Without a doubt, the situation was not how it should be. This Alfred Millstone fellow could hang the moon, and Lily’s stance wouldn’t budge.
“Lily, at least consider it.” These were Ellis’s words on the phone, but his tone said Woman, you’re being stubborn.
It was as if he could see her at her work desk, shaking her head at his reasoning.
“Lily?” he pressed.
Over the afternoon noise of the newsroom, she answered, “All right, I’ll consider it.”
And she would. For two full seconds, she reviewed his summary of the meeting he’d just had with Alfred Millstone, and still she disagreed.
“Listen, I gotta scoot,” he said. “My editor will have my hide if I don’t get a story going. Just promise you won’t do anything rash. Not without talking to me first.”
“Yes. Fine.”
He sighed over the line, as if reluctant to leave someone who claimed to simply be admiring the view—from the ledge of a building.
“I promise,” she said. This was the truth, in the literal respect. She had no plans to do anything she deemed rash.
Only…necessary.
- • •
The trip there and back would take half a day at most. Lily would catch the earliest train to New York so as to return in plenty of time for supper.
“I give you my word on that, sugar bug.” She knelt before Samuel, still in his pajamas, inside the deli’s entrance. Through the windows, the waking sky colored his pouting cheeks with a soft orange glow.
“But, you said we’d do a picnic.”
At the counter, Lily’s mother was readying the register for the shop’s opening in an hour. Her father’s whistling drifted from the back kitchen.
“And we will soon, Samuel. I swear it.” Lily brushed a powdery brown smudge from his check, remnants of his breakfast cocoa. He jerked back a little, his eyes down. “Please understand. I truly hate being away from you. But there are two other children out there, and they don’t get to be with their mommy at all. I want to try to fix that.”
Samuel’s gaze remained on his loafers, both polished by himself. It was one more skill he had learned from her parents, a small milestone conquered in her absence.
The thought would normally have baited her to stay, but she couldn’t ignore the countless milestones Geraldine stood to miss.
“Come now, give Mommy a hug goodbye.” She opened her arms to him. “I need to catch my train so I can hurry right back.”
He glanced up at last, but pinched his mouth in frustration and rushed off through the deli.
“Samuel,” she called out, his sprint continuing up the stairs.
Lily’s mother stepped out from behind the counter. “Not to fret. He’ll be all right.”
Rising to meet her, Lily insisted, “You know I’d never cut into our time together if it weren’t important.”
“I know that, dear.”
Clayton had been occupied for the weekend, leaving Lily more time to ponder during her bus ride to Maryville. Once settled in, she had divulged a portion to her mother in confidence, but only the basics, not wishing to violate Geraldine’s privacy.
Granted, some would say she was about to do just that.
“I’ll be back soon,” she said and kissed her mother on the cheek.
“Have a safe trip.” Her mother offered a strained smile. She was either weary from waking or dubious over Lily’s plans. Before Lily could determine which, she grabbed her handbag from the floor and left for the station.
- • •
It was just after eleven when Lily arrived on Maple Street. She had walked from the depot in Hoboken, saving money on a taxicab. The round-trip train fare was costly enough.
She referred once more to the address inscribed on a scrap of paper—secretaries were as skilled as anyone at locating such details—and stopped at the designated home. It was light green with white trim and as perfect as a dollhouse.
Too perfect, she decided.
At the park across the street, children reveled in the rare freedoms afforded by a temperate Saturday morning. The chorus of their giggles, a reminder of Samuel awaiting her return, sent Lily straight up the steps to reach the front door.
After pocketing the address and her traveling gloves, she knocked.
Birds chirped from trees that dotted the area, and a rattling car passed on the street. The possibility of the driver being Ellis—which certainly it was not—caused her palms to perspire. And what for? He wasn’t her father or her boss, and certainly not her beau. She didn’t require his approval to come here. Still, guilt niggled at her.
She pushed it away as she rang the doorbell. A direct appeal to Mrs. Millstone was the answer. She was a fellow mother who understood the loss of a child. With her husband away on business, Mrs. Millstone would be free to meet Lily alone.
Unless she, too, had traveled for the weekend.
Lily clutched her purse, clinging to her hopes. She reached out in a final attempt to ring the bell. Before she made contact, the door opened. A young housekeeper stood in greeting. In a black dress and white apron, she wore her hair pinned up tight.
