Norbury's Confession

By Richard Barnard

"Norbury's Confession" is a historical fiction novel spanning the twentieth century as it tells the story of America through the lives of a colorful cast of characters. The story examines the morality of the business community in America. Starting in 1903 with a young Bobby Norbury, it examines how the little boy comes to view his role in society and shows how the lives of the wealthy, patrician Norbury family of New York cross paths with the Lambies, a hard working farm family from Minnesota. Set against the rise and fall of the asbestos industry in America, the story asks the question; "is it still murder if the only weapon used is a lie?"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Barnard
• Release date: Jun 20, 2011
• ISBN: 9780964475120

Richard Barnard

I have been writing for many years and will soon be uploading The Jakob's Star series as e-book editions.

Book preview

Norbury's

Confession

A story of the asbestos industry in America

An original novel

by

Scott and Samuel Hertogs

Richard Barnard

Smashwords Edition

All characters appearing in Norbury's Confession are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2012 Scott and Samuel Hertogs, and Richard Barnard

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

PRINT ISBN 978-0-96-447517-5

Book cover photograph used by permission of the Thetford Mines of Quebec Centre d’archives de la région de Thetford

Note: Norbury's Confession is a revised and re-titled edition of

A Cannibal Country, originally published in 2011

Preface

Morality is the custom of one's country and the current feeling of one's peers. Cannibalism is moral in a cannibal country.

Samuel Butler

From his notebooks

"Norbury's Confession" is fiction, with all the usual caveats and disclaimers about similarity to actual people, living or dead, being completely coincidental, but the characters are portrayed against the backdrop of some actual historical events. It would be hard to dispute, for example, that the New York subway system opened in 1904, but in another segment, there is no definitive explanation of how and where the influenza epidemic began at the end of World War I. While there is murder in our story, it’s not a murder mystery, but rather a study of how and why.

Our story involves the asbestos industry because evidence has shown that it was a particularly egregious field of misconduct where the dangers of exposure were known for decades among upper management. Those dangers were purposefully and systematically concealed from the people who worked with asbestos products as well as from the general public.

Considering that there are many defendants for each plaintiff for whom a claim has been filed, one can estimate that millions of legal claims have been filed in this country relating to asbestos exposure. The number of claimants will probably reach a million and the expense of those claims could be over 250 billion dollars. Research suggests that asbestos use peaked in 1974 at 800,000 metric tons and it is believed that asbestos related deaths peaked in 1992 at about 9,700 deaths per year.

Asbestos related litigation, however, continued to rise even after dozens of companies in the asbestos field filed bankruptcy. One reason is that there is a latency period, potentially decades long, before symptoms of diseases related to asbestos exposure appear. Another reason for the increasing number of claims is that some law firms specialize in asbestos litigation and look for multiple potential clients based on single x-ray examinations. They then make claims for hundreds of people against tangential companies who might settle with relatively small compensation packages. These small settlements add up for the law firm, but their clients see little money.

The story of "Norbury's Confession" ends in 1980, just before asbestos related litigation began to climb in America. While the asbestos problem is significant in our story, the real point is about choices and consequences. A great deal of lip service is paid in America to the sanctity of human life, but the notion becomes abstract and easily dismissed when the death is anonymous and there are jobs at stake. Many people view those deaths as acceptable losses, collateral damage in the everyday battle for survival. It’s that sort of thinking that might lead one to ask if we are a cannibal country.

