by Pam Hillman
Livy forced herself to relax and turned to face Mrs. Brooks. “Maybe the citizens of Chestnut will help.”
“I’ve tried, Livy. A few have helped us out, mostly by donating clothes their own children have outgrown. And I’m more than thankful. But money to keep up with the payments on this old place? And food?” Her gaze strayed toward the bucket of coal. “Except for our guardian angel who keeps the coal bin full, most everybody is in about as bad a shape as we are. They don’t have much of anything to give.”
“Don’t worry, ma’am.” Livy patted the older woman’s shoulder, desperate to hear the ironclad faith ring in her voice. “You keep telling me the Lord will provide.”
Mrs. Brooks smiled. “You’re right, dear. He will. I’ve told you time and again that we should pray for what we need, and here I am, doubting the goodness of God. Let’s pray, child. The Lord hasn’t let me down yet, and I’m confident He never will.”
The rocker stopped, and Mrs. Brooks took Livy’s hand in hers and closed her eyes. “Lord, You know the situation here. We’ve got a lot of mouths to feed and not much in the pantry. Livy is doing all she can, and I thank You for her every day. We’re asking You to look down on us and see our need. These children are Yours, Lord, and we need help in providing food for them and keeping a roof over their heads. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.” She heaved herself out of the rocker and headed to the stove, a new resolve in her step. “Call the children, Livy. It’s almost time for supper.”
Livy trudged down the hall to the parlor. The short prayer had cheered Mrs. Brooks but hadn’t done much to ease Livy’s worry. She’d have to find some way to bring in a few extra dollars if they were to make it to spring. Otherwise, she and Mrs. Brooks and the small brood of children they’d taken in would be on the streets of Chestnut before winter’s end. The elderly woman would never survive if that happened.
A wave of panic washed over her like fire sweeping through the slums of Chicago. Livy couldn’t have another life on her conscience. She took a deep breath. They weren’t on the streets yet. And as long as they had a roof over their heads and food on the table, there was hope.
She stepped into the parlor. Mary, the eldest child at twelve, kept the younger ones occupied on a quilt set up in the corner. The two boys, Seth and Georgie, stacked small wooden blocks, then howled with laughter when they knocked the tower down, only to start the process again.
“Libby! Libby!” a sweet voice trilled.
Livy held out her arms as Mary’s little sister, Grace, toddled to her. “Hello, sweetheart.”
The toddler patted her cheeks. “Libby’s home! Libby’s home!”
Livy nuzzled the child’s neck, inhaling her sweet baby scent. Grace giggled.
“Yes, Libby’s home.” Livy glanced at Mary and the other children. “It’s almost time for supper. Go wash up now.”
Against her better judgment, Livy’s mind conjured up flashing green eyes as she wiped Grace’s face and hands. Would Jake Russell call on her? Why would such a thought even occur to her? What man who could have his pick of women would call on a girl who lived in an orphanage, a girl who came from a questionable background and didn’t have a penny to her name?
And one who’d sprawled all over him like a strumpet.
Mercy! What if Miss Maisie or Miss Janie, the Huff sisters, had witnessed such an unladylike display? Her reputation would be in tatters. Not that she’d brought much of a reputation with her to Chestnut, but Mrs. Brooks had insisted she could start over here. There was no need to air her past like a stained quilt on a sunny day.
Maybe she wouldn’t see Jake again. Or maybe she would. Chestnut wasn’t that big.
More importantly, did she want to see him?
She didn’t have any interest in courting, falling in love, and certainly no interest in marriage and childbirth. She knew firsthand where that could lead. Rescuing children from the streets fulfilled her desire for a family, and she’d do well to remember that.
Georgie shoved ahead of Seth. Livy snagged the child and tucked him back in line. “Don’t push. You’ll have your turn.”
When all hands were clean, Livy led the way to the kitchen. A scramble ensued as the children jockeyed for position at the long trestle table.
