He grabbed onto the coach door and yanked himself inside.
“Thick Lip Annie’s?” Lydia’s face was as pale as moonlight inside the dark interior.
“Yes.”
“This Annie woman doesn’t happen to be retired too?”
He shook his head. He would not feel bad for doing what he knew was right, no matter the censure in her eyes. “You can trust me or not. I promise I’ll do nothing to hurt you. But as with Parker, I won’t force you. However, if you don’t go, this is the end of us working together.”
“How can you ask this of me?” She wrung her skirts in her hands. “I’ve already done more than I ought.”
“For the same reason I ask this of myself. When I stand before God, what could I possibly say to explain why I ignored the least of these? Are they not worthy of being helped?”
“Of course they are, but . . . by someone other than me. No one would approve.”
“Who else will do it if you and I don’t?”
She looked outside the window, her hands tightly clasped in her lap.
“Exactly. Nobody.”
She turned to stare at him, and he held her gaze until she looked down at her hands clenched in her lap.
“To Annie’s, then,” she whispered.
17
In front of Annie’s run-down alleyway home, Nicholas exited the carriage and held out his hand to Lydia. Her hand trembled, yet she stepped out onto the buckling brick street, her eyes as big as a frightened fawn’s.
Did she really think simply being here would sully her reputation? Just recently she’d high-stepped through the red-light district, singing songs of condemnation with her moral-society ladies.
He’d have to hold his tongue or he’d lose control again as he had on the way to Queenie’s.
He should probably apologize for that outburst. He’d not meant to let his emotions take over. “I’m sorry for my tirade earlier. If it makes you feel better, I once believed as you do.”
Her eyes narrowed.
He rubbed the back of his neck. How much could he tell her? “I once knew someone who fell rather low, from my own family, even. Two . . . actually.” He swallowed against the lump in his throat. Hopefully she’d never ask who. “I hated one of them for it. Left to myself, I don’t believe I would’ve ever changed my opinion of her. But God showed me He cared about her, and if I wanted to follow Him, I had to care too. Summoning up sympathy for her was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” He pinned his gaze on the crumbling orange brick at their feet.
“If I hadn’t been forced to help her, I’d never have wanted to help these people either. But they aren’t always as hopeless as polite society claims.” Compressing his lips, he looked at her, hoping she was listening—he wasn’t pushing her to play with fire just for the thrill of it. She needed to meet these people so they’d ignite compassion within her. “Was Queenie the kind of woman you’d envisioned?”
“No,” she whispered.
He wet his lips. “Well, Thick Lips Annie might be closer to what you’d expect.”
Lydia stiffened.
“But not everything about her is. She needs help too . . . for other reasons.”
“She . . . she won’t be in there . . .” Lydia pointed to the run-down building beside them. “With, uh, with a—”
“No. Not this time of day. She’s probably only been awake for a few hours.”
Lydia looked up and down the alley, no living thing visible besides a tabby perched on a pile of boxes. “Will you be taking me anywhere else in the red-light district?”
“No. And you never have to come again. But I needed you to see who you’re helping.” Though he hoped she would come again. If so, she might be willing to help with the ladies at the mansion.
But perhaps he aspired too high.
Why did it seem the only people driven to change things were those who’d been personally affected? Yet he wouldn’t wish his past experiences on anyone. “From now on, Parker or Henri and I will deliver the firewood. I can’t deliver too much at a time or it would be stolen. But per your request, I’ll supply them through the winter. After the winter is over, I’ll decide whether or not to continue, but you don’t have to be involved again—unless you want to be.”
A door hinge whined, and Lydia stepped behind him. He turned to see the filthy, tousled head of a toddler peek from the side door of the dilapidated building.
He squatted and held open his arms, palms out. “Hello, Robbie.”
The boy hesitantly stepped into the alley and slid toward him.
