Eleven Pipers Piping
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
A note to readers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Dear Reader
The Debutante Queen
Snowflake Tiara
Books by Angela Breidenbach
Acknowledgements
Other books in the Christmas Traditions series:
About the Author
Eleven Pipers Piping
Montana Beginnings, Book 2
Angela Breidenbach
Gems of Wisdom Publishing
Missoula, MT
Kindle Edition
Eleven Pipers Piping © 2015 by Angela Breidenbach
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means — for example, electronic, photocopy, recording, for personal or commercial purposes — without written permission of the author(s). The only exception is for brief quotations in printed or electronic reviews.
This book is a work of fiction set in a real location. Any reference to historical figures, places, or events, whether fictional or actual, is a fictional representation.
Biblical verses used in this work of fiction are taken from the (RV) Revised Version 1885 and are Public Domain.
Published by Gems of Wisdom
Contact for questions and permissions:
http://angelabreidenbach.com/contact-angela/
Breidenbach, Angela
Formatting: Rik Hall - Wild Seas formatting
Eleven Pipers Piping/Angela Breidenbach
1. Fiction 2. Romance—Fiction 3. Historical—Fiction
Published in the United States of America (Missoula, MT)
Dedication
To Mr. Ray Sheehan—my high school choir teacher…
You opened up my world with music when I had nothing else.
~Angie
A note to readers
I’m excited to share with you my second fictional story that celebrates Montana’s first few years of statehood in the Montana Beginnings series! The people that built this amazing state come from varying backgrounds that include immigrants from countries like Ireland, China, Japan, Germany, Scotland, Sweden, and so many more…
But it wasn’t just the adults that pioneered and persevered. Children from all over the country swarmed the streets of these fledgling cities. Some as abandoned orphans dropped at the last stop on the famous Orphan Train. Some orphaned due to disease, mining accidents, or severe weather disasters. And some, well, no one rightly knows.
The newsies, in some cases, rose out of the gutters selling papers to buy a meal. Boys who had one particular genetic factor — the gene for survival against all odds. And then there were those that slipped between the cracks…
Chapter 1
Helena, Montana — Winter, 1890
Mirielle spun from the schoolroom door. “What do you mean you’ll send them to military school or indenture them?” As cold as the Montana winter wind blew against the new glass windows, the heat in her blood boiled. “The newsies don’t need slavery. And they certainly don’t deserve the misery of military life when they haven’t even had a childhood!”
“Miss Sheehan,” the superintendent spoke softly. “All the town council asks is for you to help round up the boys. You’re not going to —”
“Betray them?” Mirielle balled her hands at her sides. “Those boys work hard. They trust me.”
He sighed. “Those boys are going to freeze to death if they don’t land in more trouble first.”
“They’ve been fine in the Shanahan stables. Albert and Calista have created spaces with cots in the stalls. I want a better home for each of them, we all do. But they outright refuse. At least they’re warm and safe.”
“You made my point for me, warm or not. Refusal to meet the norm means those boys can’t fit into society. They’re an unruly bunch and uncivilized. That madhouse they created during the Miss Snowflake Pageant was just the beginning. Running amuck like that in a ballroom.”
“They were just trying to catch the kitten when —”
“It all worked out that time, but cat or no cat, it just can’t continue.” He swiped a handkerchief against his brow.
“Remember those boys set up the ballroom in the first place. That has to say something for their character. Store owners are hiring them for message boys and—”
“They must become productive citizens.”
Mirielle shivered. Cold, yes, but confrontation always brought out a sweat in her superior.
His eyes softened, “As industrious as the newsies are at getting odd jobs to supplement their newspaper sales, the lot of them aren’t going to make it as adults without some form of discipline and an education.”
“Of course. That’s why Calista and I’ve been meeting the boys with food each day and reading lessons twice a week.” What did these people think — eleven young street boys would miraculously become model citizens? They needed love and people to teach them manners, not some convenient solution to rid the streets of orphans. “For pity’s sake, these are the same boys no one adopted from the Orphan Train—to rid cities back East of miscreants. All well meant then too. Meant to rid them of a problem and dump it on other people.”
“Truly, I’m not here to argue.” Mr. Randolph straightened his back and dabbed his neck. “Either you help the merchants manage the mayhem or the sheriff will.”
“You’d do that?” Mirielle shook her head as her eyes misted. “After all our work gaining their trust and friendship, isn’t the goal to help those boys become solid citizens? They’ll be like caged animals. Education is the answer, not punishment.”
“Miss Sheehan, they’re already lacking social manners. Most folks feel the newsies are living like animals. It hurts hearts to see children scavenging like that little Joey boy even if he does have the leader for a brother.” Mr. Randolph rolled back onto his heels. “Frankie is barely old enough to be on his own, if he’s truthful about his age. How is it right that he’s trying to provide for a six-year old?”