Richard Barnard

Minneapolis, MN

May, 2012

Contents

Preface

Chapter 1 Bobby

Chapter 2 The subway

Chapter 3 The Great War

Chapter 4 I had a little bird

Chapter 5 Billy

Chapter 6 The honeymoon

Chapter 7 The crash

Chapter 8 I saw below me, a golden valley

Chapter 9 Trumble’s fate

Chapter 10 The Big One

Chapter 11 Coming home to roost

Chapter 12 T’was in another lifetime

Chapter 13 In the belly of the beast

Chapter 14 The trial

Appendix

List of Characters

CHAPTER 1

Bobby

The sand sparkled in the brilliant morning sunlight like a rippled carpet of tiny diamonds as Bobby skittered across the beach. It looked like he was performing an African tribal dance as he quickly jumped from one foot to the other as they touched the hot sand. He managed to nimbly dodge in and out amongst the other beach-goers as his skinny little stick-like body bounced along until finally stopping at that perfect place where the waves tumbled out their last vestige of energy before succumbing to the thirsty sand. Falling to his knees, Bobby enjoyed the sensation of sinking into the wet, cool sand and looked around for a moment, taking in the vast ocean before him, feeling the gentle breeze and smelling the fresh salt air. He then squirmed and pulled at the uncomfortable, heavy black wool bathing suit that covered most of his eight-year-old frame, adjusting it before finally picking up his yellow tin bucket and bringing it down with all the force he could muster, biting into the sand and thus beginning excavation on the site of his grand new castle.

He had snuck out of the family suite to get away from his younger brother Terry, his nanny and his parents. He had been imagining it for weeks as the last days of school crawled slowly by, crawled like that wounded bug upon which he had ruthlessly stomped that dragged its broken body across the hot brick sidewalk in front of his family’s Harlem brownstone. He dreamt of his castle laid out before him in that mythical realm of a child’s summer vacation. He imagined it while looking out the window of the dining car as the train flew across the countryside from New York to the seaside resort in North Carolina. And he thought about it as he tried to sleep when they finally settled into their rooms and he could hear the ocean calling to him just beyond his reach.

He wanted to make towers like those of the private academy he attended, or maybe like the Tower of London with its three square towers and one round which he had seen the year before when his family went to England to see the king.

The family’s trip to see the coronation of King Edward VII was a funny story in its own right that one might say began with the British Corn Laws of 1815. The Corn Laws were tariffs meant to keep the price of wheat high, so that the average person buying a loaf of bread in England was paying a substantial amount of money for Lord So-And-So to keep up his lavish lifestyle.

Four years later, a group calling for parliamentary reform in England, along with repeal of the Corn Laws, organized a protest meeting at St. Peter’s field in Manchester. Local authorities responded by reading the riot act and calling for militia to disperse the crowd. Witnesses said the militiamen were drunk and spoiling for a fight. When the protesters resisted, six hundred men of the 15th Hussars rode through the crowd of unarmed men, women and children with sabers swinging. Eleven people were killed and over four hundred wounded in what became known as the Peterloo massacre. After the tragedy, rather than making apologies or amends, the British Parliament followed up with legislation called Six Acts which said that any meeting promoting radical reform would be considered an overt act of treasonable conspiracy.

This was the political climate that motivated Peter Norbury, a ship designer in Newcastle upon Tyne, to move to America. Peter was Bobby’s great, great grandfather and he opposed the Corn Laws in principle, although he wasn’t a revolutionary. He believed in the ideas of universal suffrage and democratic reform while the Corn Laws and the Peterloo massacre showed that Britain wasn’t very democratic at all.

When Peter was a boy during the American Revolution he thought of the colonials as enemies, but as time went on he found himself admiring them. Claiming their country to be founded on individual freedom, they had won independence from the British Empire against great odds, and even held their own in Mr. Madison’s war with their General Jackson soundly defeating a much larger British force. It occurred to Peter that America needed shipbuilders and he convinced his wife, Alice, that they should move to Philadelphia with their young daughter.

A year after landing in Philadelphia, Alice gave birth to a son that Peter named Albert Washington Eanred Norbury. The name Washington, of course, was to honor George Washington, but the name Eanred was an esoteric reference to a ninth century king of Northumbria. A story passed down through generations of the Norbury family said they were direct descendants of King Eanred. Although Peter knew nothing of him beyond his name, that was good enough for him. The name was a link to his family’s history in England and he told his son that he must use the name for his first born son, and on to any great grandson.

