“Brainless female,” he muttered, stalking down the street into the city’s own personal hell, where the dregs of society would swallow a society dame like Allison McClare whole before chewing her up and spitting her out. A schoolteacher without a lick of sense who was oblivious to the fact he was only trying to warn her. Scrounging for a handful of animal crackers in his pocket, he slammed them down while passing a drunk sprawled on the sidewalk in a pool of vomit. The stench of it—alcohol, urine, and body odor—immediately roiled his senses. He shook his head. But some people were too thick and too stubborn to heed advice, and the high and mighty Miss McClare was obviously one.
Head down, he ignored the flurry of lewd comments and invitations from scantily clad women in the brothels above, hands in his pockets while his anger simmered and stewed. Jaw taut, he jerked the precinct door open and exhaled a weighty sigh. Yes, indeed, she was one of those poor, unfortunate souls in life destined to learn the hard way. He slammed the door behind with a grunt.
Like me.
5
Jumpin’ jaybirds, Miss Alli, this is fun!”
Allison glanced up from her desk at tiny Lottie LeRoy, the sweet six-year-old orphan from next door. She smiled at the little girl whose chestnut curls bounced with every crank of the pencil sharpener bolted to the wall, eager to please with whatever task she could do.
“I’m glad, Lottie, because I sure wasn’t looking forward to sharpening all those pencils by myself, so you’re really helping me out.”
The little girl beamed, the glow in her blue eyes bringing a prick of tears to Alli’s own. How she wished she could take the little darling home to play with her younger sister. Although Maddie had just turned six, Mother wasn’t ready to send her to the Hand of Hope School just yet, opting to tutor her instead until the school was more established. But Allison was sure Maddie would love meeting the children at Mercy House, especially Lottie. “I’ll say one thing, Miss Lottie—you are a very hard worker, young lady.”
“That’s what Mr. Nick says,” Lottie said proudly, testing the point on a pencil she just sharpened. She giggled. “I help him pick weeds and build things.”
The pen in Allison’s hand stopped mid-scrawl, leaving an unsightly blot of ink on one of her student’s papers. She grated her lip, voice casual. “Do you . . . like Mr. Nick?” she asked carefully, half hoping the little sprite would confirm what a terror the man was.
“Oh, gee whiz, you bet—Mr. Nick is my favorite person in the whole wide world, ’cept for Miss Penny and now you, a course.”
Allison’s smile sloped sideways. Well, two out of three’s not bad . . .
“Mr. Nick reads a story to us almost every night afore I go to bed, me and the others,” she said staunchly, the grind of the sharpener unable to hide the worshipful tone in her voice. “Except those nights he’s gotta work, a course.” The sharpener paused while she inserted another pencil, her wispy sigh carrying across the room. “When I grow up, I wanna marry somebody just like him ’cause he’s so nice, handsome, and smells good too.”
Allison issued a silent grunt. Again . . . two out of three.
“I love Mr. Nick a lot ’cause he makes me feel warm and safe inside . . . like one of God’s archangels, ya know? And everybody knows angels are beautiful, right?”
Allison blinked, pen stalled on the paper once again. “Uh . . . sure . . . I guess.” As long as the “harping” they do is music related.
Lottie’s little shoulders suddenly slumped, an air of dejection settling on her features as softly as the wood shavings that settled on the floor. “Only thing is, Mr. Nick cain’t be no angel ’cause he don’t like God.”
“What do you mean?” Allison said, her renegade thoughts about Mr. Nick screeching to a shameful halt.
She shook her little head, curls skimming her shoulders, as limp as her tone. “He reads bedtime stories to us a lot, sure, but he always leaves when we say our prayers. I asked him why one time, and he just said he ain’t on speakin’ terms with God no more.” A weighty sigh shuddered her tiny body. “Miss Penny told us Mr. Nick is mad at God and we need to pray they’ll make up. She says Mr. Nick just needs our love and prayers to show him that God really does care about him.” A brilliant smile suddenly broke through her malaise, lighting a heavenly glow in her eyes. “So that’s what I do, Miss Alli, yesiree, Bob—I love Mr. Nick just like it’s God ahuggin’ him through me.”
Allison blinked, suddenly feeling lower than the shavings on the floor. She gulped when Father Burton’s homily from last week came to mind.
