by Regina Scott
Michael finished his first two days at the smithy feeling older and wiser. Muscles he hadn’t known he never used ached. The red mark on his cheek was fading, but he’d singed the hair off his arm and burned a hole through the chest of a shirt before realizing he had to wear the apron at all times.
Still, Smitty was pleased with him, going so far as to offer his grimace of a smile as he counted out Michael’s wages on Saturday afternoon.
“And a little more for your effort,” he declared, dropping the coins into Michael’s outstretched palm. “You’re a good worker. I’ll bless the day Clay Howard sent you to me.”
Michael felt blessed as well. Working the forge was far hotter and dirtier than shifting freight on the docks, yet each time he finished a piece, something warmer than the forge wrapped around him. Out of a black, shapeless thing, he’d created something useful. There was satisfaction in that.
Perhaps that was why his head was high as he escorted Maddie, Ciara and Aiden to church on Sunday. The day was bright and clear, with the mountain gleaming above the trees on the ridge. Maddie was wearing her russet gown, hat perched on her curls, smile playing about her pink lips as she watched her brother and sister cavort. He couldn’t help thinking he was leading the prettiest girl in town to her spot in the box pew.
You’ve brought me to a good place, Lord. Let my life reflect Your glory, not my own.
As if Maddie knew his thoughts and supported them, she took his hand. He looked at her askance, but her gaze was focused on the curly-haired minister stepping up to begin his sermon. Did she even know she had reached out? He should probably pull away, but the touch was warm, encouraging. He held her hand through the rest of the service.
Clay, Allegra and Gillian were waiting for them outside. The Howards had also dressed for services, Allegra in a blue gown with white piping along each scalloped edge of her collar and skirts, and Clay in a suit of fine brown wool. The little girl, in her frilly white frock with a sash as blue as her eyes, stared at Aiden, and he returned the considered look. Allegra and Maddie exchanged amused glances over their heads.
“I know where there’s a black rock that turns red in the rain,” Gillian said. “Want to see?”
Aiden nodded, and the two scurried off toward the side of the churchyard together.
“Don’t go far,” Allegra called after them.
“They won’t listen,” Ciara complained. “I’ll go with them.” She hurried after her brother and his new friend.
Clay took a step closer to Michael and lowered his voice as if mindful of the parishioners exiting around them. “I checked with my other partners. You were right. Everyone who’s been robbed or had buildings damaged has been Irish.”
Maddie met Michael’s gaze, and he could see the concern darkening her brown eyes.
“Tell them about the sign,” Allegra urged, taking his arm.
Michael leaned closer and felt Maddie doing the same.
“In the last week,” Clay told them, “two of the buildings had a sign painted on them, a four-leaf clover on fire.”
Fire? Something twisted inside Michael at the word. Surely no one would be so stupid as to start a fire here, with wood to burn everywhere. Did Seattle even have a fire company yet? He’d heard no blowing of horns calling them to duty.
Beside him, Maddie shivered. “Is it a threat, then?”
“That’s the way my partners took it.” Clay put his free hand to her arm. “Look out for yourself, Maddie. If you have any more trouble, let me know immediately.”
“Clay’s already brought the matter to the sheriff,” Allegra explained. “Surely something can be done.”
Michael wanted to share her certainty, but too many people charged with upholding the law had looked the other way when it came to gang violence in New York. After a firefighter had been drafted despite assurances such volunteers were exempt, the men of the number thirty-three fire company had led a mob of mostly Irish men and women into the draft office three years ago, destroying property, threatening lives.
And even when the law officers had stood strong, they had been beaten down by the mob. Fire and destruction were the calling cards of the Dead Rabbits. Yet why target Irish concerns when it was the Irish they claimed to protect?
Though the sun remained high, the day seemed darker as he walked Maddie and the children home. He’d been feeling as if his life was finally his own again. How could he relax, knowing that Maddie, Ciara and Aiden might be in danger?
As the children stopped to gaze at the display of brightly striped candy in a shop window, he drew Maddie aside.
