The Tin Horse A Novel - By Janice Steinberg Page 0,126

Weber,” Mama mouthed. Burt Weber’s father.

“She’s not missing, of course not,” I heard Papa say. “Just thoughtless. She went to spend a few nights with a friend and didn’t tell us who.… Just this crazy idea my wife had.” He frowned at Mama. “But of course, she’s at a friend’s.… No, we don’t need any help. Thank you for letting us know.”

Papa hung up and then told us what he’d heard from Burt Weber. Papa’s telegram, delivered when the train arrived in Portland, had made Danny so frantic that instead of just sending a telegram in reply, he had insisted that Burt call home (Danny’s father still had no phone of his own) and make it clear that Barbara wasn’t with Danny. And in case anything had given us the idea she might be on the train, Burt assured his father that he and Danny regularly stretched their legs during the long trip by walking up and down the entire length of the train, and they would both swear Barbara wasn’t there.

“Sol Weber!” Mama groaned. “He’s got a bigger mouth than the worst yenta. What did you say in that telegram to make Burt Weber get so upset?”

“Who was so sure she was on that train?” Papa snapped in retort.

“Papa?” Audrey said, her voice tight with anxiety. We had seen Mama and Papa argue, but not like this. Usually Mama nagged and Papa got coldly disapproving; he rarely raised his voice.

“What is it, Audrey?” Papa tried to smile at her.

“If Barbara’s not on the train, is that bad?”

“No, in fact, it’s very good news. It means that your foolish sister is here in Los Angeles, after all.”

“When is Barbara coming home?”

“Soon. Look what time it is. You and Harriet should be in bed.”

“What if we write to Mr. Keen?” Audrey persisted. She was referring to Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons, a show on the radio.

“Go to bed!” Mama said. “Now!”

Audrey’s eyes brimmed. Poor kid, she was nervous by nature, and with all our attention glued to Barbara, no one had attempted to ease the impact of the family crisis on her.

“Hey,” I said to her. “How about if you get ready for bed, and I’ll read to you from Nancy Drew?” I put my arm around her, took Harriet’s hand, and led them to their room.

Harriet was too young to fully understand what was happening, and she was too naturally cheerful to be distressed by family storms. (At least, that’s what I assumed at the time, observing my ever-smiling youngest sister.) Audrey, however, was visibly frantic. I did my best to respond patiently to the questions she flung at me: What kind of job did Barbara have, and why had it been a secret? Why had Mama and Papa thought Barbara had left with Danny? Wasn’t Danny my boyfriend? I was able to answer those questions, albeit in edited form. But what could I say when she asked, “Is Barbara all right? Why doesn’t she call? Did something bad happen to her?” How could I soothe her anxiety when my own was churning?

I hadn’t really believed Barbara was on the train, but Mama’s speculation had given me a narrative to set against her absence, a story in which she combed her hair, drank coffee, and sat safely watching through the window as California passed by and then Oregon. She must be hiding out with a friend in L.A.—that had always been the most likely explanation—and it made me want to shake her until her teeth rattled. But she’d been gone for two days now, without a word, and I was no longer just irritated, I was scared.

The news from Burt had affected Mama and Papa the same way. When I returned to the kitchen, Mama was no longer trying to keep Barbara’s absence a secret; instead, she was going down the list I’d made of Barbara’s friends and calling them. Between calls, she moaned that this was God’s judgment for the heartache she’d inflicted on her parents. Then she took a deep breath and called the next number on the list. And Papa … I’d never seen him so unnerved. Pacing and chain-smoking, my usually deliberative father careened between railing against his thoughtless daughter and worrying that she was in real peril. One minute he said we shouldn’t put ourselves through the aggravation of searching for her, since she was certain to waltz in tomorrow, blasé about the havoc she’d stirred up. In the next breath he wanted to