by Pam Hillman
Livy winced. “What do you think happened?”
The doctor took a sip of coffee before answering. “Looks like he fell down . . . a mine shaft.”
* * *
“Doc thinks he fell down a mine shaft.”
The six miners seated at one of Emma’s tables stared hard at Jake.
“What are you getting at, Jake?”
Jake took a sip of coffee. “If anybody’s using child labor in the mines, you guys would know about it.”
Perkins shook his head. “There are a couple of twelve-, thirteen year-old boys working as trappers up at the Copper Penny, but they’re being treated as fair as anybody else. Maybe even better. Everybody looks after those two youngsters.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“There’s a new bunch near Cooperstown that might be doing such a thing. But I haven’t heard any rumors.”
After talking with the men, Jake saddled up and headed out to the mine Perkins had mentioned. The discovery of coal in the area had brought more business to Chestnut than even the railroad. The prospect of more people meant more business for everyone, but for every decent, hardworking coal miner who came to work, there were twice as many hard-drinking, lazy bums right alongside.
And as many greedy businessmen who didn’t care who got hurt or killed in the process.
A hastily assembled shack squatted at the entrance to the mine, smoke curling in lazy circles around the shingled roof. Jake dismounted and tied his horse to a hitching post. He started toward the shack, rubbing his hands together. It was a mite cooler here, and the snow hadn’t melted as much as in town.
The door opened, and a stranger stepped out. Tall, lean, and tough-looking, he had the look of a miner himself. Their eyes met, and the man removed a fat cigar from his mouth. “Deputy. How can I help you?”
“Morning.” Jake took a step toward the shack. “I’m here to see the owner of the mine. He inside?”
“I’m the owner. Carpenter’s the name. What can I do for you?”
“A kid showed up at the orphanage the other night. Hurt pretty bad.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Doc Valentine says he might have gotten hurt while working in a mine.”
A bark of laughter escaped Carpenter. “Deputy, do you realize how many kids pass themselves off as adults to get work in the mines? They’ll be ten or twelve and insist they’re four or five years older. Even their parents will vouch for them, saying they’re just small for their age.”
“There was no way to mistake this kid for an adult. Doc says he might not make it.”
“What happened to him?”
“We don’t know for sure, but he might have fallen down a shaft. He’s black and blue, got some broken ribs, and he might lose his hand. It’s in pretty bad shape.”
Carpenter swore, his face hardening. “I treat my workers fair, and if one of them was injured, I’d call on Doc to take care of them. You ever work in a mine, Deputy?”
Jake nodded, one short jerk of his head. “I’ve done my time.”
“Why’d you quit? You scared?” Carpenter took a puff on his cigar and grinned.
“Scared. And wiser. My pa died in the Black Gold collapse in ’72. I was trapped in the mine for several days before they got me out.”
“I heard about that. Rough break for everybody.” Carpenter shook his head. “Look, Deputy, I run a clean mine, even work alongside my men in a pinch. The kid could have been nosing around where he didn’t belong for all I know.” He glanced at the black hole leading into the bowels of the earth, a challenging look on his face. “You’re welcome to go down the shaft yourself and take a look.”
Jake broke out in a cold sweat. “Another time.”
“I don’t blame you. Sometimes I have to force myself to go down. Makes me appreciate my men every time I do.”
Two men Jake recognized pushed a cart out the entrance. Good men, they wouldn’t work in a place that treated kids like animals.
“Hey, Carpenter, we’re shorthanded today,” one of them called out. “Ol’ Skinner didn’t show up again.”
“Skinner in that jail of yours?” The mine owner snubbed out his cigar and squinted at Jake.
“Yep. Sorry about that.”
“Don’t reckon he’ll ever learn.” He headed toward the mine entrance. “Nice to meet you, Deputy. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Not today.”
The men disappeared into the mine, and Jake mounted his horse. He’d rather face down a drunk miner with a pistol than go into that black hole. He was a coward, plain and simple. What kind of lawman couldn’t face his fears for the safety of the people he protected?