“I’ll have enough pay by this time next week to discharge my debt to Mr. Kellogg,” he told her, fighting the urge to take her in his arms. “After that I could move out while I pay you over time for my passage. But with everything going on, I don’t like leaving the three of you alone.”
She hesitated. Would her pride keep him out even now?
“We’ll be fine,” she assured him as they started forward once more. “You heard Allegra—the law is keeping an eye out for trouble.”
So was Aiden, it seemed, for he pointed to the side of the bakery as it came into view. “What’s that?”
Michael caught his breath even as Maddie’s steps faltered.
Painted in green on the side of the bakery, the color still dripping like the icing on one of Maddie’s rolls, was a four-leaf clover, flames rising from the wilting leaves.
* * *
Just the sight of the clover sent Maddie’s stomach plummeting. She’d told herself these attacks had to be Mr. Terry’s retaliation against her bakery’s success. But she could not convince herself the dapper businessman would paint a fiery shamrock on her wall or even hire someone to do it.
Michael put his arm about her shoulders as if to shelter her and nodded to Aiden. “The sheriff’s office is on the corner by Kelloggs’,” he said. “See if you can fetch him back for us.”
Her brother ran.
“I’ll check the rest of the bakery,” Maddie said, almost afraid of what she might find.
“I’ll make sure Amelia Batterby is safe,” Ciara said, hurrying after her.
Maddie thought Michael might accompany her. His sturdy presence would have been welcome as she checked for her money canister and supplies, finding them all safe. Instead, he went prowling around the outside and met her back in the shop as Ciara carried a resigned Amelia Batterby down the stairs.
“No wagon tracks in the alley,” he reported. “Whoever painted that sign came on foot.”
“Carrying a bucket of paint and a brush,” Maddie mused with narrowed eye.
Michael nodded. “At the very least we should be able to find out who bought green paint recently.”
“And someone may have seen him crossing town,” Maddie realized, spirits lifting.
As if determined to prick any bubble of hope, Ciara shook her head. “He didn’t have to follow the boardwalk to get here. There’s a trail along the ridge. Patrick told me about it. He said it’s the fastest way to the university.”
Though the Irishman was right, Maddie’s concerns about her sister rose as well. “And just when were you speaking with Mr. Flannery that I wasn’t around?” she challenged.
Ciara colored but lifted her chin. “He stops by from time to time. Apparently you’re just too busy to notice.”
Maddie stiffened, but Michael put a hand on her arm.
“He’s probably looking for me,” he told Maddie. “I’ll let him know he can meet me at the smithy if he has need.”
As always, he found a peaceful, logical way to resolve her frustrations.
“Just see that you inform me when next Mr. Flannery comes to call,” Maddie told her sister.
Ciara pouted, but Maddie directed her upstairs with the cat. Amelia Batterby’s gold
en eyes were accusatory. It seemed Maddie wasn’t the only one to find her sister’s company lacking.
A short while later, Aiden led in a powerfully built man with a long narrow face half-covered by a thick brown beard. He brought the smell of tobacco and smoke with him. Maddie had heard that Sheriff Wyckoff had been Seattle’s first blacksmith before hanging up his hammer to become sheriff. She thought his broad shoulders still spoke of days over the anvil. Small wonder Michael had taken to the work.
Deputy McCormick stepped around his boss and motioned to Maddie and Michael. “This is Miss O’Rourke and Mr. Haggerty. She came with Mercer’s Maidens, and he arrived by ship from New York earlier this month, escorting young Aiden and his sister.”
Aiden took the introduction as encouragement to talk. “Sheriff Wyckoff has a horse, Maddie! He let me ride on it with him. I wish we had a horse.” He gazed up at her wistfully.
“Where would we be putting it and what would we be feeding it?” Maddie countered, then held up her hand as Aiden opened his mouth to respond. “No need to answer. Be off with you now. Mr. Haggerty and I must speak with the sheriff and his deputy.”
