by Pam Hillman
He turned to Sam. “I’ll keep an eye out for Will around town. Maybe the next time, I’ll throw him in jail and let him stay a couple of days. That ought to cool his heels a bit.”
“It might.”
“You’d better square it with the missus first. I don’t want Mrs. McIver breathing down my neck.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Sam sanded a couple of spindles and tapped them into place with a mallet. He lifted the chair and gave it a steady thump on the floor. “Well, looky there. Just what the doctor ordered.”
* * *
Luke waited until the miners left before knocking on Emma’s back door.
“Back again?” Emma smiled.
He stepped inside, skittish about revealing too much to the woman, but she never asked questions, just smiled and gave him the bread for his handful of pennies.
“I’ve got a pone of leftover corn bread. Will that do?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He handed her the coins, and she wrapped the corn bread in a piece of old newspaper. He noticed movement through a split in the curtain separating the kitchen from the dining area. Someone else was here. He sidled closer to the door, ready to take off at the least sign of trouble.
Emma glanced at him. “By the way, Miss O’Brien from the orphanage started working here yesterday. She was asking about you and the others. I think she’d be willing to help if you’d let her.”
His heart pounded, and his gaze darted toward the dining room.
“She’s here, if you’d like to meet her.”
“No, ma’am.” Luke shook his head and backed toward the door.
“Emma, did you say something?”
At the sound of the familiar voice, he turned and ran. When he’d put enough distance between himself and Emma’s, he slowed, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t been followed.
Did she really want to help? He’d seen her with the deputy several times and that didn’t sit well. Even though she’d brought them food more than once, he still didn’t trust her. Anytime somebody went out of her way to befriend him, he grew suspicious.
He didn’t dare trust anybody, not until he found Mark.
And maybe not ever.
* * *
Things didn’t look good.
“It’s taking too long.” Livy hunkered down and eyed Ginger. Almond-shaped emerald eyes stared back at her, unblinking. Livy stood and paced the kitchen, her arms hugging her waist.
Mrs. Brooks sat at the table, calmly peeling potatoes. “Don’t worry, Livy. She’ll be fine.”
“Supper will be ready within the hour. What will we do then? We don’t want the children to see her giving birth, especially if something goes wrong.”
Mrs. Brooks pushed the bowl of potatoes toward Livy and handed her the knife. “Here. You take care of this.”
Mrs. Brooks took Ginger and her bedding to the storeroom and closed the door. She moved to the washbasin and washed her hands. “Now that’s taken care of. She can have her babies in privacy, and the children won’t have to watch. Does that make you feel better?”
“Yes.” Livy bit her lip, her gaze lingering on the storeroom. “But now I’ll worry about her all through supper.”
“We’ll check on her after we put the children to bed. There’ll be plenty of time for them to see the kittens tomorrow.”
Livy peeled potatoes, worrying about Ginger the whole time. She’d never thought she’d be so concerned about a cat having kittens, but it couldn’t be helped. She’d never seen newborn kittens before. She’d found a half-grown cat once in Chicago. Katie hadn’t wanted her to keep the cat, but Livy had cried until her sister gave in. After a while, even Katie had accepted the mouser, since he kept the rats at bay. Then one night, he disappeared and never came back. Livy cried for days, worrying herself sick.
“Mrs. Brooks?” Livy finished the potatoes and carried the bowl to the stove.
“Hmmm?”
“How many children have you taken in over the years?”
The older woman looked up, a thoughtful frown on her round face. “Oh, I don’t know. Dozens, I guess. Why do you ask?”
She dumped the potatoes in boiling water, thinking of the children she’d known on the streets of Chicago. After she’d recovered from her sickness, she’d gone back to her old stomping grounds, hoping to convince the younger children to come with her to Mrs. Brooks’s orphanage. But she couldn’t find a single one of her friends. They’d simply disappeared. Probably been hauled in and carted off to sweatshops throughout the city. Or worse.
She bit her lip and prayed the prayer that was never far from her heart and mind. Lord, send someone to care for the children still on the streets in Chicago. Send food and clothes and a warm place to stay. Send someone like Mrs. Brooks.
