Whistling in the Dark (2 page)

But now--here he was, in a city that took his breath away altogether. God, how he missed school--and David. He missed the brush of fingers on his hand when David passed him in the crowded halls. He missed the tousled head on the pillow beside his and the arm draped comfortably across his stomach. He missed falling asleep with the scent of Egyptian tobacco in the air.

Fishing in his coat pocket, he withdrew a folded rectangle of linen paper, the worse for having been unfolded a number of times.

David had been sensible enough to not sign it. Too sensible and ready to call it quits when they might've found a way to see each other. Sutton folded the paper and returned it to his pocket. Had he been in David's place, he wouldn't have been so smart. He might have given up the teaching position, to run away together and start fresh.

At first light, the cell began to empty as, one by one, prisoners were led away. Another hour crawled by and still Sutton waited, feeling with a sinking heart that he must be last on the list. He dozed off--and what seemed a moment later, the shout of his name startled him awake.

Chilled to the bone and worried anew, he shivered all the way down the long corridor to the courtroom. He had come up with a plan to sell his best suit in order to pay the fine, if the judge was amenable. But as he stood before a stoop-shouldered man who looked as though he'd been up most of the night himself, the plan seemed suddenly foolish and naive. The judge gave him no more than a glance, but took the paper a clerk handed over and frowned at it. "Degenerate disorderly conduct." He rested his head on his hand and yawned. "And here we have one Sutton Albright?"

Sutton found his voice. "Yes, sir. If I might--" He cleared his throat. "It's true I was in the company of the man the police were searching for, but only because he accosted me."

The judge looked at him then. "Why were you wandering about at two in the morning?"

"I--sometimes don't sleep well. Walking about is a help."

The frown eased a fraction. "That so? You claim New York residency."

"Yes, sir."

"Where are you from? Originally," he said, with a perceptible twitch of his lips.

"Kansas." The judge waited and Sutton tried to swallow his dread. "Topeka."

"Topeka," the judge said with a slow nod. "Interesting. I just recently read in the
Times
about a fellow who made his fortune with the rail line out of Topeka. A Phillip Albright. Any relation?"

"I'm not sure I understand the need for these questions, sir."

The judge's hint of a smile became the real thing. "Mr. Albright, I suggest you take whatever money you have in your pocket and buy a ticket back to Topeka. I'm sure New York seemed like an exciting place on your way overseas, but you look to me like a fellow who's run up against more excitement than he'd planned on. Go home and live a long, happy life. I don't want to see you in front of me again." He thrust the document at the clerk. "Get him out of here."

As the bailiff escorted him from the dock, Sutton's legs threatened to give out from under him. He heard the judge mutter to his clerk. "One more boy in here and I'll take it up with the city, myself. Goddamned war."

With a firm nudge from the bailiff, Sutton left the courtroom and made his way downstairs to the lobby. His suitcase returned to him, he was back on the street, a street transformed since he'd last seen it. People passed with a purpose in their step. He still shook with relief that he had regained his freedom.

He couldn't go home. He knew there would be recriminations and he cringed at the thought his parents might decide the war had damaged him in mind as well as body. His sister's beau, John Campbell, had come home from France forever changed. After electroconvulsive treatments, people said he was better. They had insisted he was. But when Sutton had chaperoned his sister on a visit to the Campbell farm, John had been a quiet figure rocking all evening by the fire.

It was a sight Sutton had never been able to forget. And despite what had happened to John, his own parents might want to turn him over to doctors. His mother would be inclined to think he suffered from some sort of nervous exhaustion she'd read about. Once a doctor assigned a respectable name to his behavior and his father cubbied him into a respectable position to keep him out of trouble, his mother would find a foolish girl willing to trade love for social position and arrange an entirely respectable marriage. The rest of his life neatly mapped out and all he had to do was live it.

