by Pam Hillman
“Yes, it is.” She hesitated and looked away from him, her gaze finally landing on the stove. A blush stole over her cheeks. “Would you like some coffee before you go?”
He hesitated. He’d worked up a sweat hauling in the supplies, but a cup of coffee would be nice. “Thanks.”
“I’m afraid it’s been sitting on the stove awhile.”
“If I can drink that stuff Sheriff Carter makes, I can drink anything.”
She laughed. He liked the sound, like little silver bells.
“Do you take sugar? I’m afraid we’re out of cream.”
“Black is fine.”
As Jake nursed his cup of coffee, Livy stirred a big pot of stew, and he tried to think of something to bring her out of her shell. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before glancing over her shoulder at him, a questioning look on her face.
“How long have you known Mrs. Brooks?”
Her gaze shifted, and she turned away. The ladle in her hand seemed to have become the most important thing in the world. “About two years.”
“Then you’re not from around here, are you? Sheriff Carter said she came from Chicago.”
“Yes, that’s right.” She reached for the coffeepot, her smile firmly in place. Had he imagined her unease? “Would you like some more?”
Her eyes flashed like a bluebird on the wing, and his fingers itched to feel the softness of her cheek, the curve of her jaw. He blinked. What kind of spell had Livy O’Brien woven? Or was he weaving one of his own? He needed to concentrate all his energies on paying off that loan before he lost the family farm. Then, maybe, he’d think about courting, about starting a family. But not for a long, long time.
“No thank you. I’d better get back to the jail.”
He gulped the rest of the bitter brew and grabbed his hat, determined to put some distance between himself and Livy O’Brien.
Chapter Three
The boss turned toward the motley group of kids cowering in front of him. One gangly boy stared back at him, angry defiance on his face. Grady stood in front of the door, muscled arms crossed over his chest. The faint hum of sewing machines in the next room overrode the silence.
The boss pinned the boy with a look that meant business. “What’s your name?”
“Bobby.” The kid’s chin lifted, and he looked him square in the face. Cheeky little bugger. The kid would bear watching.
“How’d you get out of the crate?” He reached for an apple, well aware the children hadn’t eaten in days.
The boy looked away from the fruit, a mulish expression settling over his face.
“So you don’t want to tell me, huh?” He sliced off a small piece of apple and stuck it in his mouth, chewing slowly. There were ways to make him talk. “Grady?”
“Yeah, boss?” Grady straightened, flexing his muscles.
He nodded toward a small, dark-eyed youngster. Grady grabbed the child and wrapped his beefy hands around the kid’s arm. The kid’s eyes widened.
One squeeze would crush the arm like a bug.
The boss’s gaze slid back to Bobby. “When I ask a question, I expect an answer.”
The kid stood rigid, watchful, eyes narrowed.
One thing he’d learned about these kids: they were street savvy to the core. Both boys knew exactly what would happen if somebody didn’t give an answer.
Soon.
Bobby’s gaze bounced between the boss and Grady’s too-eager hold on the smaller child. Grady’s free hand wrapped around the boy’s neck, fingers flexing, an evil grin spreading across his face.
The boss flicked a small piece of apple peel toward Grady. “Easy. No need to get carried away.”
They could use the kid in the factory, but it was more important the others knew who was in charge. “Now, Bobby, you want to tell me what happened in the warehouse?”
“A boy, an older kid, pried the lid off and let us out.”
“What’s his name?”
Something flickered between the two boys.
Interesting. Did they know more than they were letting on?
“Grady.” The boss spoke the name quietlike, but Grady knew what to do. His fingers tightened on the kid’s neck. The dark eyes widened with fear, and a whimper gurgled up the small throat.
“He said his name was Luke. That’s all I know.” The words rushed out of Bobby in his haste to protect the younger boy.
The boss motioned to Grady, and the ex-prizefighter loosened his grip.
“Luke, huh?” Settling on the corner of his desk, he smiled at the youngsters. This little episode might turn out for the good. These kids were so afraid him and Grady, they’d do anything. Anything at all.
“Grady, take them to the back. Bobby can run one of the sewing machines. I think he’s more than up to the task.”
“Yes, sir.” Grady opened the door. “Come on. Let’s go.”
The youngsters followed Grady through the door, meek as little lambs. Just the way the boss liked them. Grady slammed the door shut, locking it behind him, and the boss settled behind his desk and reached for a cigar.
Luke.
Must be one of the kids who’d gotten away the night one of the crates fell off the train and burst open. The four boys inside had scattered like rats down the alleys of Chestnut.
He’d watched them go. There was no way to link them to him, and they were criminals after all. The last place they’d go was to the cops. He lit his cigar and took a puff, eyes narrowed in thought.
But why would this Luke risk his life to save the others?
Now there was a question worth pondering.
* * *
Boards creaked under Jake’s boots as he made his midnight rounds. A scuffling sound came from a nearby alley, and he paused. Were those street kids prowling around again? He eased into the shadows and followed the noise. Ten yards into the passageway, a familiar humming wafted toward him.
What was Gus doing out so late?