Aiden nodded, then glanced at the sheriff. “Thank you for letting me ride your horse. He’s a goer.”
Sheriff Wyckoff smiled. “Blaze liked your company too, Master Aiden. Come by and say hello anytime.”
Aiden beamed. “I will.”
As Aiden clambered up the stairs, Maddie squared her shoulders. “Did you see that sign on my wall, Sheriff?”
Wyckoff nodded, widening his stance on the floor as if preparing to defend the bakery from all comers. “Indeed I did. And there were complaints of another one this morning as well.”
Michael stepped closer to Maddie as if to protect her. “Where?”
“On the other side of town,” the sheriff told him. “There were more earlier this week.”
“And did you check to see who’d bought green paint?” Maddie challenged.
“First thing,” McCormick assured her. His eyes narrowed. “Mr. Terry had some brought up from San Francisco, but he says it was stolen from his shop.”
Maddie bristled, but Sheriff Wyckoff held up a hand to forestall her. “By the fact that the paint in both locations today is still wet, we may be looking for two miscreants.”
“Or a gang,” Deputy McCormick drawled, gaze on Michael.
Maddie reached for Michael’s hand, not only for strength but to let him know that she didn’t believe he was part of this trouble. His fingers felt cold in hers.
“Mr. Haggerty and I have been concerned that there may be a member of the Dead Rabbits in town,” she told the sheriff.
Wyckoff frowned. “The Dead Rabbits?”
“An Irish gang, powerful in New York,” Michael explained.
“Known for criminal conduct,” McCormick added. “Mr. Haggerty has had dealings with them.”
He made it sound as if Michael endorsed such things. Anger at the injustice lifted Maddie’s head and her voice as well.
“Mr. Haggerty refused to support their dirty dealings, you mean,” she informed the deputy. “At great personal expense for refusing, I might add.”
“Maddie,” Michael said, giving her hand a squeeze, “I can speak for myself.”
Well, of course he could. What was she thinking to jump into the fray like that? As Michael went on to explain the reason he’d come west, she clamped her lips shut. He was a clever, well-spoken man, with a much easier way of talking than she’d ever cultivated. She had no call to step between him and the sheriff, defend him to her dying breath.
But for a moment there, all she’d wanted to do was fight to protect him.
Was that how he felt? Is that why he stepped between her and trouble, smoothing her way with Ciara and Aiden? Did he see her as a friend worthy of defense?
“That’s why I doubt it’s a gang,” Michael finished. “I think we’re looking for one, maybe two people who are intent on stirring things up.”
“Two people newly off the ship,” McCormick insisted with a look to his superior. “This trouble only started recently.”
Sheriff Wyckoff cocked his head as if considering the matter.
“This trouble could have been brewing for years,” Michael argued. “Old prejudices die hard. Old fears seldom quiet for long. But if you truly think the Irish in Seattle are mobilizing to form a gang, talk to them yourself. They’ll be meeting in the alley behind the bakery in less than an hour.”
“What?” Maddie cried, and all eyes veered to her. “Why are they coming here?”
“Because I asked them,” Michael said, putting a hand to her elbow. “They’re afraid, Maddie. They’ve had the same trouble you have. I thought if we all talked, maybe we’d see a pattern other than us being Irish. At the very least, we might be able to band together for safety.”
“So you are starting a gang,” Sheriff Wyckoff challenged.
Michael flinched. “No. Never that. But you can’t blame us for wanting to protect our families.”
“Sounds like a pack of vigilantes to me,” McCormick said. “That still puts you up against the law.” He widened his stance as well, hand hovering by the hilt of the gun on his hip.
Did he think to bully them? Maddie could hardly believe it. He’d been nothing but kindness to her and the Wallins, looking out for them, riding out to check on things. Why was he being so obstinate now?
She shook a finger at him. “For shame, Hart McCormick! Have you no understanding of protecting the ones you love?”
His jaw worked, as if he struggled with his response. “Apparently not,” he gritted out. “I’ll just go about my duty, then. Good day, ma’am.” His spurs clanked his displeasure as he strode out the door.