Except ye become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. Her eyelids shuttered closed. Oh, Lord, forgive me . . .
The sharpener started grinding again, and Allison vowed she’d try to show Christian love and kindness to Nick Barone if it killed her. After all, if a sweet, little cherub like Lottie liked him, then maybe he wasn’t so bad . . .
Silence fell when Lottie halted her task to peer up with another serious face, her eyes void of their usual sparkle, just like before. “And I’m so sorry, Miss Alli, but I don’t think Mr. Nick likes you very much.”
Oh, now there’s a news flash for you. Allison bit her lip, turning away so the little girl couldn’t see the blush on her face. She schooled her voice to hide a prick of hurt. “Oh? Why do you say that?”
Lottie’s wavering sigh lingered in the air. “ ’Cause Miss Penny said she’d take a stick to him if he didn’t treat you nice.”
Allison couldn’t help it—she smiled—glad to have reinforcements in her war against Nicholas Barone. “Well, maybe it would do him good,” she said with a hike of her chin, grading the last paper with a satisfied sweep of her pen.
“I don’t think so,” Lottie said. “Mr. Nick’s too big and strong for the stick.”
Don’t you bet on it, sweetie . . .
The little girl suddenly giggled, pudgy fingers to her mouth. “But that Mr. Nick sure is funny. Told me your name was just like mine, but then he said he was only teasing.”
Allison looked up. “Like yours?” A crease popped above her nose. “What do you mean?”
Blowing off the last sharpened pencil, Lottie chuckled again, the sound as sweet as a baby’s giggle. “He called you Miss Lottie Da, and Miss Penny got a little mad, but I think Lottie’s a pretty name, don’t you?” She finished her task and carried the cup of pencils to Alli.
Allison’s mouth dropped open. She snapped it shut. Better than Mr. Pain-in-the-Nick, I suppose. “Thank you, sweetheart.” With a gentle stroke of Lottie’s curls, she took the cup of pencils from her hand, choosing to ignore Lottie’s last remark in the name of Christian decency. Like I wish I could do with the man. “Ready for me to walk you next door?”
“Sure.” She tipped her head up, her eyes meeting Alli’s with a sweetness that made Alli smile. “What’s a ‘dizzy dame,’ Miss Alli?”
Uh-oh. Allison blinked, cheeks suddenly hot. “W-why do you ask, Lottie?”
Sadness shadowed the little girl’s face. “Because Mr. Nick called you that, and if I get dizzy, it means I’m sick.” Her eyes were glossy with concern. “You’re not sick, are you?”
Only of Mr. Nick. “Of course not, darling.” Allison took the little girl’s hand in hers, anxious to steer both the child and the conversation in another direction. “We best get you home before Miss Penny comes a hunting, shall we?”
“Goodness, what a wonderful day!” Alli’s cousin Cassie hurried into the classroom and halted, gaze landing on Lottie. “Well, hello, Lottie—how was your first day of school?”
Allison could almost feel the tingle of excitement in the little girl’s hand. “Just swell, Miss Cassie! ’Course Miss Penny always taught us afore and I liked that, truly, but holy moly, this was fun! I like learnin’ with lotsa kids instead of just those at the orphanage, ya know?”
Cassie laughed. “Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Back in Texas, Mama taught me at home for a while, which was fine. But then she took me with her
to the reservation school where there were all kinds of kids my age, and goodness—it was like a whole new world opened up for me.”
“Exactly,” the little girl said with a sound thrust of her pert, little chin, sounding so much older than six that Alli grinned. “And guess what? I made two new friends!”
Cassie bent to give Lottie a hug. “I’m so glad, because we love having you here, Lottie. And I can already tell that you’re going to be one of my best students, young lady.”
“Gee, really, Miss Cassie?”
Cassie tapped her nose and chuckled before she winked at Allison. “You bet, sweetheart—you’ve got a keen mind.”
“Gee, thanks!” She looked up at Allison. “Did you hear that, Miss Alli—I have a ‘keen mind.’ I cain’t wait to tell Mr. Nick.”
“Mister Nick?” Cassie mouthed to Allison, fighting the squirm of a smile. She leaned to gently tug on one of Lottie’s curls. “Do you like Mr. Nick?” she asked sweetly.
“You bet!” the little girl said with way too much enthusiasm for the man with less charm than a rock. “Everybody likes Mr. Nick.”
