

“Great. Well, good luck.”

“Thank you. And thank you again for the soda.”

“Ah, don’t mention it.”

Maddy watched for a moment as her new friend scampered off down the street. She looked at the napkin in her hand. Then she crept back in the convent, and followed Katherine’s instructions to the letter. The plan worked perfectly, just as an old family recipe should.

NEW YORK, 1939

It was late in the afternoon, and Mrs. Margaret O’Connor was in the process of making bread for the evening meal. She peeled one swollen, yeasty mound of dough from the tin bowl where it had rested and risen for a second time, then plopped it down on the floured board set out on her kitchen table almost every day, at this same time, for the same purpose. Firmly and methodically, she pressed the air out of the dough with the heels of her matronly hands, stretching and pressing, stretching and pressing, until the dough was smooth and soft, ready to be shaped into two long loaves.

“Ma?”

Katherine’s mother did not pause, not even for an instant. One could not raise a family of five children, make food for the family and boarders, see to the chores, and manage the house if one stopped what one was doing every time one was spoken to.

“Mary Kate, if you’ve come to help with the linens, we’ll be usin’ the rose set today. The gravy Mr. O’Leary sloshed off his plate yesterday
stained the floral, so I had to change it. Not that I need more washin’ this week. But people payin’ good money for room and board are entitled to a clean table.”

Katherine edged closer. “Ma?” she said again, ignoring her mother’s instructions. “I have a problem.”

“Well, we’ll discuss it after dinner. At the moment I’ve too many—”

“Ma,” insisted Katherine, her voice growing softer, not louder, “I have a real problem, and I think we’d better talk about it now.”

Margaret finished forming the loaf, and laid it in a pan to rise. Without a word she emptied the second tin bowl and began the process again. A soft hiss of air escaped the dough as she began to knead the bread.

“So tell me. But dry the dishes while you’re talkin’.”

Katherine picked up a white ceramic plate, and started rubbing it with the dish towel over and over again. She had no idea what her hands were doing as she talked.

“You know my friend Maddy, Maddy Hoffman.”

“Aye, the little one with such nice manners, who comes over on Thursdays. She’s a lovely girl. Did she come today?”

“Well, she has a problem.”

“I thought it ’twas you with the problem?”

“Well, Maddy is my problem. You see, her mother was killed by a bomb in China, and her father sent her away to live with Amelia, this woman he married, who Maddy didn’t even know. And Amelia sent her to—”

“Mary Katherine Anne O’Connor,” Margaret exploded, her plump fist hitting the bread dough in exasperation, “I will not have these
stories. I don’t care what kind’ve imagination yer teacher says you’ve got—”

“No, really, it’s true,” Katherine pleaded, rubbing the dish cloth on the now bone-dry plate in faster and faster circles. “I swear by almighty God—”

“AND DO NOT BLASPHEME IN THIS HOUSE,” her mother roared, picking up the bread dough and slapping it back down on the table for emphasis.

Katherine winced, but did not back down. She shoved the plate and towel in the sink and ran to her mother, flinging her arms around the short, stout woman’s waist, tears ready to pour from her eyes.

This took her mother by surprise. Mary Kate was not a crier. She was the youngest, and the smartest, of Margaret’s brood. She had the sort of self-reliant strength that made her a blessing to a busy woman who was mother, father, and landlord to a household of hot-headed Irish. Wise as she was to her daughter’s tricks and stories, Margaret was not immune to the seldom-seen sight of tears on her youngest’s face. She relented, the anger gone from her voice.

“Sit down, Mary Kate, while I finish the bread. Then we can talk while we shell the peas.”

Sniffing up her tears, Katherine sat silent in one of the big wooden chairs next to the worktable while her mother rounded up two more loaves, washed her hands, cleaned the flour board, and retrieved a bag of English peas and two bowls from the pantry. She handed one bowl to Katherine, who placed it in her lap and began to split the pods and dump the fresh, sweet peas into the bowl while she talked.

