When Stars Light the Sky (The Women of Midtown #2)

Chapter 26

26

At eight o’clock on Thursday evening, Inga headed to the wireless office where she once worked the overnight shift in a tower overlooking New York Harbor.

It had been two years since she left, but the old crew was still here. Mr. Guillory leaned back in his swivel chair, casually reading a report at his sloppy desk. Carson and Jenkins were both at their stations, seated before a wide counter overlooking the harbor. Both wore headphones, although neither was currently handling a message. That was the thing about the overnight shift: There was rarely any traffic unless an emergency arose.

“Anybody home?” she called.

“Inga!” Carson shouted, tearing off his headphones to greet her. “Are you coming back to work with us?”

She shook her head. “I’m back in New York on business but couldn’t resist a visit to the best wireless crew in the city.”

“The most fruitful, that’s for sure,” Carson said. “Jenkins’s wife just had another baby.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Boy, of course,” Jenkins laughed. “That makes five boys, and my wife says she is cursed.”

Oh, it was good to be back! She grabbed a vacant seat at the counter to get caught up on all the gossip, although Jenkins wanted to know why she returned to New York.

“I need to take the citizenship test,” she replied. “It seems everyone in the world is choosing sides right now, and I’d rather be an American citizen if the worst happens. I’ve been studying the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. Go ahead, ask me anything.”

“What’s the Eighth Amendment?” Jenkins asked.

“It prohibits cruel and unusual punishment.”

“And the Tenth Amendment?”

Prickles of heat broke out across her skin. The Tenth Amendment was one of those confusing ones, something about the power of the federal government. How embarrassing to have Carson and Jenkins both watch her struggle to conjure up the answer.

Finally, she had to give up. “I’m exercising my Fifth Amendment right to remain silent,” she said, causing both men to laugh ... and yet it wasn’t funny. The test was coming up in a few days and she still got so flustered. She summoned a smile and glanced over at her former supervisor.

“Mr. Guillory, you’d still rehire me even if I don’t know the Tenth Amendment, wouldn’t you?”

“Are you willing to work nights?” Mr. Guillory said.

“If I must.”

“Then I suppose I must find room for you.”

She lingered a little longer, but then had to get back to her apartment. They locked the doors of the building at eleven o’clock each night. It was ten-thirty when she arrived back home, yet she was still too wound up to sleep.

Thankfully, she found company in the cozy communal room on the eighth floor. Midge Lightner was like everybody’s grandmother, and the residents naturally flocked to her to tell the woman their problems. Midge probably knew more secrets than most priests working a confession booth.

“I’ve read the section on the amendments to the Constitution a hundred times, and I still get it wrong,” she said as she flopped onto a sofa in the communal room. “Nothing sticks, and I feel so stupid.”

Midge’s knitting needles clicked as she worked. “You’re not stupid, Inga. You’re one of the hardest-working people I’ve ever known.”

She snorted. Plow horses worked hard, but they weren’t the brightest creatures on earth. Besides, she was tired of working hard. Her test was on Monday, and the Gerards had wired to say they were booked to sail back to Germany on Wednesday. The prospect of getting on that ship landed like a weight in her gut.

“Everything would be easier if I stayed in New York,” she confessed to Midge. “Berlin is becoming a scary place. It wasn’t when I arrived, but things are getting darker now.”

Midge gave her a sad smile. “I was scared every day throughout the four years of the Civil War,” she said. “I couldn’t wait for it to be over so that I could scrub it from my mind and never think of it again. And yet I wouldn’t trade those years for anything. Despite all the horror, all the tragedy, it became the most important few years of my life. It’s how I define myself. For as long as I live, I know that when duty called, I had the strength to answer.”

Inga drew a sobering breath. She went to Germany to repay Mr. Gerard by supporting him until he could find his footing at the embassy. That debt had been repaid, and he didn’t need her anymore. And Benedict? He was the most self-sufficient man she’d ever met. He surely didn’t need her either. He could never return her affection ... could he?