He’d only succeeded in holding the boy two or three times, and not once had Robbie relaxed in his embrace. But at least the little guy was no longer hiding in a corner. “How’ve you been?”
The boy stared at him from a few feet away, blinking his doleful eyes.
He’d never heard Robbie speak, so Nicholas tried to read the words chained up behind those rich brown eyes. The toddler was definitely frightened, but considering he was inching closer, it wasn’t because of him. “Come now, let’s find your mommy.”
Robbie took a few more steps forward, then laid his head on Nicholas’s shoulder. His body sagged against him and he clung to a fistful of Nicholas’s shabby jacket.
The boy’s trust made his heart flutter strangely, but the way Robbie held himself told him this wasn’t an entirely good thing. He ran his hand along the boy’s bony back and ducked his head to look at him. “What’s the matter, child?”
Robbie didn’t blink.
Nicholas turned to Lydia and shook his head. “He rarely lets me touch him.”
She stepped back and looked around the alley again, wringing her hands. “If something’s wrong, should I return to the coach?”
He hesitated. “Robbie, is there a man in the house?”
The little boy’s head slid against his shoulder negatively.
“I think it’s all right, just stay close until we find out what’s bothering him.”
Lydia slipped her hand in his, and he swallowed against the knot in his throat. Holding a woman’s hand, walking in step together, carrying a snuggling child . . . If someone walked past, they’d easily be mistaken for a loving family. He’d given up on ever having one, and this little boy would most likely never get one. He hugged Robbie tighter, saddened for the youngster more than for himself.
He peered down at Lydia. His quest to change her opinion today could ruin her chance at ever having a family as well. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.
But he couldn’t leave now, not until he knew Robbie would be all right. He shifted the little boy in his arms to knock on the opened door.
No one answered.
He forged in. Little light passed through the covered windows into the sparsely furnished, unoccupied room.
“Annie? Pepper? Angel?”
“Three women work here?” Lydia’s whisper was rough.
“No. Annie’s got two girls.” He tugged her farther inside. “Robbie, where are your sisters?”
The little boy pointed down the hallway.
Nicholas had never entered the back rooms—he’d never before had any reason to. “Annie? Girls?”
He heard scurrying and muttering behind the door to his right. And then a whimper. His heart raced, and he smacked the door open.
Pepper, a girl of thirteen, sat in front of a cracked mirror propped on a low chest of drawers, a mess of face paints in front of her. Angel, nine, sat on the bed, her arms wrapped tight about her knees, tears making wet trails upon her artificially pink cheeks.
His throat clogged over the girls’ painted faces. “Where’s your mother?”
Angel’s head sunk to her bent knees.
“Gone.” Pepper thunked a red-colored jar onto the dresser and picked up a brush. “Forever.”
“Dead?” Lydia whispered, her free hand at her throat.
“No, but I wish she woulda been.”
Nicholas gave her a look. “Now, Pepper.”
“I don’t want her to die.” Angel’s voice turned shrill.
“Hush up, Angel.” Pepper shot her sister a glare and snarled, “Your hissy fits won’t do no good. We have to care for ourselves now, like I done told you.” She looked back at him. “What do you want, mister?”
She’d seen him before and knew he meant no harm, and yet her glare was overly hostile.
“I came to speak with your mother.”
“She got married to Aces MacGuire last month.”
Lydia let go of his hand and frowned at Pepper. “I’m sure your stepfather won’t be happy with you painting your faces, nor your mother.”
“They ain’t here.” Pepper loaded her brush with dark powder and leaned toward the mirror. “And they won’t be coming back for us. Mother left us with Dirty Emma.”
“Dirty Emma . . .” Lydia’s expression turned aghast.
“But when Dirty Emma ain’t working, she’s drinking. And she calls Robbie names, so we ain’t staying with her, no matter what Mother said.”
Robbie clung to him so hard his little nails dug into his neck. Nicholas wanted to sit to take the weight off his arm, but there was nowhere to do so except next to Angel on the bed.