“Sorry to keep ya waitin’, ma’am.” Her lilting accent pegged her as an Irish immigrant. Fittingly, her pale skin held freckles more pronounced than Lily’s. “I was knee-deep in the wash and was slow to hear the door.”
“That’s quite all right. I’m just delighted somebody’s home.” Lily smiled in partial relief. Even if the lady of the house wasn’t in, the housekeeper would likely know her whereabouts.
The girl smiled timidly in return. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen. “Is there something I can help ya with?”
“There is, in fact. I’ve come to see Mrs. Millstone.”
“Is she…expectin’ ya, ma’am?” Her tone said she doubted that was the case, as the girl would have been alerted to prepare for company.
“She’s not,” Lily affirmed, “but it really is an important matter. You see, I’m an old work colleague of Mr. Reed. I believe he was here recently.” At the girl’s uncertain look, Lily added, “He’s a reporter, from the New York Herald Tribune, and came to speak with Mr. Millstone.”
“Ah, I see,” the girl said. “And you’re with the paper too, are ya?”
“I am. Well…the Philadelphia Examiner, that is.” The girl’s eyes brightened, impressed by this, but Lily remained steadfast. “Is Mrs. Millstone available to speak?”
“I’d be glad to check. If you’ll wait here a minute.”
Lily nodded and soon discovered the estimate wasn’t an exaggeration. After less than a minute of disappearing inside, the housekeeper returned. “The missus would be pleased to receive ya. Do come in.”
In the foyer, the girl offered to take her coat, but Lily politely declined. Given the purpose of her visit, it seemed too casual, too friendly. Moreover, depending on how the conversation went, she might not be welcome for long.
Following the girl over the white marble floor, Lily surveyed the wide, sweeping staircase, the chandelier overhead. The air held an almost sweet, powdery scent. Though Ellis hadn’t been past the front door, he was right about the residence.
But Lily wasn’t here to admire the decor.
Rather, to block out visions of the children running about, unencumbered by the vastness of space, she trained her focus on a darker thought. She considered the disparity of fortunes between bankers and too many of their patrons, those with little choice but to live in shantytowns or to beg on the street.
Or, God help them, to sell their own children.
When the housekeeper entered the parlor, a woman gracefully rose from a claw-footed love seat, ready for a greeting. She appeared to be in her midthirties. In a cream silk blouse and a black A-line skirt, she wore her dark-blond hair sleek around her face, with soft pink touches on her lips and cheeks. A string of pearls looped her neck.
“Ma’am, may I present…” The girl suddenly winced. She had neglected to ask for Lily’s name.
“Mrs. Millstone,” Lily kindly jumped in, “I hope it’s all right to introduce myself. I’m Lillian Palmer. I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me.”
“Call me Sylvia.” She smiled and invited Lily to sit in the ornate chair across from her, its striped upholstery boasting a satiny shimmer. As Lily obliged and set her purse down, Sylvia signaled to the housekeeper. “Claire, some tea for our guest.”
With a grateful glance at Lily, Claire scurried over to the service cart parked next to the upright piano. As she filled a blue-and-white colonial teacup, a match to the one on the end table beside Sylvia, Lily noticed the framed photos on the fireplace mantel. From a distance, she could best make out the details of a portrait in the center. Indeed it was Ruby, cleaned and cared for just as Ellis had described.
“That’s my daughter,” Sylvia pointed out. “She’s lovely, isn’t she?” The prideful glow in her face caused Lily’s throat to tighten, adding a rasp to her reply.
“She is.”
“Technically she’s ten, but going on twenty according to her teacher. Always so much going on in that head of hers.”
Lily was thankful for Claire’s delivery of the tea just then.
“Oh, Claire, that reminds me,” Sylvia said. “Please tell my sweet girl she needs to practice the piano once more before supper if she wants tapioca tonight. And don’t you dare let her say she’ll simply go without.” Sylvia rolled her eyes in jest and told Lily, “It’s her favorite dessert, so there’s no getting that one past me.”
Claire politely bowed her head and pivoted to leave. Her footfalls continued through the foyer and up the stairs.
