Chapter 4 - Haven on the River
They drove north into upstate New York, avoiding major toll roads and luxury rest stops, ending their journey in a faded industrial town along the Mohawk River called Amsterdam. The town had once manufactured carpets and linseed oil; now it was a tapestry of brick mill buildings, modest clapboard houses, and quiet streets framed by maple trees turning rust-orange in the early autumn chill.
Through an online classified forum accessed at a public library, Clara found an advertisement for a second-floor apartment above a small bakery run by a Polish widow named Martha Kowalski.
The rent was five hundred dollars a month, utilities included, payable strictly in cash.
The apartment smelled of yeast, vanilla, and old timber. The floorboards sloped slightly toward the street-facing window, and the kitchen sink had a porcelain basin with twin turn-knobs that groaned when twisted. But the windows let in broad swaths of clear, unfiltered sunlight, and there was no Eleanor Sterling standing by the door watching Clara's posture.
"You have no references," Martha said, standing in the doorway with flour dusting her dark blue apron. She looked at Clara’s pale, exhausted face, then at Henry’s expensive leather dress shoes—scuffed now with road dirt—and finally down at the bundle in Clara’s arms.
"I can pay two months upfront in cash," Henry offered quickly, extending the folded bills.
Martha gently pushed Henry's hand away. Her eyes stayed locked on Clara. "Why are you running, little bird?"
Clara lifted her chin. "Because my son needs to learn how to smile before he learns how to obey."
May you like
Martha studied Clara for five agonizing seconds. Then, she reached into her apron pocket and produced a single, unadorned brass key on a piece of red yarn. "The water heater is old. Take short showers. If the baby cries, let him cry—babies are supposed to make noise. Bread goes in the downstairs bin at five every morning; take what doesn't sell."
That night, Henry slept on a thin futon mattress dragged up the narrow staircase by hand. Clara slept beside Leo in a wooden dresser drawer lined with three thick cotton towels. It was the safest room they had ever inhabited.
