Page 56 of City of Liars

“My Lily loved music.” My grandmother sounded wistful. “On Friday nights, we would go to the synagogue on Eldridge Street—how beautiful it was!—and even before she was old enough to talk, she’d dance in my mother’s lap when we sang.” She ran the tip of one gnarled finger over the surface of the photo. “In the old country, Mamme used to play the piano. We couldn’t afford such a thing here, especially after Papa died, so she drew one for us and sang the notes when we pressed the paper keys, so we might pretend. Lily loved that best of all.”

With a pang, I imagined a tiny Lily and her older sister kneeling on the floor of a threadbare apartment, playing an imaginary piano together. “That sounds like fun, Grandma.”

Grandma Susi gave me a sad smile. If the other one had reminded me of casting shutters wide, this one made me think of curtains being drawn for the day, while the night lurked outside. “She had such a pretty voice, my mother. You know the story of the canaries in the coal mines, Theodore? The ones they would send down with the miners to warn of disaster?”

Puzzled, I regarded her. “Sure. But what⁠—”

“When things were good, my mother would sing. Especially one song, a song of hope, of fleeing from trouble. She sang while she hung out the laundry, when I made dinner alongside her. But when she fell silent, that’s how we knew the darkness would come.”

Every hair on my body stood at attention. “What song was that, Grandma?”

Her eyes softened dreamily. “Ah, I remember it like it was yesterday.” She hummed a few bars, and with icy, eerie certainty, I knew what she would say even before she spoke. “Bye Bye, Blackbird.”

36

And Her Place Shall Know Her No More - 1928

The ghost girl was home again, but home was as unfamiliar to her as she was to herself. This didn’t surprise her. She knew she had grown and changed. Esther Darling had said so, when she’d bought the girl a new, special dress to wear for her real, for-true parents. Perhaps home had, too.

When new-Mama and Daddy came to Esther Darling’s house to bring her back to New York City after seeing the newspaper article, at first she hid from them, curling beneath the heavy brocade curtains that puddled on the floor in her room. They were so loud and surprised-looking, with new-Mama’s arms spread wide like a bird’s wings and her voice all squeaky: Ellaohmygodineverthoughtwewouldseeyouagainit’samiracle.

New-Mama wore all black, with strings of pearls around her neck and a little black hat on her head. When she spread her wing-arms like that, she looked like the raven that had perched on the ghost girl’s windowsill all winter. The maid who worked for Esther Darling and Daniel had shooed the bird away, saying ravens were bad luck, that they meant death. The ghost girl didn’t like the mama-raven, especially the way she dove toward the girl with her arms open, ready to swoop her up. When she saw her coming, the girl fled.

She thought she’d be safe beneath the curtains, which hid all of her from view. Even her feet, in their shiny Mary Janes. But Esther Darling found her anyhow, scooping her up and saying in a fake-happy voice that there was nothing to be afraid of, these were her real-true-parents come to take her home. How lucky she was, Esther Darling said, but after all these months of listening, the ghost girl knew well enough when someone was lying. And when she got into the car that would take her to the train station with new-Mama and Daddy, she saw Esther Darling at the window, tears running down her face as they drove away.

The ghost girl was sad to be leaving Esther Darling and her piano, which spoke and sang when the girl could not. She wished she could tell that to Esther Darling, but it didn’t matter what she wanted. She had been Found, and now she must Go—not on the wings of the wind, after all, but on the very same train that had brought her to Chicago months before.

New-Mama held fast to her hand all the way to the train station, as if afraid the girl would fly away. The girl wanted to tell new-Mama that if she could have, she would have done it long ago. That the wind had tricked her into thinking she was a butterfly, but the wind had lied. Girls, she wanted to tell new-Mama, could not fly. But her voice had fled, and so she sat, new-Mama’s grip too tight on her hand, and watched Chicago go by.

There was a crowd at the train station, with cameras and lights and yelling: “Mr. Carter, can we have a statement?” “Mrs. Carter, look this way!” “Ella, aren’t you the most adorable little thing? Smile for the cameras!” Daddy scooped her up, holding her high above the crowd as new-Mama smiled and waved.

Ella, the ghost girl began to understand, was her. Perhaps that was her real, true name. She was the most adorable little thing.

The yelling-people said to smile, so Ella tried, the way new-Mama had. But as the people turned to take her picture, sprays of fire erupted, flaring bright against the dark. The girl shrieked in terror, burying her face in Daddy’s chest. He held her close, murmuring that these were flash lamps, and nothing to fear, but she didn’t dare lift her head until they were safe on the train, in a car that was just for them. Daddy smelled like the pine trees in Lincoln Park, and his arms were strong around her. The ghost girl trusted him.

On the train, Daddy showed her the paper, a copy of the one Esther Darling and Daniel had found. He held her on his knee, and when he spoke, his voice was warm and slow, like the molasses Esther Darling had let the girl pour when they’d made Christmas cookies together.

“I know you must be scared, Ella,” he said, his warm hand moving over her blond hair. “But you’re safe now; don’t worry. We’ve missed you so much. We put ads in all the papers, looking for you. Soon we’ll be home, and you’ll be back in your old room again, and everything will be all right.”

The girl sat back against Daddy’s broad chest, and he put his arm around her. The fabric of his suit was scratchy, but his voice was soft when he said, “Your mother’s right. It is a miracle.” He pulled a handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his jacket, dabbing at his eyes. “We must be grateful to Daniel and Esther forever, for their kindness to you. And now,” he said, resting his chin on top of her head, “we’re all together again.”

Daddy wasn’t scary, like the mama-raven. The ghost girl decided wherever they were going couldn’t be too bad, as long as he would be there, too.

The cameras and the yelling-people were there again when they got out of the train at Grand Central Station, but this time, the girl was ready. She looked straight ahead, holding new-Mama’s hand, and didn’t jump or scream when the fire-flashes lit up the night.

Then they were home, a fancy white-stone-and-red-brick building with columns too big for the girl to wrap her arms around. Home was a pretty place, with tall ceilings and fireplaces and a piano of the girl’s very own. New-Mama took the girl up a flight of stairs and into the room she said belonged to her, explaining it had been waiting for her all this time.

The girl stood in the doorway, looking at the room. There was a window seat with a cushion and a pillow, a bed piled high with white blankets, and a shelf filled with books and toys, including a teddy that made new-Mama cry.

The room had been waiting, new-Mama said. The girl felt sorry for it. Had it been lonely, all this time? Was it happy, now the girl had come home?

New-Mama led the girl inside and helped her take off her dress, opening a drawer to show her the nightgowns that belonged to her. She tipped water from a pitcher beside the bed to wash the girl’s face, erasing the dirt from their journey. Then she tucked the girl in and turned to the bookshelf.

“This was your favorite,” new-Mama said, perching on the edge of the bed. “‘There once was a velveteen rabbit…’”

Curious despite herself, the girl tugged the covers up to her chin and listened.

“‘What is REAL?’” new-Mama read. “‘Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?’”