of blood. Soon after, without the children to care for…” He pulled out a folder and skimmed his notes. “Indeed, I recommended she consider the Dearborn Sanitarium, over in Bucks County. There are nicer places, of course, but it’s an acceptable facility for those of limited means.”
Lily vaguely noticed the classical tune had ended. The soft static from the needle on the inner record had become the sole sound in the house.
She pushed herself to ask, “How long do you think she has left?”
“Had, I would say, sadly. I estimated no more than…two months. Three at best.”
She recalled the woman in the picture, fingers splayed, half turned away. Same as the chief, most readers had viewed the pose as one of shame. They had no idea they were seeing a mother whose stunted life would not include the young boy and girl huddled before her.
Lily’s heart sank, weighted by the unfairness of it all.
Now she understood—not just why Geraldine had given up her children, but why she would take money in return. Care at a sanitarium would not be free.
These were the thoughts that persisted in Lily’s mind as she soon walked toward the depot. In fact, she startled when she glanced up and stood a stone’s throw from her destination.
“Lily,” Ellis called to her. He had been leaning against his car, waiting. He stepped toward her looking eager to confer. But his expression quickly dimmed, undoubtedly mirroring hers, as she prepared to share the news.
Chapter 21
Three days after returning from Laurel Township, Ellis was still dwelling on the official word he got from Lily. She’d taken it upon herself to phone the sanitarium, said she couldn’t fully rest until knowing for certain. The director only confirmed what the doctor suspected.
Geraldine Dillard had passed away.
In hindsight, Ellis recognized the clues. The dark circles under her hooded eyes. The weariness and ashen skin. The coughing.
Her look of desperation when he’d handed her those two crumpled dollars took on new meaning. He hated more than ever to think of how he’d benefitted from her being in that photo. His one consolation was the donations the article had gained for the family—and now, a seemingly better home than an orphanage for the kids.
That wasn’t enough, though, to let Ellis rest. His mind remained jumbled and his writing blocked, his nightmares preventing any decent rest. The favorable description of the banker should have given him a sense of peace, but didn’t.
Millstone—that was the man’s name. Ellis had learned it from the ticket clerk. Walt the cabbie had been spot-on about asking her for details, although she didn’t exactly celebrate the request. Her initial curt response had wavered only after Ellis offered a small fee—a tactic proven reliable with more than switchboard operators and hotel bellboys. A little skimming through the late-October travel logs, and there it was on the twenty-fifth of the month. Reserved under Alfred J. Millstone were three first-class tickets. The man had even splurged on a private train car.
Destination: Long Beach, California.
Two thousand miles away. It was about as far as a person could get from rural Pennsylvania without leaving the country. With its endless sunshine and Hollywood glamour, the name evoked visions of palm trees and white sandy beaches. But Ellis still worried.
“Reed?”
In the newsroom, a circle of eyes cut his way. At the center stood Mr. Walker, staring with arms crossed.
“Yes, sir?”
“I said, any updates or new ideas?”
“I’m, um, still working on some. Hope to share more soon.”
The editor sighed, just like he had at every one o’clock meeting over the past week, when Ellis gave variants of the same answer. Then, as usual, he moved on to another reporter in the group—this time an energetic new hire with more story pitches than a flapper had tassels—and Ellis returned to his thoughts.
He didn’t realize the meeting had broken up until Dutch appeared before him. “You okay?”
“Yeah…doing fine.”
Dutch was obviously unconvinced. But without another word, he flipped his notepad closed and started toward his desk. It was then that an idea struck Ellis, a combination of elements colliding.
He was far from eager to ask. After their strained history, requesting a favor straight out of the gate wasn’t ideal. But given Dutch’s former job at the San Francisco Chronicle, Ellis had to chance it. He owed that much to Geraldine.
“Dutch, hold on.”
A mix of surprise and caution played over Dutch’s face as Ellis treaded over, suddenly unprepared. A common theme in his life these days.