Ten: December 1924 (Part 2)

Alfred Burke was a dear fellow, but his presence on Mary Newkirk's doorstep was seldom a good sign. His arrival often led to whispered conversations in the hallway, or the departure of her husband, and sometimes her son, generally at odd hours. Mary had her suspicions about why, though she chose not to dwell on them. So when Alfie arrived at nearly 11 o'clock on a Friday night with her husband's coat and her 10-year-old son in tow, Mary immediately felt queasy—although in point of fact, she'd been queasy for days, and she had strong suspicions about that, too.

As Mary drew Peter into her arms and helped him take off his coat, Alfie took off his hat and stepped from the hallway landing into the warm kitchen.

"I'm afraid Fred is in custody, Mary," Alfie said. "It may be a few days before you can see him."

A new wave of nausea washed over Mary, but she pulled herself up, waved Alfie over to the table, and put the kettle on. Well, this was new, she thought. Freddy had been involved with some dodgy things, but he'd never had trouble with the law.

While Mary fussed over the tea, Peter was at her side, clinging as he had as a little boy of 3 or 4. Tending to her son, who was shaking from cold, exhaustion, and worry, kept her own feelings of shock in check. She tried to bundle him off to bed, but he wouldn't have it. He said wanted his cup of tea, and would help Mr. Burke tell her everything.

With his mother's encouragement, Peter took off his jumper, stowed away his boots, and took a seat close by Alfie, folding his arms on the table to make a pillow for his head. He sleepily chipped in his own details as the account of the night's events spilled out. He was running out of steam by the time he described watching the bobbies burst through the door. When Mary set out three tea cups and waited to fill the teapot, Peter studied his as if through a haze. It was the Mad Hatter and White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland. As he pondered whether he was too big for it now, the adult voices grew strangely distant.

Alfie didn't tell Mary everything, of course. The poor dear; he could see she had enough on her mind. Her small kitchen testified to a hectic life. Three sizes of little girls' dresses and stockings were drying by the fire, alongside Mary's own clothes. An ironing board was stacked with customers' shirts and dresses, and white wash was soaking in the sink. A stack of neatly ironed clothes sat on a sideboard. Not the family's, Alfie was sure. Working families like the Newkirks couldn't possibly have more than two or three sets of clothes each.

Mary took in the same scene. Those ironed clothes were to be wrapped in brown paper, tied up with string, and marked for delivery; Peter would see to that in the morning. For Mary, the end of the work week on Friday night was just a shift to a different rhythm. For two days, she would put aside her seamstress duties at Levine & Sons and concentrate on piecework, laundry, and her own housework. Thank God for her mother-in-law, she thought. She alone kept the chaos at bay while Mary earned a living.

This much was clear to Mary as she listened to Alfie explain the evening's events: Her Freddy had got caught up in a right mess with that wretched Ernest Walker. She shook her head. Didn't her husband have any sense at all? Everyone knew Walker traded luxury items for pennies to the pound. Birdcages, silver tea sets, fancy china. Where did Freddy think they came from, for heaven's sake? He should have stayed far away from that greasy old character.

Alfie let her down easy, suggesting gently that Fred had been swept up in handling dubious merchandise after falling under Ernie's mesmerizing spell. He never hinted that Fred had broken into shops and homes, stolen bags full of treasures, and dragged his small son along as an accomplice. The less said about all that, the better, Alfie told himself. A poor man's business could be so dreadfully messy.

By the time Mary sat down to sip at her tea, Peter was asleep at the table, one arm hanging at his side.

"He saw it all, did he?" Mary asked Alfie, nodding to her son. "His own father, being carted away by the policemen?"

"I'm afraid he did, Mary. And his first thought was for you. He grabbed Fred's coat, knowing that you'd need his wages. I caught up with him on his way home and made sure no one interfered with him," Alfie said. "He was quite brave, but it was a lot for a boy to take in."

"He is brave, fy ngwas i," Mary said proudly. She looked at Peter and sighed, wishing he had been home with her instead of witnessing the arrest. "Help me put him to bed, will you, Alfie? I'm afraid I'm in no condition to lift him," Mary said.

"Oh, my dear," Alfie said. "Do you mean…?"

