The next morning, Clary parked downtown in sunshine so bright it hurt her eyes. Like the lake and her old neighborhood, this was another area she truly loved. Less than a century ago, it had been a busy Lake Michigan port, but now, only quaint stores and atmosphere remained.
Caught up in the sight, Clary stepped off the curb and almost walked into a car making a turn. She jumped back and collided with a child running down the sidewalk. The little girl pushed off defiantly, her black hair tumbling wildly around her dirty face, and then ran, her red tennis shoes leaving a streak of color against the sidewalk. Clary stood for a moment, watching the girl disappear around a corner. That child couldn’t have been more than five years old.
Shaken, Clary turned back to the downtown. Some of the businesses were closed and empty, a sight that made her frown. She looked down the street for the bright green store and took a relieved breath. Sharon’s old store was still there. A bell rang as she entered and, like Sharon’s bedroom, it felt the same at first glance. The faint scent of potpourri lingered and the wooden floor still creaked. It had been eighteen years since she’d been here. Sharon had been twenty-three and had owned the store for about a year at that time.
A young woman with curly brown hair walked up, holding a vase of paper flowers. “Was there something you needed?” she said. “I’ll bet we’ve got it.”
“I haven’t been here in years.” Clary turned around. “You kept the name, The Green Cabbage, and it’s still like the old dime stores.” It was, with everything from sewing materials to school supplies.
The woman laughed. “Kind of hard to top that name, isn’t it?”
“I need children’s books and a box to carry them,” Clary said as she spotted what she was looking for. The clerk nodded and disappeared into the back, leaving Clary to think about the last time she’d been here. She’d been leaving for England that night and stopped to say good-bye to Sharon. Kaye and Sharon were sharing a house on the lake, throwing one notorious party after another, and Aunt Mo was fit to be tied. Sharon had looked exhausted, but she’d given Clary a hard, heartfelt hug.
“Two years is a long time. I’m going to miss you,” Sharon had said.
Clary had held on, wanting to talk about the dark circles under Sharon’s eyes, but hadn’t. Later, she wished she had. It was the last time they’d spoken.
She browsed through a selection of socks and T-shirts, next to a display of lightbulbs. Now that she was home, memories of Sharon wrapped her heart like sad, cold cobwebs.
“Will this do?” The clerk held out a box, and Clary began to pack books inside. When she’d returned from England two years later, her normally organized family had been in a panic because Sharon had disappeared a week earlier. Jesse was finishing her training at the police academy in Milwaukee, and the only time they’d talked was at the funeral, a month later. They’d both been so distraught that neither of them had said much, only cried. Three days later, Clary had left for Chicago to teach.
*
Clary parked at the Southside Day Care and looked around. It was a good location for this facility, only two blocks off the main drag. The house was large and as yellow as summer sunlight with clean, white trim, and a neatly mowed yard. There were large wind chimes hanging from two eaves at the front, adding a lovely sound to the light breeze. The chimes might have been homemade. She walked across the street and looked closer.
Kids were singing somewhere. She left the box on the steps and walked around the corner of the building. Leefe was directing a group of children in a very energetic dance, and Clary leaned against the wire fence, watching.
Leefe wore a faded green, button-down shirt tucked into her jeans, and Clary smiled. Definitely curves in those angles, no matter what Jesse said. The children wore much-used but clean clothing, and Clary took a long look at them. Most were small, some even too thin. At that moment, Leefe noticed her and said something. They all stopped and turned to the fence.
“Kids, show Clary our new dance.” Leefe began to clap and sing again. Everyone lined up, singing, and did the steps, heel to toe, with a quick jump so their backs were to Clary, then another quick foot movement, and they were facing her. Clary grinned at their flushed faces and clapped when they finished.
Laughing, Leefe hugged the kids closest to her and pointed at the house. “Good job guys. Time for food. The bowls are in the refrigerator.” Noisy and laughing, they scrambled toward the back door.
“That looked like fun. Was that an Irish clog?”
“Don’t know.” Leefe leaned against the fence. “It’s something my real mother taught me, and the words to the song too. Did you recognize it?”
“The steps are familiar but not the song.” Clary turned, realizing what Leefe had said. “You remember your real mother, not your adoptive parents?”
