“Harry hasn’t been in school for two months now.”
“Harry? Harry Lyons? Of course he has.”
“I’m afraid not, Mrs. Lyons.” He licked his finger and turned the page. “Two months. We sent home a note with your daughter after the first week, but didn’t get a reply. Between that and his illness, which of course is quite unfortunate, he’ll have to repeat the same grade next year.”
Part of her wanted to laugh. The thought of Harry being held back was much less important today than it might have been a few days earlier, before he’d fallen ill. At least he was alive.
But why hadn’t he come to school for two months?
And where had he been?
* * *
The note that the principal had given Pearl sat beneath a pile of books on Jack’s desk. Laura had a feeling that Pearl hadn’t wanted to get her brother into trouble and had tucked it away where there was a good chance it would be overlooked. If Laura had been home instead of at school or out reporting, Pearl probably would have handed it right over. Laura blamed herself, not her daughter, for the lapse. Upon questioning, Pearl had insisted that Harry walked into school with her and was always waiting at the end of the school day in the playground, ready to walk her home. As far as she knew, he’d been inside the whole time, like her.
The next day, Laura checked in with Harry at the hospital and was thrilled to learn he’d been moved out of quarantine and into a children’s ward, where she could sit with him in the mornings. He was still subdued, sleeping most of the time, but the fever had subsided and his prognosis was good. She wanted to pepper him with questions but held back. She certainly didn’t want to upset him while he was still fragile.
That afternoon, she showed up early to the children’s school for dismissal. As she waited for Pearl to appear, she scanned the crowd until she found a boy who looked familiar. Sam was his name, she recalled. He’d come home with Harry once or twice early in the school year. Jack had caught them playing baseball in the Stuart Room, using books as bases, and let them off lightly, much to Laura’s relief. It wasn’t easy growing up in a revered institution like the library.
“Sam?”
The boy turned.
“I’m Harry’s mother. You visited us at the library.” She moved closer and bent down, so they were face-to-face. “I understand Harry hasn’t been in school recently. Do you happen to know where he’s been going?”
Sam shrugged.
“It’s fine for you to tell me. You see, he’s gotten very sick, which might have gotten the people around him very sick. You’d be a hero if you let me know anything at all.”
At the word “hero,” the boy came to life, standing a little taller and looking her in the eye. “He started to go downtown to Fourth Avenue, with some boys.”
“Where, exactly?”
“Around Union Square.”
“Would I know any of the boys? How might I recognize them?”
“One used to go to school here. Red Paddy.”
“That’s his name?”
“He has ginger hair, you see.”
“You are incredibly helpful, Sam. You say he used to go to school here?”
“I haven’t seen him in a while. He doesn’t come to school anymore.”
“Is he your age?”
“No. Older, around fifteen.”
What was Harry doing being friends with an older boy like that, one who dropped out of school? She should have known all this. If she’d been home, she might have noticed. Surely she would have.
She thanked Sam and, after escorting Pearl home and getting her started on her homework, put her coat back on.
“Are you leaving again?” Pearl watched her from the doorway to the kitchen.
Laura kissed her on the forehead. “I’m sorry, love. I have to find out where Harry’s been all this time. I’ll be back for dinner.”
Union Square was bustling with cars and pedestrians but no redheaded boys, as far as Laura could tell. She walked down Fourth Avenue a few blocks, peering into alleyways. No luck.
Back in the square, she wandered the perimeter, imagining her son here, doing . . . what? Nothing that the principal or Sam had told her made any sense. Harry wasn’t the sort of boy to cut school and lie to her and Jack. He was sensitive, empathetic, listening closely when she and Jack had an argument, his eyes darting back and forth between his parents. These days, with the tension between her and Jack so high, he had probably needed more reassurance than she’d given.
Somehow, she’d always believed that if she just loved everyone enough, all would be well, that love would be the snowfall that blanketed the crevasses and jagged edges of their world, smoothing them out into a gentle field of white. Maybe she was wrong.
A flash of color caught her eye. A group of boys were gathered under the statue of George Washington on a horse, and the tallest one had a crop of ginger-colored hair under his cap.
She waited until she was only a few yards away to call out, and didn’t shout. She didn’t want to scare them off and watch them scatter. “Red Paddy?”
The boy sauntered right up to her, with an insouciance she would otherwise never have tolerated in a child that age. “Who wants to know?”
“I’m the mother of Harry Lyons.”
The boy’s eyes didn’t flicker. “So?”
“He’s sick. With typhoid. I wanted to warn you to be careful, in case he passed it on to you.”
Red Paddy surveyed his audience with a crooked grin. “What do you think, boys, are we sick? Anyone about to faint? Let me know and I’ll catch you.” The last sentence was directed at Laura with a leer.
“You must be serious about this. It’s a terrible disease. Harry has been very ill.”
“Don’t know anyone named that.”
“You aren’t in any trouble, I promise. I just want to know what he’s been doing these past couple of months. We know he didn’t go to school. Did you meet at school, is that what happened? And then decided to cut class?” She babbled on, desperate to connect. “I don’t blame you, of course, but I need to know.”
“I told you, woman, I don’t know a Harry.”
The other boys snickered.
She tried one more time. “Please, I’ll pay you some money, if that’s what you want. My husband and I, we just want to know why.”
“We don’t want your money. We don’t know you, don’t know him.” Red Paddy spit on the ground near her feet.