And so it was that Peter Norbury begat Albert Washington Eanred Norbury who begat Charles Howard Eanred Norbury who begat Benjamin Martin Eanred Norbury who begat Robert Whitney Eanred Norbury who was known as Bobby and intended to build the world’s greatest sandcastle on a beach in North Carolina in 1903.

Albert Norbury didn't follow his father's footsteps by going into shipbuilding, but rather got a job at Schiller's Dry Goods when he was a teenager where he met, and fell in love with, Betty, Gottfried Schiller's only daughter. When Gottfried passed away at the age of 54, Albert and Betty took over the operation of the store. Their first son, Charles, was almost literally born into the dry goods business when Betty went into labor as she was sweeping up just after closing the store one evening.

It was Charles who made the Norbury family fortune. When the Civil War broke out, Charles was an ambitious young man with energy and drive who expanded the dry goods business into a much larger operation supplying salt pork to the union armies. He borrowed as much money as he could to expand to other supplies such as canteens, boots, uniforms and blankets.

Charles’ younger brother, Lawrence, enlisted in the Union Army, but Charles had no interest in the so-called adventure and glory of war. While northern states were authorized to have a draft on a state level if they couldn’t get enough volunteers, it wasn’t until 1863 that a national conscription began throughout the Union. By that time, the Schiller Dry Goods Company was doing so well that Charles could easily afford 300 dollars, roughly a full year’s salary for an average working man, to pay a substitute to do his military service for him. He explained to his wife that while he was willing to make a profit from the army that would free the slaves, he wasn’t willing to give up my life for a bunch of ignorant darkies. That point was driven home when Lawrence Norbury died at Cemetery Ridge during the Battle of Gettysburg.

Charles hardly paused to grieve for Lawrence as the business continued to expand, not just because of Charles' ability to find product to sell, but also because he had an uncanny ability to find transportation for those goods. The darker side of Charles’ nature was that, through a potent mix of intimidation, threats and bribes, he worked diligently to deny use of that transportation network to his competitors.

The war was a boom time for Charles and once it ended, he scrambled for a new way to make a living. He made a good deal of money from his wartime enterprises and capitalized on his experience of transporting goods to re-invent himself as a railroad man. When his parents retired, he sold the Philadelphia dry goods stores and moved to New York.

He became an associate of Jay Gould and James Frisk during the so-called Erie war when Gould and Frisk wrested control of the Erie railroad away from Cornelius Vanderbilt and plundered the company, stealing millions of dollars. Charles received a much smaller share of the loot, but invested it wisely and soon became an up and coming speculator in his own right.

Charles’ wealth started to grow dramatically around the time his first son was born. That was Charles focused on building a place for his family in high society. Just as his father had instructed, Charles told his first born son, Ben, about King Eanred and busily expanded the family mythology, speaking of Eanred as though he had been king of all England.

It was this royal lineage that inspired thoughts of a family vacation to England when Ben had business dealings in London in August of 1902. Charles Norbury died just before Christmas in 1899 and when Queen Victoria died a year later, Ben found himself in a sentimental mood as he thought of his father’s stories of good old King Eanred. Ben commented to his wife, Marie, that it was a shame that they would miss the coronation on June 24th, but then fate intervened when the Prince of Wales was taken sick with appendicitis just two days before the coronation and the ceremony was postponed until August 9th. Suddenly there was a chance the Norburys could attend and so Ben had his secretary place a telephone call to the British consulate.

The young lady at the consulate was polite, but taken aback by his question. I’m sorry, sir. What? What is it you need?

Well, I need information. I’ll be in London during the coronation and… I was wondering how one… he paused and cleared his throat, How I could attend the coronation?

Attend the coronation? she asked with a proper English accent, clearly trying to hold back a chuckle, I’m afraid that would be quite a trick, sir. It’s not like a sporting event.

Ben forced a laugh, trying to show he was not naïve about such things. No, of course not… But, is there any way… since my family and I will be in London?

I can’t say for certain, sir, but I believe everything has been arranged for quite some time and even with the postponement...

