As she drove into Boston the next morning, Faith had a slight twinge of guilt over not having revealed James Hubbard's whereabouts to John Dunne yesterday. But it disappeared immediately as she turned up the volume on the radio and swiftly flicked through several oldies stations—New Englanders seemed particularly partial to them, and when she drove up from New York, she didn't have to look at the signs to know she had crossed the border. Whatever station she was tuned to immediately began to play "Time in a Bottle." Now she located WGBH, the PBS station, and Robert J. Lurtsema's plummy tones filled the air. He was giving a weather report and it sounded like Shakespeare.
Miraculously she found a parking space on Cambridge Street, walked up to Anderson, and started climbing the hill. She had no trouble finding the Winthrop Chambers. It was an old hotel that had been converted to a rooming house. There was a wreath on the door. Someone had stuck a Celtics pennant in it. She walked into the lobby. It didn't look like Hubbard House. There were two ancient Naugahyde club chairs and a scarred coffee table heaped with overflowing ash trays, old newspapers, and magazines. The windows were so dirty that it was difficult to see outside. No one appeared to be around, and just when she was wondering if she'd have to go buy a clipboard and knock on doors pretending to be doing a survey on wash-day detergent preferences, a door behind the desk opened and a man came out.
“Looking for somebody?"
“Yes. Is James Hubbard here?"
“You the same person who called yesterday?”
“Yes, I am."
“He said to tell you he'd be in the market.”
“The market?"
“Yeah, he's selling Christmas trees down by Faneuil Hall. He said he'd be looking for you.”
“Thank you very much.""No problem. Merry Christmas.”
Faith walked over the hill to the Faneuil Hall Marketplace—the old Haymarket. There had been a market in this spot for three hundred years. The long stone warehouses stretching toward the waterfront, once occupied by meat and dairy wholesalers with names like Capone and Sullivan, were now filled with stores like The Sharper Image, Ann Taylor, The Gap, and small boutiques selling things in the shape of hearts, stuffed animals, and every possible kind of earring yet devised. The food vendors offered a vast variety of comestibles—pizza by the slice, fruit kebobs, egg rolls, oysters and clams on the half shell. There were still pushcarts, a quaint reminder of the old days, but instead of the strident cries of "Open 'em up! Open 'em up! Best beans in the market! Best in Boston!" that had echoed in the streets, most of these carts were indoors and sold whimsical rubber stamps and tchotchkies made of dough.
It wasn't as hard to find James as she had feared. There were only three men selling trees in the square in front of a large glass-enclosed florist's shop. Two of them appeared to be in their nineties and were probably in their sixties. The one who looked like sixty would have to be James, aged thirty. The five-year-old in the sailor suit sitting on the steps at Hubbard House was now wearing two tattered coats one on top of the other, ancient running shoes, unlaced but not, Faith suspected, as a fashion statement, and a wool cap pulled low over his forehead. James had seen a lot of hard times.
She walked over to him. "James Hubbard? My name is Faith Fairchild. I live in Aleford and I've been doing some volunteer work at Hubbard House. Do you have some time to talk to me?”
James looked at her blearily. Faith was uncomfortable. The contrast between the two of them was enormous and even obscene—she was wearing a warm, clean, Thinsulate-lined coat. Her boots matched her purse and she had on a bright, spanking-new blue wool hat and muffler. She exuded the smell of Guerlain's Mitsouko, which she'd sprayed on after her shower that morning. He gave off a ripe aroma composed of cigarette smoke, the rancid grease of fast food, rum, and his own unwashed body. She wouldn't be surprised if he asked her with words or a look, "Who the hell do you think you are, lady?”
Instead he said, "Hubbard House? You're working at Hubbard House? Wouldn't do that if I were you. Place is dangerous." His speech was slurred. He looked over her shoulder as if expecting to see someone else with her. "You came alone? She didn't come?"
“I'm alone, yes," Faith answered, "Who were you waiting for?"
“Never mind," he said. "So what do you want with me?" He didn't say this in a belligerent tone, merely one of curiosity, even idle curiosity.
“I wanted to talk to you about Eddie Russell."
“Eddie? Good old Eddie. Got me away from the place. We joined the circus." He laughed, and the laughter ended in a fit of coughing. He reached into a pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes. Helit one. He didn't have any gloves on, and his hands were so chapped they were bleeding. "The circus?" Faith asked.
“Yeah, we were kids. The circus came to Lowell and we went up to see it. Stayed around and ended up going along. The old man was pretty p.o.'d. Said if I didn't come home, he wouldn't have anything more to do with me. That was okay. Eddie moved on, but I stayed with the circus a long time. Nice people. Nice places. Warm places. Not like friggin' Boston."
“So you never saw Eddie again."
“Why are you so interested in Eddie? You got a thing for him?”
Faith realized James didn't know Eddie was dead.
“No, I'm married—happily. I'm just interested, that's all." She hoped James' alcoholic stupor was thick enough to make this less-than-satisfactory explanation seem plausible.
“Yeah, well Eddie and I are buddies. We go way back. Joined the circus together, did I tell you that?"
“Yes, you did. Have you had any good times together lately?”
It was time to try to move James toward the present.
He looked at her cagily. "Why don't you bring Eddie down here and we can all talk.”
Faith thought quickly. Standing in the cold trying to parry his questions was not going to get her anywhere. Knowing that James had run off with Eddie and remembering that Millicent had said James had returned to Massachusetts two years ago, which was when Eddie had also come back, convinced her that James and Eddie had been buddies who stayed in touch. James had worked in hospitals, moving around. Had he been Eddie's inside man—supplying whatever the customers wanted? She decided to try to get James to go someplace warm for a cup of coffee. Maybe he'd talk more and let something slip.
“It's terribly cold here," she said. "Could you take a break and have a cup of coffee with me?" There was a place called The Bell in Hand across the street and down the block.
He smiled. He must have been good-looking at one time, but now several teeth were missing and his blue eyes were so bloodshot, they looked purple.
“Never turn down a free cup of coffee, especially from a beautiful lady. But I gotta stay here a while. Come back in a half hour. I can go then.”
Faith spent the next thirty minutes wandering around the marketplace. She bought a pound of the chewy black and red raspberry candies Tom liked so much and went back to the stand where they were selling trees. James was in virtually the same position as when she'd left. She wondered if he was doing any business.
He saw her approach and called to one of the other men, "Hey, Billy, keep my place, will ya? I'm going to get some coffee."
“Bring me a cuppa?"
“Sure," said James, and he followed Faith to the curb. The traffic was brutal as usual, and as theywaited for a break, James unaccountably started talking again.
“Thought you were Muriel when you first came. Best sister a man ever had. Like a mother. Never had a mother, did you know that? I mean I had one, but she croaked."
“I'm sorry. That must have been very hard."
“I don't even remember her. Muriel does. Muriel tells me about her.”