“Because of organized crime?” Madeline asked.
Harriet exhaled loudly in a mixture of wonder and irritation. “The point is, fairy godparents don’t go on family trees. First because they’re not blood, second because they’re secretive people. They have to be because otherwise everyone would be hitting them up for cash.”
“But keeping secrets is wrong.”
“Not always.”
“Do you keep secrets?”
“No,” Harriet lied.
“Do you think my mom does?”
“No,” Harriet said, but now she meant it. How she wished Elizabeth would keep a few secrets—or at least opinions—to herself. “Now, let’s fill in this tree with a bunch of hodgepodge. Your teacher will never know the difference and then we can watch your mom’s show.”
“You want me to lie?”
“Mad,” Harriet said, irritated. “Did I say lie?”
“Do fairies not have blood?”
“Of course, fairies have blood!” Harriet shrieked. She rested a hand on her forehead. “Let’s put this on hold for now. Go play outside.”
“But—”
“Go throw the ball for Six-Thirty.”
“I have to bring a photograph too, Harriet,” Madeline added. “Something with the whole family.”
From under the table, Six-Thirty rested his head on her bony knee.
“The whole family,” Madeline emphasized. “That means it has to have my dad in it, too.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Six-Thirty stood up and made his way to Elizabeth’s bedroom.
“If you don’t want to throw the ball for Six-Thirty, then take Six-Thirty and go to the library. Your books are overdue. You have just enough time before your mom’s show.”
“I don’t feel like it.”
“Well, sometimes we have to do things we don’t feel like doing.”
“What do you do that you don’t feel like doing?”
Harriet closed her eyes. She pictured Mr. Sloane.
Chapter 28
Saints
“Madeline,” the city librarian said. “What can I help you with today?”
“I need to find an address for a place in Iowa.”
“Follow me.”
The librarian led Madeline through the warren of the library, pausing briefly to chastise a reader for turning down corners of pages to mark places and another for propping his legs up on an adjacent chair. “This is the Carnegie Library,” she whispered angrily. “I can bar you for life.”
“Up here, Madeline,” she said, leading her to a shelf of phone books. “You said Iowa, correct?” She reached up and pulled down three thick volumes. “Any town in particular?”
“I’m looking for a boys home,” Madeline said, “but with a girl’s name. That’s all I know.”
“We’ll need more information than that,” the librarian said. “Iowa isn’t small.”
“I’d put my money on Sioux City,” came a voice from behind.
“Sioux isn’t a girl’s name,” the librarian said, turning. “It’s an Indian name—oh, Reverend, hello. I’m so sorry— I forgot to find that book you wanted. I’ll do it now.”
“But it could be mistaken as a girl’s name, couldn’t it?” the man in the dark robes continued. “Sue versus Sioux? A child might make that mistake.”
“Not this child,” the librarian said.
* * *
—
“It’s not here,” Madeline said fifteen minutes later as her finger trailed down the “B” column. No Boys Home.”
“Oh,” the reverend said from across the library table, “I should have mentioned—sometimes those places are named after saints.”
“Why?”
“Because people who take care of other people’s children are saints.”
“Why?”
“Because taking care of children is hard.”
Madeline rolled her eyes.
“Try Saint Vincent,” he said, running his finger just beneath his clerical collar to let some air in.
“What are you reading?” Madeline asked as she flipped to the S’s in the phone book.
“Religious things,” he said. “I’m a minister.”
“No, I meant the other thing—that thing,” she said, pointing to a magazine he’d tucked between the pages of scripture.
“Oh,” he said embarrassed. “That’s just—for fun.”