“Tuesday it is. Take care, you two, we walk a knife’s edge with this.”
Nora felt Quinn’s exit as much as she heard his footsteps. After a moment, the minister pointed out another two or three requests tacked to the post, and somehow she managed to write them down.
“Why are you helping us?” Nora had never used the word “us” before. It seemed terribly important that she had now.
Reverend Bauers turned to her with a smile that wiped years—perhaps even decades—off his face. For a moment she saw the dashing young adventurer he claimed to have been in his youth. God’s provision over the years had made the reverend a very brave and daring man—Nora felt a stab of guilt at thinking of him as just a gentle old preacher. He was gentle, and old, but he was so much more than that. Nora wanted, at that moment, to know that at eighty she would look back on her life as full of God’s adventures.
“Why? Is it not obvious?” He chuckled. “The man is absolutely relentless.”
She smiled. “I believe I am coming to feel the same way.”
They returned to the table and Nora did her best to wrestle her attention back to the task at hand. There was a moment, a frozen moment in time, where she looked up and caught Quinn’s eyes as he stood at a distance. Even from far away, the gold of his eyes glowed like topaz, the intensity of his stare stole her breath and flushed her cheeks. She glanced around, sure the whole world saw the power of their locked eyes, but everyone bustled by unawares. Life pulsed by all around them, noisy and busy and ignorant of the air that hummed between Quinn and her. She could live to be a hundred and still be able to recall the amber glow of his eyes in that moment.
Suddenly, Romeo facing death to scale Juliet’s balcony didn’t seem so melodramatic. She had thought herself too old for such childish romance, but with her heart beating as wildly as it did, Nora felt perhaps the heart’s distinction between brave and foolish was a very fine line, indeed.
A thud and a yelp dragged Nora from her thoughts. Something had fallen off the piles of goods that filled the cart. When white powder pooled out of the burlap sack, she could hear the reaction by those who saw. Flour ranked as one of the most coveted and least available supplies anywhere—everyone wanted some and it was nearly impossible to get any. As a matter of fact, the army was saying there wasn’t enough to distribute outside of the official relief stations that were cooking for hundreds of refugees daily and supplying the endless bread lines.
“Flour!” one woman called out, pointing to the snowy mounds. “You’ve got flour in there! I want some of that.”
Major Simon stiffened. Clearly this wasn’t a good thing. “Sergeant?” he said in a cautionary but commanding tone.
“I don’t know, sir, it must have been in there by mistake.”
The woman who’d first cried out pushed her way to the front of the crowd. “They told us there isn’t any flour to give out. Only there is, isn’t there?”
Simon moved between the woman and the flour. “There isn’t a way for you to use this. Baking requires fire, and fire is too dangerous right now.”
“For who?” a man jeered. “You got enough to lose track of, then I say you got enough to let decent people do their own cooking.”
“Who knows what else they been keepin’ from us?” a second woman said, peering into the back of the cart. “I heard you been sellin’ the flour rather than give it to us. Making profit off our need, are you?” This started a chorus of accusations against the army. Major Simon frowned and held up his hand to quiet the crowd, barely succeeding.
“We sell flour you can’t use and buy things you can use with the money. One carelessly tended stove could start another fire. You know we can’t have that. I know this is difficult, but…”
“Don’t you get all fancy-worded on me. Ain’t right to go profiteering off of folks in need. You think you know better than me, that’s what I think. Well, you don’t. You’re just another one of them, you are. Don’t really care a fig for what happens to us so’s long as you can keep us fooled.”
“No one’s trying to mislead you,” the major said in a forced calm. “We’re trying to give you what you need as fast as we can, but you’ve got to understand the dangers. The few common fire pits are the best we can do for now. We simply can’t have you people using ovens. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m hungry. Which of us is better off?” some man called out from the back of the crowd.
“The Messenger could get us flour,” the first woman declared.
“I’d hope the Messenger would care about the safety of your family as much as you do, ma’am, and he’d tell you what I’m telling you now.” The major was trying to stay calm, but the crowd had turned on him.
