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For her part, Mrs. Truitt sidled up to him to whisper the words “consider yourself lucky I have a long memory and am not a hypocrite” in his ear. Afterwards, Amalia’s mother sat like a statue, surveying the faces around her, not a hint of emotion about anything she might have seen and heard.
He returned to the papers—he might as well make himself useful. He chewed his thumb as he read.
The man caught by the Pittsburgh police had very few belongings on his person, and nothing indicating he knew Amalia in any way. Which was similar to the suspect Elias had run-down in Bedford. Though agents had searched both residences and made a list of every single associate and correspondent from each.
“I fold. As always. You all read me too easily,” Amalia said, before rising and moving towards him. Her mother caught her hand and tutted, inclining her head towards her father, who scowled in his direction.
“I raise,” Mrs. Truitt said, her voice rather loud. David sighed and bent down as if he was really intent on the pages in front of him.
“So, Amalia, what are your plans now that you’re home? Lydia said something about Hebrew School?” Mr. Truitt asked, as he tossed another coin in the pot.
“I’m not sure about that.”
“Why not? You certainly project well enough to lead a class.” Thad snickered before folding. His father glared at him, though an odd snort came from his mother.
Amalia’s cheeks no longer needed beetroot. Neither did her forehead nor chin. David ducked back down, studying the list of names. None of them familiar...except...he bit his lip. Louis Walker. On the Bedford list. It was written upon a scrap of paper on the man’s person. Common enough, but he was sure he’d read it somewhere else. He flipped through more pages.
“I did well when I attended. Better than at anything else.” Amalia lifted her chin, before her father folded and her mother swept her winnings into a pile.
“You certainly did.” Jay Truitt nodded. “You always enjoyed things in Philadelphia. Your brother knew that. Probably why he left you the house.” There was a catch in his voice.
“And I get on with mother’s cousins. And Lydia.” Amalia shuffled the deck.
“As well as anyone can get on with Lydia.” Mrs. Truitt rolled her eyes as Amalia dealt and they all laughed.
David drummed his fingers as he stared at the happy family. A pang twinging beneath his ribs. Would he ever belong like that? Would he ever fit, even if Amalia was willing to find a place for him in her world? Or would he always be an outsider?
Not that he necessarily needed all of this familial mishegas. The work came first, of course. And there was so much to do. Protect the progress towards equality made after the war, push for equal pay for equal work, women’s rights, and an end to child labor... Which he’d have to find a way to do while running an office. Which was possible, right?
Thad had moved on to teasing his sister on her wager. He sighed. Back to work. His other work. His job. Louis Walker. He had to find the name. He shuffled the papers again, scanning and scanning, but it was nowhere.
He tugged at his collar. Was the room becoming warm? He slammed a hand down on the table.
Four heads swiveled towards him.
“Are you all right?” Amalia asked.
“Fine, fine.” He yanked at his tie. “I found a name I know I’ve seen somewhere.”
In an instant Amalia was at his side, cards forgotten, leaning over his shoulder, silk grazing wool. “What are we looking at?”
“The man from Bedford. He had a name on him. Walker, Louis Walker.” He raised his head. A lock of hair had come undone and flopped on her forehead. He swiped it off and tucked it behind her ear. She smiled at him.
Jay Truitt cleared his throat.
“We’re all still here,” Thad called.
Right. Professional.
He folded his hands and addressed all of them. “Does that sound familiar to you? Any of you?”
Amalia’s brow wrinkled and she shook her head in the negative. Both Thad and Jay shrugged, but Mrs. Truitt twisted her lips to the side and squinted. “Maybe...” She turned to Amalia. “During your first divorce, the judge’s bailiff, wasn’t his name Walker?”
“
How can you possibly remember a name of a person you saw maybe once or twice, five years ago?” Mr. Truitt’s voice was a mix of skepticism and admiration.
“I have a memory for...everything,” she said. Her husband beamed at her, while she returned an almost shy smile that made something inside David ache.