Mrs. Brooks clapped her hands. “All right, everyone, it’s time to say the blessing.” Her firm but gentle voice calmed the chaos, and the children settled down. “Thank You, Lord, for the food we are about to partake. Bless each one at this table, and keep us safe from harm. Amen.”
The children dug in with relish, and Livy took Grace from Mary’s arms. “Here; I’ll feed her. Enjoy your supper.”
Livy mashed a small helping of vegetables in a saucer and let them cool.
“Grace do it,” the child demanded.
“All right, but be careful.” Livy concentrated on helping the child feed herself without making too much of a mess.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Livy jumped as loud knocking reverberated throughout the house.
“I wonder who that could be?” Mrs. Brooks folded her napkin.
“I’ll get it.” Livy stepped into the foyer. Resting her hand on the knob, she called out, “Who’s there?”
“Sheriff Carter, ma’am.”
Livy’s hands grew damp, but she resisted the urge to bolt. The sheriff didn’t have reason to question her or to haul her off to jail. Jesus had washed away her sins and made her a new creature. She wasn’t the person she’d been two years ago. She prayed every day she wouldn’t let Him down.
Some days were harder than others.
She took a deep breath and opened the door, a smile plastered on her face. “Good evening, Sheriff. May I help you?”
The aged sheriff touched his fingers to his hat. “Evening, ma’am. Sorry to bother you, but we’ve got a problem.”
“Yes?”
The sheriff glanced toward the street, and for the first time, Livy noticed a wagon and the silhouettes of several people.
Mrs. Brooks appeared behind her. “What is it, Livy?”
Sheriff Carter spoke up. “There’s been a wagon accident. A family passing through on the outskirts of town. Their horses bolted. I’m sad to say the driver—a man—was killed, leaving three children.”
Livy peered into the darkness, her heart going out to the little ones. “Are the children out there? Are they hurt?”
“They’re fine. Nary a scratch as far as we can tell. We thought the orphanage might take them.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Brooks took charge. “Bring them in out of the cold. Livy, go fetch some blankets. The poor dears are probably frozen with cold and fear.”
Livy ran, her mind flying as fast as her feet. Less than an hour before, they’d prayed for help to feed the children already in their care. How could they manage three more? Of course they couldn’t turn them away. They’d never do that. But would she be forced to do something drastic to feed them all?
Lord, don’t make me choose. I’m not strong enough.
Heart heavy, she found three worn blankets and carried them downstairs.
Mrs. Brooks met her in the hallway. “They’re in the kitchen. Mary’s already taken the other children to the parlor.”
Her arms laden with the blankets, Livy followed Mrs. Brooks. Two girls huddled together on the bench at the table, their eyes wide and frightened. Poor things. If only she could take them in her arms and tell them everything would be all right. It must be. She’d beg in the streets before she’d let them all starve.
She searched the room for the third child. Her gaze landed on a tall, broad-shouldered man with a tiny dark-haired child nestled snugly inside his sheepskin coat. The man lifted his head, and Livy came face-to-face with Jake Russell. She saw a fierce protectiveness in his haunted eyes.
“I don’t believe you’ve met my deputy, Jake Russell.” Sheriff Carter waved in Jake’s direction.
Dread pooled in the pit of Livy’s stomach, and for the space of a heartbeat, she st
ared.
“Pleased to meet you, Deputy Russell,” Mrs. Brooks said, her attention already on the two little girls at the table. “I’m Mrs. Brooks, and this is Livy O’Brien.”
Livy jerked her head in a stiff nod. For a few moments tonight she’d let her imagination run away with her, thinking maybe Jake Russell would call on her, that he might want to court her, that maybe he thought she was pretty.
And maybe he would. Maybe he did.
But it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.
Jake Russell was an officer of the law, and Livy had spent her entire life running from the law.
Chapter Two
Two weeks of searching, and still no sign of Mark.
Luke crept forward, keeping to the dark shadows of the warehouse but edging closer and closer to the two men who’d brought three crates from the train.