A steady rain fell and people hustled past under umbrellas and wet newspapers. His own umbrella long since sold, Sutton let his hat take the brunt of rainfall. He wanted to walk until he hated New York and felt desperate for home. But by the end of the morning, chilled, damp, sick at heart, he still didn't want to leave. Maybe New York was hard and vast--even a little frightening. But he had seen its promise. He had believed in its possibilities, believed it could ease the heartache that the nightmarish weeks in France had left him. And if those possibilities didn't shine as brightly now, he still wanted to hold on and hope.

It was just awfully hard to hold on with thirty cents in your pocket.

On the corner stood a luncheonette, its lit interior beckoning through the plate glass. He fingered the last of his change, trying to decide how best to divide it between dinner and breakfast. If he skipped dinner, he could still while away one last hour over coffee. He could listen to the chatter of strangers and dream that home was here in the city and he was free to live as he liked. Maybe the feeling would stay with him on the dreary walk to the station and the long train ride. Maybe it would even shield him from the grim disappointment in everyone's faces when they saw him again.

- Three -

It was something to marvel at, how quickly an hour could pass when a fellow preferred it to crawl along. Sutton shook his head when the waitress asked if he'd like more coffee. She gave him an inquisitive smile. "Suppose I ought to tell you about our specials today. We've got some fine goulash or chowder with toast for ten cents along with your coffee. Since you've already had the coffee..." She was pretty in a tomboyish way, with a figure as straight as a lamp post, carrotty hair that didn't care for the restraint imposed on it, matching freckles--and green eyes so sympathetic, he felt cheered.

Not to mention hungry. "The goulash sounds rather good."

"Then let me freshen up your coffee and I'll be right back."

Hardly five minutes passed before she was back with a steaming bowl and a plate of toast. She slipped around the counter to scoop up a fallen napkin, wincing as she bent down. Sutton caught up the napkin and handed it to her. "Are you all right?"

"Thanks. Just lifted one too many vegetable crates, I guess."

"You lifted them?" She was so slim and small. "Do you need some help? I've a few minutes--"

"Aren't you the gentleman." Back came her cheery grin. "It's all right. I suppose Ida will hire someone in a day or two when neither of us can get up the dropped napkins."

"Hire someone?" The coffee wasn't settling so well in his stomach. "You're hiring?"

"Ida's looking for an errand boy." She pointed to a small sign pinned on the wall by the kitchen door.

Sutton stared at it, then at her. "Please don't be offended but--wouldn't it make more sense to hang the sign in the window?"

The waitress had a likeably throaty laugh. "Ida means to give the job to someone who eats here regular. Someone who knows the neighborhood."

"Do you think she might consider me?"

"You? But--"

"I'm looking for work. I'll do whatever you want."

She studied him. "Well, I don't know. You live around here?"

"Not exactly--but I'm becoming better acquainted with the neighborhood by the day." God knew he felt as though he'd walked every foot of it. "Whatever you're looking for, I'm sure I'm the fellow for it. I'll take on anything."

Her smile came back softer. "You're eager enough. It's a lot of cleaning, lifting, carrying--"

"I can do it." His arm had healed suitably for that work, anyway.

She patted his shoulder. "I'll talk to Ida. Eat up, if you can sit still." She was laughing as she went.

Sutton sat, but he could hardly bring himself to eat. The job would probably pay a pittance and he'd be back to sleeping in the mice-ridden hovel of the night before, but...

The woman who came around the counter wasn't more than an inch over five feet, but seemed taller as she stood with thin, sinewy arms folded and feet apart--much like his old sergeant, he mused--right down to the hobnailed boots. Her gray hair worn in a thick bun at the nape of her neck made all more prominent her black brows and a jaw as square and indomitable as any man's.

"You're looking for work?" She tilted her head and the line of her mouth thinned further. "Answer me quick."

"Yes, ma'am."

"The job's cleaning, lifting, delivering, some fixing of meals, and whatever else I might think of later on." Her gaze narrowed. "Why would you want it?"