Well, my family is… Ben interrupted, but then stopped to clear his throat again, determined not to be put off by a secretary, They are of some importance. We are descended from royalty.

Royalty? she asked, pausing before continuing hesitantly, Are you saying… you’re a member of the royal family?

No, no. Ben recanted, We’re descended… from… from the King of Northumbria.

Northumbria?

Yes, King Eanred.

Eanred? King of Northumbria? The woman repeated, But sir, Northumbria was an earldom.

An earldom? What exactly does that mean?

Well, I’m certainly no expert, sir, but I’ve never heard of Eanred, and Northumbria was an earldom. Now it’s the county of Northumberland, famous for coal. Newcastle is there. You’ve heard the expression – carrying coals to Newcastle?

Yes, yes… I’ve heard it. Ben answered quietly.

I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to be flippant.

No… It’s something father was always telling me. He told me all my life that we were descended from a king.

Oh my, that must have been a lot to live up to. Well, I’m sorry to say… the woman hesitated before continuing, but those kings in times of old were… well, some were quite… rascals.

Rascals?

Let’s just say they were… prolific.

Oh, I see.

Ben thanked the woman and ended the call, realizing that she was saying that if there really was a connection to some English king, it was only because the king had mounted one of the local peasant girls and spawned some bastard in a coal field.

Ben didn’t mention Eanred for some time after that. They made the trip to England and stood outside Westminster Abbey, catching a glimpse of King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra leaving the coronation, but they were just American tourists in the throng of thousands of other tourists.

The next day, they visited the Tower of London and Bobby was fascinated from the moment they entered the grounds. He stared at the beefeaters in their dark blue uniforms, trimmed and monogrammed in bright red, and listened intently to the tour guide. All the while, his younger brother Terry whined climbing stairs and how tired he was, but Bobby just tuned him out.

The guide was a natural born storyteller who breathed life into the history of the Tower. He told of the two young princes, not much older than Bobby, murdered in the tower and their bodies hidden under the steps. Then he spoke of Sir Walter Raleigh’s imprisonment for his part in the Main Plot against King James. The guide then waved his hand toward the cell where Raleigh had been imprisoned and Bobby saw a pipe and tobacco pouch on a desk as though Sir Walter had just stepped out for a moment. There was also the story of the beheading of sixteen-year-old Lady Jane Grey, the Nine Days’ Queen who was executed on Tower Green, the courtyard just below them.

It all made quite an impression on Bobby, especially the gruesome little tidbits the tour guide added, none gorier than when he spoke of the poorly handled beheading of Mary, Queen of Scots. Bobby wasn’t sure why he was telling the story since it hadn’t happened at the tower, but at Fotheringhay Castle 90 miles to the north. The guide explained how it took three blows of the axe to sever Mary’s head and how her lap dog, hidden away in the folds of her dress had come rushing out after the execution, covered in blood. And when the executioner picked up the queen’s head by her hair to show it to the witnesses, her auburn tresses turned out to be a wig and the head fell away, rolling across the executioners’ platform.

Bobby would never forget that journey to England. There on the beach in North Carolina, he decided that, yes, he would make his sandcastle like the Tower of London.

Hey, a little voice said from behind him.

Bobby looked up and had to squint, shading his eyes with his hand as he tried to make out the faces of a boy and girl who stood behind him with the sun at their backs.

Hullo, he said in response.

They looked alike with blue eyes and hair bleached almost white by the summer sun, but they weren’t dressed in swimsuits. Their clothes were old and worn, the little girl in a tattered light dress and the boy, about Bobby’s age, wearing shorts that had been cut from hand-me-down long pants, but Bobby took no notice nor made any judgment.

Whut cha’ doin’? the boy asked in a southern accent.

I’m building the Tower of London.

Whut? the boy asked quizzically, scrunching up his face.

It’s a castle.

Oh, kin we halp?

Bobby paused for a moment, looking them over. He was ready to let the boy help, but he had to consider whether it would be acceptable for the younger girl to play with them.