She closed her eyes. “Of course it isn’t.” Mirielle opened her eyes and plead, “Can’t you see separating them would devastate not only those boys, but shatter the group? Frankie has managed to keep a ragtag bunch productive. They deserve a chance with our help.”
“I think they’re out of chances after that last incident.” He shook his head. “Boys can’t be running amuck in and out of stores and hopping trollies like leap frog. Poor Mrs. Broadwater nearly lost her shopping bags and her wits when one of those boys landed in her lap the other day.”
Mirielle almost laughed, but caught herself. The inconsistent trolley schedule irritated workers already. They’d be further annoyed by boys playing pranks, fun-loving or not. “Please ask the council for a little more time to educate them.”
She looked around the room as Mr. Randolph deliberated. Education. Yes! Why couldn’t the newsies come here? “I’ll talk to the priests and the school board about getting the newsies into a classroom.”
“I can’t see how that would work.”
“The church believes in charity. What better place for young boys to learn discipline and the social graces than an exclusive boys’ school?” But how would they manage eleven new students? Even a church has limits to their resources.
“Excuse me.”
Mirielle and Mr. Randolph startled at the baritone voice.
The intruder cleared his throat and looked at Mr. Randolph. “I apologize for interrupting, but I understand you’re the one to talk to about some boys placed here as boarders.”
“Miss Sheehan, I’ll expect an answer by end of the week. The boys are in school and settled,” he held up his hand to ward off her interruption, “or they’re shipped off for a more disciplined education.”
Three days. She had three days to convince Frankie to convince ten other boys to start going to school. She already knew the argument. How would they earn enough income if they sat in a schoolroom all day? But they wouldn’t have to scrounge for meals if they’d agree to boarding school. It was all-inclusive.
Mirielle swallowed a groan. Where would she get the additional funds to convince the priests and the head master the new school could support eleven more boarding students?
Mr. Randolph turned to the visitor. “And you, sir, are?”
The handsome man extended a hand to the school’s headmaster. “Evan Russell, sir.” They shook. His eyes flicked up to Mirielle’s as he also offered a polite handshake to her. “Ma’am.”
A tingle raced from fingertip to elbow to shoulder to heart. Mirielle’s eyes grew wide at the ripple. She couldn’t look away from his similarly stunned eyes. And that ripple hadn’t stopped racing through her arm like a sudden flash flood rushing into her heart.
“Miss Sheehan?” Mr. Randolph broke into her silence. “I believe your duties call.”
“Um, yes.” She snatched her hand back. Flustered? The teacher who could manage the toughest child and go toe-to-toe with the most demanding parent? She never flustered. What did he do to her? “My—uh—pleasure to meet you, Mr. Russell.” Mirielle forced herself to back away.
His gaze stayed connected to hers as Mirielle bumped into her desk and then felt her way around it like a miner in a blackout. A flush rushed boot to root. She jerked her chin away and plopped into her seat. Better to concentrate on grading than on being graded by strange man. She swallowed. Such a man, for certain, with strong, wide shoulders filling out the heavy wool coat.
He seemed to hear Mirielle’s thoughts as his gaze still heating her skin. Electricity passed between them as strong as the gusts against the glass.
Evan yanked his attention back to the superintendent. Mining had been a long, lonely process as he’d built up savings to provide for his son and their future. He’d come looking for Joseph, not a new wife. But even his poignant memories of pretty Nadine didn’t rival this russet-haired beauty that seemed to flush at the slightest glance. If he intimidated the little school marm, how in the world did she manage a classroom of children?
“Mr. Russell?” The superintendent waited.
“I’m sorry.” He mumbled to the tubby man. “I think I left my manners in the mine.” It’d been a long time since he’d experienced a woman’s scent, er, presence.
“Well, how can we help you then?”
“My son is missing, sir.” Miss Sheehan’s inhale caught Evan off guard. He cleared his throat. It still hurt every time he had to repeat it, but sympathy choked him to silence. Do-gooders needed to either help him or stay out of it. He dredged deep for the courage to tell it one more time. “I left him with relatives after my wife died. I had to work elsewhere. For a long time, I’d get an update once a month. But those updates stopped coming a year ago. Being the dead of winter, I assumed mail was having trouble getting through. After the melt, I came over the mountains. When I inquired, I heard…” He ran a hand through his hair. “My brother’s home burned down, and according to all accounts, my family was lost.”
“Oh Mr. Russell, I am so sorry.” Mirielle crossed herself and bowed her head.
Evan cleared his throat again. “My son was not found among the ruins. I was directed here to ask if any families might have taken him in and registered Joseph with their children.”
“Joseph, you say?” Mr. Randolph scratched his head. “We have several by that name, but all have known parents.”
Evan’s heart sank. Maybe it was true. Maybe Joseph didn’t make it through the fire. “Is there a way to question the children? Or let me see them? Maybe one of the boys was taken in or adopted.” He knew desperation tinged every word. What else could he do? Where could a little boy wander off to without anyone noticing?