“I dream about her, now and then. Someone had to teach me that dance.” Leefe grinned. “Didn’t expect to see you here, but I’m glad you came by.” The relaxed grin totally changed Leefe. The intensity around her was gone, and her eyes were rounder, brighter.
“I brought books, but I left them on the front porch when I heard the kids and walked back here.”
“Thanks. I can always use new books. Meet me out front?”
There were flowers and names painted on the foundation of the house, right onto the bricks, and Clary stopped to look.
“Do you like this?” Leefe came down the front steps, pointing at the painted flowers.
“Never saw anything like it. Did you do it?”
“It was my idea, but I only helped. We call it our brick garden. I covered them in big shirts, and got the hardware store to donate some paint. That was a great week.” Leefe touched the bricks. “For most, it was the first time they’d seen their names.”
“It’s colorful and hopeful.” With her hand on Leefe’s shoulder for support, Clary bent and looked closer. “I like your chimes too.” She pointed at the roof.
“A friend of mine did those. I want the kids to be able to always hear our sound. Their families move a lot. They get lost and can’t find their way here. Sometimes it works.”
The brutal bruises still marked Leefe’s face, but they were fading, and her shirt was warm from the sun. Something else was new, besides the grin. “This is the first time I’ve seen you in daylight,” Clary said. “We’ve always seen each other at night…” Clary’s voice trailed off as Leefe’s shoulder moved under her fingers. They were so close. She dropped her hand.
“Oh, daylight.” Leefe made a funny face. “No. That first time in the hospital was daytime.” She looked unsure for a moment. “Wasn’t it? I was so out of it.”
“You’re right, but the blinds were pulled,” Clary conceded. “I told Piper I’d drop by her staff meeting this afternoon. Want to come along?”
“Sorry, but I can’t. Albie, my assistant, has to leave early today. Thanks for the message about Piper. I’m glad she’s okay with my help with the classes. Want a look inside?”
The house was big and old, but clean. The wooden floors shone. Braided throw rugs were scattered about, giving it a warm, lived-in feeling. The first room had a few traditional kindergarten desks with a large blackboard that started at the floor and went up at least four feet. A box of chalk lay on the closest desk. The window curtains were as yellow as the paint on the outside of the house, brightening the room.
“We kept the original design of the house,” Leefe explained as they moved to the kitchen. “This isn’t the only shelter or day care in town, but it’s the second largest facility, and the only one that’s owned and paid for by city and private funds. Under the current governor, we stay away from state funds.”
She straightened canisters on the counter and tossed a dish towel in a clothes hamper. “The family accommodation is three blocks west of here in the Stratford building. It houses families that have some kind of income but nowhere to live. It helps, but the waiting list is long.” Leefe leaned against the cupboards, arms crossed. “The one thing all of the shelters share are the free gardens in the city. Some of the produce goes to the Food Plant, a food facility for homeless a few blocks away from here. Grocery stores pitch in as well. Joe, Maureen, and the rest of the group got that going, and it works.”
A long wooden table bisected the large kitchen, and red-and-white striped curtains added an extra shot of color. The room smelled like bacon and coffee with a hint of floor wax. A small set of steps stood in front of the sink. “Kids have to wash up. It’s the rule.” Leefe pointed at the steps. “I’ve become a decent plumber because of this house.”
Clary grinned. “I know the feeling. I struggle with my place in Iowa. How are your carpentry skills?”
“Fair, but what I really need is an electrician. This place needs a total rewire.”
“We took a semester of Electricity for Dummies several years ago. Want some help?”
“Seriously? I’m afraid of electricity.”
“I used to be, but after Jean and I brought her duplex up to code, I lost the fear. It’s really just basic stuff.”
“You own a duplex?”
“No, I rent, but it’s a great place. My landlord, Jean, is a retired schoolteacher.”
“Oh, I wondered—” Leefe began as one of the kids wandered into the kitchen.
“Ms. Ellis?” the child said, holding out an empty bowl. “I’m done.”
“Okay, Devi. Where does that bowl go?”
“The sink. The red fruit is good, but the yellow was okay.”
“Not ‘good,’ Devi. You mean ‘better,’” Leefe said, and stood behind the little girl as they ran soap and water over her hands.
Something in Clary perked up watching Leefe’s smooth arms and the muscles moving beneath the skin. Her whole body appeared balanced and she moved easily.
