A Sign of the Times

Francine remembered the way her mother’s face twisted in shame as their father hammered the wooden stake into the dry, cracked patch of grass in front of their apartment. She watched from the dust-caked window, nestled between the yellowed, moth-worn curtains. Her mother couldn’t bear to watch their father hang the sign which had big painted words Francine couldn’t yet read. Her mother, still in her nightgown with her pink curlers coiled tightly around her dusty brown hair, covered her face with her unmanicured hands.

Francine quickly stepped aside from her vantage point when her father picked up his hammer and set it in his leather tool belt, adjusting his overalls before heading toward the creaky front door. The early morning sun had only just begun to fill in the shadows of the night, which exposed the slumbering streets and sidewalks of the Chicago suburb.

“Not a word about this,” Francine’s father’s gravelly voice ordered as the two stepped inside. “We made our decision and we’re going through with it. We aren’t in any position to turn back now.”

Her mother grabbed at the fabric of the nightgown just over her heart. A tortured expression strained her soft features, as if tears would fall at any moment. Francine never observed any tears.

“I’ll make coffee,” her mother said. 

Neither one had noticed Francine who had retreated to the cramped bedroom. She squatted on the old plywood floor next to her bed. In the bed, her younger sister, Mary Belle had a peaceful expression across her features. Her cheeks were rosy and her dark hair coiled over the pillow. Francine hesitated, then nudged her sister’s shoulder.

Mary Belle stirred and gradually emerged from whatever lovely dream had occupied her mind. Her long eyelashes fluttered open, exposing a pair of bright blue eyes.

“Sissy, I think something bad happened,” Francine whispered.

“Bad?” the concern in Mary Belle’s eyes was apparent. “We’re in trouble?”

“No, sissy. At least, we haven’t done anything. It’s momma and daddy. Daddy was putting something in the yard…”

Footsteps drew closer and the soft, inaudible voices of their father approached the small, closet-like room. Francine’s voice trailed off and she stared at the door with uncertainty. Their father emerged with a big smile, bearing the charcoal-reminiscent stains on his yellowed teeth.

“Morning, girls,” he oozed. “My don’t the two of you look pretty as peaches.”

A bright grin spread across Mary Belle’s features and a tiny giggle escaped between her tiny teeth. “Daddy!” she exclaimed. Her arms stretched out wide and she squeezed her cute little fingers open and shut. Their father took his cue and hoisted her in the air above his head, sending her floating a few inches off the ground, then back into his strong, calloused hands. He set her back down to the floor, and sighed.

“Where’s my hug, my little princess?” her father asked, his tired eyes directed at Francine.

Francine hesitated. It didn’t go unnoticed. Her father’s thick eyebrows knitted together. “What’s the matter, sweet pea? You have a bad dream?”

Francine shook her head, then pulled herself off the floor. She kept her eyes glued to the wood grain in the floor and closed the distance, stopping at her father’s tired black leather shoes. Her father placed his hand on her back in a half-hug. She wrapped her thin arms around his skinny legs.

“That’s better,” her father said.

Her mother’s voice called in a nervous, high-pitched tone from the other room. “Coffee’s ready.” It sounded muffled through the thin walls.

Their father stood a moment longer than normal, looking at the two sisters with an unreadable expression. Blank eyes. Then, he left the room once more.

Their mother handed him a steaming mug of black sludge, unpalatable to most, but just the way their father liked it. After chewing through his morning joe, their father got to work, setting a pair of milk crates upside down next to the front stoop. He collected the few toys the girls had, including a bunny rabbit that leaked bits of cotton from a small tear, and a scuffed up porcelain doll with a hairline fracture across her left cheek.

“All right girls,” he called from the other room. His voice and soft footsteps drew nearer. “It’s such a beautiful day. I think it would be a swell idea if the two of you played outside. I set up two little seats. Come have a look.”

Mary Belle jumped to her feet and scurried past their father who stood in the doorway with that same plastered grin. Francine followed behind, her nightie brushing the cuff of her father’s oil-stained denim jeans.

Outside, Mary Belle played both roles of the doll and the bunny rabbit. It resembled a scene their great aunt Deliah once read to them from the story The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland. Perhaps the two of them would find the entrance to Neverland at the foot of the sign, Francine thought to herself, but she knew life never imitated those fanciful tales.

