A cab driver clucked to his horse, which clopped toward the group, and the men moved toward the street.
“Now!” Mike said aloud and dashed from the alley into the street. He dodged carriage wheels and the hooves of passing horses and the whips of angry drivers. Terrified, Frances ran after him.
She saw Mike slam into the group of men who still stood in front of the restaurant. He bounced off the rounded belly of a portly gentleman who was struggling with the long ends of a heavy muffler, trying unsuccessfully to fasten his greatcoat. For an instant the two of them were locked together, twirling and staggering, until the man tottered back, off-balance, his black moustache quivering with indignation. He shouted and waved a fist at Mike, who gave him one last glance before racing around the corner.
Less than a block away Mike dove into another alley. When Frances arrived at the alley, out of breath and gulping for air, he was gone. She was frantic that she had lost him until she heard a scrabbling noise and a chuckle coming from a pile of discarded packing boxes. As quietly as she could, she climbed high enough to look down at Mike, who was sitting in a nest of rags and a bright piece of woolen scarf. He had opened his fist, and inside it lay a wad of bills and a gold money clip.
“Oh, Mike!” Frances cried out, sick at her discovery. “How could you!”
Mike tried to jump up, but fell back, legs flailing desperately as he fought to regain his balance. “What are you doing here?” he yelled at Frances. “You’ve got no business scaring me like that!”
“You stole that man’s money!” Frances gasped.
Mike scrambled out of his nest so quickly that he knocked Frances off-balance. The two of them staggered, grabbing at each other to steady themselves, before Mike snapped, “I’ve stolen before. Lots of times.”
Frances cried out, “But stealing is wrong!”
“Is it, now!” Mike glared at his sister defensively. Frances had never heard this bitter tone in his voice before.
“You know it is! Can’t you remember Da telling you so?”
Mike snapped back, “Did Da ever say that stealing was wrong when it meant not going hungry?”
Frances pressed a hand against her stomach. She well knew what it was to be hungry; she knew about people—like those gentlemen—who had more food than they could ever eat, while others went to bed at night with their empty bellies aching. But she also knew what was right—what Da had taught her. Those smiling eyes and that firm voice hadn’t lied.
“Stealing for any reason is wrong, Mike,” Frances said.
Mike raised his chin even higher. “You’ve eaten the meat I’ve been able to bring home now and then. Ma’s wearing shoes I bought for her with money I’ve stolen.”
“She doesn’t know.” Frances’s voice was just a whisper.
For an instant there was pain in Mike’s eyes, and his voice softened. “I don’t like to steal, Frances,” he admitted, “but I haven’t got a choice. You see that, don’t you?”
The words burned her throat, but Frances said, “I can’t, Mike! It’s wrong and it’s untrue to Da!”
“Da didn’t know how hard it would be for Ma and the rest of us to earn enough to live on after he left us!”
“Mike!” she cried. “It wasn’t his fault!”
“He left us to make our way alone! Without him! And it’s none of your business what I do! You’re not in charge of me!”
“I’m not going to let you steal!” she insisted, fighting anger and hurt and a wild desire to shake her brother until his teeth rattled.
“It doesn’t matter,” Mike said. His bravado deserted him as he slumped against the pile of boxes. “It’s something I’ve got to do.”
Frances ached for him. Tentatively, she reached out, then quickly pulled back her hand. If she were going to help Mike, she’d have to remain firm. “You’ll get caught,” she told him.
“No, I won’t,” Mike insisted. “The lads say I’m too clever.”
“What lads?”
“Bertie, Ted, Jack—you know them. We stick together.”
A shadow suddenly fell over them, and Frances was shoved aside. She cried out in terror as a policeman’s hand gripped Mike’s shoulder tightly. “Is this the one?” he asked the man behind him.
It was the gentleman whom Mike had robbed. The man was so angry that his moustache trembled. “Yes! That’s the little thief!” he shouted.
Frances took one look at Mike’s panic-stricken face and stumbled forward, teeth chattering as she tried to speak. “Please listen to me, sir!” She tugged at the man’s sleeve, but he ignored her.