“The yellow was muskmelon, and the red was watermelon.” Leefe looked back at Clary. “Devi’s just learned her colors so all food is named after something in a rainbow. Casseroles are a challenge.”
Clary realized that Devi was the little girl from downtown this morning, the one she’d run into on the sidewalk. Her face was clean now, and her hair was combed. “I like your red shoes, Devi.”
The child gave her a proud look. “Ms. Ellis got them. For me.” Her skin matched her light brown eyes, and her hair was silky black like Leefe’s, but without the shaggy style. Devi whispered “thank you” with a big smile as she climbed down the steps and then hugged Leefe’s legs. Clary saw Leefe’s hand enclose Devi’s small one as they walked into the next room.
There was a much-used sofa, faded plush chairs, and a few beanbags in the room. A large plasma TV hung on the wall, running a cartoon. The kids sprawled on the furniture, some still eating. Two came forward to look at the books, but waited respectfully.
“It’s okay. Clary brought them for all of you.” Leefe began to pull the books out of the box. “Kids, help me put these where they belong, please.” Without a complaint, all the children scrambled up to help.
Clary felt something warm against her hand. A small blond boy touched her with his fingers, his pale blue eyes searching her face. She took his hand, adding a smile, and he leaned against her.
“That’s courtesy of your uncle Joe and aunt Maureen.” Leefe pointed at the TV. “The good behavior is because of the food.”
Clary turned, unsure what Leefe meant.
“I’ll explain outside.” Leefe picked up the empty box. “Do you mind if I keep this? Nothing is wasted here.” They walked into the hallway, and she pointed up the wide steps. “The babies and toddlers are napping upstairs with Albie, my assistant. The cut-off age for this facility is eight, or second grade.” They stepped outside onto the wide front porch.
“The food,” Leefe continued, moving two chairs together. “That always gets a homeless child’s attention. They may not eat anything else other than what the city provides. For example, that was probably Devi’s breakfast because she was late this morning. She’ll be okay, but quieter than usual until that fruit catches up with her. These little kids talk about food like some families talk about toys, clothes, phones, whatever. Food is the most protected and sought after item in their life.” She bent, retying a shoelace, her face hidden. “It’s taken us around nine years to get this up and running. I’d have given anything for a place like this when I was their age.”
Clary sat in one of the chairs. “They’re only here in the daytime? Where do they go at night?”
“Wherever they can. This really is Survival 101. They live in cars, alleys, deserted houses, or stores. In the summertime, they use big cardboard boxes, doorways, whatever. The old empty factory buildings over by the lake are full of squatters. This city’s in pretty good shape, at least now. The bigger cities have far worse problems.”
“I saw a group of kids, ten to twelve years old at Mojo’s. If the cut-off age here is eight, where do the older kids go? Jesse said she’d been watching them.”
Leefe nodded. “I’ve seen Jesse’s list. Some were here when they were younger, and I know most of their families.”
“How do you know how many kids will be here?”
“Beverly gives me the figures every month from CPS. We have to account for the money because most of it’s private.” Leefe looked at Clary, as if to make a point. “The winter is slower. It’s usually just Albie, me, and the preschoolers. About half of the kids are in school and have school lunches, but we do breakfast and dinner. Summer is always busier because I often have around thirty or more children a day for three meals, so we eat in shifts. Sometimes volunteers come in to help.” Leefe sank into the chair next to Clary. “That ties into what I do for the police. When I’m out at night I keep track of as many families as I can. These kids are not just poor. They truly are homeless because their families are fractured or suffering from illness and addiction. It’s everything you can imagine.”
“We have school lunches in Iowa.”
“No, that’s different, and tied into school meals.” The kids laughed at the TV and Leefe turned to look into the window.
“Because I teach, I know information is private at many levels, but give me a for instance. What if they get sick?”
“We keep a sick child here and one of us stays all night. South Port’s medical and dental communities help, but private companies chip in too. For instance, one of the local garden stores came over a couple of weeks ago, and we planted green beans to show the kids how to make a vegetable. That was fun.”
Clary looked at her watch. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Are you sure you can’t go with me?”
“Yes, but ask again.”
“I could use more information, if you’re willing. Stop by on your way home after work tonight. I promise coffee…or whatever else you want.”
“Whatever else I want?” Leefe said with a smile. “I won’t be out of here until eight, but coffee at Maureen’s would be great.”
