Chapter 3 - The Apartment on Mason Street
They did not take everything.
Noah insisted on carrying only one loaf, one sandwich, and one carton of milk.
Margaret tried to give them more.
He refused.
“My mom says you should never take more than you need.”
Margaret studied him.
“Your mother sounds like a good woman.”
“She is.”
They walked six blocks.
The neighborhood changed with every street.
Coffee shops became laundromats.
Decorative townhouses became old apartment buildings with rust around the fire escapes.
Finally Noah stopped in front of a narrow brick building on Mason Street.
“This is us.”
Margaret looked up.
Several windows had blankets instead of curtains.
Noah opened the front door.
The hallway smelled like damp carpet and radiator heat.
“You don’t have to come upstairs.”
Margaret hesitated.
“Would your mother mind if I said hello?”
Noah and Ellie exchanged a glance.
“She’s sick.”
“What kind of sick?”
“She says it’s just the flu.”
Ellie whispered.
“But she’s been sick for three weeks.”
Margaret’s smile vanished.
They climbed to the third floor.
Noah unlocked apartment 3B.
The living room was small but spotless.
Children’s drawings covered one wall.
A sewing machine sat beside the window.
On the couch lay a pale woman beneath two blankets.
Her name was Grace Carter.
She opened her eyes when the children entered.
“You’re back already?”
Then she saw Margaret.
Grace tried to sit up.
“Who is this?”
“She bought bread.”
Noah immediately corrected himself.
“But we didn’t ask her to.”
Margaret stepped forward.
“I’m Margaret.”
Grace gave the children a worried look.
“You know better than to accept things from strangers.”
Ellie lowered her head.
Margaret admired the woman immediately.
Even sick, exhausted, and clearly struggling, she still cared about teaching her children dignity.
“It was my fault.”
Margaret placed the bag on the table.
“I insisted.”
Grace coughed into a cloth.
“Thank you.”
Her voice was weak.
Margaret looked around the room.
Near the tiny kitchen stood a shelf containing old baking books.
Beside them was a framed photograph.
Margaret stepped closer.
The photograph showed a much younger Grace wearing a white baker’s jacket.
Margaret stopped breathing for a second.
On the jacket was a familiar embroidered logo.
Bellmont Bakery.
Margaret slowly turned around.
“You worked there?”
Grace’s face changed.
The warmth disappeared from her eyes.
“A long time ago.”
“What was your last name?”
Grace looked at her cautiously.
“Moreno.”
Margaret gripped the back of a chair.
“Grace Moreno?”
Silence filled the apartment.
Grace stared at her.
Then recognition appeared.
“Mrs. Bellmont?”
Noah looked from one woman to the other.
“You know my mom?”
Margaret’s voice became almost a whisper.
“Yes.”
“I knew her very well.”
Grace looked away.
Margaret remembered a talented young baker who had disappeared thirteen years ago.
A young woman accused of stealing money from the bakery.
May you like
A young woman Margaret had never believed was guilty.
And now that woman’s children had just been thrown out of the same bakery.
