Chapter 32 Isadore
A single road cut through Elms, shadowing the path of the old Miami-Erie Canal. The weed-choked waterway, long abandoned by the barges, soaked up the paper mill’s fumes and delivered the stench downstream, clinging to curtains, carpets, and bedclothes on its journey into a milky lagoon.
The railroad passed like wastewater through town, rattling the rails twice each day to transport carloads of timber and tank cars swimming with bleach.
Every evening, the train hauled away stacks of newsprint, writing paper, and cardboard, bound for towns like Winfield that were far removed from the stench.
Passengers who disembarked almost always had mill business to attend along with departure tickets stowed in their briefcases so they wouldn’t miss the evening train. No one in their right mind wanted to spend the night in a haze of sulfur and smoke.
Residents had lived along the canal for generations, nursing smokestacks that brought both life and death. The mill paid their bills and put food on their tables, but it also chained them here for an entire lifetime.
Izzy had grown accustomed again to the wretched smell. Only when the wind stirred, did she remember she didn’t belong.
Someone might argue that Izzy wasn’t in her right mind when she’d arrived, but she was confident in her reasons.
Simon had left Winfield more than a year ago and never returned.
He didn’t say where he was going, but he probably joined his wife in Pennsylvania.
The town of Catawba, she discovered later when Olivia sent her a letter with their phone number and address, in case Izzy needed anything while Simon was gone.
Why would Olivia want her to visit? Simon certainly didn’t want her there, and she couldn’t compete anyway with a novelist who had loads of money for him to spend. Izzy had nothing except two anchors to tie around his neck, and their second child, a boy, had been sickly from birth.
Not that Simon knew he had a son. Professor Farrow, that dear man, had promised to keep secret her news.
After Jimmy was born, the professor purchased an old sedan and suggested that Izzy return to Elms. Once a month, he sent a check with enough to provide for her and her children.
She had used a portion of it to build an addition to her parents’ house.
While she kept her books and magazines, she had no illusions now of leaving for Hollywood. Even if she was still learning to ignore the whispers about her and her children, Elms was home. And with food and family and a roof to shelter them, she was content enough in this ramshackle town.
Her parents were both working at the mill this morning, her brothers at school.
She rocked Jimmy on the front porch as Greta played with her colorful blocks near the railing, a pillowcase at her daughter’s side filled with an odd assortment of Greta’s favorite things.
Treasure, the professor had called it when he visited.
The house across the street was blackened from a fire, the canal on the far side covered in grime. But she was free here. No longer did she have to appease a man who’d never be happy with her.
A roadster with butter cream panels and shiny chrome crawled through town. Probably someone lost or a new client who decided to pay a visit. It didn’t matter much to her. Only a spectacle on an otherwise dreary, warm day.
She kissed Jimmy’s head, then fed him a bottle until he slept in her arms. Greta, at two and a half, already looked a lot like her father, but Izzy hoped this boy would look nothing like him—and act nothing like him either.
Hopefully, he’d follow in the professor’s footsteps.
Simon was long past caring about or for her. He didn’t know she was living in Elms, and she’d never even told him she was expecting another baby. According to Professor Farrow, it wasn’t Simon’s business unless he planned to marry her.
Residents in Elms called her Mrs. Farrow, and she didn’t dissuade them. When Simon first brought her home, she’d thought they were married.
She would give just about anything to go back in time and rewrite that moment when she lied to Simon about her parents’ wealth.
And that first night in Cleveland, when she offered herself so naively to him.
She didn’t regret her children, only that she’d been blinded by her own ambition to move up the social scales with their father.
The fancy roadster u-turned at the end of town and passed her house again.
Greta lifted her head from her blocks, toddling to her side as they watched the strange car. “Papa?”
“No,” Izzy said. “I don’t know when we’ll see him again.”
Greta called the professor Papa. Occasionally she said Mama and a few other words, but Papa was by far her favorite.
More words would come soon, her mother assured her, and Izzy could hardly wait. On these long days, she longed for someone to talk to.
A breeze stirred up the sulfur, and Jimmy gasped for a breath.
“Wait here,” she told Greta before slipping through the hallway with Jimmy, into their two-room apartment out back. The conditions were similar, she supposed, to the caretaker’s heap in Winfield, but this small home was filled with people who loved each other.
In the still air, Jimmy’s gasps turned into a gentle cry, and she patted his back until he slept again.
When her brothers came home from school, they would beg for turns to hold the baby and play with Greta. Then Izzy could rest for an hour before she made dinner for the Brooks family.
She returned quickly to the front porch. “I’m sorry that Mommy took so . . . Greta?”
Her daughter wasn’t on the blanket.
Startled, Izzy glanced around the side of the house to see if Greta had tumbled off the porch. She’d never wandered away before, and if she’d fallen, why wasn’t she crying for help?
Her gaze swept over the scattered wooden blocks, the rocking chair and railing, then to the roadster parked in front of their neighbor’s drive, the passenger door open.
A man stood beside it. Simon—
No, not Simon. This man was built wide like a tank, lugging a burlap bag over his shoulder.
A bag that squirmed against his back.
Izzy swore as she shot down the steps. “Put her down!”
When the man turned, his smile made her shiver. “Hello, Isadore.”
“Louie?” She’d never wanted to see Simon’s associate again, especially not in Elms.
“I’m glad you remember me.”
“Give me back my daughter.”
