by Jody Hedlund
Within moments, Mr. Brady had yanked both of the man’s arms behind his back and had subdued him into a sniveling, whimpering mass. A black hole in the ceiling showed that somehow Mr. Brady had managed to knock the barrel of the gun upward, thus saving himself from a nasty gunshot wound. A mixture of surprise and relief weakened Marianne’s knees, forcing her to grab on to the stair railing to keep from buckling.
“Wally.” Mr. Brady cocked his head in the direction of one of the boys standing near the front door. “Go fetch the police officer on the corner of Broadway. Tell him Drew Brady asked for him.”
The thin lad nodded solemnly and then slipped out the door and was gone before Marianne could instruct him to bring back two police officers just to be safe.
The drunk started cursing again. Mr. Brady yanked on the man’s arm. “None of that now,” he said. “This here’s a God-fearing place full of women and young children. You better watch your language or you’ll force me to make sure you do.”
“Give me back my boy,” the man spat. “That’s all I want.”
Mr. Brady made holding the intruder look effortless. But from the way his muscles bulged against his shirtsleeves, he was expending a great deal of strength to keep his grip on his prisoner. “You said your boy’s named Ned?”
The man nodded. “Heard tell he’s heading west—to Illinois—with a trainload of other kids.”
The children were mute, still cowering as they watched the interaction, the remainder of their meals growing cold on the table before them.
Mr. Brady kicked the gun so that it slid across the wood floor, stopping only inches from Marianne’s feet. He didn’t need to say anything for her to realize he meant for her to pick it up and make sure the drunk didn’t get his hands on it again. She bent and grabbed the weapon, the metal colder and heavier than she’d expected.
“If I asked Ned why he ran off from his home,” Mr. Brady asked, “what would he tell me?”
“It ain’t any of your business—” The man’s curse was cut off as Mr. Brady yanked his arm.
“He’s probably got plenty of good reasons for leaving, doesn’t he?”
“The law says I got a right to keep whatever he earns.”
“He’s a human being created in the image of God Almighty. And he has a right to be treated with dignity.”
“I can raise my boy however I see fit.”
“If you treat him worse than a dog, don’t expect him to show you any loyalty.”
Marianne didn’t know who Ned was or if he was in the building. But she’d certainly never turn him over to this man. Marianne knew exactly what kind of person Ned’s father was. It hadn’t been all that long ago that she’d been in a situation much too similar to Ned’s.
“You can’t keep him from me,” the man shouted. “And if you won’t tell me where he’s at, you can be sure I’ll find him. I always do.”
“You don’t want him to end up like you, do you? A violent drunk?”
The man started to speak but couldn’t seem to find the words.
“Don’t you want him to have a better life?” Mr. Brady persisted.
Marianne willed the man to answer with a resounding yes, but she wasn’t surprised when he cursed Mr. Brady and at the same moment lashed out, flailing with his legs and twisting to free himself.
Mr. Brady wrestled with the intruder for several moments before renewing his grip. This time he thrust the man forward toward the building entrance. One of the boys opened the door and held it wide. Only when Mr. Brady was in the doorframe did Marianne notice the blood seeping through his sleeve. The bright crimson covered the back of his upper arm so that the sleeve stuck to his skin.
Marianne sucked in a breath. “Mr. Brady?”
He shot her a hard glance over his shoulder, one taut with warning.
She bit back her words. But once the door closed behind him, she sprang into action. “We need to send someone for the doctor. Mr. Brady’s been shot.”
Chapter 2
Drew Brady winced at the pressure on his wound. Thankfully, the bullet had only grazed his skin. Even so, the abrasion stung and was still bleeding.
“You could have gotten yourself killed.” Miss Neumann’s pert lips pressed together into a disapproving frown, which somehow managed to be entirely too alluring. From the moment she’d crawled out from underneath the desk in Brace’s office, he’d been struck by her delicate and yet elegant features, especially her dark brown eyes that were framed with long lush lashes.
He wasn’t normally drawn to brunettes, but maybe he’d just never met one as attractive as Miss Neumann. Or maybe he’d never met a woman who’d shown her attraction so clearly the second she’d laid eyes on him. What man wouldn’t be flattered by such wide-eyed admiration? Even if Miss Neumann tried to hide behind a façade of sassiness, he’d seen past it.
And he’d also seen right past her excuse for why she was sneaking around Mr. Brace’s office. Her expression had given her away. Even if it hadn’t, he didn’t need to be a genius to figure out she’d been searching through the books in Mr. Brace’s desk.
She released the rag from his arm and dipped it into the basin of warm water on the edge of the desk. As she swirled the cloth around and then wrung it out, the liquid in the bowl turned red.
He was bleeding more than he’d suspected and had already ruined his shirt—not only from the excessive blood but also because he’d ripped it open to expose the wound.
“You shouldn’t have approached the man without having a way to defend yourself,” she said, laying the cloth back against his wound.
He sucked in a breath at the pain but attempted to mask it with a grin. “I’m flattered you care so deeply about me already.”
