Connecticut, 1950

  An icy wind swept up the hillside on an early autumn morning, rustling fallen leaves among tombstones, billowing the coats of assembled mourners. The graveyard lay at the edge of a thick forest, fall leaves glowing orange and yellow in the sun. A brick synagogue with a white door sat at the top of the hill; a large rose window with the Star of David in its center loomed over the landscape.

  Few had gathered to mark the passing of the deceased, Johanna Everhart. In the twenty years since arriving in America with her two children, she’d kept to herself. Erika, her twenty-two-year-old daughter, brunette hair wafting over an upturned collar, hands buried in the pockets of her dark green coat, stood alone before the plain wooden casket. Behind her, a small gathering of patrons had assembled from the temple her mother had dutifully attended.

  The circumstances of Johanna’s immigration had hardened her, but she was not without kindness, though only as she knew how to show it. A stern woman who did everything she thought was right for her children, despite anyone’s advice to the contrary. She attended services regularly and, as much as she was able, stayed independent. Growing her own food and seeing to as much maintenance as she could manage at the small cottage where she and her children had settled.

  As her casket lowered to its final resting place, Erika searched the faces of those gathered, looking for her older brother, Max. She’d been unable to reach him since their mother’s health had taken a turn nearly a week ago. Max led a busy life as a lawyer in Providence, but Erika had no trouble getting in touch with him before.

  Seven years her senior, Max had become more of a father figure to his younger sister. While their mother struggled to adjust to life in America, he made sure she learned the language, accent, customs; anything a child would need to fit in. She felt his absence keenly when he was drafted to fight in the war, fighting their former countrymen.

  Max returned a different man, least of all because of a leg injury that required a cane. He struggled with relationships, reticent toward intimacy, though he was never cruel. He found other ways to show his love for his mother and sister.

  Erika watched in grim silence as the gravediggers pushed earth onto the coffin. She had seen no sign of her brother. Beyond her concern for him, there were practical matters of resolving their mother’s passing. Her brother’s profession being what it was, she expected him to help navigate settling the estate, the will, debts, and whatever else was involved.

  Looking down at the grave as it filled with earth, Erika put aside her worries and reflected on her mother. It was a simple, brutal truth that Johanna had saved them from certain death at the hands of the Nazis, but at a heart-rending lost. A life and a husband that she had loved were gone. The Nazis had stolen them away with their hatred and fanaticism. Those scars never healed. Erika did her best to soothe her mother’s wounds and repay her as they made a new life in America, but at a cost to herself she hadn’t realized until now, standing there, alone, by her mother’s grave.

  Erika took a deep breath and smiled. “Goodbye, Mother. Thank you.”

  Turning away, she glanced to the top of the hill, where the synagogue stood, checking once more for Max. She saw someone new, but not her brother. A thin man in a long coat and hat, holding a parcel. Who would make a delivery here?

  A hand on her shoulder distracted Erika, one of the temple patrons offering their condolences. Several others joined in. Erika smiled, shook hands, and accepted kisses on her cheeks along with well-wishes as she made small talk. The smattering of mourners moved on, and Erika made her way to the street at the top of the hill. The man was still there, waiting for her.

  “Ms. Everhart?” he asked as she came closer.

  “Yes,” she answered cautiously.

  “I have a package for you.”

  She hesitated. “Why?”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am. This is highly unusual, and normally we wouldn’t interfere on such an occasion. But the instructions were explicit, and the package is of special significance. To be delivered in-person to the resident of three-seven-two West Hill Drive. You’re listed as a resident there, correct?”

  “Yes…” Erika had never updated her mailing address, knowing she would likely change apartments several times before settling down. “I’m sorry, special significance? How did you find me?”

  “A neighbor informed me. Again, I regret the intrusion. I just need your signature here.” The man held out a clipboard and a pen. Erika scribbled her signature, and the man handed her the package, wrapped in brown paper, about the size of a briefcase and weighing what felt like nearly ten pounds. “This is our highest priority, via courier from drop-off to delivery. I traveled here myself from Providence.”

  “Providence?” Erika looked down at the parcel, which had no return address. “Who sent it?”

  “Sorry, ma’am. I couldn’t say, even if I knew. I can only provide the item as instructed.” He tipped his hat and then hurried away and into a nearby vehicle, started up the engine, and sped off.

  Erika watched him drive off and then looked down at the package in her hands, confounded. She pulled apart the paper wrapping, revealing that it was a briefcase; well-worn and beat-up leather, with a shoulder strap, thick with contents and a flap over the top that was locked with a combination. Two letters were emblazoned: R.S. Initials, but she had no idea who that could be. If it came from Providence, it had to be related to her brother; beyond that, she didn’t know what to make of it. She hung the long strap over her shoulder and set off.