He sidled to the other side of the vanity and perched on its edge. “Why are you putting on makeup?” Did he dare hope she was playing dress-up? Mischievously amusing herself with things previously denied her?
“Somebody has to work.”
Lydia crept closer and picked up a pot of some bright pink stuff. “What kind of work requires you to use—” Her eyes went wide, and she snatched the brush from Pepper’s hand. “No.” Her guttural whisper ripped through the room.
Yanking the brush back from Lydia, Pepper sneered at her, looking her up and down. “What? Are you going to take us in? How do I know you ain’t going to beat us, or run off on us, or drink so much I have to clean you up every night?”
“Why, I’d never—”
“Doesn’t matter. You ain’t going to be takin’ no alley cat’s babies home with you. Why you here, anyway?”
Nicholas laid a hand on Pepper. She tried to shrug it off, but he held firm. “Lydia came to help you and your mother. We intend to bring you a wood stove and fuel to burn through the winter.”
She eyed Lydia suspiciously, then turned back to him. “Well, we won’t be here much longer, so we don’t need it.”
“Are you going back to Dir—” Lydia’s voice shook, and she audibly swallowed. “To Emma’s?”
“No, she needs more tending than Robbie. I ain’t slaving for her when she don’t do nothing but let us sleep under a roof. The landlord don’t know Mother’s gone yet, so we can stay here another two days.”
“Why did your mother leave?” Nicholas watched Lydia look at each of the children, likely struggling with the fact that prostitutes even had children. He’d expected that. Polite society vilified these people to the point most never thought of them as human.
“She and Aces thought they’d go have her work in Clear Springs. With the mining camps up there, she could pull in a lot more money.”
“Her husband? Her husband is taking her to work . . .”
Nicholas frowned as the color drained from Lydia’s face. He’d wanted her to see this, hadn’t he? Now he wished he could sweep her up, along with these three children, and hide them in his home, keeping them from ever facing the harshness of life again.
Maybe he could hide them away—the children at least. But who would raise them? How would he explain their presence to others? He needed to speak with Caroline. “Pepper—”
“Who’s bringing you food?” Lydia walked over and sat on the bed, hand extended toward Angel. She must have expected the child to scoot closer and weep in her arms, but instead the girl scooted away, gaping at her as if snakes hung from her nose.
Lydia smiled and put her hand on the girl’s shoulder anyway, but then her smile died. She ran her hand down the girl’s arm, which Angel yanked from her grip. The little girl scooted farther toward the wall.
“Don’t touch Angel.” Pepper marched over to the bed, her hands on her hips.
Lydia glanced between the siblings. “How much have you eaten since your mother’s been gone?”
Pepper only narrowed her eyes.
Standing, Lydia mirrored the younger woman’s antagonistic posture. “You said you could take better care of your siblings than Emma, yet your sister’s stomach is rumbling and her arms—”
“Our stomachs are always rumbling. If Momma never had enough for us, then why would Dirty Emma? She told me to get a job and so I am. Madam Careless wants both me and Angel to start work next week.”
“Angel?” Lydia drooped onto the bed and stared at the nine-year-old still curled against the wall.
“Pepper, you can’t.” Nicholas’s heart was about to implode. If he couldn’t make her change direction . . . Lord, help me stop these children from going where they cannot return. Surely you sent me and Lydia here this day for this reason. Help me convince Pepper. “Who will look after your little brother?”
“He’ll go with us.”
“With you?” Lydia squeaked.
Pepper shrugged. “He’ll have to stay put in the kitchen.”
“What kind of life will he have if you have him . . . ? What kind of life?” Lydia straightened. “Do you even know what you’re about to do?”
The girl sauntered toward her with a smirk. “Likely more than you know. I know what Mother did, and I’ve seen the way men look at me. If I don’t work with Madam Careless—who’ll put me up, pay for my dresses, and watch Robbie—then I’ll be . . . I’ll be taken anyway.” Pepper’s voice cracked, and finally something other than defiance shot from her eyes. “So might as well get paid.”
