Tommy and Yale sat on the porch off the kitchen, watching slow, thick raindrops hit the ground. Yale loved the garden as much as Mama, pointing to sections of the yard, naming the plants they’d grown there in the summer.
Frank landed between Tommy and Yale, making her giggle. She got onto her belly, chin resting on the back of one hand as she stroked the black feathers.
“You’ve got Frank purring like a cat,” Tommy said.
The crow dipped his head, brushing it against Yale’s hand. “Cat,” she said, struggling with words she should be able to say easily by the age of five.
“Bird,” the crow said. “Frank, bird.”
Yale lifted her head and smiled.
“Pretty, pretty, pretty,” Frank said. He and Yale tilted their heads back and forth, mirroring each other.
Tommy brushed his hand over his sister’s hair. “You are pretty, sweet Yale. I just wish we knew why . . .” He didn’t want to finish the sentence, even though he doubted she’d understand if he did. She was developing far slower than any child he’d ever seen. And he wouldn’t be accused of paying too much attention to little ones, but he saw Yale’s slowness clear as the springs that fed the well in the back. It had really hit him the first time she and Mama were back in town the year before. Yale clung to Mama like an ivy vine, whimpering for words, still prone to wet herself before she made it to the pot, lethargic.
Yale laid her cheek on one hand, and Frank rubbed his head against her fingers, making her eyes squeeze shut and her shoulders shake with laughter. Before long, she was drifting off to sleep. “Treasure,” Frank said.
Tommy petted the bird. “Yes, she is.”
The side gate slammed, startling Tommy. Feet crunched over the gravel walkway then stopped. Tommy pressed Yale’s back and straightened, craning to hear. Perhaps someone entered the yard by accident. Wheezing. Was it wheezing? The labored breath sounded again along with the always accompanying throat clearing. Tommy stood, anxiety making him clench his jaw.
Bayard appeared with Hank on his heels. Yale didn’t flinch, the setting sun reaching under the porch roof, warming her cheek, putting her into slumber.
Frank took flight.
“Hank. Bayard.” Tommy wanted them gone. The less they saw of his family and their home the better. He removed his coat and put it over Yale in case she got a chill. He angled down the stairs, trying to box them out of coming onto the porch. “What can I do for you?”
Hank widened his stance and crossed his arms. Bayard leaned against the porch balustrade, causing it to wiggle. Tommy gestured. “That’s rickety, Bay. Watch yourself.”
“Calling me fat?”
Tommy shook his head, irritated. “What do you want?”
“Message from Judge Calder for Zachary Taylor.”
Tommy scratched the back of his neck. “That right? Don’t know him.”
“That’s the name you told him for court, for your club membership, and he recognized you today as such.”
Tommy kept his face plain and without emotion. He clenched his jaw. Hank and Bayard were much too far into Tommy’s business. “How the hell do you know . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The boys smirked. “Came in just before you ran out of the saloon like a little . . .” He glanced at Yale. “Girl. Like that.”
Tommy felt like the two boys had a leash on him, tethering him to them even when he couldn’t see them. “You didn’t tell Calder anything, did you?”
Hank smirked. “I keep secrets close like my coins, Tommy. Turns out they’re often worth more than money.”
“Then what? I don’t have anything to give you. Just drank up all the money I made shoveling shit for the tannery. Surely the judge mentioned the stench I left behind.”
“Yeah, he saw me call to you as you ran away. Wasn’t close enough to hear me use your real name. Then I remembered when it comes to the judge, you employ an alternative calling card,” Hank said.
Tommy was grateful for that much. “So?” Tommy said.
“Told Judge Calder we’d see to giving Zachary his message,” Bayard said.
Tommy looked away.
Hank cleared this throat. “Be at his house next Thursday. Got work for ya.”
“Seven a.m., sharp. Work clothes, back garden by the big barn,” Hank said.
Tommy scratched his chin. He had school, and he’d missed enough already.
Hank moved toward Tommy as though wanting to intimidate him. Tommy was taller by a lot, but Hank was a scrapper, much stronger than he appeared. “Judge said you don’t show, then I’m headed to Glenwood. That happens? I’ll pummel you. Been there twice, ain’t goin’ back,” Hank said.
Tommy drew up. No matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to outrun his bad choices. Mr. Zurchenko’s words returned. Maybe the path he needed to take was one that led straight out of town. He shook the words off. In that moment, he wondered if there was another dorozhka for him. Perhaps he’d already used up all his good opportunities, and the only roads left ran him right past all the wrong choices.
“Cat,” Yale said, having opened her eyes, petting Frank’s head. Tommy turned his back to her trying to block her from the boys’ view. Hank leaned around Tommy and studied her, but didn’t comment on her wrong labeling of the bird. Tommy couldn’t leave his family again. Even with his current predicament, they needed him. He would have to trust that somehow he could get moving in the right direction without leaving town.
