Sam switched off the engine and stepped out onto the dirt. Crickets chirped in the darkness. He folded his arms and sat against the Packard’s fender. Out before him stretched the harbor and the lights of the city and the shipyard. The island was a piece of city property that had never been developed. Over the years it had been a popular place during the day and night for a variety of people and purposes. In daylight it was a destination for fishermen, for the young boys who climbed the trees and played along the shore, for picnickers who managed to enjoy the view while ignoring the stench from the mudflats and marshes.
At night a different crew came in. Hoboes. Drunks. Men looking for satisfaction from other men, needing secrecy and darkness to do their illegal business. Sailors from the shipyard who didn’t have enough cash for a room but had enough money for a quick fumbling date in a grove of trees. Every now and then the city council would bestir themselves to ask the marshal to clean up the island, and sure enough, there would be a handful of arrests, enough to satisfy the Portsmouth Herald and the do-good civic groups.
There was a thumping sound coming from the shipyard. Sam straightened and saw a shape by the dark trees. “You can come out,” he called. “I’m alone.”
The man stepped forward. Even in the darkness, Sam recognized the walk. Something in his chest seized up, and he was a rookie again instantly, facing his first arrest, a drunken punk from one of the harborside bars, wondering if he could do it, could actually make that leap from being a civilian to being a cop.
“Hello, Sam,” came the voice.
“Hello, Tony,” he answered, greeting his older brother: welder, illegal union organizer, and escaped prisoner from one of the scores of labor camps across these troubled forty-eight states.
PART TWO
State Party Headquarters
Concord, N.H.
May 3, 1943
For Distribution List “A”
Following note was received through mail slot entrance of Party headquarters last night:
Dear Sirs,
My name is Cal Winslow and I am a public works employee at the city of Portsmouth. I wish to report that last night, during our Party meeting at the American Legion Hall, there was a time when it was requested of people there to submit three names on file cards for future investigation. I was assigned to help collect and assemble these cards.
What I wish to report is that one card listed the following names: Huey Long, Charles Lindbergh, Father Coughlin. As an employee of the city, I used to work as a janitor at the police department. I recognized the handwriting on this card and am certain it belongs to Sam Miller, an inspector for the City. I wish to denounce him as a subversive.
P.S. For more information, please contact me at home, not at work. Please also advise what reward I might receive. Thank you.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tony came up next to him, and Sam noted the smell of sweat, of coal, of old clothes and bad meals and long travel along back roads and rails.
His brother held out a hand, and without hesitation, Sam took it and gave it a squeeze. The hand was rough from all of the outdoor work his brother had done in the camp. Sam reached into his coat pocket, took out a waxed-paper package he had gotten from the truck stop for twenty-five cents, and passed it over. Tony tore open the package greedily, started eating the roast beef and cheese sandwich. Sam let his older brother eat in silence. When he finished, Tony said, “God, that tasted good. Thanks,” and then sat down next to Sam on the Packard’s wide fender.
“You’re welcome.”
Tony wiped a hand across his mouth and Sam asked, “How long have you been out?”
“Just over a week.”
“You okay?”
“Stiff. Sore. Hope I never pick up an ax again for the rest of my life. And you?”
“Doing all right.”
“How’s Sarah? And my nephew?”
“Doing fine.”
“Good. Glad to hear that. You know… well, you get to feeling odd up there in the camps, wondering how family and friends are doing. All those months dragging by, every shitty day the same as the one before. And Sarah and Toby… good to know they’re doing well. Up there… means a lot to think about family.”
Sam said, “I know they worry about you.”
Tony crumpled the waxed paper and tossed it into the shadows. “Those food packages, they make a hell of a difference, even though the guards steal a third of everything. If it wasn’t for those packages, it’d be stale bread and potato soup every day.”
“Glad to hear the packages make a difference.”
“You know, where the camp was built, it’s gorgeous country. Would love to try hunting in those mountains one of these days, if things ever change. Christ, that’s another thing I miss, heading out into the woods for a quiet day of hunting.”
Sam remembered how Tony always seemed happier fishing or hunting than doing chores or being at school. “How long are you staying here?”
“Don’t know yet.”
Sam knew what he had to say next and was surprised at how it felt, like he was twelve again, trying to stand up to his older brother. “Then you should know this: You can’t stay long.”
“Why’s that?”
“You know why.”
“Enlighten me, little brother.”
Little brother. “Tony, you’re a fugitive. You stay here, you’re going to get picked up, sure as hell. Portsmouth’s the first place the Department of the Interior and the FBI will look. Once they publicize a reward on your head, there are damn few places for you to stay out of sight in this town.”
“Maybe I don’t have a choice, you know? On the road after getting out, this was the only place I could go, at least for now. And tell me, what’s got you worried? Me getting arrested? Or you getting the heat for me being caught in your backyard?”
“I don’t want you to get arrested, and I’m also trying to protect my family. If you think so much of Toby and Sarah, you’ll be going someplace else tonight.”
“You’re my family, too, little brother.”
“If I get picked up because of you, Toby and Sarah will suffer. You ever take a moment to think about that?”
No response, just the old and complicated silence between two brothers who were never really friends. Sam felt like kicking something. It was always like this, always, like he and his brother were two radio stations endlessly transmitting past each other on different frequencies.
“I’ll be along in a while, I promise you that. All right?” Tony’s voice had softened, as if he recognized Sam’s frustration and was trying to make amends.
“Really? You got something going on? Something planned?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Me in my smelly clothes, my feet covered in blisters, no money, no place to sleep, oh yeah, I got plans, brother. Lots and lots of plans.”
Sam felt ashamed, thinking of how Tony must feel, finally being free after years of being in a work camp and not getting anything but grief from his younger brother, save a cheap truck-stop sandwich.
Tony asked, “How’s Mom doing? Any change?”
“She has good days and bad days. Depends on when you visit her at the county home.”
“Next time you see her, if she’s with it, tell her I said hi. And Sarah, she still working at the school department? And Toby still a hell-raiser?”
“Yes on both counts,” Sam said. “You telling the truth about moving on in a couple of days?”