If he was man enough for the job, he’d turn around and descend that shaft with Carpenter and his crew.
Instead, he rode away. He couldn’t do it.
Not today.
And maybe not ever.
* * *
Livy sponged the boy’s face. How small and delicate he looked now that all the grime had been washed away. He was a beautiful child with a head full of dark-red curls. She patted the cool cloth against his forehead, careful not to press too hard against the bruises. How could anyone treat a little boy so horribly?
Lord, heal this child. Save his hand, his life. And protect the other children that we haven’t found. And help me to convince Luke and the others to come here for their safety.
Mrs. Brooks stepped inside the room, a stack of fresh linens in her arms. “Any change?”
Livy shook her head. “Every so often he mumbles something about gloves and somebody named Jesse, but that’s it.”
“Poor tyke. I’ll spell you soon as I get supper on the table. I’d rather Mary and the others not see him until he’s better.”
“If he gets better,” Livy whispered.
“Have faith, Livy. God has brought him this far.” Mrs. Brooks rested her hand against his forehead, then his chest. “He feels cooler. I believe the fever has broken.”
“Praise the Lord.”
The boy moaned but didn’t wake while they changed the sheets and put a fresh nightshirt on him. When they were done, he slept without thrashing about, looking as peaceful as Gracie taking an afternoon nap. Except for the cuts and bruises on his face.
Tears of thankfulness misted Livy’s eyes.
Mrs. Brooks tilted her head, a frown on her face. “Those red curls look familiar, but for the life of me, I can’t place him.”
“Jessica has red hair.” Livy shot a glance at Mrs. Brooks. “You don’t think this could be her brother, Bobby?”
“Maybe.” Mrs. Brooks bit her lip.
Livy blinked back the tears and wrung out the cloth once again. Jessica had stopped asking for her brother. If this was Bobby, it would be cruel to let her see him and then have death snatch him away hours or days after they had been reunited.
* * *
“Grady, get in here.”
Grady lumbered into the office, and Victor slammed the door behind the hulking giant, shutting out the clamor of sewing machines.
“I told you to get rid of that kid.”
“I did.” Grady’s wide, flat features looked confused.
Victor didn’t know if Grady came with a few loose marbles rattling around in his brain or if one too many rounds in the boxing ring had knocked the sense right out of him.
“Then why is he over at the orphanage, living a life of luxury? As soon as he realizes we can’t touch him, he’ll spill the beans about this place, and that sheriff and his deputy will be all over us.”
“I thought he was dead, boss.”
“Well, he’s not, and those boys that got away from us found him and took him to the orphanage.”
“Sorry, boss.”
Sorry? That’s all the imbecile could say?
Victor raked a hand through his hair. His carefully laid plans were falling apart because of a bunch of dim-witted idiots. He’d picked Butch and Grady for their size and int
imidation, not because of their brains. His first mistake.
The hum of sewing machines vibrated through the walls. The glove factory was his first endeavor outside of his father’s well-oiled machine in Chicago, and he’d turned a hefty profit until now. If those kids hadn’t started stealing from the merchants and caused the deputy to ask questions, he’d have been sitting pretty for a long time. But they were forcing him to take action.
What would his brother do? Cut his losses. That’s what.
They’d move the children, and then they’d destroy the building.
* * *
Billy Johansen squirmed like a bug caught in a jug of syrup.
Martha slapped her hands against her hips. “Now hold on, Jake. You can’t come in here and accuse my Billy of being involved with that riffraff from shantytown.”
Jake ignored the boy’s mother, his attention focused on Billy. Lavinia’s older sister had always run roughshod over the rest of them, even back when they’d been children in school. He could easily see that Billy had inherited her overbearing ways. Martha’s timid husband, Clarence, looked on, not saying a word.
“Billy, you were seen with one of the thieves. It’s only going to be a matter of time before they’re caught. It’ll go a lot easier on you if you tell me what you know now.”