Augustus P. Jones lived in a shack outside of town. He did odd jobs for people but didn’t mingle with many. The old man had risked his life to pull Jake out of a tight spot a couple years ago, and Jake made a habit of checking on him as often as he could.
“Gus?” he called out, careful not to startle him. “Augustus?”
A loud clattering and banging ensued, and Jake winced. So much for not scaring the old feller. It didn’t take much to send Gus into a panic.
“Whaddaya want? I ain’t got nuthin’.”
“Gus, it’s all right. It’s me, Jake.”
A nervous laugh shot out of the darkness, followed by the shadowy form of a round, little man leading a donkey hitched to a cart. “You scared the bejeebers outta me, Mr. Jake.” He wiped a hand across his whiskered face.
“Sorry, Gus. I didn’t mean to. What’ve you been doing today?”
“Nuthin’ much.” Gus shrugged and dropped his head, tucking his chin against his chest.
“Help McIver any?”
He shook his head. “No, sir.”
Why was he being so evasive?
Gus eased away, signaling the end to the conversation.
Jake scratched the donkey behind the ears, then swiped at the snowflakes clinging to the animal’s back. “It’s starting to snow again. You’d better head on home before it gets real heavy.”
“Yes, sir, me and Little Bit was just about to do that.”
“Take care of yourself, Gus. Are you warm enough? Got enough coal to keep your fire going?”
But Gus and his donkey were already shuffling down the alley, Gus humming a tune that sounded like a Christmas carol. Jake continued his rounds, hoping the old man would be all right. He’d check on him tomorrow, just to be sure.
* * *
By the time Livy draped her heavy black cloak over her shoulders and pulled the hood over her hair, darkness covered the town. But she wasn’t worried. The darkness was as familiar as the cloak she wore. She wrapped a shawl around her neck and covered half her face before
picking up a basket of leftovers and two blankets. The food wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
She glanced at the overflowing pantry. One prayer answered in abundance. How could she have doubted God? Her faith in God’s provision was so weak—and her faith in herself was even weaker. She’d learn to depend on God and not take matters into her own hands if it killed her.
Hurrying back to the pie safe, she added several more slices of corn bread and the rest of the leftover ham. The food in the pantry wouldn’t last forever, but she couldn’t bear to let even one street kid go hungry.
The latch clicked quietly as she inched open the back door of the orphanage. She paused at the sight of more snow drifting out of the night sky. The drop in temperature from a few hours before caused her to shiver, and the temptation to abandon her mission and go back inside gripped her.
But memories of brutal nights just like this one assaulted her, and she could no more turn around and head back inside to the warmth of the orphanage than she could cease to breathe. She pulled her cloak closer, determined to see her task through.
She picked her way across the frozen ground, watching for icy spots. When the clouds parted, feeble moonlight reflected off the snow, lighting her way. She crossed in front of the laundry and headed down the alley between the livery stable and the blacksmith shop, angled across another street, and came to the edge of shantytown.
The snow was deeper here, but at least the powder kept her from slipping and sliding on black ice. The grist mill lay dormant, ice clinging to the huge paddle wheel. Pausing, she peered into a narrow alley leading to the frozen creek behind the buildings.
At least the wind had died down. For now.
Thank You, Lord.
Stacks of empty crates and boxes leaned haphazardly against the outer walls of the buildings. A heavy blanket of snow covered every inch of the area, creating the illusion of softness and purity. Nothing could be further from the truth. The black mud and coal-dusted surfaces beneath the snow mimicked the bleak circumstances of many inhabitants of shantytown, especially the boys she’d come to find. She picked her way through the cluttered alley to the dilapidated cabins along the creek bank.
The gutted shanties showed evidence of fire in the recent past. Some structures still stood, leaning against each other like drunks after a long night at the saloon. Others lay collapsed within themselves, having succumbed to the ravages of fire and decay. The first big gust of wind—or even another layer of new-fallen snow—might bring the remaining shacks crashing down.
Then it would be too late to find the boys who’d tried to steal Jake’s watch. And too late to convince them to come to the orphanage, where they could have a hot meal and a warm place to sleep.
She’d caught glimpses of them around town a couple of times. Tattered clothes covered their wasted bodies, and a hungry, desperate look emanated from their eyes.
She knew that look. She’d lived it.
It would take courage for them to give up their freedom and come to the orphanage. But she’d win them over. No matter what it took, no matter how long.
Livy peered into the darkness. Would the children come forward tonight? She listened but heard nothing other than raucous laughter accompanied by the out-of-tune piano from the saloon down the street. She shoved aside a half-rotted crate and placed the basket against the wall. The kids would come for it. They always did.
Livy turned to go.
Rustling echoed behind her. She hesitated. A rat? Or the kids? She couldn’t tell . . . the noise had come from the other end of the alley.
She gestured in the direction of the basket. “I brought some corn bread, fried ham, and two more blankets. I know you’re there, and I understand why you won’t come out. I just want you to know that—” she paused for a moment—“all of you are welcome at the orphanage. It’s not much, but at least there’s a fire to keep you warm and food to eat.”
No response. Had she really expected any?