Yes, you can help.

Linny, the boy said to his sister, go ask momma for somethin’ tuh dig with.

Un-huh, Linny replied before running off.

My name’s Willy, the boy said as he fell to his knees, moving sand with his hands in toward the mound that Bobby had started. And that’s my sister Linda, but we all calls her Linny.

I’m Bobby. I want to make it big with four towers.

Four towers?

Yes, one at each corner. One will be round and the others will be square. That’s the way they built the Tower of London.

What’s a… ‘Lundun’?

It’s a city in England.

Oh, Willie said, not understanding, but not pursuing it.

Linny came running back a moment later with digging implements and they continued working. They excavated, packed and shaped sand for about half an hour until Bobby suddenly heard the annoying, nasal blast of a whiny siren from somewhere behind him that raised the hairs on the back of his neck as it squealed out two distinct syllables; Bahh-beee!

He looked up and saw Terry running towards him.

There he is father! Terry said gleefully, bouncing along like a puppy that had just treed a squirrel as his master looked on.

That’s enough, Terrence, Ben responded sternly as he walked up to Bobby’s castle, Your mother was in a panic when we found you weren’t in your room.

Bobby’s shoulders sank and his head lowered as he realized he was in trouble. I’m sorry.

What were you thinking? Ben snapped.

I just… Bobby started, about to say how he just wanted to be alone for a little while. He wanted to explain to his father how his mother would never let him do anything and how Terry was such a royal pain in the ass, but he couldn’t say that to his father, so his explanation just trailed off to a pitiful …I don’t know.

You don’t know?

Bobby looked up at his father, into those dark, disapproving eyes. Benjamin Norbury looked so familiar with pursed lips and furrowed brow. That was how it always seemed to be. Bobby didn't spend much time with his father because Ben would go to his office early and come home late. It seemed that whenever Ben was with his sons, it was always to lecture, punish or accuse.

And who are these two? Ben asked reproachfully, referring to Willy and Linny.

Bobby hesitated, so it was Linny who answered brightly, We’re Linny and Willy.

Our mother works in the kitchen, Willy added.

In the kitchen… Ben repeated in a way that would have been clearly condescending and insulting to an adult, but to a child, it just seemed as though he was affirming what they said.

Yes, sir. Willy added, She works here in the summer and we get to play on the beach.

Robert, Terrence… Come with me. Ben commanded.

But daddy, Terry whined, can’t I stay and play?

Ben just looked at his youngest son and Terry immediately jumped up and was ready to go. Bobby, however, wasn’t as quick as he dragged himself up to his feet and collected his tools.

Bye! Linny said cheerfully to the Norbury men, oblivious to the ominous nature of their departure. Bobby just looked at her for an instant and walked away without a word.

When they were a few yards away, Ben asked, Robert, what on earth were you doing playing with those filthy, little children?

They just asked if they could help.

Help?

Building my sandcastle.

You know you must be punished for running away.

I just wanted to play in the sand… Bobby answered sadly.

Now Robert… those children. They’re not the sort of children with whom you should be… umm… consorting.

Consorting? Bobby asked, not knowing the word.

Yes. Consorting. To associate with, to be involved with… Your friends. You should make friends at school. Those are the right sort of families. Your mother and I will tell you if you have the right sort of friends. It’s very important that you meet the right people and make the right friends. It will help you throughout your life and it’s never too early to think about such things.

Ben rambled on about his son’s social obligations as he led the boys back to the resort suite, but Bobby tuned him out. He just wanted to play on the beach. Was that so wrong? Why did they even come to the ocean in the first place if he couldn’t play in the sand? It just seemed so mean, like they were playing a trick on him. He wanted to build a sandcastle and for some stupid reason, that was wrong. He found other children to play with, and that was wrong. He was always punished for everything.

I found him, Marie, Ben announced as the trio returned to their rooms at the hotel.