Wyckoff sighed, but he relaxed his stance on the floorboards. “He understands, Miss O’Rourke. The woman he loved died trying to protect him from his own gang of outlaws. They didn’t take kindly to him changing his stripes, you see.”
A wave of remorse swamped her. “Oh, the poor man. I’ll be begging his pardon the next time I see him, you can be sure.”
“But Mr. McCormick’s past doesn’t change our present,” Michael said, voice firm with his convictions. “We have families to protect, along with businesses and livelihoods. You can’t ask us to stand by and do nothing.”
“I can ask you to trust me and my deputy to get to the bottom of this,” Wyckoff said, voice equally firm. “And I’ll go further. One of us will be at that meeting of yours to explain our stance on the role of Seattle’s law-abiding citizens in keeping things safe.” He tipped his hat to Maddie. “Ma’am.”
Maddie nodded, and he turned and left.
Michael shook his head. “The others won’t like it, but maybe Wyckoff can talk some sense into them.”
“Sure-n but he won’t be the only one talking,” Maddie said, chin rising. “I intend to have a few words with my fellow Irishmen myself. And then we’ll be seeing what’s what.”
* * *
Oh, but she was in a temper. Red splashed her cheeks, and fire hotter than her brick oven burned in her eyes. How could he not rush to put out the flames?
“Now isn’t a good time for scolds, Maddie,” he said, keeping his tone level, calm. “These fellows are agitated enough as it is.”
“Agitated by a prime agitator, I’m thinking,” she countered, heading for the kitchen. “Someone’s after trouble. Until I find out who it is, I’ll be trusting no one.”
Michael stopped in the doorway, watching as she pulled out the last of the sugar cookies she’d baked the previous day.
“Not even me?” he asked, trying for a smile.
She glanced up as she set a bowl on the worktable. “Of course I trust you. I know you’re not involved in any gang.”
“Deputy McCormick didn’t seem
so sure,” he reminded her. He’d had to force his hands to relax from fisting at the lawman’s implications.
“Mr. McCormick was speaking nonsense,” she said with a lift of her nose in disdain. “You’ve proven you want nothing to do with violence.”
Something inside him uncoiled, and he felt himself standing taller. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me for saying the obvious.” She crossed to the water bucket and drew out a cup. “You’ve been nothing but kindness to me and mine. But I’ll not be letting you walk this road alone, Michael. I’d be no true friend otherwise.”
Friends. That’s what they should be. Two people with a common background, common goals to succeed in this new world. Two people with shared values—family, faith. Being friends with Maddie would give him ample reason to help and protect her, and to remain close to Ciara and Aiden.
Why, then, did part of him protest that he wanted more?
She went to the larder to retrieve a cone of sugar and began to pound it with her pestle, shoulders bunching, mouth tight.
Michael chuckled. “I know why you smash your ingredients. It’s easier than taking your frustrations out on me.”
“Legal too,” she said with a grin.
Her smile pulled him closer, and he found himself walking into the kitchen. “What are you making now?”
“Powdered sugar,” she said. “To make icing for the cookies. Sure-n it’s the best I can do with less than an hour until company arrives.”
She was asking for trouble. He tried again to dissuade her. “Maddie, they won’t like having you there. You’re what they want to protect.”
She eyed him but kept pounding. “Then they should have met farther away from my bakery. I’ve been affected by trouble too you know. It’s my right to attend.”
Michael couldn’t argue with her there. But he thought the others might have different ideas.
They started arriving a half hour later, a man alone or with a friend, until the alley was crowded with what had to be every fellow of Irish descent in the city of Seattle and its environs. Narrow-brimmed hats and tweed caps tilted as broad shoulders bumped wiry ones in the afternoon sunlight. The scent of leather and an honest day’s sweat drifted on the breeze. Rough voices grew louder as more joined in. Michael could see concern on every face, determination in most gazes. He expected Maddie to come marching out to join them, but the time to start the meeting came and went with no sign of her.