“Uh-huh, I’m sure they do.” Cassie winked . . . either that or she had a twitch in her eye.
“Miss Alli?” Lottie glanced up, face screwed in thought. “Can I ask a favor?”
“Absolutely!” Alli stooped to brush a curl behind her ear. “What is it, sweetheart?”
Hope literally glowed on the little tyke’s face. “Could you call me Miss Lottie Da like Mr. Nick calls you? I like the sound when he says it.”
Alli bit her lip, slipping a tentative peek Cassie’s way.
“Miss La-di-da?” her cousin mouthed again, angling a brow.
A sigh feathered Allison’s lips. If you’re trying to get my attention, Lord—good job. “Yes, sweetheart, I’ll be happy to,” she said quietly, praying Cassie wouldn’t mention it to Mother on the ride home. Not after the fuss her mother made over making a good impression on Nick Ga-roan. “Come on, sweetie, I need to get you home.” Allison steered her toward the hall, gaze flicking over her shoulder. “You better hurry, Cass—Mother and Hadley are waiting in the car, and I’m sure Miss Merdian and Miss Tuttle are long gone too.”
Cassie stifled a yawn as she followed Allison out. “Yes, Miss Merdian had to practically carry poor Miss Tuttle out.” A wry grin tipped her lips. “God bless Miss Tuttle, but I’m not sure a retired teacher with a tic in her eye is up to handling twenty rambunctious girls.”
“At least it’s not all at the same time,” Allison reasoned, ushering Lottie down the hall to the back porch, where she stopped to give her cousin a side hug. “I’m sorry I’m not joining you tonight for the dress fittings and dinner, Cass, but I have so much to do, I wouldn’t be much fun. Besides,” she said with a bit of a smirk, “my bridesmaid dress already fits perfectly.”
Cassie pinched her waist. “Yes it does, you little brat, but don’t stay too late, you hear?”
“I won’t.” Alli steered Lottie down the steps and through the yard to Miss Penny’s. “I promised Mother I’d leave well before dark.”
“Good. And lock the door when you get back,” Cassie called, tossing a smile over her shoulder on her way to the back alley where the Packard was parked. “Good night, La-di-da!”
“Good night, Miss Cassie.” Lottie waved, then chatted on and on about Allison’s least favorite subject—Mr. Nick—forcing Allison to stifle a groan. Really, Lord, could you be any more obvious? Guiding Lottie around the neatly trimmed boxwoods that lined a short flagstone walk, she sucked in a deep breath. With a square of her shoulders, she mounted the wooden steps to Miss Penny’s screened porch that led to the kitchen, praying Mr. Nick was nowhere in sight.
“Miss McClare—hello!” Miss Penny herself answered the door with a bright smile while an elderly bull terrier stood behind her, apparently sizing Alli up. The mouthwatering smell of beef stew bubbling on the stove caused Allison’s stomach to growl along with the dog. “For goodness’ sake, Horatio, Miss McClare is a friend.” The old woman tugged them inside for a warm hug while two older girls bustled in the kitchen with Mrs. Lemp. “I appreciate you allowing Lottie to stay and help. I hope she wasn’t any trouble.”
“Oh, absolutely not, Miss Penny—Lottie was a godsend, I assure you.” Allison stooped to embrace the little girl before kissing her cheek. “Thank you so much, sweetheart, for all your help today. Goodness, I’d still be sharpening pencils if you hadn’t volunteered.”
Lottie preened, her little chest puffed out like the “pouter pigeon” Gibson Girl blouses both Miss Penny and Allison wore. “I know,” she said with a serious nod.
Alli couldn’t resist another hug. “Well, I guess we’ll see you tomorrow, then, Miss Lottie. Good night, Miss Pen—” She paused midsentence when Lottie tugged on her skirt.
“You forgot to use my new name, Miss Alli,” she whispered loudly.
Allison gulped, eyes flitting from Lottie to Miss Penny and back. “Oh.” She forced a smile. “All right, then, I’ll see you, tomorrow Miss . . . ,” her throat bobbed again, “La-di-da.”
Lottie beamed like the sun while Allison’s face felt just as hot. She avoided Miss Penny’s eyes as she hurried out the door. “See you tomorrow, then!” Practically vaulting down the steps to escape, Allison froze midair at the sound of Miss Penny’s voice.