“Hang your ‘care,’ captain. I’d rather have your flour. Wouldn’t we all?” the man called out again.
“Let’s try to see the bigger picture here,” Reverend Bauers interjected, coming to stand next to the major. “Safety is absolutely vital. Times are challenging for everyone.”
“Some more than others,” a thin woman grumbled as she tossed the pair of shirts she’d just collected back on to the cart. Several others followed suit, and Nora could see the major’s jaw clenching.
Nora felt the tension gather in the air like a storm. Suddenly, it felt as if all of Reverend Bauers’s promises of a safe visit were going up in smoke. She looked up, needing to find Quinn’s eyes, wanting to know he would step in and save her, yet again, if things got out of hand. But Quinn had vanished. Her pulse began to rise. Forcing calm into her voice, Nora turned to Reverend Bauers. “Perhaps it might be best if we left now and saved the rest of our efforts for another day.”
“Indeed. And perhaps it would be best not to ask the major to make good on his promise of escorting you home.”
As voices rose, Nora craned her neck around against Reverend Bauers’s pull on her arm, striving for one last glimpse of Quinn, who surely must be somewhere in that crowd. Tuesday felt years from now.
“That was a disaster.” Major Simon let out a few choice words as he threw his gloves and hat down on the table in his office. He hadn’t called for Quinn to come and see him, but it didn’t take a genius to know that thanks to this afternoon’s fiasco, the Midnight Messenger wasn’t going to get the night off he’d planned. He and Simon stood in the major’s office, staring at each other. It was the first time he’d seen Simon lose the edges of his slick control.
It was also the first time since he’d started that Quinn felt a pang of regret. Fear, even. It had been adventurous, a satisfying chance to make hope-sparking deliveries for people in Dolores Park. Now, Quinn felt the demands coming down on him like an avalanche. He was only one man—and yet the cries of that crowd seemed to expect him to do what even the U.S. Army seemed hard-pressed to do. “We set out to make a solution,” the major continued, “and we’ve made a monster.”
“The people want flour. Donated flour’s coming in by the tons. How can we deny them things as if they’re children?”
Simon sat down behind his desk. “And have them burn the city down all over again? They’ve no real ovens. They’ve no safe storage. One careless spark, Freeman, that’s all it would take. We’ve got to be vigilant. We’ve got to make decisions based on what’s best for the entire city, not just one family’s stomach. You heard me explain it—we’ve sold most of the excess flour to buy things they really can use.”
“I heard you,” Quinn replied, letting his tone show what he thought of that particular strategy. “You sold our relief supplies.” It sounded wrong, no matter how the major put a shine on it.
“It’s best.” Simon’s tone held a challenge of its own.
“And you know what’s best?” Quinn felt as if that black shirt and mask were now made of iron, clamping down on him with heavy solidity. People expected the Messenger to give them what they wanted.
“Tight authority means life and death these days. We can’t afford another rebellious mob scene like that.”
&n
bsp; Quinn forced civility into his words. “So what will we do?” He had a hunch he wouldn’t like the answer.
“My grandfather taught me an old saying.” Simon began writing something out on a slip of paper. “When you don’t have what you want, make do with what you’ve got.” He stood and called, “Private!” out his office door, handing the paper to the tense-looking young man who appeared seconds later. Quinn wondered, by the major’s behavior, if he’d even remembered he was in the room.
“This is a requisition for two dozen blankets from the barracks warehouse. Tell them to make sure the blankets are in good shape and have the army markings on them. I want them in my office within ten minutes. Understood?”
“Directly, sir.” The young man barely paused to salute before bolting from the room. Simon pulled the office door shut after his private.
“They want flour, so you’re going to give them blankets?” Quinn had serious doubts it would be seen as a fair trade. You could hardly eat a blanket, after all.
“No, you’re going to give them blankets. Army blankets. It’s high time we let everyone know the Messenger’s on our side. You’ve lost your night off. I’m sorry for that, but I’m sure you see the urgency of the thing.”