He laughed like she was making a joke. “You’ve got some nerve, don’t ya?”
“It’s Simon you want,” she said. “Not us.”
“You’re a smart girl, Isadore. Wish you weren’t wrapped up in this.”
But she didn’t understand what Simon was tangled up in. Or why Louie had taken Greta. “Wrapped up in what?”
Her daughter’s hand reached out, but she didn’t cry. Quiet like her dad when he was angry.
“Give her to me,” Izzy snapped, diving toward the burlap. Louie shoved her into the muddy grass, but she leapt right back to her feet.
“See, that’s the problem.”
“There’s no problem.” She’d scream if he forced Greta into the car. Scratch his eyes. Pull his hair. But that all seemed insignificant when another monster waited for him in the driver’s seat. She’d never be able to overpower both men.
“Your fella’s gotten himself into a bit of trouble.”
“I want nothing to do with Simon’s trouble.”
Louie tapped the squirming bag. “We need a little something to incentivate him.”
Simon must have done something dreadful if they were kidnapping his daughter.
Then again, the professor said Simon was using all of them. Perhaps he’d sent these men.
She inched forward, close enough now to touch Greta. “She’s not collateral.”
“You’re smart enough to know that my pal here and I are not gonna lose.”
When Izzy reached for her hand, Louie whirled around, smacking the bag against the door. Greta cried this time, angry and scared, her fear piercing Izzy’s heart.
“Go sell your horses,” she shouted, clawing at his coat. “And leave us alone.”
Louie held the bag over Izzy’s head. “Horses?”
“Or whatever it is that you and Simon are dabbling in.”
“Dabbling.” He snickered. “I like that. Unfortunately, you’re already in deep.”
“She’s not going with you.”
Louie lowered the bag. “We’re only borrowing her for the day.”
Lies, just like Simon used to tell her.
Louie opened the burlap, and Greta’s head popped out, her eyes swollen. “What’s your name, doll?”
“Don’t tell him!” Izzy said, trying to wedge between him and the car.
Louie swatted her away like a bug, then leaned over to deposit Greta in the back seat. “I just need you to take a little drive to see your daddy in Cleveland. Then I’ll bring you home.”
Izzy lunged toward Greta. She didn’t want to hurt her daughter, not any more than the bump already on her head, but if she didn’t rescue her now, she might never see Greta again.
Louie backhanded Izzy, and she screamed, stunned, as she fell back to the ground.
She didn’t see the truck pull up behind them or the giant of a man hop out. Didn’t see him until he yanked Louie from the car.
Greta tumbled out with them, and Izzy hugged her daughter to her chest, kissing her head.
A siren wailed through town, and Louie cursed before diving back into the roadster. Then he and his partner peeled away.
Peter was the heroic mill worker who’d rescued Greta. One of their neighbors. As the roadster flew down Main, he held out his hand and helped Izzy to her feet. “The police will stop them.”
She nodded, even as she knew those thugs would never pull over.
Greta buried her head in Izzy’s shoulder, a bruise pooling on her cheek.
“Do you want me to find your mother?” Peter asked.
“No—” she began but quickly changed her mind. The superintendent wouldn’t be pleased, but she needed her mom.
Peter escorted her and Greta into the house, then he waited until she bolted the door.
If she had left Jimmy’s side a moment later, if Peter hadn’t stopped to help, Greta would have been gone in a blink, and she’d never know who took her.
She didn’t know what Simon had done up north, but she couldn’t allow either of his children to pay for it.
As they tended Greta’s wounds, Izzy told her mom everything. About Simon and their fake marriage. About the dangerous men from Cleveland.
“They’ll return soon,” her mom said, holding a piece of ice to Greta’s bruised face. She had stopped crying, but she was eerily quiet again, not even asking for her papa.
“I know.”
“Can you go back to Winfield?” her mom asked.
Izzy shook her head. It would be much too dangerous. If Louie couldn’t find her when he returned to Elms, he would drive straight to the professor’s house.
“You can’t stay here,” her mother said. “Next time, they won’t stick around for a discussion.”
And they might injure one of Izzy’s brothers along with her children.
May the light of your life continue to shine. That’s what Olivia had written in her copy of Sparrow Island. But any light in her life had almost been snuffed out. When Louie returned, he would try to extinguish it all together.
She desperately needed a place to shine.
Tucked away in a drawer of undergarments, she found the address and phone number that Olivia Farrow had mailed her last year. Her family had no telephone, but she had enough money, thanks to the professor, for gasoline and a map. She could leave for Pennsylvania at dawn.
Olivia had said she would help Izzy if she ever needed it.
Did she know about Simon’s two children?
As far as she could tell from their last visit, Olivia hadn’t known the baby she brought to the door belonged to Simon.
She probably didn’t even know that Simon had married Olivia after promising himself to Izzy.
Louie said Simon was in Cleveland, which meant Olivia was alone.
The woman had shown nothing but kindness to her. If Simon had married Olivia for the promise of money, if she had discovered his scheme, perhaps she would have compassion on Izzy and let her spend a night or two. Then Izzy would contact the professor. Perhaps he could help her find a new home.
She’d leave Catawba, of course, if Simon arrived, but his friends would never think to search for her there.
Either way, Izzy had no place else to go. Olivia owed her nothing, but just maybe, in her kindness, she would help her now. So any light left in Izzy’s life, including the two lights she’d borne, would continue to shine.