Martha huffed.
“Will I go to jail?” Billy asked, the first sign of fear or admission he’d shown.
“It depends on whether you’ve stolen anything. Have you?”
Billy shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Well, then, if you’re telling the truth, you don’t have anything to worry about. Who’s stealing from the merchants?”
“I’ve listened to enough of this.” Martha stomped forward, putting herself between Jake and Billy. “Jake, you should be ashamed of yourself, accusing a child of thievery. Why, it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
Jake almost laughed. Didn’t it occur to Martha that the entire town seemed intent on accusing a bunch of street kids who didn’t have anyone to defend them—save Livy—of thieving? “Martha, I’m not accusing Billy of any wrongdoing. I’ve been told he was seen with one of the thieves.”
“Well, it sounds like you think he’s guilty of something, and—”
“Hush, Martha.” Clarence spoke up, his deep voice at odds with his quiet manner.
Dead silence filled the room.
Martha’s jaw dropped open and she sputtered, “But, Clarence—”
“I told you to hush.” Clarence turned to his son. “Billy, go ahead and tell Jake what you know. Even your mother can’t get you out of this one.”
Billy paled and looked toward the floor. “Will,” he whispered.
“Will McIver?” Jake asked.
Billy nodded, his expression downright miserable.
* * *
Jake left the Johansens’, planning to head straight to Sam’s, not liking what he must do one bit. Not only had Will started drinking and gambling, but he’d added stealing to his vices. It all fell into place now. Will needed money to support his gambling habit. Jake should’ve realized Will wouldn’t have that kind of money the night he’d hauled him out of Lucky’s. But he’d been so focused on finding the kid drunk and on what that would do to his parents that thoughts of where Will had gotten that much money hadn’t even crossed his mind.
Halfway to the mercantile, he changed his mind and stepped into Judge Parker’s quarters.
An hour later, Jake found Sam alone in the store, all his cronies having gone home or to Nellie’s for the noon meal. Thankful for the absence of prying eyes and ears, Jake rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I’ve got some bad news, Sam.”
Sam’s body went rigid. “It’s Will, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?” A muscle jumped in Sam’s clenched jaw. “Just tell me straight.”
Jake hated being the bearer of bad news to his friends and neighbors. But as deputy, he didn’t have a choice. He took a deep breath. “I think Will’s been stealing to support his gambling and drinking.”
Sam turned away, shoulders slumped. “I should have seen it. Who else would have known where that watch was or even my sister-in-law’s jewelry?”
Jake gripped his friend’s shoulder. “If anybody should have recognized the signs, it should have been me. Don’t blame yourself. You raised him right, Sam. It’s not your fault.”
“I reckon you’re going to need to take him in.” Sam turned to face Jake.
“I’m sorry, Sam. Where is he?”
“At home. Sleeping off another drunk, I suppose.” Sam bowed his head and took a deep cleansing breath, then untied the apron from around his waist and threw it on the counter. “I’ll lock up and go with you. Sally’s going to need me there.”
“Before we go, there’s something else you need to know.”
Sam eyed him, the look on his face telling Jake nothing could be worse than the news he’d already brought.
“I’ve already talked to Judge Parker.”
“And?”
“Since Will is so young and this is his first offense, Judge Parker wants to sentence him to a few months in jail at night and let him work off his debts with the merchants during the day.”
A spark of hope ignited Sam’s features. “Do you think it will do any good?”
“Maybe. If we can get him away from the crowd he’s been running around with, we might be able to save him from himself.”
Sam swiped at the tears swimming in his eyes. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes if it will help him stop drinking and gambling.”
“I’ll keep a close eye on him.”
“Thank you, Jake.” Sam flipped the closed sign over.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Livy opened the door to find Jake standing on the porch. He stepped inside. “How’s the boy?”
“Better.” She smiled. “His fever broke about an hour ago. He’s still asleep, though.”
