A Fierce Radiance by Lauren Belfer Read Free Book Online

how much Charlie understood or how he visualized the world in his imagination. She hoped that for Charlie the war meant arrows across a newspaper, not blaringradio reports on casualties, and particularly not the whispered speculation on whether New York City would be bombed.
    Charlie pursed his lips as he examined the newspapers. His hair was like an artist’s palette with half a dozen colors, blond, red, pale brown, even shades of gray. Claire wanted to touch his cheek, caress his hair, but she stopped herself, knowing he’d be annoyed. He liked to think of himself as being very grown up.
    Charlie claimed that he remembered his sister, but he was only six months old when she died. He talked about her as if she grew younger as he became older. Nowadays he imagined her as a baby. Baby Emily. Remember when Baby Emily learned to walk? Remember the time she took her nap in the laundry basket? Maybe Charlie was projecting from photographs, or from stories Maritza or Claire herself had told him. Or perhaps he was projecting memories of his own life onto her.
    Emily and Charlie, her children. Claire put her hand on Charlie’s shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t shrug her off, grateful when he didn’t. She was afraid that she would lose him, especially now, with the world enflamed.
    When the United States entered the Great War in 1917, Claire had sat here at the kitchen table with her mother and studied the maps in the newspapers. The second battle of the Marne, the movement of Bolshevik forces during the revolution in Russia…together they’d followed the events far away. Even at the breakfast table, preparing for a day of volunteer work at the settlement house clinic, Anna had worn a lacy shirtwaist, pearls, and a flowing skirt. She’d held herself with the stiff elegance born of corsets. A powdery scent of perfume surrounded her. Anna wore muslin gloves to prevent the newsprint from dirtying her fingers.
    Anna had been a rebel as well as a lady, living openly with another man while awaiting her divorce from Claire’s father. Of course she was financially independent, which made all the difference in a woman’s life. She’d taught Claire not to fear the judgments of others,to look forward, not backward, and to work toward her goals regardless of what others might say to discourage or dissuade her. She’d given Claire her first camera, a birthday present when Claire turned fourteen. When Anna died, she’d left Claire this house, virtually all that remained from an inherited fortune lost during the crash of 1929. Sitting at her mother’s table, using her mother’s china and silver, Claire could pretend that Anna’s spirit was with her still, giving her an extra push when she faltered.
    Claire sighed. The past years had been filled with death, first Emily, then Claire’s stepfather, then her mother. Now the country was at war once more, her family’s personal losses set in perspective against the charnel house of the world.
    December. Winter pressed upon them. Claire had forgotten to fold towels against the cracks at the base of the French doors to keep out the wind. Her feet were cold in her slippers. She felt an urge to bring Charlie a blanket to wrap around his legs, even though she knew he would push it aside. Late last winter, along with a half-dozen kids in his grade, Charlie had contracted scarlet fever. He’d been out of school for six weeks, four of those weeks spent in isolation. Claire was beside herself. Simply hearing the words scarlet fever could strike terror in a parent. The doctor told Claire to burn Charlie’s sheets and blankets, his pajamas, his books and toys. This was the treatment for scarlet fever. No medicine could fight it. Claire took a leave from her job and sat with him, night after night. In the end, Charlie was one of the lucky ones: he didn’t die, and he suffered no permanent physical harm. Several of his classmates experienced severe hearing loss, and two boys developed rheumatic fever