The policeman scowled at Frances and asked the gentleman, “How about the girl? Was she in it, too?”
As Frances gasped, Mike yelled, “No!” His face was so pinched and frightened that he looked like a shriveled old man. “She had nothing to do with this! She chased me! She tried to get me to give back the money!”
“Come with me, lad,” the policeman said sternly. “You’re under arrest.”
Frances ran after them to the street, her thoughts a terrified jumble. What would happen to Mike? She had heard that copper stealers were sent to the crowded, filthy Tombs Prison. And Ma! Frances groaned aloud as she wondered how her mother would react.
“Frances!” Mike cried.
But there was nothing Frances could do to help him now.
4
AS FRANCES FLUNG the door open with a crash and dashed into the room, Ma stared in amazement, first at Frances, then at the brown paper parcel she still held. “The shirts—?” she began, but Frances dropped the package and threw herself into her mother’s arms.
“Oh, Ma!” she cried. “Something terrible happened, but don’t get angry, please, Ma!”
Ma moved back, holding Frances by the shoulders so that she could look into her eyes, and said firmly, “Frances Mary, calm yourself, then tell me. What is it?” Ma’s face was pale, but her gaze didn’t waver.
“Mike’s been arrested! He’s a copper stealer!” Frances blurted out and burst into tears, barely managing to relate the entire story.
By the time she had finished her tale, Peg and Petey were wailing, and Megan’s eyes were wide with horror.
Ma, her lips pale and tight, quickly wrapped her shawl over her head and shoulders and strode toward the door. “I’ll be going to the police station, Megan,” she said. “You know what to do for the little ones.”
“I’ll come with you, Ma,” Frances insisted.
“No,” her mother told her. “Go to work as usual. Tell Mr. Lomax that I was detained by a family emergency and will be along later. That’s all he needs to know.” As Frances hesitated, Ma said, “You’re a good, dependable girl, love. Do your job. We need the money.”
Frances sat on the cot, helping Megan soothe and distract their little sister and brother.
“What will happen to Mike?” Megan murmured.
“I don’t know,” Frances said. “But everything will turn out all right, you’ll see. Ma can take care of it.”
Megan looked at her gratefully, and Frances wished she could have believed her own words. How could Ma, even with all her determination, keep Mike from being sent to Tombs Prison?
Later, while she scrubbed hard at the polished floors in the office building, under the watchful eye and sharp tongue of Mrs. Watts, Frances recalled what she had told Megan. She prayed that her words had been true, that Ma could make everything turn out all right. But the hours crept by, and still Ma didn’t come. Frances jumped at every sound. She dropped her cleaning tools, forgot where she left her broom, and even spilled a bucket of scrub water. For that she took a tongue-lashing from Mrs. Watts. Where was Ma? What had happened?
Finally Frances jumped to her feet with a shout of relief as she saw Ma stride down the hallway of the office building, her bucket and brush in hand.
Ma stopped to lay a hand on Frances’s shoulder. “Mike will be locked up for the night,” she said in a low voice. “He’ll go before the judge tomorrow morning a
t nine.”
“Have you been at the police station all this while?” Frances whispered, clutching her mother’s arms.
“No,” Ma said. “I found Danny and sent him home. Then there was someone I had to talk to.”
“About Mike?”
“Yes.”
“Will Mike go to prison?”
For just a moment, Ma’s eyes looked old and tired. “I pray not, love. If the judge will allow Mike to be helped—”
Frances interrupted. “But who will help Mike?”
“I’ll tell you later, when it’s the right time.”
“Why not now?” Frances begged.
Ma pulled Frances to her and held her tightly. Against her hair she murmured, “Frances Mary, you’ll have to trust me, no matter what happens. I’m asking you to be strong for me, to help me in what I must do. Just know that I love you with all my heart.”
Frances shivered. The urgency in her mother’s voice frightened her. “Ma,” Frances pleaded, “let me go with you tomorrow. Please?”
