ended for the night when the soup was gone, and it was no problem emptying those pots.
After we’d cleaned the place up, and the bowls and flatware were put away, Flo brought out a loaf of bread, a block of cheese, cold sliced beef, tomatoes, and lettuce and made us all sandwiches. We sat at a table near the front window. It was dusk, and evening light came through the glass in a wave of gold. Outside, the street was quiet, the hustle of the foot traffic and horse carts and the few automobiles ebbed to a gentler flow.
“You work hard,” Gertie said. “And you don’t complain. Could’ve used you a long time ago.”
“Everybody was asking about Elmer and Jugs,” I said. “Who are Elmer and Jugs?”
“Until two days ago, they were doing just what you all did today. Right now, they’re sitting in the county jail across the river.”
“What happened?”
Gertie said, “Got drunk and mixed it up with the wrong people. Fifteen days before they’re free again.” She looked each of us over carefully. “How about you taking their places? You in any hurry to get to Saint Louis?”
Albert said, “What’ll you pay?”
“Room and board and a dollar a day.”
“For each of us?”
Gertie smiled. “Don’t need you that bad. A dollar for the kit and caboodle.”
Albert gave each of us a look and saw no objection. A dollar a day for the four us would, after fifteen days, be enough to carry us some of the distance to Saint Louis. He held out his hand to Gertie. “Deal.”
The door opened, and Tru and Calvin returned and swung a couple of chairs up near our table.
“Nothing left,” Gertie said.
“Those sandwiches look good,” Tru said.
“I’ll fix you both something.” Flo left the table and went to the kitchen.
“So, what did you find out?” Gertie asked. Although her voice was sharp, I had the sense she was hoping to hear something good.
“If I can get the Hellor on the river by next week, Kreske has a tow of grain that he’ll give me. Perkins was supposed to push it, but he got busted with a hold full of hooch bound for Moline. The Kreske tow goes to Cincinnati, and there’s a load of phosphate I can push back here.”
“Can you repair the Hellor in time?”
“I don’t know. What do you think, Cal?”
“Up to you and Wooster Morgan. You make nice with him, he might let me use his equipment. Even then . . .” He gave a noncommittal shrug.
“Truman Waters go crawling to anyone?” Gertie said. “That I’d like to see.”
The door opened again, and a kid rushed inside. I recognized him. John Kelly, one of the kids who’d spoken to us from the tracks earlier that day.
“Gertie,” he said, out of breath. “Baby’s coming, and Ma’s having real trouble.”
“Did she send you?”
He shook his head. “Granny. She thinks we need a doctor.” He glanced over and saw me. “Hey, Buck.”
“You two know each other?” Gertie asked.
“Met this afternoon,” John Kelly said.
“You.” Gertie drilled me with her eyes. “Come with us.” She stood up and said to everyone else, “Don’t eat me into bankruptcy. Flo!” she called toward the kitchen. “I’m leaving. Mrs. Goldstein’s in labor.”
Flo stepped through the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on an apron. “You don’t know anything about delivering babies, Gertie.”
“Not knowing something never stopped her before,” I heard Tru say under his breath.
“We’ll be back when things are good at the Goldsteins’.” Gertie marched out the door with John Kelly and me trying to keep up.
We didn’t go with her to John Kelly’s house. At the end of the street, she ordered, “You two go to Dr. Weinstein. You know where he lives, Shlomo?”
“Yeah, over on State. But Ma says we can’t afford no doctor, Gertie.”
“You let me worry about that. You just make sure he comes.”
“Shlomo?” I asked after we’d parted ways with Gertie. “I thought your name was John Kelly.”
“That’s just my nickname.”
“Nickname? Mook and Chili are nicknames.”
“It’s complicated. I’ll explain later. Come on.” He began to run.
John Kelly—across my whole life I’ve never thought of him as Shlomo Goldstein—pounded on the door of a house on State Street, which was opened eventually by a thin woman. Although it was near dark and she looked bone-tired, she managed to ask with great patience, “What is it, boys?”
“My ma’s having a baby and it ain’t going so good.”
“Your ma?”
“Rosie Goldstein on Third Street.”
“What is it, Esther?” A man, looking even more tired than the woman, stepped