Why shouldn’t the child know the way of things? Still—killing a man was one thing. Killing hope in somebody so young was another. Once upon a time, Bill knew this. Once upon a time, he’d had the same hope. He had believed in goodness. If he wanted to believe in goodness now, all he had to do was walk the boy home to his aunt and a warm supper.
“Okay. But first, you tell me something. What do you remember ’bout the time when Memphis was a healer?”
“I’m not supposed to talk about that.”
“It’s just us. Man talk. Nobody needs to know.”
“He fixed my broken arm,” Isaiah said.
“How’s that?”
“I fell outta the tree after church and Memphis put his hands on me and then I had a dream that we were in a bright, peaceful place and I could hear drums. When I woke up, Reverend Brown and Mama and everybody was crowded around and my arm wasn’t broken no—any—more.”
Bill tipped his face toward the sky, letting the weary winter sun warm his cheeks. He remembered the way sunlight looked peeking through clouds after a rain. He’d like to see that again.
“The prince broke the curse. He married the princess and took her away, back to his homeland. He freed his people, and they lived happily ever after. The end,” Bill said. “Ain’t that how fairy tales go?”
“I suppose so,” Isaiah said, but he didn’t sound convinced. “Mr. Johnson?”
“Whatcha want? Got no more stories for you.”
“You all right?”
“’Course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Your eyes are all wet,” Isaiah said.
“No, they ain’t, neither,” Bill whispered. He could taste the salt. “Come here, little man.” Bill held out his trembling hand, and the boy, trusting as a lamb, came right to him, and Bill swallowed hard as he laced his big fingers with Isaiah’s small ones and pulled the child close, hating himself all the while.
Later, after he’d carried the boy home and put him on the bed, after Dr. Wilson had been sent for and come and Octavia’s prayer circle had gathered in the parlor to pray for the boy, Bill sat on Octavia’s couch sipping coffee, letting people tap his shoulder and praise him for saving the boy again, thanking Jesus that Bill had been there when Isaiah had suffered another of his fits, or who knows what might have happened?
Bill listened to their whispers—“Look at that, crying for him just like Isaiah was his own son”; “That sure warms the heart on a cold day.” Around him, these people were dim shades in a perpetually gray world.
His hand shook on his cup. He had no stomach for the coffee.
“I just hope the little fella’s all right,” Bill said, and even he wasn’t sure if it was a lie.
Later, he perched at the end of Isaiah’s bed and listened and waited for the older Campbell boy to come home and heal his brother. And once he did, Bill could siphon away some of that healing energy for himself. If Memphis wouldn’t heal Bill’s sight directly, well, he’d get it however he could.
“Mr. Johnson?”
Blind Bill startled at the sound of Isaiah’s voice. “Little man? That you?”
“How come I’m in bed? ’S not the nighttime.”
“You had yourself a fit,” Bill said, moving toward the boy, hands at the ready.
“Isaiah? Is he awake?” Octavia burst into the room and Bill pulled back, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Isaiah? Oh, thank you, Jesus.”
“I’m all right. Why’s ever’body making a fuss?” Isaiah said sleepily.
“I’ll let you be,” Bill said. With his cane, he tapped his way down the hall and out the front door, where he heard a robin singing. Bill snatched the bird up, and in a moment, its song was stilled.
Theta knocked firmly on Evie’s door in the Winthrop Hotel. “Open up, Evil. I know you’re in there. I’ll just keep knocking until—”
The door swung open to reveal a very rumpled Evie, a velvet sleep mask pushed up on top of her tangled curls. She regarded Theta with a look bordering on murder. “What’s the big idea, waking a girl before it’s decent, Theta?”
Theta pushed past Evie. She eyed the empty bottles and glasses littering the filthy room. “Big night?”
“The biggest.” Evie yawned, falling back onto the bed. “Before the party proper, we had a little merry here in my room. I met this maaarvelous burlesque queen from Poughkeepsie, some darling stockbrokers, and a very entertaining fellow who could bounce a quarter off the end of the dresser and have it land in a glass of gin on the nightstand and… aaaah! Are you trying to kill me, Theta?”