“How do you stand knowing they’ll leave you someday and you’ll never see them again?”
Mrs. Brooks eyed her. “I don’t know. I guess the good Lord just put it in me to let them go. It’s not easy, mind you, but if a family comes along wanting to adopt a child, who am I to say no? There’s always another needy child to fill the vacancy.”
“I don’t think I could stand it for one of the children to be taken away.”
“Livy, if and when it happens, the Lord will help you get through it. I promise you that.”
All through supper, Livy thought about Mrs. Brooks’s words while worrying about Ginger. She hadn’t known the Lord when Katie died, and she hadn’t met Mrs. Brooks for almost a year after that fateful day. There’d been no one to depend on, no one to turn to except the other street kids, and all they knew was heartache and despair and living hand to mouth every day, barely surviving.
Her life since she’d met Mrs. Brooks had been so different from her life on the streets. Not just because she had food to eat every day and lived in a warm house but because of caring for others and their needs. Life these days revolved around the children, not herself. What made the difference? Because Jesus lived in her heart or because He lived in Mrs. Brooks’s heart?
Or maybe a little bit of both?
* * *
As soon as the children were all in bed, Livy slipped back into the kitchen to check on Ginger. She turned the lamp up and left it on the kitchen table before easing the storeroom door open. Ginger popped out, a multicolored kitten in her mouth.
“Oh, my.” Livy didn’t get much of a look at the tiny creature as Ginger shot past her. The new mother made a beeline for her spot by the stove, where she placed her baby and nuzzled it with her nose. The kitten looked none the worse for having been carried around by the scruff of its neck.
“Ginger,” she whispered, pointing to the storeroom, “you’re supposed to be in there.”
The cat didn’t pay her any attention. What now? Should she move the mama cat and the kitten back into the storeroom? Maybe that would be best. She tried to pick Ginger up, but the cat squirmed away like a greased pig, settling next to her baby on the floor.
Livy rocked back on her heels. Okay. Think. Maybe if she took the kitten back, Ginger would follow. She scooped up the bundle of wet fur, marveling at its tiny perfection. Ginger jumped to her feet and followed, meowing. Pleased with her progress, Livy hurried to the storeroom and found another kitten on the bed of old clothes and blankets Mrs. Brooks had left on the floor. Ginger sniffed at the kitten, grabbed it, and trotted back toward the stove.
Livy sighed. So much for that.
She cradled the kitten, gazing into its pinched little face, the tiny pink nose with tufts of soft hair for ears. She fingered paws smaller than the tip of her pinkie. The kitten sneezed, and her heart turned over. Helpless didn’t begin to describe the tiny living thing.
Since Ginger seemed determined to make a home beside the stove, Livy took the kitten back to the kitchen. Then she put the blankets back where they’d been all along. Ginger nuzzled her babies, then stood and circled them. She stretched out on her side, and Livy watched her, pleased with the
turn of events. The children would be so happy when they got up in the morning and found two kittens.
Ginger stood and made another circle. Livy frowned at the cat’s still-distended belly. Her heart started pounding. Ginger was not through having babies. She jumped up and turned away. What now? She closed her eyes.
Okay; do not panic. Ginger managed to have two babies just fine on her own. She’s capable of doing this.
She headed toward Mrs. Brooks’s room, then changed her mind. The elderly woman would be asleep already. It would be silly to wake her because Ginger might need help. She went back to the kitchen and peeked at the cat, relieved to find another kitten on the pallet. She pulled out a kitchen chair and cradled her head in her hands.
How long had Ginger been in labor? It had taken her almost four hours to have three tiny kittens. Were there more? Livy gently rubbed her hand over Ginger’s stomach. From the lumps and bumps, she felt sure there were. “How many babies you got in there, girl?”
An hour later, Ginger delivered another kitten. Livy had never dreamed it would take this long or that Ginger would have so many.