“Pepper, you don’t want to do this.” Nicholas shifted Robbie to his other side and tried to reach for her, but she sidestepped. “Think about Angel.”
She looked at her little sister for a second, and then bit her lip. “I . . . Madam Careless said she can’t let no nine-year-old sit around the kitchen, that she had to work too, that . . . that she’d be real careful with her.”
He hugged the boy even tighter, wishing it was Angel. “Pepper, you’re a smart, good girl. You know better—”
“No I’m not!” Pepper whipped around and faced him. “I’m the daughter of a harlot.” The girl swore and threw a paint jar across the room. Brilliant blue color exploded on the whitewashed wall.
Lydia blanched.
Please, Lord, don’t let her faint. He already had his arms full. “Pepper, why don’t you come home with me?”
“Why?” She curled her lip. “So you don’t have to pay the madam?”
“No.” Nicholas snatched her wrist and tugged her closer to look into her very dry, very angry eyes. “How many times have you seen me around this neighborhood?”
“A few.”
“And have I acted like any of the men who visited your mother?”
“No. But—”
“Do you know why I come here?”
She tried to tug away, but when she couldn’t free herself, she shrugged. “You gave Mother medicine once. Freckles Kate said you paid her fines so she could go home and nurse her baby instead of staying in jail. But Rosie Jo says you only do nice things because you want them to do things other men don’t dare ask for.”
Lydia put a hand to her throat and looked positively green.
That stung. All kinds of rumors floated around about him, and he usually laughed them off, but that one made him want to vomit. “Did I ever ask your mother for anything?” he asked hoarsely.
Pepper shrugged, not quite meeting his gaze. “Not that I know of.”
“Would a decent lady like Lydia be out visiting with me if she thought that was why I was helping?”
Pepper turned to look at Lydia. “Why are you here?”
“Uh, Nick’s showing me who needs help.”
“And do you trust him?”
Lydia turned to look at h
im. “I trust he’d never do anything to harm you.”
Pepper whirled back toward him, her eyes dangerously narrowed. “And what will we do at your place, mister?”
“We’ll talk about it, you and me. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. And, Pepper”—he snagged her hand and pressed it against Robbie’s back—“you know you don’t want to take your brother and sister to Madam Careless’s parlor house. Do you want his role models to be the men who will treat you the same way Aces and the rest of them treated your mother?”
She huffed, but reached up to smooth the curl behind her brother’s ear. “No, but I don’t think I have a choice.”
“And what about Angel? Do you want to take that frightened little girl in the corner and force her to become the stone she’ll have to be to survive the kind of life your mother did? Don’t you want to protect her from that?”
“Of course I do, but what decent person’s going to hire me? I don’t know how to do nothing but what Mother’d done. She told me I was too old not to be working anyway.”
He’d known Thick Lips Annie hadn’t been the best of mothers, but she’d kept her girls from working this long. What had changed? “I promise I can find you better work. Let me help you—at least for Angel’s and Robbie’s sakes. Do you know Queenie? Perhaps—”
Pepper lost her scowl. “You work with Queenie?”
“I do.”
She stood still for a moment, then smoothed the hair away from Robbie’s eyes. “All right, we can try it. But if I don’t like anything at all, we’re leaving.”
The air left his lungs.
Thank you, Jesus.
18
Lydia sorely wanted to slide down the coach’s bench seat and sleep all the way home. What she wouldn’t give to erase from her memory the images of two little girls painted like common women and a boy so thin he looked like a skeleton. But she’d seen their eyes brighten after Nicholas mentioned Queenie and later shine with tears when they were all seated at the reformed woman’s table in front of bowls of a nondescript stew.
“Are you all right?” Nicholas’s soft voice wafted from the far side of the carriage.
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