Free Angel Falling Softly by Eugene Woodbury

tinted side window. For a brief, unbearable moment, her mind flashed back to the wet, reeking alleys winding off the Borough High Street. She remembered wending her way through the stews of Southwark, through the theater crowds at Bankside, past the brothels and bear-baiting arenas—trolling the dens and warrens for that impressionable, lost girl to bring home to Rakosi and her sisters.
    Laura walked over to the limo. God, she was trusting. It jarred Milada. Some things, like the inherent trust of children, never changed. Steven opened the door. Laura peered in, her hair haloed in sunlight. Her face brightened with recognition. Milada said, “Good afternoon, Laura.”
    “Hey, hi!” She climbed into the car. Steven shut the door behind her. Laura confided, “I’ve never had a chauffeur before.”
    “Steven is a very good one.”
    Laura said, “What are you doing here?”
    “We are returning from a trip to Murray. Do you go to school nearby?”
    “Alta High. Over there.” She pointed over her shoulder.
    “I see you play the clarinet.”
    “Yeah. I’m in marching band.”
    “I saw Benny Goodman in his Carnegie Hall concert. That was when Harry James and Teddy Wilson were still with the orchestra. Do you have any of his CDs?”
    Laura shook her head, and Milada suspected she had no idea who Benny Goodman was. Just some dead jazz guy. Still, it was fun to match wits with children, even more so than with priests. The church ladies at the Forsythes’ backyard barbecue politely had refused to take a thing she said literally, but children always believed her. She would pick out a child and stroll beside her and smile and say, Come with me, and I will show you things, things you have never seen before and never will see again.
    The child would hear her strange accent and hesitate—
    Come, she would insist, and you shall see. My Master lives in a fine merchant’s house. He shall treat you as he has always treated me.
    She did not lie. That was exactly how he would treat them. And so she won them over with her lilting voice and with her poisonous, compelling touch. With the promise of money or food. She would promise them the whole world, if that was what was required. It’s a game, don’t you see?
    They sang and giggled as they skipped along: Ring around the rosy, a pocket full of posies—
    Milada shook the melody out of her head. Her mouth tasted dry as ash. She’d left that life behind her so long ago. But the memories could still gain a powerful momentum, screaming at her out of the past. The oldest habits were the hardest to break.
    The limo wove slowly through the sculpted suburban streets. Milada said, “It’s not easy being the big sister in the family, is it?”
    “You have a sister? Oh, yeah, two.”
    “And when one of them gets into trouble, who does your father pay his attention to?”
    “Yeah,” said Laura with wry empathy.
    Steven announced, “Cottonwood Estates.” He glanced over his shoulder at the back seat. “Where do you need to go, Miss?”
    Laura giggled at the formalities. “It’s 445 Willow Way.”
    Steven stopped in front of the Forsythes’ driveway, got out, and opened the car door for Laura. Laura said, “Thank you, Mr. Day.”
    Steven answered with a polite bow and a tip of his hat.

Chapter 16
    Opportunity only knocks once
    R achel was in the kitchen when Laura arrived home. “You’re later than I expected.”
    Laura answered with a teenager’s shrug. “I was going to ride home with Heidi, but she had an orthodontist appointment. So I walked.”
    “I could have picked you up.”
    “That’s okay. Milada gave me a ride.”
    “Milada? Milada gave you a ride?”
    “Yeah. She was driving by—I mean, she has this chauffeur who drives for her. He has this cute little hat and everything.”
    “A cute little hat—”
    “Yeah. You know, Milada, she’s not quite human.”
    Rachel froze. “What did you say?”
    “I said she’s a nice woman.”
    “Yes. Yes, she is.”