Chapter 6 #2
Celia handed him the note left with the caster.
“A hundred?”
Celia nodded and took out the pouch that contained money for the cost of supplies: low-grade paper, ink, and a little extra
to be used for subway fare, when needed.
They had just started running the new article when Yannis and another man came out of the back room. The man was a head taller
than Yannis, broad shouldered and muscular, young but with a receding hairline flanking a shock of dark brown hair.
Seeing Celia, he checked midstep, adjusted a heavy canvas pack across his shoulder, and cast a wary, questioning look toward
Yannis.
“Celia,” Yannis said in answer to the man’s unspoken question. “Celia, this is Ivan.”
Ivan nodded.
“Celia and her sisters own the shop next—”
A banging on the door froze them all in place.
“Yanni! Yanni! Are you down there?” More banging on the door.
“It’s my father,” Yannis said, moving toward the door.
“Yanni! Are you napping? Mr. Schulte up by the church telephoned. He says they’re raiding shops up the avenue. Come, Yanni!”
More banging.
The fear in Mr. Teller’s voice sent shills up Celia’s spine and lifted the hair on her arms. They were going to get raided.
“Coming, Papa. You go look out the window and see when they are near.”
Yannis looked frantically around.
“Go,” Celia whispered. “We can do this.”
But instead of leaving, he gestured to Ivan, who nodded, grabbed a ream of printed material off the back table, and headed
out.
Celia couldn’t see what was printed on them, but it was obvious that Ivan didn’t want to be caught with the rest of them.
“I’ll be right back.” Yannis followed Ivan.
But the others were already moving. They’d discussed time and again what to do if there was a raid. They’d even practiced.
First, hide all incriminating papers; they carried armloads into the back room to a chest that could be locked in case of
an emergency.
By the time they began to cover the press, Yannis was back. “I had to get Ivan away.”
It took all four of them to push the printer back into the recess, quickly enough to ensure it wouldn’t be found.
Jon and Yannis slid the bookcase back into place just as they heard voices on the floor above.
Which was a bad sign. In the cellar you normally didn’t hear much noise from outside, which meant, fortunately, outside didn’t hear much noise from them.
“They’re here!”
“Go help your father.” Celia gave Yannis a little push.
Yannis took off across the floor. “Remember—”
“Go.” Celia quickly locked the door behind him, then ran to help Selena and Jon push the couch in front of the bookcase. They
had prepared for this moment, too, though to their discredit with many laughs and giggles.
There was no laughter now.
Jon moved the table to the center of the room; Selena and Celia dragged out four straight-back chairs that usually sat against
the wall and were mostly used to hold reams of paper. Jon dragged a small end table next to the couch and added a lamp that
he turned on, while Selena produced a pack of cards from her baby bag and quickly dealt them around the table, remembering
to leave a hand for Yannis.
A last frantic look around, then Celia lunged for the door. She just managed to unlock it when she heard footsteps on the
stairs. Not just Yannis’s or his father’s. Several more.
They were being raided. A thousand things exploded in Celia’s head. A prayer, an excuse to Olivia, as she propelled herself into a chair and picked
up her hand of cards just as the door opened.
Yannis stood in the doorway looking like thunder, followed by several men in the dark suits of the Society for the Suppression
of Vice.
Celia took a deep breath, praying her voice would come and wouldn’t betray them. She turned toward the door with a huge, probably
frightening-looking smile.
“Oh, there you are. We’ve been waiting forever—we can’t finish this hand without you.”
For a second, the men hesitated, and Celia held her breath. Then Yannis pushed past them into the room.
“As you can see, this is my personal sitting room, and you have interrupted while I am entertaining guests,” Yannis said,
his voice tight with anger.
Celia couldn’t see his father. Was he upstairs with even more men? Why tonight of all nights?
“You have no right to access my personal quarters and to upset my friends.”
The men didn’t respond, merely stood in the center of the room, peering around as if they could discover illicit wrongdoing
just by willing it. Then one stepped forward and pulled away a throw pillow from the couch, upsetting Estelle’s basket and
setting off wails of unhappiness from the baby. The agent jumped back. “S-s-sorry. I didn’t see it.”
“It’s a she, and you’ve frightened her.” Selena jumped up and snatched the basket and Estelle away. One of the men actually
stopped her to look inside as she carried baby and basket across the room to stand next to Yannis.
The man looked back at the only agent still standing in the center of the room. He flicked his fingers in the direction of
the bookcase. The man sighed, and the two of them began pulling books out and letting them fall to the floor.
“You have no printing apparatus down here?”
“I told you I didn’t.” Yannis held out his hands presenting the room. “Do you see one?”
Celia held her breath, the temptation to look around just in case they had missed a scrap of paper was almost overwhelming.
The two men finished searching the shelves and turned back to their leader. The room was totally silent. No one moved. Not
Celia and her friends, not the agent. Then Estelle let out an ear-piercing shriek that made them all jump. The crying that
followed was heart-wrenching, unlike any cries Celia had ever heard from Estelle before.
One of the men covered his ears with his hands. The other one stood, mouth open, his face a mask of stupefaction, while Estelle
wailed at the top of her lungs. Finally, the leader gave a sharp tic of his head and motioned the men out. They were all too
ready to go.
