Chapter 23 #2
“What’s he doing here?” Daphne whispered to Celia.
“Olivia must have telephoned him,” Celia said; she turned and smiled. “Mr. Lienhardt, Good morning.” Why are you here? And what does it have to do with the Sappho poems? But more importantly for her right now, she wanted to ask Olivia what
Mr. Kirsch had said about her own circumstances.
“We’ll be upstairs if I’m needed,” Olivia said, and without any small talk or explanation, she and Max headed for the elevator.
As soon as the elevator began its ascent, Daphne and Celia turned to each other. “At least now we know Comstock is after your
vitamins instead of the poems upstairs,” Daphne said.
No, but someone, or several someones, were. Celia wasn’t sure which was the most dangerous. Or how she was going to prevent
them without telling her sisters what she’d promised Joshua Starling not to tell. She’d just have to be extra vigilant, ready
for anything, whenever it happened.
It turned out to be a busy morning. Instead of shunning the Applebaum sisters because of Celia’s scandalous arrest, the news,
which traveled swiftly and was widespread, drew customers to the store. Everyone was filled with curiosity and sympathy; a
few even bought books.
By noon, most had decided it had been a case of mistaken identity, even after Celia explained, not entirely untruthfully,
that she’d been inquiring about volunteering at the settlement house and the woman there had written down some information
about a study program.
Most of the regulars believed the spin on her story, and the few who clung to the idea of one of the sisters carrying on a
clandestine pornography ring had no intention of being swayed toward the truth.
“Next thing, they’ll be saying we get drunk and skewer innocent babies,” Daphne said.
“A Christmas Carol,” Celia said, recognizing the quote, but her heart just wasn’t in it. “I may have destroyed our whole family’s reputation.”
“You just might have.”
Celia shot her a look.
“And it wasn’t even for anything interesting.” Daphne sighed and sat down on the stool. “We’re destined to lead boring lives. Nice, and safe, and boring.”
Olivia turned to face Max as soon as they were locked in the upstairs workshop. “I don’t know what to do, Max.”
“Well, I do. You’re not to worry about it. You said yourself that she wasn’t guilty.”
“When did I say that?”
“Twice since we left the first floor. And several times when you telephoned me last night.”
Olivia cringed. What had she been thinking? She hadn’t been. She’d panicked, and the first person she’d thought of was Max.
After two years of trying to forget him and the life she’d thought she had.
“I’m sorry I bothered you. I just—”
“I’m not. I would have come last night if you had let me.”
Olivia shook her head in little jerks. She couldn’t force herself to make a full gesture of disagreement because it would
be a lie. “But there’s something else.”
“Then sit down and tell me about it.”
They hadn’t stopped at the parlor like most of her clients did. To be treated with graciousness, offered refreshment until
she went in for the final sell.
They had walked straight back to the workroom without ever pausing. They sat on the stools they’d occupied the last time he’d
been there without even thinking. It was where they belonged.
Not totally true. It was where she belonged now. Max had his work at the Met, a reputation respected throughout the Western world. Up and coming, still young with a bright future before him.
Hers was fated to become dimmer until it was finally extinguished. She winced at the stab of pain and pressed her fingers
to her forehead.
And Max was gone from beside her; he stood behind her, his fingers sliding up her neck, brushing her own fingers away, circling
at the base of her skull, and she exhaled as he moved closer and chased the pain away.
“Celia didn’t have—”
“Shhh . . .”
“It wasn’t about the Sappho.”
His fingers stopped, and she was sorry she had told him, but they started again.
“That’s good then. But what?”
“It was a mistake. She says it was only some vitamin information, but she’s been working with that birth control advocate,
Margaret Sanger.”
His fingers stopped.
“Little Celia?” He laughed softly. “Not so little anymore.”
“No.” Olivia admitted. “Nor Daphne.”
“They need to be free to have their own lives, not be tied down to this store and your father’s dictatorial demands.”
“They depend on me. I’m all they have.”
“Only because they don’t have the freedom to grow. Come back to work. Your salary at the Met would easily support all three
of you.”
“You know I can’t.”
“I know you won’t. There’s a difference.” He turned away. “You had such a bright future,” he said, his voice suddenly quiet.
“It would have been a short future.”
“So what if it was? You had me.”
The morning passed quickly, with many of their neighboring booksellers dropping by out of curiosity, to give their assurances
of support or just to gawk at the girls. And if they were silently thanking their lucky stars that their daughters would never
have to grow up and sell secondhand books for a living, Daphne and Celia hardly had time to notice.
The normal lunch hour saw a record number of shopgirls, several of whom bought the old magazines from the box Daphne had brought
up from the basement. Daphne also sold three more copies of The Lost Prince.
“If this keeps up, we’ll have to order more,” Daphne said enthusiastically.
Celia smiled and nodded and wondered what was keeping Olivia and Max Lienhardt upstairs so long. Surely Olivia wouldn’t give
him access to the Sappho fragments after their—Celia’s—brush with the law. Of course she would. They spent hours together
in the workshop. Olivia had her own kind of passion; Celia had recognized it the moment Olivia had recognized the poems.
The regulars started drifting in around four o’clock, bringing Joshua Starling with them.
“I see you’ve survived,” he said under his breath as he passed by to greet Daphne with an affable smile. He settled in as
comfortably as Mr. Estes or old Mr. Rutkowski, as if he’d been coming there for years instead of just appearing unannounced
a couple of weeks ago. He seemed in no hurry to leave, and Celia began to worry that he might run into Max Lienhardt on his
way out.
Which is exactly what happened about half an hour later, when the clank of the elevator announced its inevitable descent.
When the elevator opened and Max stepped out alone, Joshua Starling was there to meet him.
While Celia was wondering why Olivia hadn’t seen him out as she usually did, and if the additional pallor to Max’s usual pale
complexion was an indication of an argument, and what that might mean for the contraband fragments—Joshua introduced himself
to the Met academic, unhurriedly took his leave of the sisters, and accompanied Max out the door—despite a pointed look from
Celia—as if they were the best of friends.
Which made Celia wonder, just what was Joshua Starling up to now?