Was that a slightly flirty smile, Clary wondered. “Oh, your art class. I’ll do it, but I wear clothes, don’t I?”
“What?” Leefe looked surprised. “I never even thought of that. Of course you wear clothes.”
As she walked away, Clary hummed to herself. The dull feeling smothering her for so long gave way to a nice push of energy, and it felt good to be around the chatter and laughter of kids again. She was positive Leefe could bridge the homeless information for Piper. Clary looked back at the day care. Actually, this was fascinating. How long had it been since something had fascinated her…besides teaching?
*
Leefe walked through the television room. Devi was propped up in the corner with a new book, pretending to read to little Jacob, making up a story to go with the pictures. She and Albie read to the children every day, but it was Devi that loved words as much as she did.
Some of the kids were asleep, and she took note of them. If their families were on the move, or in dangerous places, they were often awake all night. Arguments and fights were notorious for injuring them. Jacob was one of the victims, and she kept an eye on him. He’d come here last year with a broken wrist after he’d been caught in his parents’ fight. Now his father was in jail, and his mother overwhelmed with the older kids. They were squatting at one of the old factories.
She looked back at him. There were dark circles under his pale eyes, and his almost-white blond hair hung over his face. He could use a haircut. She remembered how he’d touched Clary. Usually, he hid when there were adults in the room. Jesse had said Clary was “pure magic” around children and maybe she was.
She went into the office to finish the weekly report for the city, jotting down the names of the ones who had been sleeping. Those were the families she’d look for first on her next time out. She placed the scissors on the desk as a reminder to cut Jacob’s hair.
When she was the age of these children, the Ellis family had a house, although it was dirty and infested. She checked her hands. If nothing else, she now had food, a clean body and clothes every day. That these kids were clean and fed—what could be better? That was why she had them sweep floors, shake rugs, and scrub the bathroom. A broom, a mop, and a rag were wonderful simple tools. They needed to know how to live after they grew up, and she wasn’t sure anyone else would teach them. This morning, they’d each taken a turn with floor wax and were shocked when it shone and smelled good. How many would remember this moment years from now? Maybe Piper’s classes would give her an idea of how the older kids were doing.
She booted up her laptop, organizing what was left of the day. After Albie was gone, she’d take the little ones outside for sunlight and fresh air and play cards with the older kids. It was a great way to teach them their numbers.
Most of this town would never understand how she or these children had lived, nor would she wish it on anyone. The group that included Joe, Maureen, and Beverly got it. They’d started this day care, along with other like-minded citizens. Clary was a lot like them. She paid attention and had brought books. Maureen and Joe often stopped by with things or food and took time with the kids, even eating a meal with them now and then.
Too bad she hadn’t thought of posing nude in the art class. She’d have returned Clary’s teasing, and had a little fun. Actually, what she’d had in mind were those olive green shorts and the collarless shirt Clary had worn the first day she’d seen her. She stared at the computer and then typed Clary’s name into Google. The first hit was the local newspaper’s story on “Teacher of the Year,” with a link to the acceptance speech. She clicked on it.
“Wow,” she said under her breath as she read Clary’s words when she’d accepted the award. “Not what to learn, but how to learn,” Leefe read aloud. Maybe Clary would give her some tips for the kids about the alphabet, or numbers and colors. Leefe looked further and read about Clary’s swimming team in high school and her higher education information. Her parents looked familiar, but she’d probably seen them in Maureen’s photos. There were photos of Clary’s sister’s wedding, and a younger Clary who certainly looked more carefree than she did now. Leefe rested her elbows on the desk, head in hands, staring at the photos. Clary hadn’t looked very happy on Maureen’s deck last weekend, but that incredible smile was back today. She went to the next photo. Clary was right. She did look like her parents.
Leefe searched further. There were newspaper accounts about Sharon that she’d read before, but she found three more articles when she put Clary’s name in the mix. Wait, she thought, and went back several pages. Clary had been to England? Leefe shoved her chair back. Sharon had talked about a cousin overseas at a university, but she couldn’t recall anything else. Except how proud Sharon had been and how much she’d loved her.
Leefe sighed. She’d done everything for Sharon she could at that time, but it hadn’t been enough, and Jesse Lowden hadn’t been a cop then, far from it.