“It’s true, Ma. Maddy was living in Shanghai with her parents, and then there was a war, and her mother was killed by a bomb. But then
her dad didn’t want her anymore, after that, so he sent her here, to New York, with this woman, Amelia, who didn’t want her either, and she sent her to live with Gabby’s girls, ah, I mean, made her live at the convent school at St. Mary’s. And she’s never had any friends here until me, Ma, and I think she’s the best friend I’ve ever had. She’s so smart, and friendly, and she knows so many interesting things. She can speak England English, and French, and she’s seen so much. But you see, she sort of…well, she found a way to get out on Thursdays, and that’s how we met. But now the door’s locked, and she can’t get back into the convent, and she’s afraid that Sister Gabriella will make sure that she never gets out again, or that her stepmother will send her somewhere else, and we’ll never see each other again. So I thought, maybe, you could talk to the sisters, or to her stepmother, because I know Maddy will get a beating, which she and I both deserve, but I just don’t want them to send her away, and I’m her only friend in the whole world,” she finished breathlessly, then fell silent, waiting for her mother to respond.

“Where is she now?”

Katherine leapt up, nearly dumping over her bowl of peas. She righted the bowl as it slid off her lap, and set it on the table.

“She’s right outside, on the steps. Please come talk to her. I knew you would.”

“Now just hold yer horses, Mary Katherine. I’m not makin’ any promises, and ’tis none of me business. But Maddy seems a sweet girl, and if she’s really been through all ya say, then, maybe a word on her behalf…but I’m ashamed of ya, for letting her come over here every week without the sisters knowin’ about it. That’s the cause of the trouble. Dishonesty always is, Mary Kate. I’ll deal with
you
later.”

“Yes, Ma,” Katherine replied, all meekness, willing to accept any
punishment meted out as long as there was some hope for Maddy.

They found her sitting on the front steps, forlorn as a lost puppy. Margaret could not help but be moved by the look of desolation on Maddy’s face.
This is a child who has seen too much, and not had nearly enough love to make up for it.

She sat on the step beside Maddy, and pushed a strand of her silvery-red hair back up into the bun she always wore while cooking. “I don’t approve of how the two of ya have been carryin’ on, Maddy. You’d never have been welcome in this house if I’d known you were sneakin’ out of the convent.”

Maddy’s chin dipped even closer to her chest. She studied her fingers through half-closed eyes, unable to speak.

“Is it true what Mary Kate tells me, that you lost yer mother and yer father sent ya here with yer stepmother?”

Maddy nodded in silent reply.

“Ya probably won’t believe me, Maddy, but yer father was just tryin’ to protect you. Not that anyone could make you understand that, at yer age. So you’re afraid you’ll be sent away again, is that it?”

Another barely perceptible nod.

“Would ya like for me to go with ya to speak to yer stepmother? I’m not sayin’ I’ll have much to tell, but at least she’ll know the truth about where ya been.”

“Okay,” Maddy whispered.

“Well, we best call the good sisters first. They’ll be upset. And we’ll have to make it over there quick. I have a full house to feed tonight. Mary Kate, run inside and get a sweater for Maddy here. It might be springtime, but it’s not warm enough to be wandering about without proper clothes on. Then go dash around the corner and see if yer cousin
Michael’s cab is still there. He could give us a lift before he starts his shift. You and Maureen will have to see to dinner. No, don’t even open yer mouth. You’re
not
comin’. Now scoot.”

Forty minutes later Margaret and Maddy were at the entrance to Amelia’s Fifth Avenue apartment. The doorman did not recognize Maddy, so infrequent were her visits, and he was not about to let the plainly dressed Irishwoman up unannounced. He rang Amelia.

“Sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Hoffman. There’s a woman here with a little girl who claims to be your stepdaughter. Yes? Very well.” He hung up the phone and pointed to the elevator in a patronizing manner. “You can go up.”

Maddy started to bite at a nail as they rode in silence up to the penthouse. Margaret’s heart went out to the girl. Such a small and dainty thing, and so lost.

Margaret O’Connor was not sentimental. She’d come from Ireland at the age of fourteen, with two older female cousins, and had worked as a housemaid for six years in several homes on New York’s affluent Upper East Side before settling down with her Patrick, a plumber. She lost him when Mary Kate was barely two. Luckily for the family, her Patrick had always been a soft-hearted soul, and when his second cousin asked him to buy some life insurance, he’d done so, just to help the poor boy along.

Margaret, who at the time had berated her husband for wasting his money on such nonsense, took the proceeds of the policy and put it toward the mortgage, so when the Depression hit they were one of the few families in the neighborhood to keep their home. She packed the children and herself into three rooms and took in boarders. Some were relatives, some were not, but they all had to pay their way in cash or ser
vices to stay. Her two eldest boys were now in the merchant marines, sending home money and letters from around the world. Her third son was a policeman, and still lived at home. Her eldest daughter was engaged to a butcher. At a time when many families did not have enough to eat, Margaret kept her brood clothed, educated, and fed. She did so by using her God-given intelligence and common sense, and putting her own family’s well-being ahead of everything else.