“I need a shot of whiskey.” The man named Butch slapped the top of a crate and growled. “These filthy little beggars ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
The other one, Grady, laughed and threw a crowbar on top of a crate. The steel crashed like a clap of thunder in the stillness. “Sounds good to me.”
The two men stomped off, taking the lantern and leaving the warehouse in total darkness.
Suspicion clouded Luke’s mind. They never left the crates unattended. Could it be a trick? No, they couldn’t know he was here. He shot out of his hiding place and knocked on the nearest crate, three times, a space, twice, three more. “Mark? Anybody? Knock if you’re there. Hurry. We don’t have much time.”
No response. Not even a whisper.
He moved to the next wooden box, his heart threatening to jump out of his throat like a frog leaping off an overflowing water barrel.
Please. Please. Please answer.
Finally a faint gasp from inside the last crate made him nearly jump out of his skin. He scrambled backward. Where was that crowbar? The crate on the end, near the door. He stumbled through the darkness, counting crates as he went.
One. Two. Three. His fingers touched cold steel.
He wrapped his hand around the metal, then hurried back to the crate and pried against the lid. He gritted his teeth and hung every bit of his weight on the crowbar. The shriek of nails pulling free bounced through the warehouse. He paused, muscles aching. If Butch and Grady came back now, he’d be dead.
Better dead than leaving Mark to fend for himself.
The last nail popped free, and he reached inside. His grasping fingers met rough cotton and a bony shoulder before the kid gasped and jerked away. No time to explain who he was and what he was doing. “Mark?”
The kids in the crate didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t even answer.
“Has anyone seen a boy named Mark? He’s five but looks a lot younger.”
“Who wants to know?” A scared voice shot back with a touch of bravado.
“My name’s Luke. I’m his brother. I’ve got to find him.”
“Don’t know no Mark.”
Luke’s hopes shattered like the splintered boards he’d pried off the crate. What had happened to Mark? He should have been in Chestnut by now. But even if his brother wasn’t here, he could pluck these kids out of Grady and Butch’s clutches.
“Let’s go. They’ll be back any minute.”
“Why should we trust you?”
Luke slammed a hand against the side of the crate. “What did they tell you? That they’d found families for you and the coppers had agreed to let you go out of the goodness of their hearts?”
His questions were met with silence.
“It’s all a lie. They paid off the coppers. You’ll work sixteen hours a day for a crust of bread and a pail of dirty water from the creek once a day. But if you want to stay, it’s no skin off my nose.”
He headed for the door.
A rustle of clothes filled the darkness as the street urchins climbed out of the wooden box. “All right. But you’d better be telling the truth.”
Before they could reach the door, it burst open and slammed against the wall. Light spilled across the floor. Luke grabbed a little girl no more than five or six years old and dove between two crates. When he looked back, the other kids had disappeared from sight.
Luke hugged the girl close. He didn’t have to tell her to stay quiet. She didn’t utter a sound.
Eerie shadows danced against the walls. A tall man dressed in a thick overcoat strode into Luke’s line of vision, followed by the hulking forms of Butch and Grady.
Light reflected off the diamond stickpin in the man’s necktie. A stickpin he’d bought from the labor of children.
The man faced Butch and Grady. “If you two ever pull a stunt like that again, you’ll pay—and pay dearly.”
“We didn’t mean no harm, boss. And it’s not like they can go anywhere.”
The man stopped and held the lantern high. Brightness spilled from the globe, stretched out, and pushed the darkness away.
“Then what is this?”
The icy chill of suppressed rage in the clipped words spurred Luke to action. The girl still in his arms, he lunged for the door.
“Hey,” Grady yelled, but Luke had a head start. He ducked out the door. Gaining speed, he darted around the corner of the building, down one alley, then another, finally burrowing beneath a pile of crates. He held the girl close.
Grady ran by their hiding place, cursing a blue streak.
Luke kept still, the little girl tight against him. Minutes ticked by, but Luke waited.
“There was a Mark.” The little girl’s voice was a whisper in the cold night air.
Luke’s heart slammed hard against his rib cage. “Where?”
