Chapter Eleven

June 17th, 1922
Miles City, Montana

Rose was running a little behind schedule. Her purse beat against her hip as she walked quickly. The small patio café was coming into view just across the street and at the end of the block. She could already spy her two lunch guests, Betty Thompson and Maggie Hendricks, seated at a round garden table shaded beneath a large vanilla canvas umbrella.

Betty Thompson was the oldest of the trio of friends. She had dark brown eyes and always wore bright ruby red lipstick with strikingly blushed cheeks. She treated her hair to be a dark brown and had been fighting gray strands off for years. Betty, however, was a kind woman and easy to have a conversation with. She had a loud boisterous laugh that could fill a banquet hall and was uniquely her own, recognizable from opposite ends of the street. Her oldest son was eighteen years old and was away at boot camp in Washington D.C.. She had a daughter who was fifteen that worked at the local ice cream parlor on the weekends. Her youngest son was just a year older than Charlie. Her husband, Mr. Colton Thompson, was fifteen years her senior, and made his trade as an artist of pottery and painting delicate porcelain pots and vases.

Maggie Hendricks was the youngest of the trio, just about two and a half years shy of Rose. She had long luxurious wavy blonde hair that glistened beneath her large collection of sun hats that she wore on the daily. She was quite talented at math and actually managed the family finances, a secret she had only sworn to Betty and Rose. Her oldest child was just one year behind Charlie and she had another two year old son. Her husband, Mr. Arthur Hendricks, was a carpenter and had built several structures in Miles City.

When Rose came through the gates, the women waved at her. Rose's cheeks were flushed from the warm and rushed walk she had made from her house to the café. Luckily the women already had a pitcher of ice cold water sitting on the table, along with a shining empty glass for her. Rose slung her purse over her chair and finally caught her breath, "Ladies," She said politely while seating herself at the table, "I'm sorry I was late. Apparently the children and I booked different times for the serving of lunch today."

Betty broke out into a hoot immediately, delicately fanning herself with a floral cloth fan, "Oh, Rose, it's like I'm reading your musings in the newspaper."

Rose grinned as she poured herself a glass of water, "Are they still serving cocktails here?"

"Oh, honey," Betty chuckled again, reclining in her garden chair, "Prohibition hasn't reached us yet. In fact, Maggie and I already ordered some for the table."

"Just like usual," Rose laughed after a refreshing sip of water, "So, ladies, what's new?"

"Oh, Arthur and I are mad at each other," Maggie sighed, though she didn't seem overly concerned. She had a charming southern twang in her voice, having grown up in the woods of Alabama, "Remember my birthday at the end of May? Well, Arthur bought me this luxurious fur coat, I quite like it," Maggie waved her hand dismissively, "Now he's pickin' fights sayin' I don't like because I haven't worn it! It's the summer time, for pete's sake."

"Oh, men," Betty shook her head, "They never understand."

"Jack's been so busy at work recently," Rose huffed, "He used to be able to take a week off in the summer so the family could go somewhere, but the magazine has taken off since the end of the Great War and things are just crazy now."

"If there's one thing I know it's that Jack Dawson works too much," Maggie looked to Rose as she took a sip of her water, "Arthur says they haven't seen each other in awhile."

"I know," Rose nodded. Suddenly a waiter appeared, serving each woman their cocktails, which they all immediately took into their hands, "I could really use his help with the kids right now. In fact, there was something I wanted to talk about with you two..."

"Of course," Betty nodded, "Cocktail time is serious discussion time."

Maggie snorted while Rose grinned and stirred her cocktail with a straw, "I've been noticing... maybe it's just something that's coming with age," Rose shrugged, "But Charlie has been acting very strange recently. Sneaking out at night, not partaking in any of his usual past times... he even stole something recently. Have you two heard anything through the grapevine?"

Maggie shook her head with arched eyebrows but Rose spied Betty's hesitated pause after the words sank into her. Rose watched as Betty drank some of her cocktail and pondered for a moment, "You said he was sneaking out at night?"

"Yes, through his window," Rose sat forward, "He came home a few nights ago with a bent up bike and a busted up face. I'm concerned. I can't think of a single child at the school who would do that to Charlie."

"Peter has been sneaking out, too," Betty nodded, lowering her eyes for a moment, "And his attitude lately has been unbearable."

Rose couldn't help but feel worried, "How long has Peter been acting differently."

"I'd say since April now," Betty told her.

Rose fell against the back of her chair, a pensive look on her face, "What could have possibly happened...? Charlie used to be such a sweet innocent little boy. He was getting so good at drawing. And now, all of that seems to have vanished. He's been so dodgy lately and he hasn't picked up a pencil in weeks."

There was a silence at the table. Maggie looked between both the women and coyly took a sip of her cocktail before clucking, "You know... I think I know what happened."