“I realize the dire nature of the situation, Mr. Russell. But there’s no possible way we could impose on the families of this school for a search. You’re simply asking too much. We know each child here. What would you do if he were found adopted? You certainly couldn’t suddenly show up and abscond with a child.”
Abscond? “Not just a child, sir. My son!”
The young lady cleared her throat. “May I?” Miss Sheehan certainly didn’t wait to be invited as she offered, “What if the child weren’t here, but a child here knew of him?”
Hope lit in Evan’s heart. He’d have made friends. Of course!
“I do see all the children through music class each week.” She rejoined the men. “If Joseph attended our school, I’d know. But, no sir, all of the boys belong naturally to their parents.”
The hope dimmed.
“Mr. Russell, we could send out notices to the parents. Then if one of the families knows your son, they’ll let us know. But I have another idea for you.”
Evan’s emotions jerked up and down like the backside of a bronco. “I’m listening.”
“As am I, Miss Sheehan.” The superintendent raised his eyebrows.
“Come with me to meet the newsies.”
“The newsies?”
She held up a forefinger and tipped her head forward as if conducting an orchestra. “I know eleven little boys who would love to earn a penny or two.” Her hands gracefully lowered.
The fatigue of frustration set an edge in his voice. “What makes you think a bunch of—” Evan clamped his mouth shut at the sudden fire in her eyes as Mirielle’s hands pinched the air punctuating the sign for a dramatic rest.
She gave him a direct challenge, “Do you have a better idea? They can spread out and look in places no adult would think of searching. One might think your love of a few pennies —”
“No, no. Nothing like that.” Now he knew how she managed a classroom full of boys. Could a motley cluster of newsboys fan out and find Joseph in Helena?
“You won’t know until you try.” She looked him straight in the eye, not a hint of falsehood in her voice. “And they’re nice boys.”
The superintendent added, “They are nice, if a bit unruly. But we have plans to solve that issue.”
The teacher’s back stiffened. “In the most loving way possible for their future success.”
Miss Sheehan’s voice softened as she placed fingertips on his bicep. “Are you willing to try?”
The weight of her touch soothed him even through the heavy wool of his coat. Evan nodded and concentrated on the hope she offered. He liked her optimism. Something sorely lacking in him right now. “I’ll try anything.”
Chapter 2
Evan glanced across the street at the bedraggled lad on the corner of Main Street near the trolley stop. He waved a paper high in the air and sang out the headlines hawking to an oncoming crowd. Then the boy moved into the path of several businessmen.
“He’s an enthusiastic salesman.” Two of the men dropped coins into his palm as the newsie deftly snapped a paper, one after the other, into their hands. No one had stopped walking in the exchange, with the boy walking backwards keeping up with the men. “Can’t fault his methods.” Evan chuckled. “I don’t think he’s going to miss one sale today.”
“That’s Frankie.” Mirielle said as she waved to the boy, catching his attention. “He’s been very successful for the paper. For himself and the boys he leads
, too, but even so that’s a pittance to live on.”
He flapped a paper back at her in acknowledgment from his prime corner.
“Frankie is the leader of the newsies that take reading lessons from Calista and I, after they finish catching end-of-the-day workers off the trolley.” She turned to look at Evan, eyes sparkling like the sun off Montana snow, brilliant and shimmering. He could tell she loved those boys. “We’ll wait here so we don’t interfere.”
He nodded and let his gaze roam her happy, upturned face. Joy radiated out of her like a campfire on a cold night. This woman wasn’t making a show of charity. It was as much a part of her as the speckling of freckles on her cute nose. The warmth expanded, wrapping Evan in the heat though the overcast sky hung low and the wind blew wisps of snow by their feet. He wanted to scoot closer and bask in what he’d missed for so long. If his soul had hands, they’d be held out to her as if to a campfire. What would it be like to be held in this woman’s arms? To feel the depth of caring towards those she obviously loved?
Evan blinked away the distracting thoughts and lifted the basket he carried for Miss Sheehan. “So you bring them food twice a week with their lessons?”
She smiled. “They can’t learn on an empty stomach. But we take turns with a few other women so the newsies get something every day. Today is my day. Calista and Albert feed them a small breakfast in the mornings. Then some other families help with food on different days of the week.” Her simple gray dresscoat and bonnet didn’t make her stand out compared to the passersby. But people seemed to know her well as she bobbed a nod here and there through their conversation.
“I don’t mean to pry, but how can you supply enough food for all those lads on a teacher’s salary?” Evan looked back to the boy. His clothes mismatched, dirty, with trousers too short. One out of eleven growing boys being fed by a handful of good-hearted women. Would they find Joseph learning to sell newspapers, mixed in with the industrious desperate newsies? Evan’s heart picked up like an expectant drumroll. Surely Miss Sheehan would have known if an odd child showed up in the group.