Well, young man… Bobby’s mother said sternly as she put her hands on her hips with her elbows jutting out at sharp angles in a pose that Bobby would come to call the elbows of death in his teen years. What do you have to say for yourself? Running off without telling anyone.

But I did tell you. Bobby whined, collapsing into a chair.

You most certainly did not!

Yes, I did. I was in my bathing suit. I had my bucket and shovel and told you I wanted to go down to the beach.

When? When did you ask permission to go off by yourself?

When you were in bed. I came in and said I wanted to go down to the beach and you said ‘fine’ and turned over.

Robert, you know very well that I was still asleep. That was very dishonest of you.

Come here, Robert Ben said sternly as he sat down.

There was alarm in Bobby’s eyes as he realized what was coming next and Terry ran into the other room so he wouldn’t have to see what was happening. Ben Norbury’s hands didn’t look unusual or remarkable in any way, but when Ben would turn his son, bare bottomed, over his knee, those hands could inflict the most gut-wrenching pain Bobby had ever known. The burning, stinging pain would immediately bring tears and Bobby would beg him to stop, but Ben never relented. It was his duty.

No crying, young man or I’ll give you something to cry about. Ben warned, clipping his words angrily, Only babies cry and I won’t have a son of mine crying.

Bobby brushed at his eyes, sniffling as he got up. I’m not crying, sir.

Hannah, Ben called out to the nanny in the other room.

Yes, Mr. Norbury. Hannah said as she instantly appeared.

Hannah, Robert has misbehaved and will have to be punished, but first Mrs. Norbury and I are going down to breakfast on the veranda. I need you to watch the boys.

But daddy, Terry interjected, I didn’t do anything wrong. Why can’t I come with?

Terry, just do as you’re told. You’re going to stay here with nanny and your brother so we can breakfast in peace.

But I’m hungry.

Ben sighed, Nanny will have something brought up.

Hannah Stemple was a petite girl, barely five feet tall, just turned nineteen, that Mrs. Norbury had hired to keep the boys in line, to keep them from disturbing their parents who considered them little more than an annoyance. Even though Hannah felt bad for the boys, it had been made very clear to her that she was not to be their advocate, but rather just to do as she was told.

Hannah couldn’t understand the Norbury’s attitude toward their boys. She had grown up in a farm family as the seventh of ten children. Her family was a loving, close-knit mob of brothers, sisters, cousins, uncles and aunts and she hated to leave them, but she wanted to go to the city and see what life was like on her own. She didn't want to get married quite yet and being a nanny for the Norburys offered a rare employment opportunity for a young woman in 1903. She got to travel with them, was well fed and had a nice room. And she was fond of Bobby and Terry, even though they were… how to put it? They were being trained in contempt.

Hannah knew she was perhaps the only connection the boys had with tenderness and compassion, yet every now and again they would say something insulting that would let her know she was their employee. It was absolutely astounding to her that a seven-year-old could tell someone that if they didn’t do as he wanted, he could have them sacked. It’s not that they were bad; their parents were just a terrible influence on them. She knew if things got really bad she could go back home and would be welcomed with open arms, but for now she could take everything they dished out. She had a pragmatic view of life. There were things she liked about the job and she had genuine affection for the boys. Once when she had taken the boys to a circus, she had an epiphany as she sat in the darkness with bright spotlights shining up high above them on a man walking a tightrope. Her life was like that. Her family in Pennsylvania was the safety net below. And as she briefly wondered why she stayed, she looked at the enraptured faces of Bobby and Terry as they watched the performer and realized she wanted to save them. And she believed she could.

When Mr. and Mrs. Norbury were getting ready to go down for breakfast, Hannah went to ask a hotel maid to have eggs and muffins sent up, returning to the room just as Marie stopped in front of the mirror and primped while Ben straightened his jacket. They didn’t say a word as they left.

Bobby stared at the door to make sure they were gone. I hate them! he said with gritted teeth as he banged his fist on the chair, breaking into tears out of anger and frustration.