But Maddy, now, here was a child who needed help. Margaret could see in the girl’s eyes the suffering she’d seen in the faces of young brothers and sisters left behind, in Ireland, before the war. It had been hunger in the stomach that had caused their pain. Maddy’s starvation was of a different kind, but she was starving, just the same. Margaret could feel herself wavering in her resolve not to get involved.

When Amelia opened the door to her apartment Margaret looked beyond her. She noticed the fashionable, coldly sophisticated decor, the quality of the silk hanging from the windows, and the satin perfection in which Amelia dressed herself. There were no hints that the apartment was the home, even the temporary home, of a young girl. She made her decision.

“Will you please tell me who you are, and what you’re doing with Madeleine?” Amelia demanded.

“I imagine we have quite a few things to discuss, Mrs. Hoffman, if you’d be so kind as to have us in.”

Amelia gave Margaret a look of blunt appraisal. She took in the stout figure, the blue cotton dress, the graying hair tucked into a simple bun. She decided twenty dollars would reward the woman nicely, both for bringing Madeleine home, and for minding her own business. Now if only she could get the nuns to take the brat back. From the tone of Sister
Gabriella’s voice over the phone, that might be difficult. Running away was not a small offense. Amelia was livid. The whole business was so damn inconvenient. She was about ready to put Madeleine on the first ship back to Shanghai.

“By all means, come in.” Amelia stepped away from the door and into the living room. She did not ask them to sit down.

Margaret, who after years in household service was completely undaunted by the capricious moods of the rich and selfish, walked in and sat on the sofa. She held out her hand to Maddy, who moved, zombie-like, to her side.

The older woman’s composure made Amelia rethink her own approach. Intimidation might not be the best tactic. Smiling at Maddy, Amelia took a seat across from the two of them.

“You must forgive my rudeness, Miss—“

“O’Connor.
Mrs
. Margaret O’Connor.”

“Mrs. O’Connor. But you can imagine how worried I’ve been during the past two hours, ever since Sister Gabriella called to say that Madeleine was missing from the convent. Why, we had no earthly idea—”

“Oh, I can well imagine.” Margaret noticed that during their whole exchange Amelia had scarcely looked at Maddy, much less inquired after her well-being. She tried to keep the scorn out of her voice.

“Mrs. Hoffman, Maddy has been comin’ to our house almost every Thursday for the past six months or so. She and me own Mary Kate, who’s just a wee bit older, have become great friends. They met at the park. Seein’ her every week, I thought Maddy lived near us. Mind you, I would’ve put a stop to it right away if I’d known she was sneakin’ out of the convent, but she must’ve been pretty clever about it all to go along this far without gettin’ caught.

“I think it’s fair to say that Maddy hasn’t been happy with the nuns, God bless them and keep them, but St. Mary’s isn’t a proper boarding school, we both know that. And I think you’re honest enough to admit that you’d prefer Maddy not be underfoot. I’m sure ya have yer reasons, but I don’t think they’ve anything to do with her, for she’s a lovely child.

“I’m sure the good sisters are quite upset about what’s happened, but if she found the guts to get out once, she’ll find a way to get out no matter where ya send her, as long as she’s unhappy. I’ve five kids of me own, so I know a bit about children. I run a boarding house. It’s a healthy, clean place. No drinking, no night visitors. The boarders are all fine, upright people, for I’ve me own family to think of. Maddy would be welcome. I’ll charge you less than that school does, of that I’m sure, and Maddy will be happy with us. She won’t leave. She’ll be safe.”

Amelia reached for the silver cigarette case that lay on the glass coffee table in front of her. “I don’t think,” she said as she lit her cigarette, “that an Irish boarding house is exactly what her father had in mind for her.”

“From what Maddy’s told me her father hasn’t laid eyes on the child for well over a year. If it’s her happiness he cares about, he’ll not object. She can go to school with Mary Kate. She’s a bright one, and got herself a scholarship to St. Agnes. You’ll have no complaints about the child’s education.”

Amelia blew out a cloud of smoke as she considered the proposal.