Blackberry Winter

Blackberry Winter - By Sarah Jio


Chapter 1




VERA RAY

Seattle, May 1, 1933

An icy wind seeped through the floorboards and I shivered, pulling my gray wool sweater tighter around myself. Just one button remained. At five cents apiece, it seemed frivolous to think of replacing the ones that had gone missing. Besides, spring had come. Or had it? I glanced outside the second-story window, and listened as the wind whistled and howled. An angry wind. The branches of the old cherry tree thrashed against the apartment building with such force, I jumped, worried another blow might break the glass. I couldn’t afford a repair bill, not this month. But just then, an unexpected sight spelled me from my worries, momentarily. Light pink blossoms swirled in the air. I sighed, smiling to myself. Just like snow.

“Mama?” Daniel squeaked from under the covers. I pulled back the ragged blue quilt, revealing his handsome round face and soft blond hair, which still curled at the ends. His baby hair. At three, with plump, rosy cheeks and big eyes a heart-stopping shade of blue, he was somewhere between baby and boy. But when he slept, he appeared exactly the way he had on the day he was born. Sometimes I’d tiptoe into his room in the early morning hours and watch him, clutching his little brown bear, adoringly matted with a torn ear and a threadbare blue velvet bow.

“What is it, love?” I asked, kneeling beside the small pine bed before casting a cautious gaze back toward the window, where the wind raged outside. What kind of mother am I to leave him here tonight, all alone? I sighed. Do I have another choice? Caroline worked the late shift. And I couldn’t bring him to the hotel again, especially after the incident last weekend when Estella found him sleeping in the ninth-floor penthouse suite. She had shooed him out from the warmth of the duvet as if he were a kitchen mouse caught dozing in the flour jar. It had frightened him terribly, and it had almost cost me my job. I took a deep breath. No, he’d be fine here, my precious boy, warm and safe in his bed. I’d lock the door. The walls of the tenement house were thin, but the door, yes, it was strong. Solid mahogany with a fine brass lock.

We both flinched at the sound of a knock at the door, urgent, pounding, insistent. Daniel grimaced. “Is it him again, Mama?” he said, before lowering his voice to a whisper. “The bad man?”

I kissed his forehead, attempting to hide the fear rising in my chest. “Don’t worry, love,” I said before standing. “It’s probably just Aunt Caroline. You stay here. I’ll go see.”

I walked down the stairs and stood in the living room for a moment, frozen, trying to decide what to do. The knocking persisted, louder now, angrier. I knew who it was, and I knew what he wanted. I glanced at my purse, knowing there wasn’t more than a dollar, maybe two, inside. Rent was due three weeks ago, and I’d been holding off Mr. Garrison with excuses, but now what? I’d spent my most recent paycheck on groceries and a new pair of shoes for Daniel, poor boy. I couldn’t expect him to fit into those baby slippers much longer.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The pounding mirrored the beat of my heart. I felt frightened, trapped. The apartment took on the feeling of a cage. The walls around me might as well have been rusted wire. What am I going to do? Reflexively, I looked down at my wrist. Ever since Daniel’s father had presented me with the most exquisite object I’d ever laid eyes on, I’d cherished the gold chain inlaid with three delicate sapphires. That night at the Olympic Hotel I’d been a guest, not a maid wearing a black dress and white apron. As I opened the little blue box and he dangled the bracelet over my wrist, for the first time I felt like someone who was born to wear such finery. It almost seemed silly then, to think I could have, well…I closed my eyes tightly as the pounding at the door continued. I began to unhook the clasp, then shook my head. No, I would not hand it over to him. I would not give up that easily. Instead, I pulled the bracelet higher on my forearm, tucking it safely under the sleeve of my dress. I’d find another way.

I took a deep breath and walked slowly to the door, where I unlatched the lock reluctantly. The hinges creaked, revealing Mr. Garrison in the hallway outside. He was a large man, in both stature and girth; it was easy to see why Daniel feared him so. His stern face was all but covered by a gray, unkempt beard. Only ruddy, pockmarked cheeks and dark, unkind eyes shone through. His breath smelled of gin, piney and sour, signaling that he’d come up from the saloon on the floor below. The strict reign of Prohibition hadn’t yet ended, but most police looked the other way in this part of town.

“Good evening, Mr. Garrison,” I said as sweetly as I could.

He inched closer, wedging his large, steel-toed boot in the doorway. “Save the formalities,” he said. “Where’s my money?”

“Please—let me apologize, sir,” I began in a faltering voice. “I know I’ve been late on rent. It’s been a very hard month for us, and I—”

“You told that story last week,” he said without emotion. He pushed past me and made his way into the kitchen, where he helped himself to the small loaf of bread I’d just pulled from the oven. My dinner. He opened the icebox and frowned when he didn’t find a crock of butter. “I’ll ask you once more,” he continued, his cheeks stuffed. His eyes narrowed. “Where’s my money?”

I clutched the bracelet as my gaze darted past him to the wall, with its scuffed baseboards and peeling paint. What can I tell him now? What can I do?

He let out a deep, throaty laugh. “Just as I thought,” he said. “A thieving liar.”

“Mr. Garrison, I—”

His eyes fixed on me possessively; he moved closer until I could smell the rancidness of his breath and feel the bristle of his beard on my face. He grasped my wrist tightly, just as the bracelet slinked beneath the cuff of my sleeve, hidden from his view. “I thought it might come to this,” he said, his fat, rough hand fumbling with my sweater until he pushed it aside and clutched the bodice of my dress. His index finger tugged at a button. “Fortunately for you, I happen to be a generous man, and I’ll allow you to pay me in a different way.”

