Chapter VII
ONCE MAE FINISHED stirring the coal stove to life, she rested back on her heels and felt for Henry's pocket watch still nestled in her pocket.
She lay on the sofa and brought the watch from her pocket to rest it over her heart.
Her fingers traced the round shape over and over through the material of her blouse.
The consistent beat vibrating on her chest brought a sense of comfort and stillness that she had been grasping for all day.
Mae closed her eyes and let the warmth of the coal stove penetrate her stiff legs and feet, and focused on the small weight balanced upon her bosom.
She thought back to buying it all those years ago.
Now that she had a moment to herself, she needed to see the photograph again.
Inside, the watch was its scrolled edges rounding the face endlessly, just like time continued to drain on without Henry by her side.
She saw it was before three and yearned for her son, Simon, to return from school.
A jostling at the door pulled her from her reverie, and she snapped the lid shut over Henry’s folded note, just in time to sit up and greet Simon upon his entrance.
But Simon didn’t come through to the parlor.
Instead, a loud pounding reverberated through the room and shook her to her core.
She glanced over at the mantel clock to see that it still wasn’t quite three o’clock.
The soft curls of orange inside the stove were raging to life and nipping at the glass of the door.
Her muscles tensed as confusion warred with worry.
She peeked out from behind the curtain to the landing to see old Mrs. Nigbor holding up her cane.
As the cane slammed against the door again, Mae could feel her teeth rattling in her jaw.
One glance at the old woman’s fraught face had Mae practically leaping out of her skin to reach the door.
Yanking the door wide, she took in the full sight of Mrs. Nigbor.
She was dressed, as always, in a black woolen skirt and a black calico blouse, her silver hair pinned indiscriminately at her neck.
“Mae, they took him!” Mrs. Nigbor’s raspy voice came out harshly as her swollen, rheumatic hand came up immediately to grip Mae's forearm.
“Simon?” Mae's eyes grew wide as the older woman struggled to catch her breath after clambering up the stairs.
“Yes! He was here with the police. I saw that old bobby dragging him down the lane and up your landing. I knew you weren’t home, so I came out to my landing to tell him, but he just kept rapping on your door—”
“What bobby? The police were here—with Simon?”
“Yes!” she croaked. “Didn’t you read my note?”
Mae tried to recall having seen a note. The vague thought of stepping over a piece of paper in the doorway crowded into her mind. Mae’s face blanched as Mrs. Nigbor’s hand slid down to her wrist.
“I tried to tell him, Mae… He wouldn’t hear hide or hair of it. Just asked if he belonged to me. When I said no, he turned on his heel and dragged Simon off, straggling behind him.” Mrs. Nigbor released Mae's wrist to cover her face with her gnarled hands.
Mae gently pulled the woman’s hands from her face and focused on her cloudy blue eyes. “What was wrong? Why were they looking for me?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. The bobby said something about bringing him to the station.”
“Do you remember his name, Mrs. Nigbor?” Mae prodded. “Please, it is very important.”
“I’m sorry, but I just don’t know.” The frail older woman was close to tears at the loss. “He was older. Cropped gray hair and a mustache and beard. He had a black cane—like mine, but newer.” Her face lit up as she remembered the small detail.
“When? Mrs. Nigbor…” She grabbed the woman by the shoulders, partly to steady her but also to seize her attention. “When were they here? Has it been long?”
“Hours ago, dearie, and I’ve been fretting over the young man since.
Poor little Simon, he reminds me so much of my Will.
” Mae's mind tripped over the happenings of the last twenty-four hours.
Henry. Simon's sobbing behind his closed door. His absence this morning. He wasn’t at school.
Where had he gone? What would have caused a policeman to drag him to her door?
“My Will always had a mischievous streak…” Mrs. Nigbor prattled on as Mae's focus turned inward.
The strewn desk… Had that been Simon? Why would he have been in the office?
She needed to get to him. She dropped her hands from the babbling woman and rushed back into the house.
Snatching up her coat and purse again, she pulled the door shut with a loud thud and raced past the old woman who was still droning on about her Will.
“I must go!” She skidded down the stairs and called over her shoulder, “Thank you, Mrs. Nigbor!”
She hurried down the street toward the nearest precinct.
The drumming of her heels mimicked the beat of her heart.
What was happening? Her confusion and fear welled up in her throat and tasted bitter and sour.
She was still holding Henry’s note. She stuffed it into her pocket as her legs pumped faster, a stitch developed in her side By the time the sight of the precinct came into view, she was gasping for shallow breaths, and the perspiration trickled down her spine and in between her breasts.
Pushing open the heavy door, she had a flashback to the morning’s scene of the 4th Precinct.
This precinct was much smaller, but just as busy.
Policeman milled about the open room and the rows of drawn faces still sat housed against the walls.
She marched up to the front desk and rapped her knuckles on it to get the clerk’s attention.
He locked eyes with her and held up an index finger while he finished speaking into the mouthpiece of the phone.
Depositing the receiver onto the hook, he turned his attention to Mae. “Afternoon, Ma’am, how can I help you?”
“My son, he was brought here today by one of your policemen, I believe.” Mae scanned frantically behind the young man at all the faces standing, sitting, walking throughout the room. None had the same small frame like her Simon.
“His name?” He asked as he pushed some papers around on his desk.
“Simon Turner.” Mae stated, still perusing the figures of the people at the far end of the room. Mae turned back to the man and noticed his eyes had narrowed almost imperceptibly before schooling his features. She thought of the note burning in her pocket.
“Ah, yes. Brought in for truancy.” He raised an eyebrow as he peered up at her.
“Children’s Court,” he noted to himself as Mae saw that his eyes wandered down to the papers as his hand drifted toward a paper on the desk, casually sliding it to the side apart from the others.
He returned his gaze to her. His tone shifted to immediate professionalism.
“Were you aware that he hadn’t gone to school? ”
Mae's eyes swung back to meet his. “No, my husband—” she fumbled over the words. “We had just found out—” she stammered out and looked down at her hands. “My husband passed on,” she finally finished.
“Sorry to hear that, Ma’am,” his finger stayed poised over the paper with Simon's name on it.
“Where is he?”
“Well, that was earlier this morning,” he said, glancing up at the large wall clock. “Since so much time’s gone by without anyone to claim him, he might’ve been taken over to the Children’s Court. I’d try there, but chances are they’d be closing up soon, so I’d hurry if I were you.”
Mae followed his line of vision to the clock and saw the big hand click over the ‘VIII’ while the little hand inched toward ‘IV.’ She still had a little over an hour to get across town before the Children’s Court closed up. “Thank you,” she nodded and hastened for the door.
Less than an hour late, Mae was standing in front of the Children’s Court entrance—an entrance she knew too well.
Knowing that Simon was somewhere inside this system made her legs falter as she reached out and put her hand on the familiar door.
Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and pushed open the heavy oak doors.