Her expressive eyes flashed with chagrin before her beautiful lashes lowered to veil them. Nevertheless, her face was all too readable. She liked him.
Truthfully, most women did. His looks had always been his biggest asset, especially because, as a second son, he’d never had much else going for him. He’d used his handsomeness and charm to the best of his ability instead.
“I hardly know you, Mr. Brady,” she said, clearly attempting to infuse dignity into her tone. “Any care I’m showing you is out of sisterly concern.”
In the first-floor office where she’d led him after he returned, the quarters were tight. The large desk took up much of the room, along with the two chairs on the other side. Unlike Brace’s office upstairs, this one was used by all the agents for meeting with parents, other relatives, or even friends of the children brought to the Society’s attention. It was spartan in its furnishings and had no files or anything else that might be confidential.
In the close confines of the room, she stood near enough that he caught the faint scent of lavender, either from her soap or from a satchel she placed with her clothes. She was also close enough for him to notice her lovely figure, perfectly rounded in all the right places and pronounced by the slimness of her waist.
“It’s okay to admit how you really feel.” He couldn’t keep from flirting with her. It was his normal way of relating to ladies, and it had worked in the past to put women more at ease around him.
“I’m engaged to be married, Mr. Brady,” she responded stiffly. “My affection and my adoration belong to my fiancé and to him alone.”
“Engaged?” He studied her features and again saw the uncertainty, even guilt write itself in bold letters. She was too readable and didn’t realize it.
“Reinhold, my fiancé,” she said hurriedly, “is already in Illinois working and saving up money so we can be together.”
“I take it you’re hoping to see him at one of the stops?”
“Perhaps.”
“So he doesn’t know you’re coming?”
“Something like that.”
“Then it will be a delightful surprise,” he said, pouring on his best charm. “I can’t imagine anyone not being happy to see a beautiful woman like you.”
At his praise, h
er lashes fell again but not before he caught sight of the pleasure his compliment brought. He relaxed against the hard spindles of his chair, mentally patting himself on the back for working his magic.
She removed the rag and examined his injury.
“Will I need stitches?”
She cocked her head and lifted tentative fingers to the wound. As she made contact, he tried not to flinch at the burning pain that shot up and down his arm. “One area is slightly deeper. We’ll see what the physician says once he arrives.” She glanced toward the open door as if expecting the man to walk in at that moment.
Usually on the day before a trip, the building was noisy with all the children who would be staying there for the night. Some had been collected from the Nursery Department of the House of Refuge on Randall’s Island. Others had been plucked directly from the alleyways, empty buildings, and cellar doorways of the worst parts of the city. Two had been delivered to the New York Children’s Aid Society by a father who’d lost his job and couldn’t afford to feed and clothe his children.
In all, he counted twenty-eight orphans for this placing out. On his previous trip, he’d had forty. Hopefully they’d have better luck placing everyone than they did the last time.
He followed Miss Neumann’s gaze to the empty hallway outside the office. Gone was the thrum of excitement that had permeated the atmosphere when the children learned they would get to ride on a train tomorrow. The incident with Ned Colson’s dad had changed the mood. Drew wished it hadn’t occurred here. On the other hand, if Mr. Colson had gone to the Lodging House, there was no telling what might have happened, especially because Drew wouldn’t have been there to intervene.
“So, Miss Neumann, tell me more about yourself since I clearly have much to learn.”
She moved to the basin and rinsed the blood from his rag again. “And exactly what would you like to know, Mr. Brady?”
“I don’t know anything about you other than that you’re searching for a missing child . . . er, pen. And that you’re engaged to a very lucky man somewhere in Illinois, who may or may not be expecting your visit.”
She frowned at his attempt at humor. “I’d say that’s more than enough for you to know about me, wouldn’t you?”
“Not at all, since we’re to work together for at least the next six weeks.”
In the middle of wringing out the bloody rag, she froze. Her eyes widened, revealing both surprise and worry. Why would she be worried about riding with him? Hadn’t he proven he was decent and charming?
“Why am I working with you?” she asked with a note of despair in her voice.
He sat forward. “Because you’re privileged to get my expertise and the joy of my presence.”
“But I’ve never seen you before—”
“I work at the Newsboys Lodging House when I’m not on a placing-out trip.”
“Oh.” She stood back and studied him more carefully.
“Do I pass your inspection?”
“I don’t know.”
“What else would you like to know about me? Ask me anything.”
“How long have you worked with the Children’s Aid Society?”
“Two years.”
“And how many placing-out trips have you made?”
“I’ve gone on four. This new one will be my fifth.”
Her nose wrinkled at the bridge. “You’re much younger than the other men working here.”
“True. I’m twenty-four.”
“And why the Emigration Office? What makes you want to work with orphans?”
He ignored the pricking deep in his chest, the one that still occasionally reminded him of all he’d left behind, a dark past he didn’t want to think about, the mistakes he’d made that had altered the course of his life forever.