Late-afternoon sun pierced the hotel gloom through the window where Theta had yanked the drapes aside.
“Depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“Whether or not you keep using that phony accent around me.”
Evie rubbed her forehead. “Oh, applesauce. Theta, will you have a talk with my head, please? Tell it to stop playing the marimba across my skull.”
Theta sniffed the nearby glasses, finally finding one that didn’t smell of gin. “Hold on.” She disappeared into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a glass of water and two aspirin. “Down the hatch. Doctor’s orders.”
“What’s the rumble? What’re you doing here?” Evie managed to say between gulps.
Theta had been trying to figure out how to talk about this with Evie for weeks. She narrowed her eyes. “If you breathe a word of what I’m about to say, I swear I’ll hunt you for sport and wear your skin as a coat.”
Evie opened one eye. “It would have a satin lining, though. Promise me it would.”
“Evil…”
“All right. I’m shutting up.” Evie mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key.
One of Theta’s eyebrows shot up. “Boy, do I wish that really worked,” she muttered. “Okay. Listen: All these Diviners running around—”
“Not this again…”
“What happened to shutting up?” Theta barked and Evie quieted. “These Diviners. Any of ’em dream walkers that you know about?”
Evie rolled onto her side, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, are any of ’em able to walk around inside a dream just like they were walking around Times Square. Sleeping, but fully awake at the same time.”
“Inside people’s dreams?” Evie asked, confused.
Theta threw up her hands and rolled her eyes. “Do I need elocution lessons? That’s what I said.”
Evie scoffed. “That is pos-i-tute-ly impossible.”
“It’s not.”
“Pull the other leg!”
“Henry can do it.”
Evie propped herself up on her elbows. “You’re telling me that Henry, our Henry, can walk… in dreams?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Henry’s a Diviner.” Theta tore into her handbag and pulled out her silver cigarette case. “Evil, you gotta let me smoke or I’m gonna chew all my fingernails off.”
Evie made a face before waving her approval, and Theta slipped a cigarette free and tapped the end of it against the case’s hard shell. “You remember at Christmas, when Henry asked you to read his hat because he was trying to find Louis?”
“Yes. I wasn’t much help, though.”
“Well, Henry finally found Louis in the dream world,” Theta said, lighting up and taking a drag deep into her lungs. “That ain’t all. He’s met another dream walker. A girl named Ling, lives in Chinatown. Every night, they’ve been meeting inside dreams and walking around. He thinks I don’t know, but I do.”
“Gee, sounds like a swell talent. So what’s got you all balled up about it?”
“You know how you get sick if you read too much? It’s the same with Henry and dreams. We had a deal—no more than one hour a week. Evil, he’s walking every night now, and I don’t even know how long he’s under. He’s missed rehearsals, and even when he shows up, he isn’t really there. His mind’s on dreams,” Theta said on a stream of cig
arette smoke. “He’s the only family I got.”
“What can we do? You want me to come with you and we’ll sit Henry down?”
“Lecturing Hen won’t help. But this lecture might.” Theta pulled out a newspaper advertisement and shoved it into Evie’s hands.
“‘The Society for Ethical Culture presents World-Renowned Psychoanalyst Carl Jung: Symposium on Dreams and the Collective Unconscious,’” Evie read. “Gee, say that three times fast.”
“We got a dream question, we go to the dream expert.”
“‘Eight o’clock in the evening on January…’” Evie stopped reading. “Theta, that’s tonight!”
“Yeah. So you’d better get moving. It’s gonna be a full house. I’ll meet you there on the front steps of the Ethi-Whatchamacallit at seven thirty.”
“Theta, I can’t. Sam and I are going to the pictures tonight—the theater owners asked for us in particular. They’ve got a special projector that can play sound on film! Isn’t that the elephant’s eyebrows?”
“Yeah. Terrific. Listen, tell Lover Boy there’s been a change of plans. If he’s gonna be married to you, he’ll have to get used to that.” Theta squinted hard at Evie. “Whatsa matter? You’re making a face like you got caught stealing cookies from an orphanage.”