Yannis went after them, motioning behind his back for the others not to follow.
They didn’t move until they heard the door to the first floor close.
Celia and Jon turned to Selena, who was soothing baby Estelle back to her usual calm self.
“I pinched her! I couldn’t think of anything else.” And Selena burst into tears. Jon went immediately to his little family,
and Celia sank into the nearest chair.
When Yannis came back, he was sweating; his hair had fallen across his forehead, and blood was trickling from beneath it.
“Did they do that to you?” Celia demanded.
Yannis shrugged and brushed at his forehead, only smearing the trickle and making it look worse.
“Why?”
“They didn’t have to have a reason. They’re thugs. They were angry because they didn’t find anything.”
“And your father, is he okay?”
“If you mean is he hurt? Not physically. But—” Yannis’s mouth twisted. “You’d better leave in case they come back. They won’t give us a second chance.”
Jon clasped Yannis on the shoulder, then turned to Selena, who gathered up the cards and put them back in her bag. “For if
we need them again,” she said, her voice still tremulous with adrenaline and emotion.
Jon scooped up the baby basket, setting off a laugh from Estelle. “The heroine of the evening,” he said proudly.
“Indeed, she was,” said Celia, and she started to follow the Farmers out.
Yannis stopped her. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave by the front. Since you were supposed to be helping Father, your sisters
will be watching for you.”
“Of course,” Celia said. “I’m sorry, Yannis.”
“Not your fault.” He stood aside for her to go through the door. She didn’t hesitate, though her things were inside the secret
room. There would be no more printing tonight. The settlement house would have to wait.
She followed him to the main floor. But when she stepped into the printing room, she stopped, her attention going immediately
to the main printer, which took up most of the back section of the store. It seemed unharmed.
But off to the side, where a second, smaller Linotype was set up for printing color posters and other illustrations, red and
yellow pieces of an advertisement for a current play were strewn across the floor. Torn, bent, crumpled, and trodden on. Celia
bent to pick them up, knowing that they couldn’t be saved.
“Leave them.” Yannis’s voice was harsh, angry. “They will have to be redone.”
Redone, with no additional charge to the customer. The expense absorbed by the Tellers, who could ill afford it.
“But the printers are undamaged?”
He nodded and waded through the mess to the door to the front.
Celia reluctantly followed him. She wasn’t ready to face the outside. She felt the need to clean up the mess, erase the violence
that filled the air. It was barbaric, not something that happened in their neighborhood or in their country.
He didn’t wait, so she followed him into the smaller front room, where a counter ran along the back wall. Beyond it was a
small retail area for the purchase of stationery, preprinted cards, and invitations, and a table where prospective clients
could browse through the Teller catalogue, picking out styles for their wedding invitations, birth announcements, and the
like.
Mr. Teller was kneeling on the floor gathering up cards from a wall display that they had thrown to the floor. Cards that
his wife had painted herself. Celia knelt beside him to help.
But Yannis was there before her, pulling his father to his feet. “Get up, Papa. I will deal with this.”
Celia was so shocked that for a moment she didn’t move, then she helped Yannis pull Mr. Teller to his feet. Normally tall
and lean like his son, upright in carriage except for a limp from an injury suffered in his youth, tonight he looked like
a frail old man, sad and a little frightened.
Celia swallowed a cry of dismay and squeezed his hand. He glanced up briefly then hung his head. Fighting tears, Celia began
to return the cards to their rightful place. It was a useless pursuit; most of them were ruined. Mrs. Teller would have to
paint new ones.
What was illicit about blank writing paper? Or greeting cards? Who were these people who gave themselves the right to destroy other people’s property on the whim of one perverted old man. Why did the police refuse to help? Weren’t they supposed to protect their community?
Mr. Kirsch had told Mr. Starling that these raids were nothing to worry about, merely annoying. Well, Celia wasn’t annoyed.
She was angry. An anger that overrode her fear and her good sense. She’d never even seen Anthony Comstock; he’d sent his minions
to threaten the business on Book Row because they weren’t worth his coming out in person. Well, he’d picked on the wrong people
to try to intimidate.
“Celia, go home.”
She looked up. Yannis was standing next to his father, like a person she’d never seen before.
“I can help you clean up. I’m sure—”
“No.” Yannis held up both hands. “No more, Celia. Go home. I’ll leave your pamphlets in the bin out back. But I can’t do this
anymore.”
“But we—”
“It’s over. They attacked my father.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. But—”
“What you—we—are doing puts my family in danger. It’s over.”
He strode to the door, opened it, and waited.
He thinks this is my fault, Celia thought. But she’d been careful, so careful, not to be seen. Not to talk to anyone and take the chance of saying something
that would compromise them. What about Ivan? She didn’t even know him. Was he trustworthy? Yannis was quick to get him away
before the raid started. What about Jon or Selena? They seemed to have their fingers in a lot of causes.
She glanced over at Mr. Teller, but he hadn’t looked up once. Yannis just stood there by the opened door. Maybe it was her fault.
“Go.”
She couldn’t even look at him as she walked past, didn’t look back when she heard the snick of the door closing behind her.