Free Gilded Needles (Valancourt 20th Century Classics) by Michael McDowell Page A

plaster there; but if she suffered pain, she did not betray it, and only smiled as Charlotta inclined her head and began to whisper hotly in her ear. Rob and his mother Daisy pushed their way a little nearer the ring, for they possessed not only their own yellow tickets but also the green ticket that had been purchased by Maggie Kizer—so they were sure to win.
    Once outside Harry Hill’s, Lena Shanks, her granddaughter Ella, and Maggie Kizer proceeded slowly along West Houston Street in the direction of the North River. After they had traveled a couple of squares the fidgeting crowds thinned and the way became darker. Those moving along this part of the street were furtive and shy of notice. Noise and light exploded from every tenth doorway, but all in between was closed, black, and silent. As they walked, Maggie talked to Lena in a low, quick voice that was meant only for the old woman’s ear; so discreetly was Maggie’s information imparted to her sister-in-law that Ella, close beside, could hear nothing of it at all, though she strained.
    The metal tip of Lena’s cane struck sparks upon the cobblestones, and Ella knew that Maggie Kizer’s news was not of the best. “Where is he now?” the little girl heard her grandmother demand, but the octoroon only shrugged her handsome shoulders.
    When they had come within sight of the house, Lena paused, drew a key from the pocket of her skirt, and entrusted it to Ella. The little girl ran ahead and opened the door of the pawnshop. She struck one of the matches that she always carried in her pocket and lighted a candle that stood on the sill of the street window.
    The front of the shop was about ten feet square. The two windows to the side of the door were shuttered from the inside; but the glass on them was so grimy that they scarcely admitted more light when the shutters were opened during the day. A square deal table and a couple of red-painted chairs were pushed against one wall; and rickety shelving had been raised against the other. Here were displayed dented tarnished copper pots, guitars with broken strings, a row of mildewed books, a pile of music, cracked and badly painted shades for lamps, a couple of frames of moldy butterflies, an array of rusty surgical instruments, some broken filigree boxes wrought by Confederate prisoners, half a dozen chipped figures of painted chalk, and a stack of men’s hats with the nap all worn off. These same items had been on the same shelves since the shop was opened and no one ever inquired about their prices.
    At the back of the room was a long counter with a closed bottom. Behind this were two high stools, one for Lena Shanks and one for Ella. On a platform in the corner stood a combination-lock safe, large and shining black but whimsically painted with scrolls of flowers along its edges. A wide curtained door led into the back of the house and to the stairs that descended to the cellar.
    The floor of the shop was rough and uneven, and in places sank beneath the lightest step. The walls, wholly without ornament, were covered in a much-discolored and water-damaged striped paper of green and black. Nothing in the room was new or even of recent date, and nothing was overly clean; yet half a million dollars in merchandise passed over that long counter in the course of a year.
    Breathing noisily and with some difficulty, Lena Shanks mounted the steps and came into the shop. Maggie Kizer followed immediately behind and took the liberty of closing the door after her. The slow walk from Harry Hill’s had brought back the tension in her face, and her fur muff was held tightly against her breast.
    “What do you have?” said Lena, seating herself at the red deal table.
    Maggie moved over by the shelving, where it was quite dark, and stood with her back to Lena Shanks and Ella. In a couple of moments she turned around, holding in her hands a small green canvas bag, drawn closed with a thick white string. She came over to the table, pulled