daughter never died. Any reminder often upsets her…if the lass insists she doesn’t like marmalade or ribbons in her hair or playing the piano. And if she damages anything that belonged to their other daughter—a dress, even a book—it can mean standing in a corner for hours, or writing pages and pages of the same sentence, apologizin’.”
Ellis had mentioned something once. About Ruby being kept from the playground for staining her clothing…
But Lily had greater concerns now as she reflected upon another handwritten page. She had her suspicions but yearned to know for certain. “I understand that Ruby received a letter from her mother, right after Calvin was taken away. Sylvia wrote it herself. Didn’t she?” The question being largely rhetorical, Lily hadn’t expected the spilling of Claire’s tears, the straining of her voice.
“The words were from the missus…but the writin’ was mine.” Droplets clung to Claire’s chin as she finally met Lily’s gaze. “Oh, Miss Palmer, I’m so very sorry. I didn’t want to do any of it.”
Lily’s compassion shifted to this poor, young girl, strapped with a load of guilt from impossible choices. Deserving of forgiveness. Lily reached out and squeezed Claire’s hand. “This is my doing much more than yours. I assure you, I’ll do all I can to make it right.”
Though with a tinge of confusion, Claire gained an air of hope. She wiped her tears with her coat sleeve. “Are ya goin’ to fetch the boy, then? You must think of him first.”
Before Lily could form an answer, Claire added, “I know plenty who’ve grown up in children’s homes much the same. They can be fine enough for the good ’n’ quiet type. But for those who don’t settle easily…the tales aren’t ones I’d care to repeat.”
In other words, Lily needed to investigate in a hurry. After the passage of at least two months, Calvin could be in dire need of rescue from a place that could leave scars of every sort.
Assuming he was still there.
Chapter 33
One look at his father’s scowl, and Ellis saw the mistake in his choice. Accepting help from an Irish mobster would have had fewer repercussions than what now lay in store.
The fact that it was past ten at night—a blatant violation of his father’s early-to-bed, early-to-rise regimen—was cause for a foul mood. His need to shell out fifty whole smackers was the greater issue.
Amazingly the sergeant hadn’t inflated the price for a release outside of the clerk’s hours. But then, Ellis’s father had spent decades as a supervisor. He knew how to reason with people, to speak their language and find solutions. Unless you were Ellis.
At the front desk of the police station that connected to the jail, his father jammed a folded page into his coat pocket. Tangible proof, at last, of his son’s many failings. This much was clear by the way he shook his head at nothing in particular, even after Ellis thanked him again.
“It’s done,” his father said.
No other greeting. No questions about a court date. No asking what had happened.
Did the man even care?
Ellis followed him out of the station, a flashback to their trudge from the principal’s office. Back in junior high school, Ellis’s rebellious period was brief and virtually harmless. Pranks like rubber cementing a teacher’s chair—Mr. Cullen objectively deserved far worse—had succeeded in capturing his father’s attention. Just not long enough to make the gags worth the trouble.
The difference now was that Ellis wasn’t a kid, and recognition of this sort was the last thing he wanted. Why couldn’t his father see that?
Why couldn’t he see Ellis as anything but an inconvenience?
“Like I said on the phone, Pop, I’ll pay you back soon. All right?”
In the glow of the gas lamp, his father was descending the concrete stairs, several steps ahead. “You’re the one with all the dough.”
A cheap shot, given the circumstances.
“I told you, I just gotta straighten it out with the bank.”
“Yeah. So you say.”
Ellis slowed at the base of the stairs, still on edge from the Millstones. He didn’t need this too. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His father continued toward his truck, ignoring him. The concept was nothing new, but this time Ellis refused to let it slide. “You think I’m lying?”
At the lack of an answer, Ellis stopped cold. Yeah, he’d screwed up with the picture of the kids. But now he was struggling to do the right thing. His life was imploding because of it, and his own father didn’t give a damn. “Well, do you?”
It