“No, I’m not.”
“That proves it. You’re definitely guilty of something. Spill.” Theta folded her arms and waited.
“Oh, all right.” Evie sighed. “I need to confess to somebody before I go mad. This romance with Sam? It’s a publicity stunt.”
Theta slapped her hand on the bed. “I knew it! I smelled something as phony as your new accent!”
“Hey!”
“I know you’re crackers, Evil, but I’m glad to see you’re not that crackers. So was I right about you and Jericho?”
Evie hung her head. “It was just the one time. Oh, Theta. I’m such a terrible friend. I am the worst friend ever!”
“Don’t get fulla yourself. I’m not crowning you for it,” Theta grumbled. She drew hard on her cigarette. “If you’re really goofy for Jericho, you should tell Mabel. If he’s not dizzy for her, well, she can’t be sore at you about it.”
“Oh, yes, she can! You don’t know Mabel. Beneath that bleeding heart lies a grudge factory.”
“Well, she can’t stay sore at you forever—especially if you’ve spared her months of batting her peepers at a boy she can’t have.”
“But what if I don’t really like Jericho enough, not in the way he likes me or the way that Mabel likes him? Then I’ve led him on. Toyed with his affections and broken Mabel’s heart for a selfish whim.” Evie pulled the blanket up to her chin. “And then there’s Sam.”
Theta narrowed her eyes. “What about Sam?”
“Sometimes when Sam’s pretending to be in love with me, my stomach does funny things.”
“Well, get some milk of magnesia and stop it. Listen, the best thing you can do about Sam is play your part and forget about it. I know that type. He’ll have another tomato on his arm in twenty minutes.”
Evie frowned. “I’m not a tomato.”
Theta stubbed out her cigarette in a glass. “Evil, I know you—you’ll sort out this boy trouble. Frankly, it’s the least interesting thing about you. And right now, we got bigger problems.”
“Right,” Evie said, straightening up. “Henry. To the rescue we go.”
“I’ll see you at the egghead lecture at seven thirty. And seven thirty means seven thirty, kid. Eastern standard time. Not Evil-O’Neill-anything-but-on-time time.”
“You’re one to talk,” Evie groused. “You never make it to the theater when you’re supposed to.”
Theta tucked her clutch under her arm and held the hotel room’s door open with her foot as she yanked her gloves back on. “I like to give Wally the vapors, I’ll admit. But I’m always on time for my friends.”
“Yeah? Well… well,” Evie sputtered. “Well, at least I don’t smoke!”
Theta posed in the doorway. “You sure about that? Let’s set you on fire and find out.”
Evie hurled her pillow at Theta, who was quicker. The pillow hit the door and bounced onto the floor with the rest of the garbage.
At fifteen minutes past eight o’clock, Evie leaped from a cab on the corner of Sixty-fourth Street and Central Park West and rushed up the steps of the New York Society for Ethical Culture. A murderous-looking Theta glared down at her from just outside the closed doors.
“I said seven thirty,” Theta barked, grabbing Evie by the arm and steering her into the foyer. “Maybe instead of elocution lessons they should give you telling-time lessons.”
“Sorry, but at the last minute Mr. Phillips asked me to read something for his wife’s cousin. I couldn’t very well say no to the boss,” Evie huffed out as they pushed through the doors into the foyer, where Mabel waited. It was Evie’s second glare of the evening, although Mabel’s was more exasperated than murderous.
“Oh. Hi, Pie Face. I didn’t know you were coming,” Evie said.
“I happened to run into Theta on her way out, and since I’d planned to attend the lecture, I suggested we come together. She said she wants to know about dreams and the unconscious for her acting,” Mabel said.
“Yes. For her acting,” Evie said evenly and did her best not to look at Theta.
“The lecture’s already begun, though, and the usher told me absolutely no one can go in,” Mabel said.