Livy pulled her cloak close. Unbidden, hot tears sprang to her eyes and overflowed, burning icy tracks down her cheeks.
Lord, why won’t they listen? How many have to freeze to death before they realize I only want to help them? Show me what to do, where to go. Take me to them, Lord, or bring them to me. Before it’s too late. No matter what it takes, please help me save these children.
She waited until the cold seeped through her cloak and into her bones; then she turned away. She’d done all she could for now. She didn’t have to tell them how to find the orphanage. One of them had followed her home one night. He hadn’t tried to talk to her or come inside, but he’d been curious enough to find the place. She had thought she’d have time to win him over, but the sudden drop in temperature worried her. Trust didn’t come easy for kids who lived on the streets. She knew that better than anybody.
She left the alley, hurrying through the deserted town toward the warmth of home. She stepped off the boardwalk and skirted a patch of ice, concentrating on her footing. Too late, she caught a glimpse of movement seconds before colliding with a solid wall of muscle and sinew. Steel bands reached out, grasping her shoulders to keep her upright.
“Whoa.”
Jake Russell.
Her heart skittered against her rib cage, and she fought the urge to wrench herself from his grasp and flee into the night.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She’d done nothing wrong. Nothing. She’d been on an errand of mercy—nothing more, nothing less.
“Livy?” He gave her a gentle shake. “What in the world are you doing out here so late?”
“I had an errand to run.”
“It couldn’t wait until morning?” he asked. “You don’t have any idea the kind of riffraff wandering the streets at night.” He jerked his head in the direction of the bawdy music. “Especially this close to the saloons.”
His brows drew together in a concerned frown. The man only wanted to protect her. He couldn’t know she’d seen much worse than anything the small town of Chestnut offered.
She patted his arm. “It’s all right. I know what I’m doing.”
“I’ll escort you home.” He pulled her gloved hand through the crook of his arm. “Not only are drunkards and gamblers roaming the streets, we’ve got those street kids from Chicago to deal with.”
Livy’s heart skipped a beat. Had the boys done something foolish? As long as they stayed out of sight, the townspeople wouldn’t give them a second thought. “What’s happened?”
“Somebody broke into the laundry last night.”
Oh no. “What did they take?”
“Some blankets and coats and stuff. Not much.”
“They’re freezing.”
“Yeah, but that’s no reason to break in to someone’s business.”
Livy stopped and held out her hand. “Give me your coat.”
“What?” He scowled.
“Your coat.” She glared at him. “If you don’t think freezing is a reason to steal a coat, you haven’t had to do without one.”
Jake exhaled. “I’m sorry. You have a point, but they could ask someone for help.”
“They’re afraid, and they’re just trying to survive. They don’t have any place to sleep or anything to eat. I’ve been—” Livy broke off.
“You’ve been what?” Jake stepped closer and grasped her shoulders. His hooded gaze searched her face. “That’s what you were doing out here tonight. Trying to find those kids.”
She went limp. He’d guessed right about her actions tonight. But she’d almost told him about her past. She should know not to open her mouth. “Not exactly.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I already know where they are.” At least I have a pretty good idea. “I’ve just got to convince them to come to the orphanage.”
“Livy, those boys will chew you up and spit you out. They’re not like the three little orphans we brought to you last night. These boys are used to lying, stealing, and cheating to g
et whatever they want.”
She shook her head, the need to defend the street kids so strong she threw caution to the wind. If only someone had defended her. Just once. Before she’d lost Katie. If someone had, maybe her sister would be alive today instead of in a cold, dark grave.
Oh, Katie, I miss you so.
She took a deep breath. “No, they don’t take what they want, only what they need. That’s all they dare risk. I’ve seen children with their feet wrapped in rags to keep from getting frostbite. I’ve seen them lose toes and fingers to the bitter cold. I’ve seen them take turns beating off rats so everyone could make it through the night. I’ve seen the police chase them down and whip them like dogs.” She blinked to hold the tears at bay, but one slipped free to track down her cheek. “No, these children don’t steal because they want to; they do it because they have to. They don’t know any other way.”
He reached out a gloved hand and wiped the moisture from her cheek with his thumb, his touch soft as the brush of a snowflake. His green eyes darkened. “I’m sorry. I hate that you saw things like that in Chicago, but I can’t let these young hoodlums run loose.”
“You don’t have to.” She grabbed his hand in both of hers. “If you find them, send for me. Let me talk to them. Please?”
A pained look crossed his face. “Livy . . .”
“Please, Jake? Give them a chance. Believe in them.”
Just like Mrs. Brooks had believed in her on that fateful day in Chicago.
He stared at her for a moment before he glanced away. “I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you.” She slipped her arm back through his. “You can take me home now.”
* * *
Luke ducked into the shack he shared with the other kids, the basket under his arm. The others dove for the hamper, grabbing the food. He made sure they shared with the younger ones. He took a small piece of ham and hunkered down in front of the fire. The girl he’d rescued from the warehouse stared at him, her eyes red and swollen from crying.
“I want Bobby.”
He wrapped one of the thin blankets around her shoulders. “Is Bobby your brother? Was he in the crate with you?”