I took a step back, just as I heard footsteps on the stairs. “Mama?”

“Daniel, go back to bed, love,” I said as calmly as I could. “I’ll be right there.”

“Mama,” he said again, beginning to cry.

“Oh, honey,” I called out, praying my voice didn’t reveal the terror I felt. “Everything’s all right. I promise. Please go back to bed.”

I could not let him see this, or worse, let Mr. Garrison hurt him.

“Mama, I’m scared,” he said, his voice muffled through his teddy bear.

Mr. Garrison cleared his throat and straightened his overcoat. “Well, if you can’t shut him up,” he shouted, regarding Daniel with a sinister grin, “then I’ll have to come back. But make no mistake about it, I will be back.” I didn’t like the way he looked at Daniel, as if he were a pet, a nuisance. He turned his gaze back to me, staring at me as if I were a fine flatiron steak sizzling in a skillet. “And I’ll get me my payment.”

I nodded meekly as he walked out the door. “Yes, Mr. Garrison.” I fumbled with the latch as his footsteps pounded down the hall. Before I turned around to face Daniel, I took a deep, reassuring breath and wiped a stray tear from my cheek.

“Oh, Daniel,” I said, running to the top of the stairs, cradling him in my arms. “Are you frightened, honey? Don’t be frightened. Mama’s here. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“But the man,” he sniffled, “he’s a bad man. He hurt Mama?”

“No, honey,” I said. “Mama wouldn’t let that happen.”

I reached down to my wrist and unfastened the bracelet, letting it fall into the protective space of my palm.

Daniel looked up at me in confusion, and I studied his big, innocent eyes, wishing things were different for him, for us. “Mama loves her bracelet, dear one. I just want to keep it safe.”

He considered the idea for a moment. “So you don’t lose it?”

“That’s right.” I stood up and took his hand. “Will you help Mama put it in the secret place?”

Daniel nodded, and we walked to the tiny cupboard below the stairs. He had discovered the space, no bigger than a hatbox, one morning while playing, and we’d decided the special compartment would be our secret from the world. Daniel kept eclectic treasures inside—a bluebird feather he’d found on the street, a sardine can that he’d filled with smooth stones and other odds and ends. A bookmark. A shiny nickel. A clamshell, sun-bleached to a brilliant white. I’d tucked in his birth certificate and other documents in need of safekeeping. And now I placed my bracelet inside.

“There,” I said, closing the little door and marveling at the seamless fit. It blended perfectly into the paneling of the staircase. How Daniel had ever discovered it, I’d never know.

He nestled his head against my chest. “Mama sing a song?”

I nodded, smoothing his blond hair against his forehead, marveling at how much he looked like his father. If only Charles were here. I quickly dismissed the thought, the fantasy, and began to sing. “Hushaby, don’t you cry, go to sleep, little Daniel. When you wake, you shall take, all the pretty little horses.” The words passed my lips and soothed us both.

I sang four verses, just enough for Daniel’s eyelids to get heavy, before I carried him to his bed, nestling him under the quilt once again.

His face clouded with worry when he eyed my black dress and white pinafore. “Don’t go, Mama.”

I cupped his chin. “It will only be for a little while, my darling,” I said, kissing each of his cheeks, soft and cool on my lips.

Daniel buried his face in his bear, rubbing his nose against its button nose the way he’d done since infancy. “I don’t want to.” He paused, his three-year-old mind trying hard to summon the right words. “I scared when you go.”

“I know, my love,” I said, fighting the tears that threatened. “But I have to go. Because I love you. You’ll understand that someday.”

“Mama,” Daniel continued, looking to the window, where, behind the glass, the wind gathered strength. “Eva says ghosts come out at night.”

My eyes widened. Caroline’s daughter possessed an imagination that belied her three-and-a-half years. “What is Eva telling you now, dear?”

Daniel paused, as though contemplating whether to answer. “Well,” he said cautiously, “when we’re playing, sometimes people look at us. Are they ghosts?”

“Who, dear?”

“The lady.”

I knelt down to level my eyes with his. “What lady, Daniel?”

He scrunched his nose. “At the park. I don’t like her hat, Mama. It has feathers. Did she hurt a bird? I like birds.”

“No, love,” I said, vowing to speak to Caroline about Eva’s stories. I suspected they were the root of Daniel’s nightmares of late.

“Daniel, what did Mama tell you about talking to strangers?”

“But I didn’t talk to her,” he said, wide-eyed.

I smoothed his hair. “Good boy.”

He nodded, nestling his head in his pillow with a sigh. I tucked his bear into the crook of his arm. “See, you’re not alone,” I said, unable to stop my voice from cracking. I hoped he didn’t notice. “Max is here with you.”

He pressed the bear to his face again. “Max,” he said, smiling.

“Good night, love,” I said, turning to the door.

“G’night, Mama.”

I closed the door quietly, and then heard a muffled “Wait!”

“Yes, love?” I said, poking my head through the doorway.

“Kiss Max?” he said.

I walked back to the bed and knelt down as Daniel pressed the bear against my lips. “I love you, Max,” I whispered as I walked back to the door. “And I love you, Daniel. More than you’ll ever know.”

I tiptoed downstairs, put another log in the fireplace, said a silent prayer, and walked out the front door, locking it behind me. It was only one shift. I’d be home before sunup. I turned back to the door, then shook my head, reassuring myself. It was the only way. He’d be safe. Safe and sound.