The sun was blazing. Ray was glad he had left his heavy black bowler at home in exchange for a light cotton cap. He peered at the small piece of paper containing Viola’s address. He had left behind the rest of the message he had scrawled at the office, so desperate was he to get to the train.
He was perspiring and parched by the time he found the address—a tenement building with a room Viola shared with another family. A partitioned blanket separated their individual living spaces.
His sister was in his arms before he even had time to remove his hat.
She was never a large woman, but now he could feel her shoulder blades jutting from under her flimsy cotton dress, and when he pulled away, holding her at arm’s length, it was hard to recognize her. Her lovely black eyes were hollow, Tony’s temper was tattooed on her temple, and her cheeks were chalky and gaunt.
Ray had trouble conjuring up a smile no matter how his heart quickened at seeing her. A slight one tickled his cheek. “Where’s Luca?”
“Tony has him. Taking him out to see the big boats.” Viola’s smile tugged at him. “I am so glad you are here. We will be all right. And you came at the right time. If Tony saw you here… ”
She pulled him into the cramped space his salary helped secure. A table and chairs, a bucket of murky water. Even her cottage in the Ward had been better than this. The smell was horrid in the summer heat. Through the worn cotton sheet separating her side of the room, he could make out the shapes of a mother and two children. One was crying.
Viola had a cistern of fresh water near the stove, and she poured two glasses, setting them down on a scratched table still bearing half a loaf of bread and crumbs from their midday meal.
“It’s worse than I thought.” He grabbed her hand and held so tightly his knuckles whitened. “Viola, come back with me.”
“Tony has found some good work, Ray.” She reached into her apron and took out a few coins. “He brought this home! He’s taking Luca for ice cream.”
Ray narrowed his eyes, confused. “Then why did you call me?”
“I was scared. I had no reason to be. I heard a man talking about a job for Tony, and they exchanged words and he didn’t come home.” Viola laughed sadly. “I am a silly woman. Afraid of her own shadow, like Tony says.”
The baby through the sheet wailed more loudly. Ray winced and mouthed an apology to his stricken sister. To live in that place! He shuddered. The coins in his pocket and his watch were all he had in the world. Would his inability to provide result in Jem and her baby relegated to the same hovel of a life as Viola? Unable to afford even the dingiest bed for the night?
They turned at the doorknob and Tony’s voice. “Quickly, leave through the back entrance,” Viola hissed.
“I want to see my nephew.”
“Meet me at Arpeggios. The coffee shop on Michigan Avenue. Six o’clock this evening. Tony has a long shift tonight.”
And Ray was huddled off into the yellow grass of the sickly yard.
Chicago was spliced by a murky river. Sure, it glistened in the sun, but it was also plagued by drifts of wood and debris. Ray shuddered to think of being plunged into its sewery depth. Like Toronto, Chicago was forging an identity, grittily pounding its way to progress.
The main streets were lined with towers of industry, scraping the blue sky, pronouncing their enterprise and commerce, offering wares and goods. The buildings were entered and exited by men with airs of importance and erect top hats, and women with plumes of feathers, taking the hand of a carriage driver, escorted to the swept sidewalk in pursuit of shopping. Beyond Randolph and State Streets, a large patch of grass was as yet untouched, and passengers in the railcars could look at it as they passed and wonder what would be built next.
Lake Michigan, at the mouth of the city and yelping wide into the blue horizon, put Ray in immediate mind of Toronto. They had such a similar geography. But Chicago was bigger. Much bigger. Overpowering. Like Toronto, Chicago bore the mark of immigrant influx, possessing the same Babel-like confusion in overlapping dialects. Ray took it all in, sheets of journal-worthy sights and sounds, as he made his way to meet Viola.
Luca had grown since Viola had left Toronto. Ray held out his arms, eager to feel his nephew’s hair under his chin, but flinched when Luca squirmed and pulled fussily away.
“He doesn’t remember me,” Ray said, not hiding the hurt in his voice.
“Of course he does,” Viola cooed, pulling Luca to her skirt. “He just doesn’t always sit still.”
Ray ordered for them, and they took a table near the back, away from the window, in the shadows.
“I hate that we have to meet like this,” Ray said sullenly. “Hiding.”
“You know how Tony is.”
Ray spread his hands on the table, watching Luca suck his thumb while looking shyly over at Ray from Viola’s shoulder.
He was cowering, Ray noticed, terrified in the presence of a man. Ray’s heart rose, thinking of what Tony might have done to scare this little boy so. Watching Luca settled his rising temper, so he focused on the boy.