The temptation to stay in New York or gamble everything and return to Benedict clawed at her all through the sleepless night.

Inga clenched the freshly inked document as she approached the suite of judges’ chambers in the courthouse. The document proved she’d passed the citizenship test! It hadn’t even been all that difficult, and now the only thing she needed was to complete the interview with the friendly Judge Bancroft, who would sign off on her paperwork and make her an American citizen.

This seemed too good to be true, too easy. Feeling nervous, she approached the clerk behind a tall counter. “I have an appointment with Judge Bancroft.”

The clerk didn’t bother to look up from the stack of papers he was sorting. “Sorry, he’s out sick today. Judge Keating is taking his appointments. You can take a seat, and we’ll call you when it’s your turn.”

Inga felt the blood drain from her face. Judge Keating was the one Delia claimed hated immigrants and used trick questions. Her heart began pounding, and her mouth went dry. This was a disaster. Delia had warned her to avoid Judge Keating at all costs.

“Is there a different judge I can see?”

“Nope,” the clerk said, now stamping a bunch of papers before him. “Keating is the only one in the building today, and Bancroft is going to be out for the rest of the week.”

“Sir,” she whispered, and something in her tone finally caught the clerk’s attention. He set the stamp down and met her gaze. “Please, can you tell me ... what happens if I fail the interview?”

“You can try again in thirty days,” he said and gave her a sympathetic nod. “Keating fails a lot of people. Don’t worry. When you come back, maybe you’ll be assigned to a different judge.”

Every muscle in her body tensed as she dropped into a chair in the waiting room, wondering what to do. Only a coward would run away without even trying, but it was tempting.

The door to the judge’s chambers opened, and an elderly woman came out, her face despondent. The old man beside her stood. Speaking in German, he asked how it went.

The woman replied in the same language, “What a horrible man.” She shook her head and walked away.

“It’s your turn,” the desk clerk instructed Inga.

She stood and approached Judge Keating’s closed door, her fingers icy as she knocked.

“Come in!” the judge barked, and she quickly entered the chambers.

Sunlight gleamed atop the bald crown of Judge Keating’s head. He didn’t look at her as he perused her paperwork through the half-moon spectacles balanced on the end of his nose.

“Another German,” he said sourly. “Very well, young lady. Have a seat and let’s get on with it.”

She sat, and he fired his first question before she could even arrange her skirts. “How tall is the Statue of Liberty?”

She blinked. This wasn’t the sort of question she expected, and her tongue felt stuck to the roof of her mouth.

“Come now,” the judge prompted. “Your paperwork says you’ve lived in New York since childhood, and you don’t know the answer to such a simple question?”

A knot tightened in her stomach as she scrambled for the answer. She couldn’t afford to get it wrong, but the longer she sat there, frozen and mute, the happier the judge looked.

“I’m not sure,” she finally said in a thin voice. “It’s very tall.”

“You can’t do better than that?”

What would Benedict do in this situation? He’d think of some clever response, even if he didn’t know the answer. “The Statue of Liberty is tall enough that my father could see its light all the way from Germany.”

The judge gave a dismissive snort and marked an X on his form. “So you don’t know the answer. Next question: Why doesn’t Germany have a Bill of Rights?”

The interview was supposed to be about the United States, wasn’t it? Her palms began to sweat, her heart racing. The smirk on Judge Keating’s face made her even more nervous. He looked like a hovering vulture, waiting for a chance to pounce.

“I don’t think the kaiser would permit a Bill of Rights,” she ventured. “I think that—”

“Wrong,” Judge Keating interrupted. “It was a trick question. The German Imperial Constitution of 1871 granted limited civil rights through parliamentary representation. But it’s a pale, puny document compared to the majesty of the U.S. Bill of Rights. Let us proceed.”

The judge’s verbal test got even worse after that, and Inga sensed her dream of American citizenship slipping further away with each awful question.