“Oh, don’t you worry. I’ll take care of it.” Evie flounced over to the man at the door. “How do you do? I’m Evie O’Neill. The Sweetheart Seer? Gee, I’m awfully sorry we’re late—I was visiting a children’s hospital, you see, and—”
“I’m sorry. No one is admitted.” The man stood like an iceberg.
“But I’m the Sweetheart Seer!” Evie said brightly. When the man seemed unimpressed, she added, “I read objects with help from beyond? WGI? I’m a Diviner.”
“Then you should be able to read the time,” the man said, pointing to the advertisement for the lecture. “I’m afraid what you are is late, Miss. No admittance.”
Back outside, Theta marched down the steps, puffing madly on a cigarette. She whirled around to face Evie. “I told you seven thirty.”
“Yes, I believe we’ve established that,” Evie huffed. She stared back at the closed doors, dumbfounded. “That man has never heard of my show.”
“What’re we gonna do now?” Theta said, more to the sky than to anyone else.
“You really need to ask him some questions for your acting?” Mabel asked.
“Yeah,” Theta said after a pause. “I really do.”
“Then bundle up and follow me,” Mabel said, walking toward Central Park.
“Where are we going?” Theta asked, grinding her cigarette under her heel.
“The Kensington House. Apparently, Dr. Jung stays there when he’s in New York.”
“How do you know that?” Evie asked.
“An old friend of my mother’s once hosted a fancy luncheon for him in Geneva,” Mabel answered as they crossed the street and headed into the park.
Sometimes Evie forgot that Mabel’s mother had been a Newell, one of New York’s great society families, before she married Mabel’s father and was disowned. She wondered what it must be like for Mabel to know that an entire side of her family lived with maids and butlers and chauffeurs to take care of their every need while Mabel shared a two-bedroom flat with parents who actively campaigned against that sort of wealth and privilege.
“Do you ever see your mother’s family, Mabesie?”
“Once a year,” Mabel said. “On my grandmother’s birthday. Mama sends me out on the train and a driver picks me up in a Rolls-Royce.”
“Your mother gave all that up for love?” Theta asked.
“Yes,” Mabel said. “And because she wanted to be her own person, with a different sort of life.”
“That’s a lot to walk away from.” Evie whistled.
The grain
y halos of the park lamps lit up the barren branches of the stately winter trees flanking the cobbled path inside Central Park. The glassy surface of the frozen pond reflected the waxing moon, making it seem attainable. The tops of Fifth Avenue’s tony apartment buildings shone in the distance as the girls’ shoes crunched through the remnants of old snow.
“How are things with Jericho?” Evie asked Mabel, keeping her voice light, as if she were asking about the weather. “Has he tried to kiss you again?”
“Evie!” Mabel sputtered at the same moment Theta said, “Jericho kissed you?”
“Gee, I might as well tell the Daily Mirror as tell you,” Mabel complained.
“I’m sorry, Pie Face, really, I am. But it’s just Theta, and she’s thrilled for you. Aren’t you, Theta?”
“Sure I am.” Theta flicked a glance Evie’s way. The glance said, What are you doing? Why are you torturing yourself? Evie fluttered her lashes in response: I do not know what you are insinuating. I am above your petty insult.
“No, he hasn’t,” Mabel said, unaware of Evie and Theta’s little exchange. “But we’ve been very busy putting the exhibit together.” Mabel cast a suspicious glance at Evie. “You are coming, aren’t you, Evie? You won’t let some radio nonsense keep you?”
“I said I’d be there and I will be there.” Evie sniffed. “Oh, look! It’s started snowing. Isn’t it beautiful?”
The girls stopped at the top of an archway and watched the glistening flakes flutter down over the pathway and rolling lawn. The night held its breath for a moment. In the hush, they could hear jazz and merriment coming from the nearby Central Park Casino, whose lights shone through the gaps in the trees, making Theta think of the lighthouse and Memphis. She’d tried calling his house that afternoon, but hung up with a “Sorry, wrong number” when his aunt answered the phone. Snow melted on the backs of her gloves, and she felt that strange stirring in her gut. In the dream, it was always snowing. Snow everywhere. Henry said dreams were clues, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what her dream wanted her to know.