Quinn wasn’t liking this at all. “Wouldn’t it be better to get the people to understand why they can’t have baking fires? I don’t see how tossing army blankets at them helps.”
The major frowned. “You cannot reason with a mob. Only distract it. You watch—that post will be filled with requests for flour tomorrow morning. Flour they think the Messenger can find for them because they think we’ve hid it from them. Nothing personal, Freeman, but you’ve become a temporary liability, and we need to recast you from rebel to partner. We can’t have people thinking the Messenger is out there outsmarting the army. You saw how fast things escalated out there—the Messenger has to be seen as working with us.”
Quinn had the disturbing feeling that he’d been enlisted without his consent. That he’d just been sucked up into the army machine, forced—albeit kindly—to do their bidding and serve their purposes. Major Simon had done so much for him, and yet it was hard not to feel as though it had all been for some convenient purpose. Like the small pawns in the chess game Reverend Bauers was forever trying to teach him. Scooted about to serve some larger aim without much regard for his own health and safety.
Yet, Simon had a valid point—one careless spark could start the firestorm all over again. And Simon had given him weapons, training and was by far his best source for goods. Quinn couldn’t be the Messenger without Simon’s help—at least not yet. “And what are you going to do?”
“Oddly enough, the most important thing I can do right now is to do nothing. To behave as if all were well, as if there were no cause for concern whatsoever.” He raised an eyebrow at Quinn, who tried to swallow the knot currently balling up in his throat. “Which means, thankfully, that it is in the city’s best interest that I dine at the Longstreets’ tonight as if there were not a single demand upon my time this evening.”
Quinn hoped his mouth wasn’t gaping open. It should have been.
“Word of my calm dismissal of any problem will travel through the city as fast as word of your deliveries will fly through camp. We’re both making vital deliveries tonight. Just different kinds.”
Quinn let his frustration grind a sharp edge on to his words. “So you solve this by eating a fine meal while I help you by spending another night hiding in shadows?”
Shrugging his shoulders, Simon said, “Would it help if I bought you a steak tomorrow night?”
“Only just.” Quinn was glad no one required him to salute as he left. The Messenger was suddenly feeling less like a calling and more like a punishment.
Chapter Sixteen
Quinn stalked through the kitchen at Grace House. “I’ve had about enough of this. He’s the one with the problem, so why am I the one staying up tonight to fix things? He’s the one denying people what they want.” He turned and glared at Reverend Bauers, not bothering to hide his frustration. “Yet he’s with her, and I’m here.”
Reverend Bauers gave out a lumbering sigh and put down the box of silverware he was shelving. “Except that he’s right, and you know it. People can’t have the flour, even if they think they need it. Simon is right, Quinn, but it’s not really why you’re rankled, in any case.”
Quinn ignored that last remark. “We should be equals in this, but I’ve got the short end of the stick by far. I can’t remember the last time I slept an entire night. Tonight I was…” He stopped himself. He was going to try and find a way to see Nora, that’s what he was going to do with this evening. And now, not only had that opportunity been plucked from his hands, it seemed to have been handed—on a silver platter—to Major Simon. Really, if Simon had asked him to distribute army blankets on any other night, he would have donned the Messenger’s black bag and gladly made the deliveries.
“You were going to what?” Bauers knew the answer. The knowledge in his eyes was disarming even if it was softened with understanding. “I was standing right next to you, you know. Balconies. You really do have a flair for drama, Quinn.” He walked entirely too calmly over to Quinn, reaching up to tap Quinn’s throbbing temples. “Use your eyes, man. You stare enough at her, surely you see it. You’ve no rival in Major Simon. She’s as much drawn to you as you are to her. It’s her parents who are your rivals. Their views and their expectations for Nora’s future.” He clasped Quinn’s shoulder and returned to shelving the supplies that were finally leaving his study for their former places in the mission kitchen. “Why do you think God called you to be His messenger?”