"To stay in New York. It's my last chance. My only chance. I'll work hard."

"That you will. Can you start today?"

The question took him by surprise. "I don't see why not--"

"Good. You live nearby?"

Hesitation couldn't be helped. "I--" He sensed it would be a fatal mistake to lie to her. "I've no place to stay just yet, but I'll find one later tonight."

"Whatever suits you. I've a room to let, upstairs. It ain't much but it'll be convenient, if you're interested. Of course it will come out of your pay."

"Naturally." Well, it couldn't be worse than where he'd been sleeping. "I'm grateful to you, ma'am."

"Esther will show you the room."

She turned to go back to the kitchen and Sutton realized the interrogation was over. "She never even asked my name. Or for references or anything--"

"She'll keep you on if she likes your work. And if she wants you," Esther said, cupping her hands around her mouth, "she'll just bellow, 'boy!' and scare you out of your socks." She grabbed his hand and gave it a shake. "Esther Clark, by the way."

"Sutton Albright."

"My, that's gilt-edged. Good luck, Sutton. You'll need it."

She led him up a narrow flight of stairs into a short hallway. There were two rooms on either side and then the hall turned, leading to more stairs. Behind the stairs, a door opened into a room barely large enough to contain a cot, small table, and chair. The single window looked out upon the bricks of the building next door.

"You'll want another blanket," Esther said, oddly subdued. "I'll scare one up for you."

He didn't like to think she felt bad about the accommodations. True, there was hardly space to move around in--but at the moment it looked like all the room in the world. "Thank you, Esther. And not just for the blanket."

She studied him. "You'll be okay?"

"I'm sure it will take some getting used to. But that's all right. I'm grateful for your help."

The concern in her eyes eased. "I'll get you the blanket."

Sutton dressed in the soft-collared cotton shirt and brown wool trousers he had purchased a few days after selling his second-best suit. He put his suitcase under the bed, leaving the rest of his clothes inside. It was just as well he'd pawned his books, pocket watch, and everything else, as he had neither shelf nor drawer for personal possessions. Not that it mattered. What he needed most at the moment--hope--he'd gotten back in spades.

By ten o'clock, all he wanted or needed was a bed upon which to collapse. He had hauled in and unpacked crates, peeled potatoes and carrots and shelled peas, pounded steaks, bussed tables, washed dishes, and scrubbed down the kitchen at closing. His hands were raw, his shoulder aching. When the last customer left, Esther mentioned to Ida that someone next door had asked her to bring over a sandwich and a bowl of chowder. Ida turned a dubious eye on Esther as she reached for her coat.

"You lollygag over there too much, girl. He'll go this time. You tend the pots."

Sutton took the basket Esther prepared and went out into the chilly night. A dim light shone through the plate glass windows across the way, but he could hear the faint sound of a piano. Though the shop sign read closed, he followed Esther's directions and went in without knocking. The piano's bright notes filled the place and he stopped to listen. As his eyes adjusted to the light, flashes of color lurking in the shadows took shape. A pair of china dogs guarded either side of the door and a few feet further in stood a painted wooden elephant, waist-high, its jeweled eyes glistening with lifelike interest. Japanese lanterns bobbed in the breeze from lazily circling fans. Old and new maps of the world adorned the shabby walls and, overhead, a map of the heavens.

There were toys everywhere, some he remembered from childhood. He knew he'd owned a spinning top like the one perched on the windowsill. And the rocking horse nestled between two bins had a familiar air. He wanted to explore but, remembering why he was there, followed the music through the aisles to the back of the store. He assumed the dinner was meant for the pianist and, judging by the way he played, the poor fellow needed nourishment right away. An inviting collection of old books filled several shelves and Sutton promised himself he would come back sometime. Daylight would be preferable, anyway, to lingering in darkened aisles while the eyes of several stuffed creatures peered down at him from the topmost shelves. Someone with an impish sense of humor had poised them to make the customer half-wonder if he was not about to be pounced upon.