“You didn’t breathe a word about my real name?”
They shook their heads.
Hank shoved his hands into his pockets. “Found it’s better to save information than spend it at first opportunity.”
“Well, thank you for that,” Tommy said.
“Someday you’ll repay me.”
Tommy knew that was true.
“See ya round, Tommy-Zachary,” Bayard said as he and Hank disappeared around the house, the wheezing and throat-clearing fading with the slam of the gate.
Tommy pulled Yale onto his lap, the setting sun bringing a crisp chill. He held her tight and rocked, her breath evening out as she fell into slumber again. He brushed her hair back and kissed her forehead, thinking of all the trouble she’d faced in her young life, right from the time she was born, the size of a prairie chicken, in that dugout in Darlington County. “You’re safe, Yale, and I’ll stay with you and Mama and Katherine to keep it that way. Somehow I’ll do that.”
He knew the promise was complicated. He searched for ways he might be able to make the secret name not matter anymore. Perhaps he should just own up to the lie, beg forgiveness.
The wind kicked up, carrying autumn crispness. Tommy carried Yale upstairs, where he tucked her into bed. He stood over her and watched her sleep peacefully.
Yale hadn’t been born when the family scandal broke, yet she lived its consequences. Even after five years, many folks still held bitter thoughts and feelings for the Arthurs. Luckily the Des Moines population was growing in leaps and bounds with a good influx of people who hadn’t been touched by the trouble.
In the back of Tommy’s mind was Elizabeth Calder, her quietly hostile treatment of Mama, the money the judge lost when Tommy’s grandfather’s fragile investments crashed. It had been a mistake, a misjudgment, a series of bad luck incidents. That was different than reckless spending of money, stealing money.
Grandfather’s suicide should have been enough to satisfy angry investors, to show that he felt so guilty and sorry about the losses that he couldn’t go on. But that’s not how they saw the act. They believed his death was evidence he’d been cruel and careless with other people’s money. Tommy didn’t take that memory out to consider very often.
He bent forward, hands on his knees, chest heavy. His father wasn’t coming. His breath burned his insides. The realization pulsed with his heartbeat. He’s not coming. The words curdled in his belly, filling him with grief he’d only reserved for James up till then. Though he thought he’d come to grips with this before, he understood right then, he hadn’t. He finally knew how Mama and Katherine felt about Frank Arthur, the man. Betrayed. And the deep wound seeped.
**
Tommy tucked Yale into bed, lit a lamp and went down the darkened staircase that led to the front hall. Heading toward the kitchen, the back door squeaked open. Mama’s and Mr. Hayes’s voices burst with passion as they entered, words flying from one, the other picking up to finish sentences. They were appalled, determined, and disgusted at whatever they’d just learned at the meeting. Electric. Their tone and fervor could have powered the lamps at Miss Violet’s.
Atrocity, cruel, unimaginative solutions, old-fashioned, unhinged.
Their descriptions about the plans the leading citizens of Des Moines proposed were supposed to save the city’s children from nefarious villains. But the core of the strategy sickened Mama and Mr. Hayes.
Tommy leaned against the wall, hidden, listening, not wanting to engage. He appreciated and admired Mama’s interest in helping children. Did she suspect at all that he might be on the list of wayward boys? It made sense she’d help children given her contributions to the Des Moines Women’s Club before the Arthurs left for the prairie. At one point, Mama let out a long sigh and then there was silence, followed by a rustling, then quiet. The stillness was full, as loud as their voices had just been and Tommy had the distinct sense that he shouldn’t look in the kitchen, that he would see something he didn’t want to.
Then the quiet broke. Chairs moving over wood and papers shuffling allowed him to exhale.
“Let’s go over this legislation for Mrs. Hillis one last time,” Mr. Hayes said.
“All right. I think I have the energy for it. Suddenly I have the energy for everything, Reed.”
Tommy could tell she’d sat at the table, that the two of them were hunkered in, heads probably together as they went over whatever legislation she was talking about. Tommy tiptoed down the hall, away from the kitchen, toward the front door. He wasn’t angry that Mr. Hayes was there, not that moment, not like earlier. But their harmonized voices, their mutual goals and plans, hurt. The spark of ardor in their exchange reminded Tommy of the first time he’d met Mr. Hayes in the garden, the blush that had swept over Mama’s face at the sight of him, that it had infuriated and worried him.
Now it simply drilled further into the sorrow he felt at his father not showing up midsummer. While Mama was inspired by her developing life, Tommy seemed to be floating away from her, from the life he’d planned, like a balloon attached to a string, to a wrist. He only hoped there was a string connecting him to Mama, that something to rope them together still remained.