“Suddenly you don’t seem to mind the venue,” Kristof pointed out as soon as she’d poured their water and left them to their menus. He stowed his violin case beneath his chair while Gregor did the same.
Gregor’s gaze roved over the dozens of girls serving tables, all of whom seemed to be formed from a similar mold: young, blond, and curvy. “The ambience is more inviting than I expected.”
“The ambience?” Kristof raised an eyebrow. A breeze fluttered the window’s red-and-white-checked curtain and ruffled his hair. “Keep in mind that these young ladies are other men’s daughters, and they ought to be treated as such. With respect.”
“Other men’s daughters, eh?” Gregor laughed. “I’d expect such a comment from someone old enough to be their father.”
Unfazed, Kristof smiled. “You’re right behind me, brother.”
A waitress arrived at their table, this one wearing an emerald-green vest and an apron embroidered with blue flowers. After introducing herself as Margit, she took their order and whisked away. A Gypsy band from Budapest struck up their next piece from the stage, stomping their tall black boots to the music.
Kristof took a drink, then focused on Gregor. “No more stalling,” he said. “What’s going on with you? Don’t tell me you’ve already spent your earnings.”
A muscle twitched next to Gregor’s eye. He plucked a petunia from the window’s flower box and rolled it between his fingers. “Fine. Then I won’t tell you.” He tossed the crushed petals out the window.
Kristof bit down on his frustration. “Then I’ll assume that since you’ve brought nothing new into our apartment this summer, you haven’t spent the money so much as lost it. Gambling.”
The water glasses on the table began sweating. Gregor shifted to watch the musicians play. He clapped his hands to the beat, effectively shutting off the conversation. But the façade of mirth was pastry thin, and he turned back to Kristof when the song concluded. “All right. I did lose it. I lost pretty big, as it happens. I lost more than I had at the time. I owe a guy.”
Applause filled the café as the band members took a bow. Neither Bartok brother joined in.
Gregor wiped the condensation from his glass. “If I don’t get the money to pay him off in the next ten days, I don’t know what will happen to me.” When he looked up, his eyes were slick pools of blue. “How was I to know Thomas would break our contract? How could I have predicted the loss of work?”
Margit returned, setting before Gregor a plate of lángos, deep-fried bread topped with sour cream and cheese. In front of Kristof, she placed a bowl of meggyleves, a sour cherry soup served cold, perfect for an August day. With a final flourish, she served an order of hortobágyi palacsinta, which they would share. Savory aromas rose from the crepes filled with meat, onions, and spices, served with a paprika sour cream sauce.
“Anything else I can get you?” Margit asked, her cheeks flushed from the heat.
“No.” Kristof didn’t mean to sound short with her, but his curt tone sent her quickly away. In a manner just as businesslike, he said a brief prayer to bless the food before addressing his brother. “Gregor, you know my views on gambling. Are you able to stop, or is this a sickness, an addiction as strong as liquor?”
“If it is, this experience has cured me of it. I swear.” Gregor tore off a piece of the fried bread, folded it in half, and stuffed it in his mouth. After wiping a red linen napkin over his lips, he said, “I just need a little help to pay off my debt, and then that’s it. It’s over.”
A sigh swelled in Kristof’s chest. He had heard such a speech before. “How do I know you’re serious this time?” With the side of his fork, he cut off a piece of the palacsinta and swirled it in the cream sauce before eating it.
“The man I owe is no joke. You’ll have him to thank for scaring me straight. If he doesn’t get the money on time, he’ll come after me. I don’t want to get hurt, and I don’t think you do either. If, by chance, you should happen to be home and get in the way.”
Anger licked through Kristof. “If I’m in danger because of your mistakes, it won’t stop there. We have neighbors, Gregor. We all live in the same building. Think of that! Sylvie and Rose, Karl and Anna Hoffman. Women and old people! Even Tessa Garibaldi, the girl who works at the bookshop, could be at risk. Because of you.”
Gregor blanched. “I never intended to involve you in any of this, let alone all of them. I never thought—”
“No, you didn’t. You never thought. It seems I’m still doing all the thinking for you.” The rescuing, too. For what choice did Kristof have but to bail him out? He forced himself to take a spoonful of his cherry soup, then another, waiting for more of Gregor’s excuses. He was already calculating how far his own savings would go to cover rent and food for both of them for the next few months.
“Losing my job—our jobs—wasn’t my fault,” Gregor said. “I could have handled this if it weren’t for that.” He cut and stabbed a bite of the crepe. “I don’t want to need you right now, but I do. Please. Just do this one thing for me, and I’ll never gamble again.”
Several beats passed while Kristof studied him, allowing his brother to squirm. Gregor was far too old to behave with the recklessness of an adolescent. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to deny a lifeline to a drowning man, no matter that Gregor had sabotaged his own well-being with foolishness. Besides, this wasn’t just any man. Gregor was family. The only family Kristof had left.
At last, he spoke. “How much?”
Gregor named the sum.
Kristof leaned back in his chair, stared at the open timber beams of the ceiling, and prayed for patience while he mastered his composure. Gregor ought to feel the consequences of his poor decisions. But this time he wouldn’t be the only one paying.
“All right,” Kristof said. “I’ll cover it, but now the man you owe is me.”
A smile pushed brackets into Gregor’s cheeks. He reached out and grasped Kristof’s shoulder. “Fine, yes, thank you. At least you won’t break my legs if I need more time to pay you back, yes?”
“I’d settle for breaking your bad habit.”
Gregor laughed at that, then made quick work of finishing his meal. “I think I’ll celebrate.”
The color returning to his face, he pulled out his violin case and freed his instrument. Before Kristof could persuade him otherwise, he bounded up on stage and improvised a harmony to the Gypsy violinist, making the man’s solo a duet.
Kristof watched in genuine awe as the Gypsy eventually bowed out of the spotlight with good humor, allowing Gregor to command center stage. And command it he did. The thrum of the café died away as everyone fell under his spell. Diners forgot their food and clapped in time to the magic coming from Gregor’s strings.
However Gregor played, in music and in life, Kristof returned to the same refrain: they were brothers. And Kristof wouldn’t give up on family.
CHAPTER THREE
MONDAY, AUGUST 7, 1893
Sylvie tried not to breathe deeply. Halsted Street, especially in August, had that effect on people. This southern portion of the road, a few blocks west of the Chicago River’s south branch, bordered immigrant colonies the city didn’t often service. Trash built up in people’s front yards while privies crowded the backs. After the weekend’s heavy rain, some of the pine blocks that paved the street had broken loose and floated around, leaving gaping holes in the road. The sewage-contaminated rainwater made puddles that smelled so horrid they made Sylvie’s eyes water.