“To be perfectly honest,” Sylvia said conspiratorially, “as a young girl, I was terrible about practicing. Now wish I’d been more diligent.” She brought her cup and saucer to her lap. “Come to think of it, that might not have helped. I was truly awful. Sadly, I never had the natural ability that my daughter does.”
An image of Ruby, seated at the piano, materialized in Lily’s mind. The lessons, and certainly the piano itself, weren’t luxuries Geraldine could afford anytime soon.
Sylvia took a sip of her tea. “I’d gladly ask her to come down and play for you, but this is her special reading time. Once her nose is in a book, I’d have to pry it out. I hope you don’t mind.”
Lily shook her head, attempting to shed thoughts of Ruby’s happiness here, wanting even more to discard the undeniable sense of liking Sylvia.
Assuming her husband was similar, no wonder Ellis felt conflicted.
“I’m much the same,” Lily managed. “When it comes to reading.”
“Yes, well, there are worse vices a person could have.” Sylvia smiled and took another sip. “Do you have children as well?”
Lily had to think before answering. Everything about their exchange had left her feeling unprepared. “One. A son.”
“Oh, that’s lovely.” With a look of wonder, Sylvia rested her cup on her saucer. “Of course, I know boys can be a handful at times, with all that energy bound up in their little bodies. But what father doesn’t secretly want a small version of himself running about? I’m sure your husband is as proud as a peacock.”
Lily smiled before drowning the truth with Earl Grey. It could have used cream and a sugar cube, but she gulped it down.
“Now,” Sylvia said, “what else could I tell you about our family? I imagine there are some specifics you need for the article.”
Lily’s grip tightened around her drink. Whatever Claire had passed along about Lily’s employment or her ties to Ellis, her purpose had been misconstrued.
The sound of footsteps down the stairs preceded Claire’s return to the foyer, but there was no reason to call her in here to sort out the correction.
Lily set her cup and saucer aside. The plan to come right out with the issue had been far easier in her head. “I’m actually here today to speak about Geraldine Dillard,” she began.
A small crinkle formed upon Sylvia’s nose. “I’m sorry… I’m not familiar with her.” There was nothing insincere in the woman’s manner, nor was there any hint of uncertainty.
Was it possible she had never learned of the name? Had her husband not bothered to ask for such a significant detail?
Lily didn’t want to insult Sylvia by duplicating her maternal title, but there was no other way to say it. “Mrs. Millstone, Geraldine is the mother of the two children you’re caring for.”
Sylvia smiled once again, this time with a tinge of sympathy. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. We have only one daughter. She’s the one I was telling you about.”
A seed of impatience was sprouting within Lily, hastened by confusion. “Yes, I understand there’s just one girl. But I’m referring to her brother, Calvin. He’s the boy, along with Ruby, that your husband purchased in Pennsylvania.”
Adopted. Lily realized she had bypassed the more mindful term when a shroud of silence dropped over the room. Sylvia’s lips lowered at this, and her eyes darkened. But not from offense, it seemed. There was a struggle for comprehension. It was like watching the grayest of clouds encroaching on the horizon, a transformation that Lily could actually feel as her own puzzlement inched toward dread.
Had Alfred Millstone procured the children on his own accord and not shared the circumstances with his wife? How would he have explained Ruby being added to their charge?
Perhaps as a lone urchin he had found in an alley. Or an orphan inherited from a relative who had passed. In any event, why would Alfred deceive her?
A sudden crashing noise jolted Lily. A cup and saucer—Sylvia’s—had tumbled to the floor and shattered. An amber puddle spread over marble.
“Are ya all right, ma’am?” It was Claire, hurrying into the room. A broken piece crunched beneath her shoe as she attended to Sylvia, whose face had gone pale.
“I…I must…lie down.”
“Certainly, ma’am. Let me help.” Claire guided her upward and escorted her toward the foyer. In tandem, they plodded up the staircase and out of view.
Lily was scouring the encounter for rationale when her gaze circled back to the mantel. Slowly, she came to her feet and closed in on the photographs. Beside the center image of Ruby was one of her hugging a doll, and another of her in a garden. The next was a formal portrait of the family—with one thing missing from them all.
Or more aptly, one person.
The revelation slid up Lily’s spine, an icy finger, launching a shiver through her veins, and a halting question through her mind.
Where in heaven’s name was Calvin?