“In the other crate.”
* * *
Would he see Miss O’Brien again?
Jake hauled the wagon to a stop in front of the orphanage. He halfway hoped Mrs. Brooks would answer the door so he could complete his mission and hoof it back to town like a scared rabbit. He didn’t have time to think about a woman, but his thoughts didn’t seem to understand that fact.
He set the brake and stared at the rambling old farmhouse nestled in a grove of trees, as if it had been waiting for a bunch of orphans to show up and take over. The snow had stopped for the time being, but the dark, moisture-laden clouds threatened to dump more anytime. He jumped down and crunched across the white surface to the front porch, knocked, and waited. He tugged off one glove and undid the top button of his coat before he suffocated. It might be below freezing outside, but the thought of seeing Livy again brought his temperature up a notch or two.
Livy answered the door, and he blinked. Last night’s dim light hadn’t done her justice. Her eyes were bluer than he remembered, her hair a deeper russet brown. She’d twisted the mass up on top of her head, but a few curls trailed down onto the starched stand-up collar of her dress. What would her hair feel like? Would it curl around his fingers like it curled against her long, slender neck? He clamped his jaw, shoving down his distracting thoughts.
“Good afternoon, Miss O’Brien.” Jake yanked off his hat and forced words past the coal-size lump in his throat.
She dipped her head, prim and proper. “Deputy Russell.”
“Just Jake, ma’am.”
A hint of a blush covered her cheeks. “Won’t you come in?”
He entered the warmth of the foyer and unfastened the remaining buttons on his coat. To his left, a savory aroma wafted out of the kitchen, and to his right, the sounds of energetic—if off-key—singing drifted out from the parlor.
Livy tracked his gaze toward the noise. “The children have finished their chores for the day, and Mrs. Brooks decided to teach them a few carols.”
“They seem to be enjoying themselves.”
She gave him a bright smile that seemed to come out of nowhere and sucker punch him in the gut. “Yes, they are.”
He cleared his throat, trying not to stare at the way her lips tilted just so at the corners. But he couldn’t help himself. The right corner t
ipped up slightly more than the left. His pulse ratcheted up a notch.
Whoa, Russell. Think of something else.
“Sheriff Carter and I spent the morning out at the site of the accident.”
Her smile faded like the winter sun behind snow-laden clouds. “Did you find anything?”
“A Bible with the family’s last name: Hays. The sheriff’s trying to contact the next of kin, but it might take a while. Anyway, I’ve got the family’s supplies in the back of the wagon. There are a couple of trunks, too. Where do you want them?”
“Supplies?” Lines knit her brow.
“Meal, flour, sugar. All kinds of provisions. Seems Mr. Hays was a careful man. Wherever they were headed, he didn’t intend to run out of anything.”
“But we can’t take the Hayses’ supplies.”
“The orphanage is taking care of the children.” He nodded toward the parlor. “And a lot of others from the sound of it. I’d say you’re more entitled than anyone else.”
She worried her bottom lip for a moment. “I suppose you’re right. Pull around back while I tell Mrs. Brooks.”
Jake went out into the cold and drove the wagon around to the side porch off the kitchen. Livy waited, the door open behind her. The two of them unloaded the wagon, Livy taking the smaller items and Jake wrestling with the kegs of flour and sugar and the two trunks. He shouldered the heaviest of the trunks, grunting. Finally they had everything stacked haphazardly inside the storage room.
Jake stood with his hands on his hips, breathing hard. But the expression on Livy’s face made the labor worth it all. She looked like a child at the candy counter over at McIver’s, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement.
“It’s an answer to prayer.” She ran her hand over a barrel of sugar. “I can’t believe there’s so much.”
He removed his coat and wiped his sleeve across his brow. “Maybe Mr. Hays intended to open a store.”
“Poor man. Did you ever find out what happened?”
Jake shook his head. “We really couldn’t tell. Something must have spooked the horses while he was taking the harnesses off. It’s a miracle the children weren’t hurt.”