By one o’clock in the morning, five little bundles of fur nestled close to Ginger. Livy had all but worn a hole in the kitchen floor. She wasn’t sure, but she thought Ginger might be done having babies now.
Livy cradled the firstborn kitten against her cheek, marveling at the miracle of birth she’d witnessed. She’d had never been so proud, even if Ginger was only a cat.
* * *
Jake scowled at the paperwork on his desk. If there was one thing he hated about being a deputy, it was the mountain of wanted posters and letters asking if they’d seen so-and-so. He picked up a letter from a Mrs. Goldstein, looking for her son who’d fought with his father and declared he’d find a job in the mining towns in Illinois. Brown hair, brown eyes, medium height, no discernible scars.
He sighed. That description could fit a couple hundred miners in Chestnut alone. He tossed the letter aside, feeling sorry for the frantic mother but not knowing how he could help her.
The door opened, and Paul Stillman stepped inside, stomping snow off his boots. “Afternoon, Jake. Got a minute?”
“Yes, sir. What is it?” Jake’s stomach churned. The look on the banker’s face told him this wasn’t a social call.
Stillman pulled a chair close to the stove and settled his heavyset frame into it. He took his time cleaning his glasses before spearing Jake with a concerned look. “Don’t know how to tell you this, Jake, so I’ll just come right on out and say it. You’re Seamus O’Leary’s sole heir. Besides his personal effects, you own his shares of the Black Gold mine.”
Jake stared at him, the wind nearly knocked out of his chest. “There was no next of kin?”
“None.”
“But why? Seamus knew none of us planned to open the mine back up.”
“Seamus came to see me not long after the mine explosion. He knew his health wasn’t the best, and he asked me to prepare a will and keep it at the bank.”
“So you’ve known all this time?”
Stillman nodded. “He asked me not to say anything until he died. He wasn’t a talkative man, but of all the shareholders, he knew he could count on you to do the right thing. He said when the chips were down, you’d do what needed to be done.”
Jake placed his palms on the paper-strewn desk and leaned back. “Mr. Stillman, I appreciate you telling me all this, but it doesn’t change a thing.”
“Other than the fact that you own 50 percent of the mine now.”
“That’s 50 percent I don’t want or need.”
Chapter Sixteen
Jake patted Miss Nellie on the shoulder and surveyed the damage to the boardinghouse’s café. “Don’t worry, Miss Nellie. Harvey will have everything set to right in no time.”
“But why would someone break in to my café?” She dabbed her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. “We don’t have anything of value.”
“They’re looking for money, food, or anything they can sell for cash.”
Miss Nellie gazed at him with red-rimmed eyes. “If they’re hungry, all they’ve got to do is ask. There wasn’t any need to tear things apart.”
Jake nodded. Miss Nellie would never turn a hungry child away. And neither would the orphanage. Which was why he couldn’t understand why these children wouldn’t go there. Livy insisted they were afraid. Afraid of what? Livy? Mrs. Brooks? Nothing to fear there. Unless he counted the way Livy made his heart pound. And the longer she held him at arm’s length, the worse the feeling got.
“Jake? Are you all right?”
Jake blinked and saw Miss Nellie staring at him, confusion lining her eyes.
“I’m fine. Just thinking.”
“Look at this mess.” Miss Nellie wiped her eyes again, then stuffed her hankie into an apron pocket.
Tables and chairs lay topsy-turvy, scattered across the floor as if an angry bull had rampaged through. Miss Nellie’s prized checkerboard tablecloths dotted the carnage. She trudged across the room, reached down and picked up a tablecloth, shook it out, and started folding it into a small neat square, sniffling as she went.
Jake set the tables and chairs to rights in no time and stepped into the kitchen. He spotted Harvey trying to tilt a corner pie safe upright. “Here, let me help you with that.”
The two righted the cabinet and pushed the furniture into the corner where it had sat as long as Jake could remember. Many a night since he’d started boarding with the Bakers’, he’d raided that pie safe for a piece of Miss Nellie’s chocolate cake or apple pie.