Terry, on the couch across from him, made a little squeak. Bobby saw the look of shock on his brother's face. You better not say anything or I’ll kill you! he threatened.

Terry’s expression changed to hurt and fear as he shrank back into the couch.

Robert Norbury! Hannah said sternly. She knelt in front of him and gently took his fist in her hand. Now, you know you don’t hate them. And you’re not going to murder your brother.

Bobby’s fist relaxed as he looked into Hannah’s pretty, eyes. He groaned and broke eye contact, looking down at the floor. Sorry Nanny Stemple, they just make me so mad.

I know... It’s hard being young, Hannah commiserated, I had six older brothers and sisters telling me what to do.

Six?

Uh-huh.

Really?

Yes… and there were three more after me.

You’re joking!

No. I come from a Pennsylvania farm family. My father needed a big family to help work the farm.

What was it like?

When I was your age? Oh, I would clean house and feed the chickens. Every morning I would pin up my apron like this she said, demonstrating how she would make a basket out of her apron, and fill it with feed and then go out to the chicken yard and cast it out.

Was it fun?

I guess it was fun. The chickens would run up to me with their heads bobbing up and down as they pecked at the feed.

Their breakfast arrived and Hannah told more stories about her family and childhood as they ate.

Did you have horsies? Terry asked.

Of course, Hannah answered.

Did you get to ride them? Bobby asked.

Sometimes, but most of them weren't riding horses.

They weren't for riding? Bobby asked, confused.

No, they were great big work horses, Hannah said, making a gesture indicating their height, They were so tall and...

...big as the policeman's at home? Robert interrupted.

Or the trolley car horses? Terry piped in.

No, they were even bigger! Hannah answered with a smile, They worked two at a time in teams, pulling wagons and plows.

How big? Terry asked.

Twice as big as the policeman's horse! Hannah shot back with an excitement that matched Terry.

Twice as big? Really?

Yes! When I was a little girl, when my father and brothers would come in from the field, my father would toss me up on the back of the horse and I would hold on to its mane for dear life.

Were you scared? Terry asked with eyes wide in wonder.

No, not scared... Excited! It was wonderful. They had long flowing manes. Thick, coarse hair you could take in both hands. I held on tight and they didn't mind me on their backs at all. They just lumbered along and I was higher than anyone else and everyone was tired and happy after a hard day’s work and my father would sing to us as he led the horses and...

He would sing? Terry asked, Father never sings.

Oh, my papa sings all the time! When he’s working he’ll sing to his horses and he would sing us lullabies when we were in bed just before going to sleep and he would even sing in the morning on his way out to the fields.

What would he sing? Bobby asked.

Oh, I don’t know… Lots of different songs.

Like what?

Let me see… There was 'Taler, Taler, du musst wandern.

What? What does that mean?

It’s an old German folk song. A Taler is a coin and it says Taler, Taler, you must wander.

Huh?

It’s about how easily money goes from person to person, Hannah explained, how money comes and goes.

Oh... Can you sing it for us? Bobby asked.

Hannah smiled and started to sing and then taught the boys the German words so they could sing along.

The time passed quickly as she told them more stories and tried to teach them another song. They had just finished a verse when the door opened and Marie entered with Ben close behind. All the smiles and laughter were suddenly extinguished as though the air had been instantly sucked out of the room.

Well, Robert, Ben said dramatically, your mother and I talked about it and, as part of your punishment, you won’t be allowed to go with us to the fireworks celebration tonight.

No, father! Bobby pleaded.

Don’t talk back to me, Robert.

Bobby looked at Hannah as if she might save him, but she didn’t say a word.

But I… I love the fireworks… Bobby lamented softly.

Yes, I know you do. Maybe this will teach you a valuable lesson then. You mustn’t go running off like you did this morning. It’s my responsibility to teach you these lessons.

The rest of the day went by slowly. Just after noon they returned to the beach as a family. Hannah and two teenaged bellboys from the hotel carried out umbrellas, beach chairs and picnic baskets as Marie led the caravan, wandering aimlessly towards the beach until finding an appropriate resting place.