She expected her mother to argue, but Ma simply said, “Yes. We will all be there.”
Frances was comforted. She should have known that Ma would want them all on hand to help Mike. Of course they’d all be there.
Mrs. Watts, puffing with indignation, descended upon them, intent on informing the tardy Mrs. Kelly about her daughter’s carelessness, and Frances hurried back to her job. As she scrubbed the dirty floors, she began to puzzle over Ma’s words. What had she meant when she had asked for her trust? And whom had she called on for help? Nameless fears prickled under Frances’s skin, and she shuddered, afraid again of what the next day might bring.
* * *
In the morning, as soon as everyone was dressed and fed, Ma asked Frances, “Will you take the children outside? I’ll come to you when I’m ready.”
Frances stared at her mother. “Why?” she asked. “What are you going to do? Can’t you tell me?”
“I asked for your help,” Ma reminded her. “Right now, the best help you can give me is to take the little ones out and keep an eye on them. Please trust me, Frances.”
Frances nodded and reached for Petey’s hand, leading the other children outside.
In about fifteen minutes Ma joined them. She carried a plump paper parcel wrapped tightly with string, and Frances eyed it suspiciously. The contents of that parcel must have something to do with Mike. It was soft and lumpy, as if it might contain clothes. Did that mean Ma thought Mike wouldn’t be coming home with them? Oh! If only Ma would answer all her questions!
Together the Kelly family walked the many blocks to the city courthouse, then up the wide steps leading to its large outer doors. Frances was awed into silence by the high lobby ceiling with its ornate arches and by the many people who pushed and twisted past one another, hurrying in and out of the building. The children clung closely to their mother.
But Ma had spied someone over the heads of those around her, and she steered her family in the direction of a portly gentleman with a thick, dark beard and eyebrows to match. He smiled, then solemnly shook hands with each of the Kellys as Ma introduced them one by one.
“Children, this is Mr. Charles Loring Brace,” Ma said. The man who sends orphans out West! Frances remembered his name with alarm. How can he help Mike? Mike isn’t an orphan.
Frances studied Reverend Brace as he pulled a watch from the little pocket in front of his vest and glanced at it before tucking it back in place. Was he here to defend Mike? To keep him out of jail? She looked from him to her mother and shivered, suddenly cold with the suspicion that Reverend Brace could keep Mike out of jail in only one way—by sending him to live with a family in the West.
“Time to go to court,” Reverend Brace said. “The room is in this direction.”
“Ma?” Frances urgently tugged at her mother’s skirt, but Ma shook her head for silence and followed Reverend Brace into the courtroom.
Frances wanted to plead with her mother, to beg her not to let Mike be sent away, but a calmer, inner voice kept reminding her that a new home for Mike would be much better than a cell in Tombs Prison. And hadn’t Mike said over and over that he’d like to go west?
Most of the benches in the large, crowded courtroom were filled, but Reverend Brace found a place where the Kellys could squeeze in. Frances ducked her head a little and lifted Peg to her lap, glad for the chance to hold tightly to someone. Peg wasn’t her usual energetic, independent self and snuggled gratefully against her sister. Megan sat between Frances and Ma, while Danny slumped unhappily on her left. Frances hurt almost as much for Danny as for Mike. He was heartbroken at what had happened to the brother he worshiped.
Men in dark, snugly buttoned suit coats and trousers, many of them wearing full beards that hid their high collars, talked to one another inside an area that was separated from the rows of seats by a low wooden railing. Against the far wall stood a high desk, and behind the desk sat the judge, who wore a black robe with full sleeves.
Suddenly the room was called to order. People either left the area or sat down, as a young man, dirty and ragged, was brought by uniformed officers to stand before the judge. As the accusation against him of assault and robbery in Gramercy Park was read aloud, Frances leaned forward to listen. Robbery. The same charge would be brought against Mike. But Mike wasn’t a real thief like this one. With a sharp jolt of fear, Frances knew that others in the room would see no difference between Mike and this thief. After the charge had been read, the judge quickly conferred with two of the men who occasionally bent to whisper to accuser and accused, then soundly rapped his gavel on the desk as he loudly announced, “Five years in Tombs Prison.”