Too bad he hadn’t been around last night. Maybe he would have heard the commotion. Nobody else had. Harvey couldn’t hear spit, and Miss Nellie slept like the dead.
Harvey grabbed a bucket and tossed a pie in. Jake hunkered down and salvaged two loaves of bread wrapped in cheesecloth. “Harvey, do you know what’s missing?”
“Huh?”
Jake raised his voice. “Anything missing?”
“The money from the cash box.”
“The one Miss Nellie kept in the pie safe?”
“Yeah. Been telling her for years not to leave it there. But she wouldn’t listen. Said if somebody needed it more than she did, they were welcome to it.”
“Well, I guess somebody took her at her word.” Jake sat back on his heels, elbows resting on his knees, and surveyed the damage. Harvey dumped another ruined pie in the bucket.
Miss Nellie stepped into the kitchen, still dabbing at her eyes.
Jake stood, tossed an arm around her shoulders, and gave her a hug. “Everything will be fine, Miss Nellie. We’ll find out who did this.”
“I’m sure they had a good reason.” She patted his shirtfront with a gnarled hand. “Now, don’t you be too rough on them youngsters when you find ’em. They’re just children, after all. If we could get ’em in church, that’d do them a sight more good than jail.”
Jake sighed as he looked into her kind face, lined with age and wisdom. He was probably looking at Livy O’Brien sixty years from now. Almost too tenderhearted for her own good.
She glanced around her kitchen, looking a bit confused. “I’m sorry you missed breakfast, Jake, but when I came down and saw this mess, I got so upset, I didn’t know what to do.”
“Tell you what. When Harvey and I get everything straightened up, we’ll let you treat us to some fried ham, biscuits, and gravy.” He raised his voice. “How’s that sound, Harvey?”
Harvey swiped at some gooey apple pie filling on the floor. “Best news I’ve had all day.”
* * *
Livy finished sweeping the spiderwebs from the upstairs bedrooms, then cleaned the washroom. The harsh Illinois winters kept the inhabitants of the orphanage confined close to the warmth of the kitchen, but they’d had a few days of sunshine to chase a bit of the cold away. The children would start sleeping upstairs as soon as the weather allowed.
A door slammed, followed by the boys’ raucous laughter. . .
. Seth and Georgie must have come in from the cold. Moments later, they raced upstairs, grinning from ear to ear. “Tommy’s here.”
Livy’s heart rate spiked. Jake as well? Tommy’s dark hair and freckled face popped up on the stairwell a few steps below Seth. She smiled at him. “Hello, Tommy.”
The boy grinned, looking like a kid version of Jake. “Morning, Miss Livy.”
The three boys tore down the stairwell, rattling the walls. Seth hollered over his shoulder, “Mrs. Brooks said to come downstairs. We’ve got visitors.”
Livy hurried into the washroom and smoothed her flyaway curls. Frowning, she eyed the cobwebs sticking to her brown dress. She shouldn’t have worn the brown to clean in, but it was too late now. She swiped at the gossamer threads to no avail. “Oh, drat it.” Cobwebs or no, she didn’t have time to change.
She hurried down the stairs, passed the parlor, and saw Jake’s sisters with Mary and the other girls. Mrs. Brooks and Mrs. Russell were in the kitchen digging through a box of clothes. Livy tamped down a twinge of disappointment when she didn’t see Jake. Mrs. Brooks smiled, her face beaming. “Look, Livy, Mrs. Russell brought some clothes Tommy and the girls have outgrown.”
Livy peeked in the box and pulled out a pair of twill pants. “Oh, these should be perfect for Georgie.”
“And look.” Mrs. Brooks held up a tiny smocked dress. “This should fit Grace. Isn’t it darling?”
A shriek sounded from outside, and Mrs. Russell pressed a hand to her heart. “My word, what was that?”
Livy glanced out the window. “Seth fell out of the tree, but he’s fine. The snow cushioned his fall.” She laughed. “Looks like they’ve discovered a new game. That should keep them busy for a while.”
“If it doesn’t give me a heart attack in the process.”
The shared laughter felt good.
