“Why, I thought he was right here,” he said, turning suddenly and looking behind him.
“Well, he’s not here now.”
“It’s all right, Carolina,” Owen said, giving her a knowing wink. “He’s not alone.”
“Ah…I see,” she said with a smile. “Good.”
Then Owen Bramley caught sight of Opari for the first time. She was wearing one of her ancient shawls across her shoulders and a burgundy scarf around her neck. He seemed startled, almost spellbound by her presence and natural beauty. “I don’t believe I know you,” he said. “I’m certain we’ve never met before.”
“My name is Opari,” she said, looking up at him. “Your name I know from Z and Carolina.” She smiled and Owen Bramley instantly became her friend and constant admirer.
“Owen,” I broke in, “why don’t you help the porter with the luggage while Willie and I take care of something else.”
“Right, right,” he said. “Let’s get going then.”
Willie and I left the others in order to make arrangements for the off-loading of the coffins. I played the part of the silent kid and let Willie do the talking. Months earlier at Caitlin’s Ruby he’d stopped wearing his British uniform, in which he was never completely comfortable, and now, in corduroy slacks, wool sweater, and tweed jacket, he looked much more like the “real” Willie Croft. With his tousled red hair, casual charm, and soft British accent, he had helped make all our travels and troubles along the way much easier, especially through customs, which is always a little tricky for us. He was still head over heels in love with Star, which also insured his constant concern and attention to our welfare, and even though his love for her was honest and genuine, to watch him when he was around her was always comical, bordering on pathetic. However, his feelings never affected his watchful eye or awareness of our situation, whatever it might be. And he was good at directing attention away from the Meq when there were several of us traveling together, as we had been since leaving England. Individually, the Meq are excellent at blending in almost anywhere, but if we are together we draw attention from time to time for being so alike among ourselves, yet very different in cast and carriage from other children. Willie was intuitive in seeing this revelation dawn on a stranger long before they saw it themselves. His various uses of empathy and fantasy were equally and easily distributed. People were ready to give Willie all the help he needed while asking few, if any, questions. Afterward they would feel that whatever they had done to assist him must have been the right thing to do.
“Well, I suppose that’s it then,” he said. We were walking rapidly to catch up with the others. His tone was somber and he was looking straight ahead.
“Almost, but not quite,” I answered. “Carolina wants to bury them both in the ‘Honeycircle’ in back of her home. I’m sure it’s not legal.”
“The what?”
“It’s hard to explain. I think you better see it for yourself.”
Willie gave me a quick glance, raising an eyebrow. “If you say so, Z…and don’t worry about the legal bit. I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks, Willie…for everything. I mean it.”
“Nothing to it, Z. It’s my pleasure.”
As we hurried to catch the others, we had to pass through the Midway, a 610-foot-long, 70-foot-wide concourse that connected the train shed with the Grand Hall. Halfway through I suddenly noticed Geaxi standing by herself and staring at a poster attached to the wall. I spoke to her, but she didn’t respond, so Willie and I walked over to see if anything was wrong. Of course, she had sensed our presence long before we got to her. She pivoted slowly and glanced up at Willie, as if she’d been waiting for him.
“What kind of aircraft is that?” she asked, pointing toward the poster.
Willie looked closely at the image on the poster, which was a biplane flying between clouds and banking sharply to the right. Under the image, along the bottom of the poster, were the words “Pilots needed—contact Marcellus Foose, East St. Louis, Illinois—if you can fly a Jenny, you can fly anything.”
“I believe that is a Curtiss JN-4,” Willie said. “The Americans like to refer to it as a ‘Jenny.’ Very reliable, but often difficult to handle, I’m told.”
Geaxi made no reply for several moments, then said simply, “I see.” She adjusted her beret slightly, and without saying another word or looking behind, started walking toward the Grand Hall. Willie turned to me for an explanation. I shrugged, then smiled and shook my head, once again realizing there is no explaining the inscrutable Geaxi Bikis.
With Geaxi in the lead, we made our way through the thinning crowd and into the Grand Hall. Willie stared up at the huge, barrel-vaulted ceiling and Romanesque architecture.
“Magnificent structure,” he said. “Never seen anything like it.”
“No, neither have I,” I said and meant it. The building was, and is, a wonder.
“Over there,” Geaxi shouted back at us, pointing toward our little troupe, all gathered around a shoeshine stand against the wall. The luggage was stacked on a large cart off to one side. Carolina was waving for us to come quickly.
When we reached them, she made the sign to keep quiet with her finger pressed to her lips, then leaned over and whispered to me, “Mitchell is teaching Jack about the shoeshine business.”
I squeezed between the others to get closer. What I saw was a handsome, young black man sitting in one of the raised chairs on the stand. He was wearing a tuxedo, complete with white tie, starched white shirt, and white silk scarf around his neck. A floppy, old snap-brimmed cap rested at an angle on his head, the only incongruity in his whole wardrobe. He was looking down and carefully watching a boy about my size, who was buffing the man’s patent leather shoes to a high sheen.
“You got it, Jack,” the man said. “Now whip the rag in the air and wrap it around my heel. Give it a good one-two, then snap your fingers and say, ‘That’s all, mister. There’s a shine that’ll stand the test of time.’ That old rhyme used to get me a tip for sure.” Then, as if on cue, the black man raised his head and found my eyes, breaking into a broad and generous grin.
“Mitchell Ithaca Coates,” I said.
“It’s still ‘Mitch’ to you, Z.” He paused and looked me up and down. “How you been, man? Did you get the bad guys?”
“Yes and no,” I answered. “You know how it goes, Mitch—it’s complicated.” I smiled back at him, then turned and reached for Star’s hand, pulling her forward so he could see her clearly. She held Caine, who had gone back to sleep, close to her chest. “I finally found this one, though.”
Mitch removed his cap slowly and marveled at what he saw in front of him, just as Owen Bramley had. “Well, don’t that beat the devil,” he said. “We been waitin’ for this day, but sometimes, well, sometimes I thought maybe…well, never mind what I thought.” Then he rose out of his seat and said to Jack, “Turn around, son, and take a look at your very own sister.”
For some reason the boy was slow to respond, as if he was shy or too afraid to look. Then I felt a nudge in my back and Nova pushed me aside and stepped forward. In gentle and even speech, she said, “It’s all right, Jack. It’s all right.” When he heard Nova’s voice, the boy turned immediately and gazed up at Star, the sister he had never known, the sister who had been kidnapped by the Fleur-du-Mal and taken to Africa, and the sister whose disappearance had driven their own father mad with loss and despair.
“Hello, Jack,” Star said quietly. She seemed to have an intuitive understanding of his shyness and waited for him to reply.
I watched the boy carefully. We were almost the same height and weight. He was wearing a cap similar to the one Mitch wore, which he slipped off and held with both hands. He had his father’s dark good looks and his mother’s gray-blue eyes flecked with gold. When he saw that Star had the same eyes, his expression brightened, as if their kinship suddenly became real to him; he really did have a sister and she was living, standing right in front of him, even speaking to him. I think he made an instant and unexpected compromise with a very old and very private enemy. “Hello,” he said with a half smile. “I’m Jack.”
Star laughed out loud. “I know, I know. Mama told me all about you.”
Mitch laughed along with her, rising out of his chair and brushing Jack softly on the back of the head. “Come on, everybody—I got two Packard Twin-6 touring cars parked outside. And I’m sorry, Miss C., about keepin’ Jack