Hannah, have them set up the chairs over there, Marie directed, See if the children are hungry.

Hannah put down the baskets and called Bobby and Terry over, out of earshot of Ben and Marie, asking, Are you hungry, or do you want to play first?

I want to play. Terry said, but Bobby countered, I don’t, as he looked down at his feet, kicking a little pile of sand from side to side. He no longer had any interest in sandcastles.

Terry went down to the water and splashed around haplessly for a few moments before Marie complained that it was too hot, and with her pronouncement they packed up and returned to the hotel, the whole outing taking no more than twenty minutes.

That evening, as Ben, Marie and Terry were leaving, Ben made a petty point of instructing Hannah to keep Bobby away from the windows so he couldn’t see the fireworks.

Hannah read a book as Bobby was glumly swinging his legs and fidgeting in a chair across from her.

Bobby, can you keep a secret? Hannah asked after she was sure the others were gone.

He looked at her blankly.

Well? she asked with a laugh.

What?

Can you keep a secret?

What kind of secret?

Do you want to see the fireworks?

Yes, but father…

That’s why it would have to be a secret. You’re sorry for what you did, right?

Yes.

And you won’t run off again without asking permission?

Yes. I mean no.

I think that’s good enough. You’ve learned your lesson and I think you should be able to see the fireworks. But if we do, you mustn’t tell anyone. Ever. It would be our secret.

I promise, he said with a smile.

Then let’s go.

But what if they see us?

They won’t. We’re not going to the beach.

Earlier, Hannah had asked one of the hotel maids if she knew of a good place to watch the fireworks and the maid said there was a small balcony at the end of the third floor hallway with a great view. The balcony was off limits to the staff because a waiter and one of the maids had been caught by a hotel guest in a rather indelicate state the previous summer, so it was likely Hannah and Bobby would have the balcony to themselves.

Hannah took Bobby’s hand, signaling for him to be quiet, as though they were spies slipping behind enemy lines. She didn’t want to be seen, in case someone might inadvertently mention the secret mission to Bobby’s parents.

The sky outside the French doors of the third floor balcony filled with a spectacular burst of brilliant red and green sparks that blossomed forth just as they arrived. Beautiful. Hannah said as she put her arm around Bobby’s shoulder and smiled while the audience on the lawn below them could be heard cooing in wonder at the spectacle.

They watched it all while hiding in the shadows where they wouldn't be seen, slipping away as a final frenzy of multi-colored lights flashed in concert with a chorus of percussive explosions which echoed in their ears as Hannah once again swore Bobby to secrecy while she fairly pulled him along.

I love you Nanny Stemple, he said.

I love you too, dear, she replied as they quickly snuck back to the suite ahead of the family.

The rest of the vacation went by quickly and uneventfully. The incident on that first day would soon dissolve into the blur of insignificant events in Bobby’s life, but even though the details of his transgression faded, Robert would always remember that night on the balcony, watching fireworks as Nanny Stemple stood beside him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

CHAPTER 2

The subway

It wasn’t long after returning from the family vacation that a terrible word started creeping relentlessly into conversations. At first, just a careless slip regarding something far off in the future, but then plans had to be made. Then those plans became the day after tomorrow and one awful morning Hannah woke up Bobby and Terry with an unnerving refrain of Get up boys. We have to go shopping for school clothes today.

Bobby was entering the fourth grade and he had already developed a dislike for school, although he couldn’t exactly say why. It wasn’t because he didn’t have friends. At eight, he already had the ability to make friends quite easily, being sociable to the point of being charming. He didn’t have trouble with schoolwork, but never applied himself, doing only the minimum required. He was a solid C student with a few intermittent B’s and the occasional A, which was usually in mathematics. He liked math for the most part because it was clear and predictable. He knew what the rules were. The times when he was elevated to A status were when he found something challenging, something his classmates couldn’t solve and so he was determined to show them he was better, that he could excel when he wanted to, but