  Along the street was a line of taxis waiting for passengers. Erika rode alone back to New Haven, over the Quinnipiac River and through peaceful neighborhoods of single-story homes and small yards, autumn trees raining leaves to be swept through the street by wind and traffic. Few people were milling about outside in the brisk air. It was a Friday, the workday well underway.

  Erika lived in the East Rock neighborhood, near the Yale campus, where her roommate, Betty, was a student at the School of Medicine. She’d been a source of inspiration and intimidation to Erika. A woman of color who had overcome ubiquitous prejudices and barriers to earn her place. Erika felt somewhat embarrassed by her lack of comparable accomplishments, not that she believed she had the capacity to commit to such levels of work and stress.

  When her mother had insisted that Erika get a job and an apartment, she knew her options were limited, given her lack of education and gender. She found work as a secretary after a brief search. Erika wasn’t a thin girl, and the fashion catalogs didn’t agree with her shape, but men certainly did. Betty described her as a delicious meal compared to the dull snacks of skinny women.

  Her boss was a lech, endlessly flirting and occasionally harassing in vulgar terms, but Erika had thick skin and, thanks to her brother, knew how to throw a punch if necessary.

  After saving her wages for a time, Erika found an ad in the newspaper: Roommate wanted, women only need apply. She answered, somewhat surprised to meet a single black woman. Betty had found a two-bedroom, and she needed someone to go in on it. The women got along well and two years later had developed a casual friendship.

  The apartment was on the second floor of a somewhat creaky but otherwise well-maintained colonial home. An elderly couple owned the house and could no longer make use of the upper levels and were more than happy to have two nice young, and most of all, quiet, ladies take it over.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  There was no separate kitchen for Erika and Betty; the one downstairs shared, though the girls made little used it. Erika’s time away from work was mostly at her mother’s house, cooking and cleaning. Betty was more active in the social scene, spending her leisure time with her own community of local Black college students. Erika had gone out with her twice but found the jazz clubs and speakeasies rowdy for her tastes.

  Arriving at the house on the bustling Whitney Avenue, Erika walked around the building, through the side entrance, and up the well-trod stairs. The reading room was at the top; the heart of their small home. Well-stocked bookshelves, a sofa positioned below a wide bay window that looked out onto the avenue, and Betty, dressed in jeans and a sweater, seated at a table in the center of the room. Textbooks stacked about it; notes and bookmarks tucked between pages. She had three open before her, and one of her countless notebooks.

  Any white student would have been comfortable at one of the many beautiful libraries on campus, but Betty found herself to be an unwanted distraction and had been made aware of that plainly.

  “Hey, Bets,” Erika greeted as she hung up her coat on the coat rack, sparsely occupied with only one other jacket, two hats, and scarves, remarking on their fashion budget. She set the briefcase down on the floor against the wall, leaving it for later investigation.

  “Morning,” Betty said, looking up after finishing a note. “How are you?”

  Erika sighed. “All right.” She walked over to the couch and plopped down, the sunlight warming her shoulders. “Just… getting through it.”

  Betty nodded. She knew better than to offer empty platitudes or hollow clichés.

  Erika rubbed the arm of the couch and felt a welling of emotion in her. “It was cold.” She looked at her roommate, eyes watering. “Max wasn’t there. I’m not sure where he is.”

  “I’m sorry.” Betty had known her brother to be exceptionally dependable, lending help, usually financial, whenever needed and always promptly.

  “So, it was just me.” Erika took a deep breath. “The family we had, and it was just me.” Tears finally fell from her eyes.

  Betty got up and joined her on the couch, hugging her from the side. Erika let out a sob as her roommate squeezed her tighter. “You’ve got Max. I’m sure he has a perfectly good reason he couldn’t make it.” Betty didn’t want to worry her friend unnecessarily, but she couldn’t reconcile what she knew of him and the fact that he’d missed his mother’s funeral.

  Erika nodded. “He’s like Mom. Not good with emotions.” She took a breath and shook her head. “But it’s been more than a week.” She wiped away tears. “I’ve never had to worry about him before,” she laughed and sniffled, “As if I didn’t have enough to deal with right now.” Erika took a moment to collect herself, feeling self-conscious of her brief breakdown, and smiled politely at Betty. “I don’t want to distract you from your studies.”

  “You’re ridiculous sometimes, you know that? You’re allowed this, sweetie, crying about your mother’s death.” Betty returned to the table, picking up a cup of coffee she’d forgotten about. It was room temperature; she took a sip and grimaced.

  “Let me try him again,” Erika said and moved from the couch to the phone lying on a small side table near the stairs. She picked up the receiver and spun the rotary, dialing her brother’s office number. Normally, he’d still be at work this time of day. She waited, and it rang repeatedly. No answer. Betty shook her head. Erika hung up and then dialed his apartment. Same result.

