“But she’s a Paterson policewoman. We might not know exactly where Fleurette is, but she’s certainly not in Paterson.”
Norma pushed a wheelbarrow of feathers and old pine bedding out the door and deposited it on what was to be their summer vegetable garden. “It doesn’t matter where Fleurette happens to be. Mrs. Headison has friends in every city. She has only to wire the Travelers’ Aid Society at each stop on the tour and ask them to keep an eye on May Ward’s theater company. They’re all too happy to do it, those women. They love an assignment.”
The idea of a Belle Headison in every city across America gave Constance a case of nerves. “But they’re not to follow her around and watch her every move, are they? They’ve been given the general idea that a theater troupe is in town and that they might be on the alert . . .” She trailed off, as the likelihood of her version of events seemed ever more remote.
“Oh, no,” Norma said as she pushed the empty wheelbarrow back into the barn. “They’ve taken up the assignment with tremendous enthusiasm. They’re going to attend every show, and watch at the stage door, and keep an eye on the hotels, too.”
“Norma, you didn’t! Why have you let Freeman Bernstein set you off like this? I never thought I’d be the one to defend a man like him, or to stand up in favor of Fleurette’s going off with a vaudeville troupe, but that’s exactly what’s happened, isn’t it? You put me on the opposite side of this. You, and now Mrs. Headison. I’m going right over there tomorrow to insist that she call this off.”
“Go ahead and try,” Norma said. “She won’t be called off. She’s a woman of principles.”
Norma went over to the barn stove’s metal chimney and pounded on it, which released a great cloud of ash all around her. “I thought so,” she muttered, and went to work clearing the chimney and sweeping up the ashes.
Constance stood looking down at her, at her broadcloth overalls smeared in mud and dusted in wood shavings, at the back of her head, where her hair stood up in a mess of brown curls, and at her heavy shoulders, working the short-handled broom.
There was a song Fleurette used to sing, a man’s song, about how some wives were like anchors and others like balloons. It occurred to her that the same must be true of sisters.
She had never once thought of Norma as a balloon.
Was she an anchor? She felt like one, at that moment. She even looked like one.
42
THE NEXT MORNING, Constance went directly back to Mrs. Headison’s office, fueled by indignation and the wild uncertain fear that Fleurette would discover what Norma had done and turn her back on them for good. It seemed inevitable that their time together was coming to an end. Fleurette was eighteen and would find work for herself or find a husband, or perhaps one and then the other, but in any case, she wouldn’t want to live with her sisters forever.
Constance was only just starting to realize what that meant. It meant that she and Norma would be alone, just the two of them. There was no future for Constance that didn’t have Norma in it. The thought of it made her glum and broody.
It was in this state of mind that she arrived at the Paterson Travelers’ Aid Office and at last found Belle Headison there, banging at a typewriter. She sat straight as a ruler, perched on the very end of a little wooden stool on wheels, with her silver hair in one of those spartan buns that pulled at her ears and at the corners of her eyes.
She jumped up when she saw Constance. She was a tightly wound, energetic woman who always seemed about to break into a run. She spoke too loudly and stood too close. Constance was forever backing away from her.
“Deputy!” She rushed over to take her hands. “I had the pleasure of meeting your sister, and now you’ve come to pay me a visit. How many more Kopps are there, apart from the girl who’s gone astray?”
“She hasn’t gone astray,” Constance said. “And we have a married brother in Hawthorne, but I don’t suppose you’ll run into him.”
“The Kopp intelligence in a man. That is something I’d like to see. Or did your mother save it all for the girls and forget to keep any for the boy? I know some families like that.”
“Francis does just fine. But I’ve come to apologize for my sister Norma. I’m afraid she’s sent your colleagues off on a frivolous errand.”
Mrs. Headison gave a little gasp. “Frivolous? Not at all! If she’s fallen in with the theater crowd, there’s no guessing what might happen. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that the primary sources of moral decay in this country are the theaters, the dance halls, and the saloons. Those girls are left to run amok and—well, you know all about the trouble they get into. Every night when the play is over, there are calls for dates and you know very well the class of men from whom they come. The girl in this situation finds it difficult to keep her honor behind the footlights. The stage atmosphere makes for a loose holding of the bonds of virtue.”
Mrs. Headison was a little winded after that speech, and so was Constance. There was no talking her out of her opinions. Constance knew better than to try.
“It is distressing what can happen,” she said, “but today I’m only here about one particular girl, and that is Fleurette. I’m afraid Norma gave you the wrong impression. She hasn’t fallen in with a bad crowd, or put herself in harm’s way. I’ve always told her that she has every right to go out and find work for herself, and that’s exactly what she’s done. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“I was made to understand that she snuck away, under cover of night,” Mrs. Headison said.
“It doesn’t matter when she left, or how. She writes home faithfully and we have every reason to believe that she’s safe. I don’t want her thinking that we’ve set a gang of spies upon her, and I certainly don’t want to put the ladies at the Travelers’ Aid Societies through any extra difficulty on our account. You may let them know that the concerns over May Ward’s theater troupe are unfounded, and that we have no reason at all to suspect anything untoward.”
Mrs. Headison looked a little crestfallen at that. “Nothing at all untoward?”
“No. I’m so sorry she bothered you. If you would just put out a wire?—”
Suddenly Belle seemed to have a new idea. “But your sister was under the impression that Miss Fleurette was being pursued by a show promoter who wants to put her on the stage and exploit an unfortunate scandal at whose center the three of you found yourselves last year. I thought I’d be doing all of you a favor.”
Constance was shocked to hear her talk that way. Had Norma really said all of that to a complete stranger? She felt her face go red and she had to swallow hard to get her voice back.
“It was a scandal for the man who harassed us and was found guilty. My sisters and I did nothing to humiliate ourselves. That’s a fiction that Norma has invented for herself. The difference between Norma and me is that I do not go around charging people with crimes I believe they might someday commit. I hope you regard your duties as I do mine.”