Frances shivered as the man was led away and another one brought before the judge. Would Mike’s future be decided by a decision this swift?
It took almost an hour by the big clock that hung on the side wall before Mike was led in. Petey, who had wiggled and squirmed before almost falling asleep on Ma’s lap, jumped up and yelled, “Mike! There’s Mike!”
Danny groaned aloud.
Mike looked at them, fear and shame in his face. The judge turned to scowl at Petey, and Ma quickly hushed him. Frances held her breath as the charges against Mike were read aloud. Megan’s fingernails dug into the palm of her hand, but Frances didn’t mind the pain. The still-angry gentleman whose pocket had been picked stood inside the railing and scowled at Mike.
“Your Honor, may I have your permission to approach the bench?” Reverend Brace stood at the railing, facing the judge.
“Ah, Reverend Brace again,” the judge said. “I know how you collect ragamuffins, but don’t tell me that you have come to speak a good word for this little thief?”
“I have come to ask for Michael Kelly,” Reverend Brace answered. “As you know, Your Honor, it is my firm belief that these street children should have a chance at a new life with farm families in the West. I have talked to Michael’s mother, and I sincerely believe that Michael is a good boy and was driven to thievery by the circumstances in which he lives.”
Frances cried aloud, and several people in the courtroom turned to look at her. Her guess had been right. Mike was going to be sent away. She might never see her brother again!
The judge frowned. “We’ve heard this sermon before, Reverend Brace. You have your convictions, and I have mine. I feel that the best action to take with a boy who steals is to get him off the street.” He picked up his gavel.
Suddenly Ma stood, and her voice rang out so loudly that the judge started. “Your Honor,” she called, “may I please speak?” She continued without waiting for an answer. “It’s easy to see that both you and Reverend Brace have the same idea. He wishes to take Michael off the street, too. It’s just that Reverend Brace has a different way of going about it, sir.”
Someone laughed. The judged blinked and looked hard at Ma, but she continued bravely. “Your Honor, sir, I have six fine children, but since my husband died last year our struggle has been diff
icult, and my children have been exposed to the temptations of the street. I have done my best, but it’s unable I am to both feed them and protect them from danger.” She paused and took a deep breath. “So I have asked Reverend Brace to send all my children west to be placed in homes with good people who can give them what I can’t. Please, sir, it’s begging you with all my heart I am that you allow Michael to go with his brothers and sisters.”
Terrified, Frances cried out, “Ma! You can’t!” But Ma, in her determination, ignored Frances, keeping her eyes on the judge.
Frances heard Danny try to smother a sob, while Peg, on Frances’s lap, struggled to free herself, muttering, “Let me out!” Petey, who clung to Ma’s skirt, stared with big eyes at Frances, his plump face beginning to reflect the look of horror she knew he must see on her own.
“Come down here, ma’am.” The judge looked at the paper in front of him and added, “Mrs. Kelly.”
As Ma tried to sidle past the children on the bench to reach the aisle, Peg jumped up to clasp her waist, and Petey grabbed her around the legs, wailing, “Ma! Don’t leave me!”
“Frances, you promised!” Ma said, as she tried to break Petey’s hold. “Help me now!”
“Bring the children with you,” the judge ordered, “and quiet that boy.”
Frances, numb with shock, automatically took charge of the children. Holding the sobbing Petey with one hand and Peg with the other, she followed her mother, Megan, and Danny down the aisle, through a gate in the railing, to a spot in front of the judge.
“Ouch!” Peg complained as she squirmed, trying to pull her hand from Frances’s tight grasp. “You’re hurting me!”
Megan reached for Peg, so Frances hoisted Petey into her arms and impatiently hissed, “You must be quiet!” Petey gulped back a fresh sob, but the tears continued to stream down his face.
A Family Apart Page 4
