A Fierce Radiance by Lauren Belfer Read Free Book Online Page B

school. Grove Street was a narrow, tree-lined backwater, a remnant from a previous century. Public School 3 was at the corner. Charlie was old enough to walk to school by himself, yet Claire appreciated the ritual and accompanied him whenever she could. Because of her work, she never had as much time with him as she wanted.
    They neared Hudson Street, and the wind gusted, the way it always did. Claire resisted the urge to tighten Charlie’s scarf. She didn’t want to be overprotective. He was old enough to tighten his own scarf if he was cold, or so she tried to convince herself. Charlie skippedalong the sidewalk, his book bag bouncing over his shoulder, his eyes eagerly scanning the waiting crowd for his friends. A gritty, sooty odor filled the air from garbage burning in apartment-building incinerators. A ship’s horn bellowed once, then again, the reverberations reaching them from the Hudson River piers three blocks away.
    Claire chatted with the other parents while the kids waited to go inside. This morning, facts about the war were giving way to rumors. The parents spoke of U-boats in New York harbor and German planes over Long Island. Blackouts, air raids, antiaircraft flak—the vocabulary of war.
    “When are these kids going to get gas masks?” an irate father demanded. He was an otherwise mild-mannered man in a conservative topcoat and rep tie.
    Claire had seen newsreels of British children (and adults) carrying gas masks in boxes. Would poison gas be dropped over New York City? Claire studied the sky, an empty blue above them. She saw only seagulls. She saw no planes, friend or foe. But no one could predict the future.
    “We’ve got to watch out for Fifth Columnists,” said a youthful, black-haired man in a well-worn work jacket. “Fifth Columnists are everywhere.” He looked too young to be a father, but a bright-faced little boy pulled at his arm. The man smiled down at his son. The man’s self-assured tone made Claire think he was quoting something he’d heard on the radio. He glanced hopefully from side to side, as if waiting for people to agree with him. No one said anything or met his eyes. “Fifth Columnists” was the term for Japanese, German, and Italian-American traitors who supported their native countries and would commit acts of sabotage in wartime.
    Many families at P.S. 3 were Italian or German. Looking around, Claire spotted Karl’s mom, in her threadbare coat, kerchief wrapped around her head, and Maria’s dad, holding his metal lunch box, the cuffs of his trousers turned up, only half-concealing grease stains.Claire couldn’t imagine them engaging in acts of sabotage. What were their thoughts as they listened to this implied threat? Karl’s mom fretted over the thin braids of her four-year-old daughter. Maria’s dad stared at three longshoremen crossing Hudson Street, on their way to the piers at the end of Christopher. The hooks the longshoremen used for lifting cargo were slung over their broad shoulders.
    At least the children appeared oblivious to the worries of their parents. Charlie was already absorbed in a speed-walking race with Ben on a patch of sidewalk just down the block. Ben had outgrown his coat, and four inches of cold wrist were revealed between the bottom of his sleeve and the top of his gloves. Their friends cheered them on, the war far away.

CHAPTER THREE
    C laire reached Edward Reese’s hospital room shortly before noon and paused at the doorway. A man was sitting up in the bed, four pillows piled behind him. He read the Tribune . Claire studied him. The man looked freshly bathed and shaved, his hair washed, combed, and still wet. She detected the pleasant scent of Palmolive soap. The man was handsome. Attractive.
    Who was he? Had Edward Reese been moved to a different room? Had he died during the night? Was his place already taken by a different patient?
    “Good morning, Mrs. Shipley.” Walking down the hall, Dr. Stanton joined her at the doorway. He