“My spiritual mentor, Reverend Lyman Giles, introduced me to Mr. Brace four years ago, right about the time he founded the Children’s Aid Society. Giles thought I’d be a good fit for Brace’s new ministry. And as it turns out, he was right. I think the mission of the Society is a noble one and I’m glad of the small part I can play in giving children a wholesome life away from the vices of the city.”
“So you’re a personal friend of Reverend Brace?” Worry shifted over her face like the shadows lengthening in the room at the approaching dusk.
“I already promised I won’t say anything about you being in his office earlier looking for your pen.”
She pursed her pretty lips together and moved to place the rag back against his arm. Whatever she’d been doing was something she didn’t want to confide to him. He could respect that. After all, he harbored enough heartache of his own that he didn’t want to discuss with anyone.
He expected her to press harder this time, to punish him for his teasing—which she obviously didn’t like. So when she dabbed him gently, he relaxed against the spindles. “My turn,” he said.
“Your turn for what?”
“To ask you questions.”
“Maybe I don’t want to answer any questions.”
“How long have you lived in America?” Her slight trace of an accent told him she was German.
“Almost eight years.”
“What’s your given name?”
“Marianne.”
He grinned. “See. This isn’t too hard, is it?”
She tentatively smiled in return, and the smile only made her prettier.
“You’re young, not like any of the other women Reverend Brace has hired as agents.” Even if he was mimicking the same age issue she’d just said to him, the fact was she was far too young for the job. Some of the older boys from the Lodging House weren’t much younger. And as pretty as she was, they’d certainly notice. He’d have to question Brace on the wisdom of hiring Miss Neumann and in particular sending her on one of the trips. Surely Brace would have had the same concerns.
“I’m nineteen. I’m old enough.” She straightened her shoulders as though that helped to make her appear taller and older. Instead it only served to highlight her womanly appeal. Not that all the other women agents were old spinsters. But they’d likely been hired for their experience and wisdom in dealing with children. What kind of experience would a nineteen-year-old have?
“How many arms did you twist to get the job?” he teased.
Embarrassment flickered across her face. He really liked this ability to tell exactly how she felt. Most of the Southern belles he’d grown up with had perfected the art of turning on and off their emotions like a water spigot.
“I may as well tell you the truth about my employment here.” Her shoulders sagged. “I’m sure you’ll find out from the other workers eventually anyway.”
“Your father is friends with Mr. Brace?”
“My brother-in-law.”
“Ah. And who is this illustrious brother-in-law that has the power to sway Charles Loring Brace to go against sound reason and hire a nineteen-year-old girl as one of his placing agents?”
“Thornton Quincy.”
He whistled. The Quincys were one of the wealthiest families in the country. Wellington Quincy, who’d recently died, had left his fortune and company in the hands of his son, Thornton. And it was no secret that Thornton Quincy was one of the top financial supporters of the Children’s Aid Society. In fact, without Thornton’s generosity, the Society would be in trouble.
“Say no more,” Drew said.
She didn’t need to. Her expression spoke loud enough of her guilt and shame. But she continued nevertheless. “I feel terrible for using Thornton to get the job.”
He wanted to tell her that was obvious, but he nodded with what he hoped was understanding. “You must have really needed the position.”
“I did. It was the only option I had left.”
“Option for what?”
She shook her head. “What I meant to say is that I need work. I couldn’t live off my sister and Thornton’s charity any longer. This job seemed like something I could do to help make a difference in the lives o
f orphans.”
Like earlier when he’d caught her in the office, he could sense she wasn’t telling him everything. And if there was one thing he’d learned from his own past, it was to not push people to share more than they wanted or were ready to. “So Thornton Quincy is married to your sister?”
She nodded. “Last September, my older sister, Elise, went to Illinois on one of the Children’s Aid Society trains that were helping place unemployed women in jobs in the West.”
The Panic of ’57. That was what some were calling the recession that had occurred last year. Banks and businesses all along the East Coast had collapsed, leaving thousands of people jobless, hungry, and homeless. In New York City alone, he’d heard reports that unemployment had reached as high as forty percent. One hundred thousand people without work in Manhattan and Brooklyn. The joblessness led to homelessness and hunger. Thousands were left destitute, having to take shelter in police stations, particularly in the wintertime.
Worst of all, the number of homeless children on the streets had risen. With the continuing flux of immigrants into New York City, poverty, illness, and crime had become rampant. Under such conditions, children were abandoned or left orphans by parents who died of disease, drank themselves to death, or simply couldn’t take care of them anymore. Once the recession hit, the number of orphans had escalated to new alarming levels. Although there was no way to count the number of homeless children, some believed there were as many as thirty thousand.
“Elise happened to meet Thornton on the train ride to Illinois,” Miss Neumann continued. “They became friends. Thornton arranged for her to have work in a new town in Illinois that he was developing at that time.”
“And while they were there, they fell in love, got married, and lived happily ever after?”
“Well, it wasn’t quite that simple. But, yes, eventually they overcame a lot of obstacles and got married.”