Mary let out a deep sigh. "It appears so," she replied, with a hitch in her voice. "It seems we'll have a new addition sometime in the late spring. I'm not sorry, but a fifth child, Alfie…it's already so hard to keep everyone fed and clothed."

The old thief stood up and patted her shoulder. "You're a lovely mother, Mary," he said. "You'll manage. And Freddy won't be gone long."

She nodded as Alfie lifted the boy and carried him to the bedroom. "You'll see his camp bed in front of the dresser," she said. Mary sat at the table alone for a moment and aimed her comments to the four walls.

"Oh, bloody hell, Freddy, what were you thinking?"

H-H-H-H-H

The day after Fred Newkirk was picked up on charges of handling stolen goods, Mary started throwing up. Peter thought she must be worried. One night, when little Kathleen had awakened from a nightmare, Peter rubbed the sleep from his eyes, picked up the toddler, and popped his head out into the kitchen to bring his sister to Mam, who was always busy at night with her ironing.

But not that night. Mam was crying hard into her older sister's shoulder. "I don't know why I let him touch me," she was telling Aunt Gladys, who nodded sympathetically as she held out a basin. "He makes me barmy with his comings and goings, but I still love him, Gladys."

Peter wanted to run to his mother, throw his arms around her, and cry with her. He felt ashamed, angry, and afraid as he replayed the arrest scene in his mind several times a day. And he was bursting with questions. When would Da be home? Would Da and Ernie Walker tell the police about him, too? Would it be better if Da didn't come home? Inside, Peter knew that no one could answer his questions, so it wasn't worth asking. His job was to be tough and look after Mam.

Peter hugged and shushed his crying sister, and settled back in bed beside her. He lay awake worrying about Mam long after he got the 3-year-old back to sleep.

Somehow, Mam rallied long enough on Christmas Eve to bundle her four children off to church. "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" and "Away in a Manger" cheered everyone up, as did the small gifts that the ladies of the congregation pressed into their hands. A spinning top for Peter, a fan for Mavis, a pretty hair bow for Kathleen, and a plush kitty with button eyes for little Gwenneth. Some tattered books for all of them, and a bag full of oranges and apples. Mam's eyes were glistening as they left the church for the walk home, carrying Gwenneth as Peter shepherded Kathleen and Mavis along a snowy street.

"Never forget how kind people can be, Peter," she told her son as they walked along. "There are always good people about who will help you if you'll let them. Your father lets his pride get in the way, but I can't do that. Not with you children to think about."

The next afternoon, with assistance from the Welsh congregation, Mary managed to put a Christmas Day meal, with a small ham as its centerpiece, on the table for her young brood. It was satisfying, though there were few frills and little company. Her in-laws, homebound as Granda's cough worsened, sent Uncle Jim over with a Christmas pudding. He stayed and whiled away a quiet evening whispering kindly to Mary, patting her hand, and shuttling the ever-present basin back and forth to the hallway toilet.

Peter, playing with his sisters on the kitchen floor, glanced over. Sometimes he wished he and Mam could go back in time when it was just the two of them. No, he didn't mean that, he thought, looking at his lively small sisters, playing with their little presents and vying for his attention. Maybe if they lived with Granny and Granda. Or they could go to their other grandparents in Wales, where Aunt Gladys, Uncle Arthur, and Cousin Charlie were right now. He loved the snug seaside cottage in Aberystwyth where Nain and Taid lived. At least, he thought he did. Peter scrunched his eyes, remembering one visit when Mavis was just a baby and he was 6 or 7. They hadn't been back since. Two more babies had come, and traveling so far was out of the question.

Peter spun his new top as his sisters giggled. He aimed it for his small collection of tin soldiers.

"Bam! There goes a battalion!" he said gleefully as the top collided with the soldiers. He set it up again. "Boom! There goes another one!"

"Again! Again!" The girls laughed even harder and tumbled into their big brother, combining their strength to push him down on his back and romp all over him. Peter laughed and laughed.

He loved these girls madly. He would never let anything happen to them.

Notes: Fy ngwas i is Welsh for "my darling boy." Nain and Taid are the Welsh words for Grandma and Grandpa. Aberystwyth is a college town smack in the middle of the coast of Wales.