Rose and Betty looked to Maggie. The blonde haired woman shrugged and stirred her straw delicately, "Back at the beginnin' of April, a new family moved to Miles City. They're called the Freedman's. They've got four boys, all between twelve and sixteen. They popped 'em out quick," Maggie shrugged, darting her bright blue eyes between her friends, "Anyway, they moved here because apparently they were livin' in Helena, but they've got no control over their boys. I mean, they're a bunch of hoodlums! Stealin', breakin' windows, pushing people over. They apparently got in so much trouble, the family had to relocate; to start fresh."

"Where did you hear all of this?" Betty asked, lowering her fan.

"I ran into Mrs. Janet Buchanan at the dress shop when we were gettin' some adjustments done," Maggie told her, raising a delicate gloved hand, "They moved in next to her and the boys have already thrown fireworks at her poor beagle."

Rose furrowed her brow, "Do you know any of the boy's names?"

"Mrs. Buchanan only mentioned one," Maggie shrugged, "Apparently he's the most rotten. He found a dead squirrel and put it in her mailbox. His name is Lawrence."

"Lawrence Freedman..." Rose said slowly, digging into her mind, "I never met anybody with the last name Freedman at the last school event in May."

"Oh, you probably won't be seein' much of them," Maggie shook her head, rustling her wavy hair, "They're a bunch of withdrawn people, like hermits. Mrs. Buchanan says they don't wave or anythin' like that. With boys like that, I'm sure they're just accustomed to not bein' on good terms with their neighbors."

"I don't like the sound of that," Betty said after a sip of her cocktail, "Where do these Freedman's live? I wouldn't mind popping in to say hello."

"Hold on, we can't just go showing up on their stoop," Rose held her hand up, "We certainly don't want to be making any enemies in our small tight-knit community, Betty."

"Have you ever heard the sayin' "one bad apple spoils the bunch"?" Maggie arched her eyebrows at Rose, "If your boys are actin' strange, I say nip this in the bud before you're the one packin' up to ditch town on account of his reckless actions."

"Charlie would never break windows or throw firecrackers at a living thing."

"Don't you think the Freedman's thought the same about their sons?" Maggie asked, peering over the top of her glass.

Rose sighed, shaking her head, "Just let me do some digging. Maybe we can figure a better way out than just knocking on their door."

"The investigative journalist prevails," Betty laughed lightly, "Don't you make me wait long, Rose. I won't stand anymore lip from that boy of mine."

Rose nodded slowly, "I think I have a better idea, ladies..."

...

After a delightful dinner of beans with butter-fried potatoes, Rose found herself at the kitchen sink washing the dirty dishes. Upstairs, Valentina's trumpet was crooning out her familiar audition piece. Rose found herself being carried away by the gentle toots of the brass instrument. Rose turned her soapy rag in circles on the porcelain dishes, watching the water glisten as it ran down the drain. She lifted her head, a curl falling against the frame of her face. The sky was a blend of dark blue and oranges as the twilight overtook the daytime. Distantly, Rose could see the looming outline of the beautiful mountains encasing them.

Rose heard the padding of shoes through the dining room and she looked over her shoulder to see Jack emerging into the kitchen. She smiled at him and directed her attention back to finishing the dishes. Jack brushed past her, gently running his hand along her waist. He went to the ice box and pulled himself a beer out. He paused, however, and turned towards his wife.

"Hey, where'd you put my cigarettes?" Jack asked, popping the cap off his beer, "I could really use one right now. You're comin' out to the patio after you're done with the dishes, right?"

"Yeah, I'll be out shortly," Rose nodded as she set a dish in the drying rack. She looked over her shoulder at Jack, "I haven't taken your cigarettes, though. They should be in your coat pocket, as usual."

"They weren't there this morning," Jack shook his head, "I was going to have one on the way to the office."

Rose paused from her task and stared out the window for a moment. Her lunch with Betty and Maggie was echoing through her mind. Immediately, Rose shut the water off, letting the dishes sink to the bottom of the suddy water to be forgotten. Rose turned towards Jack, wiping her hands clean with a rag, "Jack, there's something I need to talk to you about. Something that Maggie told me that just makes all too much sense with what's been going on lately."

"Alright," Jack put his beer on the island and seated himself, leaning his cane up against the counter, "I'm all ears."

"Does the name Freedman ring a bell to you?" Rose asked.

Jack thought long and hard for a moment before ultimately shaking his head, "Not off the top of my mind, no."

"They're the newest family to move to Miles City," Rose seated herself in a stool as well, sitting knee-to-knee with Jack, "And it turns out, they have four trouble-making sons who have caused even a stir in Peter Thompson."

"All four boys are bad?" Jack asked, arching his eyebrows.