“That’s good.”
He slumped into a kitchen chair. Livy watched him as she finished wiping down the table. She slid into a chair and touched his arm. “Jake, what’s wrong?”
“I arrested Will McIver this afternoon.” A worried frown creased his brow. “You were right. Will’s the one who’s been stealing from the merchants, not the street kids.”
“Oh no.” She hadn’t wanted to be right, not if it meant the thief was another kid. “Do Mr. and Mrs. McIver know?”
“They know.” Jake nodded, his expression grim.
“What’s going to happen now?”
“Judge Parker’s going to go light on him, give him a chance to turn around. Maybe this will be a wake-up call.”
Livy rested her hand on his arm. “I’ll pray that it is.”
His gaze flickered over her face and softened. Livy’s heart hitched in her chest. He gave her a lopsided grin. “I’m sorry I was so hardheaded about the street kids.”
“You couldn’t know. No one did.”
“But you believed in them.”
Livy shrugged. “It’s not like street kids to put themselves in the limelight like that.”
“Livy, come quick,” Mrs. Brooks called from the other room. “He’s awake.”
Livy tossed the dishcloth on the table and headed toward the bedroom, Jake close on her heels. She slowed, glancing at him. “Don’t scare him.”
Jake scowled. “Give me some credit, won’t you? I won’t bite the kid.”
Livy eased into the room and found Mrs. Brooks smiling at the boy. Cautious eyes stared back at her, shifted to land on Livy, and quickly jumped to Jake and the badge on his shirt.
Livy’s heart squeezed in dismay at the way the boy’s thin frame shrank against the feather tick, as if he wanted to disappear under the covers until they all went away.
“Hello.” Livy injected a friendly, soothing tone into her voice. “I’m Livy O’Brien. This is Mrs. Brooks and Deputy Russell.”
A quick flick of his eyes at
Jake confirmed that the boy was more terrified of him than anything.
Livy stepped between the two, forming a barrier. “It’s all right. You’re not in any trouble, and the deputy is not going to arrest you for anything. We want to help you, okay?”
He stared at her, silent. No way did he believe her. Livy sat on the edge of the bed. He tried to scoot away, but pain contorted his features. Instinctively Livy reached out a hand, and he froze, looking like a mouse being stalked by a cat.
She dropped her hand to her lap, all too aware of the caution that thrummed beneath his rib cage. Should he trust her? Should he tell a tall tale and try to somehow worm his way out of here? Should he play on their sympathies? Or should he keep his mouth shut?
“Bobby?”
His gaze ricocheted to Livy; his mouth opened, then snapped shut, forming a thin line.
“Your name is Bobby, isn’t it?”
He dropped his eyes to the quilt covering his legs. Finally he nodded, the movement so slight Livy almost missed it.
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay,” he mumbled.
Livy glanced at Mrs. Brooks. “Maybe we need to send for the doctor now that he’s awake.”
“I’ll send Mary or one of the boys for him.” Mrs. Brooks left the room.
“Bobby?” Jake stepped forward. “I know you’re feeling pretty rough, but we really do want to help you and the other children. To do that, we need some information.”
Bobby kept his gaze centered on the quilt, not moving, not making eye contact, not answering. Livy knew that look. He’d stay that way for a long, long time, simply out of fear.
“Bobby, I want you to look at me.”
Her firm tone encouraged the boy to obey. She didn’t want him to be afraid of her, but she needed him to listen to what she had to say. Green eyes filled with defiance met hers. She leaned closer, everything else fading into the background as she attempted to connect with this scared little boy who reminded her of herself.
“Bobby, I know what you’re going through. I’ve been there. Maybe not the exact circumstances, but when I was a kid, I ran from the coppers more times that I can count.” She shifted on the bed and caught a glimpse of Jake in the mirror atop the dresser. Should she reveal more? He wouldn’t like what he heard. But she had to reach Bobby. She forged ahead. “And sometimes I got caught.”