His messenger? Quinn thought that made him sound a bit too much like the angel Gabriel. And Quinn wasn’t feeling very angelic at the moment. “I don’t know, actually.”
“I do. Nora would too, if she knew. You’re clever and quick and brave…and willing. Most times, all God really needs is a willing soul—he can always make up for the rest if a man is willing to step out in faith.”
Quinn picked up a stack of plates and put them on a high shelf. “You make it sound noble. I doubt it will feel very noble at three in the morning when I’d much rather be home in bed.”
“It is noble. And very few noble things in this world come without great cost. It cost you to help those people. It will keep costing you—probably more as this goes on. The question is, are you going to let that stop you? Or are you going to keep on in the faith that God will keep on providing?”
“Simon’s begun treating me like I’m some sort of secret army weapon. He’s using me for his own end.”
Reverend Bauers sat down on one of the kitchen’s large wooden benches. How many times had the food Quinn had gobbled down in this kitchen been the only decent meal of the day in his childhood? The wood creaked under the reverend’s weight—most of the Grace House furnishings were old and worn, leaving Quinn to wonder how much longer many of them would last. “You can always just quit,” Bauers offered, resting his elbows on the table. “Stop. No one would be the wiser.”
“And just let people think everyone’s given up on them? Just vanish, even after people have come to have a bit of hope? What would that solve?”
“Exactly,” Bauers replied. “What would that solve?” He motioned for Quinn to sit. “It wouldn’t solve anything to your liking, Quinn. You care. Perhaps too much. But don’t let some useless worry about Major Simon muddle your thinking here. You’ve a mission, and Simon’s part of that mission. You need to trust God with the details, even if they don’t seem to your liking. God knows what you feel for Miss Longstreet, and He knows what Miss Longstreet feels for you.”
And that was the question, wasn’t it? What did Nora feel for him? He thought of her eyes as she held his gaze on the porch the other day. He could dive inside those eyes and live a happy man forever. They seemed to pour courage and purpose into him—as if he caught the world by the tail just by catching her eye. She felt for him w
hat he felt for her. He’d seen it, felt it. He knew she cared for him; he’d just let Simon’s arrogant remarks fester a groundless doubt about it. “What is God up to here, Reverend?”
The question made the old man laugh heartily. “I ask myself that nearly every day lately. I’ve got an inkling, but if I knew for certain, well then there’d be no use for faith now, would there? Do I believe God sent an earthquake? Can’t say that I do. I don’t believe God sends evil upon us. But I do believe evil happens and then God works wonders to pull all the goodness he can out of those circumstances.”
“Tell Him to pull harder. I’m running out of steam.”
Bauers laid a gnarled hand on Quinn’s forearm and bent his head. “Holy Father, bless this man, your servant. Grant him strength and endurance. Keep him safe, honor his efforts to serve Your children. Tend to his heart as You tend to his soul. He is near and dear to me, Lord, and I would grant him the world were it up to my wisdom. But it is Your wisdom, Lord, that is always best.”
The reverend kept Quinn’s arm in his grasp, and Quinn’s breath caught at the surge of emotion that welled up in him. There was a time, when he was a young and angry teenager, when he’d tried to bolt from the house after an argument with his father. Ma caught him as he attempted to burst out the door, grabbing on to him with a fierce grip that seemed impossible for her size. She pulled him firmly to her, hugging him even though he struggled against it. He’d ended up clutching her to his shoulder—even then, he was taller than she—fighting the sobs that wanted to come tumbling out of his chest at how unfair the whole world seemed. It was as if she knew of the coming storm and made herself his anchor.
She’d settled something in him that day. Passed some kind of strength through from her heart to his, something that enabled him to stand firm when things got worse and worse with Pa. He felt the same way again, now, only deeper. As if Reverend Bauers had passed a strength of soul between them, lent him the steadfast faith it would take to see this thing through. Not a certainty, not a plan, not even a calm, but the steadfast faith that didn’t need calm to stand firm.
Mission of Hope Page 13