“Miss McClare . . . may I have a word with you, please?”
A groan clotted in her throat as she slowly wheeled around. “Yes, Miss Penny?”
The old woman scurried down the steps, sympathy soft in her gaze. She placed a frail hand on Allison’s arm. “He’s really quite harmless, you know.”
Allison blinked. “Pardon me?”
“Mr. Nick, as Lottie likes to call him. Or as the rest of us have fondly dubbed him . . . ,” the blue eyes sparkled with mischief, “Mr. Cranky Pants.”
Allison grinned outright. “So it’s not just me?”
“Oh, heavens no! Nicholas is one of the most consistent human beings you will ever meet, Miss McClare.” Her mouth crooked in a wry smile. “He treats everyone poorly at first.”
“Ah . . . so there’s hope,” Allison said with a soft chuckle.
The old woman issued a snort. “Not much, mind you, but some.” She cocked her head, studying Allison with a keen eye. “It may help to know, however, he’s made veiled references that lead me to believe he was badly hurt by a wealthy young woman from high society.”
A glimmer of comprehension dawned as Allison nodded. “So that explains his disparaging remarks about me and my wealth.”
Miss Penny winced. “Yes, I’m afraid so, including Lottie’s innocent reference to Miss La-di-da. But all grumpiness aside, Nicholas is a good man, more like a son than a boarder and the apple of our eyes, albeit a sour one at times.” Her face softened into a tender smile. “Especially Lottie’s, because other than my nephew, Nicky’s the only man she’s been exposed to.” Her eyes sparked with moisture as her gaze wandered into a faraway stare. “The rest of my girls—ages eight to twenty-two—were abused in some way by men, most in brothels, so you can only imagine how leery they were of Mr. Cranky Pants in the beginning.” A raspy chuckle parted from her weathered lips as they tipped in a sad smile. “But Lottie came to us as a baby when her mother died giving birth, so she had no fear, loving Nicholas unconditionally until he had no choice but to love her back.”
Allison quietly swallowed the shame in her throat.
Miss Penny looked up then, the melancholy disappearing in a flash of a smile. “Now he loves all of us, and we love him, so you see, Miss McClare—he really is quite harmless.”
Allison arched a brow. “Unless you’re a wooden stick, then run for the hills?”
The old woman’s chuckle floated in the air. “Precisely.” She paused. “He did apologize for his rude remarks and give you the new pointer, yes?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good. You be sure to let me know if he gives you any further trouble, Miss McClare
—”
“Call me Alli, Miss Penny, please.”
“All right, Alli. Well, you need to get home, and I need to help with dinner, but if Mr. Cranky Pants steps over the line again, young lady, you have my express permission to whack him alongside the head with that brand-new stick, do you hear?” The old woman bustled back up the steps before Allison could even respond, pausing long enough to shoot a sassy smile over her shoulder. She winked. “After all, three times is the charm.”
6
Hands clasped to her chest, Allison whirled around to survey her brand-new theater, a warm sense of satisfaction pervading her soul as few things ever had. A lover of the arts like her, Mother had provided the best of everything—from a brand-new baby grand to the newfangled electrical system with dimmers and spotlights overhead. Scarlet drapes flanked a curved oak arch, a perfect match for rows of polished oak folding chairs in the long, narrow room that now occupied half the first floor.
Prior to the opening of the school, it had taken months to transform the old house into the Hand of Hope School, removing walls and converting the parlour, dining room, and study into the theater, office, and several classrooms on the first floor alone. Mother had even expanded the kitchen so it could serve as a dining room for the girls and teachers as well.
A sigh of contentment breezed from her lips as she drank in the rich surroundings. Cherrywood-paneled walls gave the theater an air of elegance and refinement so foreign to the poor students who would attend. Gilded paintings depicted various forms of artistic expression, from dance and drama to music and literature. Allison closed her eyes and imagined the sounds of music and laughter and speech filling both the halls of their new school and the hearts of their students. When the stage area wasn’t being used for plays, recitals, and assemblies, it would serve as a gymnasium for indoor games, parties, and gatherings of all kinds. It seemed almost too good to be true—the Hand of Hope School was up and running, hopefully to offer both a hand and hope to the disadvantaged girls of the Barbary Coast.
Dare to Love Again Page 6