"Apparently the one we need to look out for is Lawrence," Rose told him, "I'm thinking this Lawrence-boy has something to do with Charlie sneaking out, getting beat up, and stealing."

"You're not insinuating..." Jack paused and looked at Rose's face, "You think Charlie swiped my cigarettes?"

"I don't know... I don't want to say that, but the circumstances seem odd."

Jack's face was pensive and he lowered his eyes. He never wanted to think his boy would attempt to hike the slippery slope Jack had twenty years ago. Jack felt like a terrible father in that moment for allowing his boy to even wander from the path. Jack finally looked back to Rose who was patient with his slow processing, "Maybe that's the kid whose got Ivan sneaking out at nights."

"It has to be. Betty's son is doing the same thing."

Jack pressed his hand to his face for a moment, thinking long and hard, "Rose, I don't like this."

"Me either," Rose shook her head.

The couple fell into a silence. Slowly, their hands found their way to each other, tangling up together. They both stared at each other, worried about the startling puzzle pieces they were beginning to collect. They knew they couldn't confront their boy yet. The best thing they could do was observe and wait for their moment. Which had them wondering as parents if that moment would ever come.

...

Charlie steered his bike into the park that night just a little after 10:30pm. It was a cloudy night with no visible stars and the moonlight was obscured. Miles City was encased in blackness. Charlie had been riding a bicycle for years. His father had first taught him before he left for the Great War and the skill had never left him. Deftly, Charlie stood on his pedals and carefully wound around rocks and twigs on the rather steep incline leading towards the usual meeting place. Distantly, he could hear the hooting and hollering of the boys.

Charlie leapt off the side of his bike and wheeled it against a tree where several other bikes were carelessly disregarded and tangled up with other handlebars, pedals, and chains. Charlie took a moment to inspect the other bicycles. At least what he could make out of them in the darkness. Some were brands he hadn't heard of and the bike frames were nothing too impressive. Some were rusty. Some were obviously old hand-me-downs. Not a single other boy owned Schwinn like Charlie did. Charlie glanced to his bike propped up against the tree. The mismatching wheels were still rather irksome to the boy, but he was pleased that his baby blue frame and tank were unscathed.

"Hey, Charlie."

The Dawson boy nearly leapt out of his skin. He looked over his shoulder to see the cherried end of a cigarette bobbing towards him. Charlie blinked rapidly and realized it was Lawrence, wearing ratty clothes that had frayed edges and rips in the knees of his trousers. His brown hair was messily piled atop his head, clawing down over his freckled face.

"Oh, hi, Lawrence," Charlie replied, taking a deep breath through his flared nostrils to calm his rapidly beating heart.

"So," Lawrence exhaled a plume of smoke, "whaddya got for us tonight? We're clean out of whiskey."

"Well," Charlie slung his backpack over his shoulders and unzipped the top pocket, "it's not whiskey. At least... I don't think it is," Charlie told Lawrence as he fished through his backpack, "It was at the very back of the cabinet and barely any of it's missing. I don't even know why my parents bought it if they weren't gonna drink it."

"That's what people with money do," Lawrence shrugged, "Buy themselves useless crap while the rest of us starve."

Charlie paused for a moment, keeping his eyes trained on his backpack. His parents may have had money, but he knew for certain they wouldn't allow anyone around them to starve. His parents were actually very charitable and made plenty of donations to the schools and art programs in the small community. In fact, between his dad's local business and his mother's local musings, Rose and Jack Dawson were rather liked, and slightly revered, in their tight knit community.

"This is what I got," Charlie finally pulled the bottle out from his backpack, holding it out towards Lawrence. The older boy stuck his cigarette between his chapped lips and took the bottle into his hand, inspecting the label.

Lawrence grinned and looked back to the small Dawson boy, "Nearly an entire bottle of tequila. Nice work, Charlie. Have you ever had tequila before?" Charlie only shook his head and Lawrence laughed, "It goes down nicely. Come on, let's go."

...

Charlie nearly fell off his bike three times as he was riding home shortly after two in the morning. The tequila is his belly radiated with warmth and his entire body felt looser than it ever had before. He couldn't believe his parents didn't drink that stuff every night. Charlie stumbled off his bike and wheeled it through the fence, quietly closing and locking it behind him. Charlie carelessly pushed his bike on top of his sister's and wandered over to the trellis. He climbed up without any fear of falling and walked along the edge of the roof like he was invincible. He hopped up onto his sill but clumsily lost balance and fell into his window, rolled off the bed, and plunked harshly onto the ground. Charlie couldn't help but smile and laugh to himself as he resigned himself to laying on the floor, the world spinning beneath him.

"I like my new friends..." Charlie grinned, closing his eyes. He fell asleep on the floor, fully clothed, and with his backpack still over his shoulders.