Their mother remained in the doorway, watching Francine and Mary Belle play. A small amount of blood was visible on her lower lip, as Francine noticed her nervously bite it whenever her mind wandered. Watching the two play was not the right description, Francine observed. Her mother’s eyes were staring into another place, another time, not visible to anyone else but her mother. The faint glimmer of a smile twitched at her mother’s lips.

Within minutes, a stout elderly woman in a patched gray overcoat stopped from across the street to view the sign. Her beady eyes drew wide and a gloved hand flew to her open mouth. Those eyes dropped to the two young girls, who couldn’t have been older than five and three years of age, the woman guessed. The youngest, with long dark hair, appeared to be fully enveloped in the imaginary play scenario unfolding before her. The older girl, who had the same dust-colored hair as her mother, appeared distant despite her participation with her sister.

The woman shook her head and stormed away, as if compelled to get away from the scene and put the girls and the sign far behind herself.

“I’ve got to head into the factory,” their father’s faint voice could be heard from within. “I’m late as it is.”

The door creaked open and the two girls peered up at their father who carried a silver thermos. He had popped on his newsboy-style hat, which Francine thought made him look quite handsome. He stooped down quickly to the girls and gave each of them a kiss on their heads. Not a moment did he pause or meet their eyes. He simply hustled away down the long sidewalk. Mary Belle returned her attention to her doll and rocked her gently in her arms. Francine watched as their father grew smaller and smaller, until finally he disappeared several blocks away behind a smatter of pedestrians who strolled in the opposite direction.

Soon, the sun hung unobscured in the sky overhead and the girls noticed the shadows of their doll and stuffed bunny had all but disappeared in the noontime light. Francine hadn’t noticed the man in thick-rimmed glasses and a black leather bowler hat who stood just a few paces away from them on the uneven sidewalk. His presence caused her to gasp and lean backward on the wooden milk crate. She squinted against the sun and took in his features.

His brown eyes appeared comically bug-like behind the thick lenses, but also the lines on the sides of each eye gave off an air of kindness. A bushy salt and pepper handlebar mustache rested along his top lip. He smiled at the girls and placed his hands in his flannel trousers.

“Why, hello there little ones,” he said. “My, aren’t you adorable? Two little angels, I presume.”

Neither sister spoke. They only stared at the man, uncertain as to why he had such a keen interest in their playtime.

The front door creaked open and the man’s gaze lifted to see the girl’s mother who poked her head out of the small opening.

“Hello,” their mother’s voice was quiet, shy.

The man tipped his hat and flashed a toothy grin at their mother. “Good day, ma’am. I was just commenting what lovely girls you have.”

Their mother’s eyes squinted, although she was not standing in the sun. Francine noticed how her mother looked the man up and down, as if she planned to have him appraised.

“Yes, they are, aren’t they,” she replied. It was a voice void of emotion.

The man glanced down once again at the two girls. His gaze fixed upon Mary Belle a moment, then he sauntered over to the door of the apartment. Their mother held the door open and gestured for him to come inside.

“Who was that?” Mary Belle asked her older sister.

“I don’t know,” Francine responded, her eyes fixed to the closed door.

Francine set down the bunny rabbit toy and stood up from her crate. She nudged Mary Belle to make room on the other crate. Francine wrapped her arms around her little sister and squeezed her tightly. Mary Belle smiled and squeezed Francine’s forearm with her tiny hands, then hugged her around the waist.

“I love you sissy,” Mary Belle said.

“I love you too,” Francine replied.

Mary Belle relaxed her arms, but Francine held on tight. It was only when Mary Belle began to squirm that Francine released her. Francine returned to her crate and picked up the stuffed toy.

Just then, the man emerged from the apartment with a pleased grin and his chest puffed out with pride.

“Mary Belle,” the man said, kneeling down next to Francine’s little sister. “How’d you like to come with me?”

Mary Belle gave the man a horrified look. Francine leapt up from the crate.

“Go away!” Francine yelled.

The man only chuckled. “It’s all right, honey. I’ve talked it all through with your momma.” He reached a hand out to Mary Belle, who stared at it as if it were the most terrifying thing she’d ever set eyes on.

“I said go away!” Francine stamped her foot.

The man’s smile disappeared and a stern expression replaced it. Lines formed between his brows and the kind wrinkles around his eyes smoothed.