  “Damn it.” Erika paused. She thought for a long moment and then announced, “I have to go to Providence. I’ve never been to Providence. Or even on a train since I was a kid.”

  “Oh dear,” Betty responded, as if a child had just spilled their milk.

  Erika forced a smile. “It’s fine. I fled Nazi Germany!” She laughed and considered what her plan might be. “Though I don’t even know Max’s address, or where he works, exactly.”

  “You don’t? You don’t have a letter or postcard?”

  Erika thought for a moment and shook her head. “No, we don’t write. We talk on the phone, and he’d send money via wire. But he must be in the phone book or city directory, right?”

  “What about your mother’s house? She must have had it written down somewhere?” Betty suggested.

  Erika inhaled sharply. The sudden idea of returning to her mother’s house, without her being there, was gut-wrenching. Betty recognized her reaction and then realized this nascent plan was as much an excuse to distract herself from her loss as anything.

  “Okay, never mind that,” Betty nodded. “Let’s think this through. You’re going to ride a train for the first time in ages, alone, to a city you’ve never been to, hopefully find your brother’s address in a phone book, get there, and count on him being home? But we already know he’s not. Or…” she considered the alternative, which suggested a crime possibility. “Maybe you should call the police in Providence. They could check on him.”

  “The police? You mean in case he’s hurt or…” the thought made her queasy. “If that’s what’s happened, then I absolutely need to be there.”

  Betty nodded. “You’ll need a place to stay in all likelihood.”

  “I’ll get a room at a hotel.”

  “City hotels aren’t cheap,” Betty noted with an arched eyebrow.

  “I have money. And Max will pay me back. The jerk owes me that much.” Erika put a fist on her hip, her eyes dry. “I took care of our mother while he ran off to make money.”

  “And if you can’t find him? Maybe he just went on vacation somewhere, and all this is just terrible timing. A foxy seductress swept him off to Aspen for a week of skiing.”

  “That’s a stretch. Max is a lawyer after all; he can’t just disappear for a week. If he ever took a vacation, which would be a first, I’d be the first to know about it. Maybe I am being silly, but… what else am I going to do? Just sit here and wait?”

  “You’re right. But you shouldn’t be alone right now. I’m coming with you.”

  Erika gave her roommate a sour look and said, “You’re a doll, Bets, but you’re being ridiculous now. Look at this,” she motioned to the table covered in textbooks. “I can take care of this myself.”

  “Oh, I know you can. But you just buried your mother. Give yourself a break. And I don’t need to be worrying about you all weekend in some strange city.”

  “It’s Providence.”

  “Every city has its share of strange. I’m coming.”

  Erika was about to argue with her further but relented. “Thank you.”

  The two women went to their respective bedrooms, and each packed a suitcase. Erika changed into a pair of gray pants with a brown belt, a button-up white blouse, and brown Oxford shoes. Betty into a mustard yellow shirt, jeans, and a pair of lace booties. As they headed out, both women pulled on their coats. Erika noticed the mysterious briefcase on the floor. She wondered about it briefly before putting the strap over her shoulder.

  “What’s that?” Betty remarked. “Not really your style.”

  “A courier delivered it to me at the funeral.”

  Betty glared at the case. “Why on earth did you get a delivery at your mother’s funeral?”

  “It was of special importance or something like that. It’s from Providence, so it must have something to do with Max. And there are these initials on it, R.S.” Erika shrugged.

  “You’re bringing it back to Providence? Wouldn’t whoever sent it not want it there?”

  “Well, I have no clue who sent it. It’s just a briefcase.” Erika scoffed. “I’ll keep it safe. Maybe we’ll need it.” She shrugged, and Betty didn’t argue it further.

  On their way out, Erika left a note on the table beside the side door for the elderly couple regarding their unplanned time away. They hailed a taxi outside on the avenue and were driven to Union Station, passing the ornate buildings of Yale and along the city green with its vibrant autumn trees.

  Arriving at the train station, the two ladies carried their bags inside, where it bustled with activity, the high stone ceilings echoing a din of rushing passengers. Erika and Betty waited in a long line for tickets, receiving typical suspicious looks that they’d seen before as interracial friends. After buying their tickets at the brass-grilled window from a man in a cap and tie, they made their way to the platform. The air wafted with plumes of coal smoke, clacking gears turning on locomotives as steam whistles wailed. Their train arrived, and they headed in to find their seats, storing luggage overhead. The train set off a short time later, chugging along the rail, working gradually up to full speed.

  Erika felt a mix of excitement and trepidation. She was setting off for parts unknown, even if it was just a city the next state over, for the first time since she was a child, and the first time without her mother.