“Now, you listen here young lady, I have a deal with your momma. Mary Belle here is coming with me.”

Francine’s eyes grew wide with anger and confusion. She gripped the toy rabbit so hard that the tear in its fabric gaped wider. The front door creaked open and their mother emerged, arms folded across her chest. She gave Francine a sympathetic look, but couldn’t hold the gaze for long. Her eyes dropped to her old house slippers as she spoke.

“It’s all right, Francine.” the voice was again sapped of any and all feeling as before.

The man outstretched his hand to Mary Belle once more. He raised an eyebrow at her. Mary Belle stared at the man’s hand a moment, then cowered, pulling her little knees up to her chest. The man frowned and in an instant took Mary Belle’s thin arm in his grip. Mary Belle screamed and great big hot tears streaked down her cheeks. Her face was contorted in a fit of pure terror as she kicked and flailed her arms.

Francine ran up to the man and began hitting him with her closed fists. She pounded on his legs with all her might.

“Let sissy go! Let go of her! Stop it! Let her go!”

But despite the screams and sobs, very few pedestrians stopped to take notice of the horror unfolding in front of the old apartment. Their mother simply turned around and stepped back inside the doorway, shutting the door behind her. The man swatted Francine away and struck her hard across the cheek. She sprawled across the dry grassy ground. Unable to manage the strength to pick herself from the ground, she watched the world from a sideways point of view.

The man dragged her little sister away. They became smaller as they walked further down the street. Soon, Mary Belle’s nightie was only a speck of white. Fleeting… then gone forever.

Francine eventually pulled herself from the ground. A dark brown splotch in the dirt had absorbed most of her tears. She stormed over to the front door and banged her little fists against the old chipped white paint.

“Momma,” she cried. “Momma let me in!”

Her mother appeared at the door a few seconds later. The glassy eyes that stared back at her were cold and unfamiliar. Francine could smell the liquor that had somehow integrated itself into her mother’s nightgown. It was strange to see her mother dressed in her pajamas so late in the day.

“Where did that man take sissy?” Francine sniffled and used her forearm to wipe away a small trail of snot that had escaped from her nose. “When is she coming back?”

“Francine,” her mother sighed. “Momma made a deal with that man.”

“What’s a deal?”

“A deal means we came to an understanding, we talked about something and we both liked the way it sounded so we made a deal… an agreement.”

“How come he took sissy?” Francine grasped her mother’s nightgown. “You wouldn’t let that man take sissy away. You wouldn’t like that!”

“You’re right,” her mother responded. Francine noticed her mother’s eyes had grown misty. She kneeled down closer to Francine. “I don’t like it one bit… but you don’t understand how hard it’s been for your papa and me.”

“Sissy’s been real good,” Francine pleaded. “She’s always been real good!”

“She has. And so have you, Francine.” Her mother averted her eyes again. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, down her cheek and onto the plywood floor in a wet splotch. “It isn’t about how good or how bad you’ve been. It’s about… Francine, honey, your father and I really need the money. We… we don’t have any more money. We’ve spent it all.”

“Did that man give you money?” Francine asked.

“Yes,” her mother wiped another tear away from her face before it could fall. She stood up and smoothed out her nightgown. “He gave momma a lot of money.”

“So now that we have the money, when is the man bringing sissy back?”

Her mother stiffened. A crack seemed to form in the middle of her face. It squeezed all of her features tightly together and then in an instant she managed to erase the expression. Her features were as stony as her posture.

Francine stared at her momma and then at the two milk crates. The doll Mary Lou held had fallen to the ground. Its head had shattered into a hundred tiny porcelain pieces on the sidewalk. The door closed behind Francine. She was alone.

Although she never got an answer from her mother, Francine hoped that Mary Lou would return very soon. Maybe after supper, she thought. Her eyes grew heavy. The shadows of the day grew long and the sun took on a golden amber shade.

Of course, Francine never saw her sissy again. Her papa, mamma, and Mary Lou were all distant memories. She never knew exactly what the sign read. It was during the Great Depression and people were desperate. She’d accepted it was her parent’s last resort to send them away. The old family she once knew was dead to her now. In her dreams she would often walk up to that sign, standing on the other side of it, looking down on little Mary Lou and her younger self. CHILDREN FOR SALE. A striking message. A heart wrenching offer. A sign of the times.