by Denise Daye
Milton was oddly slow, lazily picking them up one by one before finally noticing her presence. His gaze was just as confused as she was. Never had anybody been kind enough and helped him to get the newspapers back. Esther shot him a glaring look.
The man stopped; a cloud of cold white fog blew from his mouth as he noticed Esther. He straightened himself to face her. His blue eyes cut through her like a razor. She felt a weird tingling in her stomach when their gaze met, and it almost seemed as if the gloomy light brightened to shine on him like a spotlight. Never in her life had she seen a more attractive man before. His short, dark blonde hair was neatly combed in fashion, and his face had extremely clear, straight lines, often only seen in the most handsome of people. As Esther was drawn closer, a long scar on his left cheek revealed itself, giving his incredible smile a touch of exotic manliness. Esther wanted to say something, but she said nothing, for no words would come out. What was going on, where was her voice?
“The fine Mister is inconveniencing himself helping me,” Milton said in a tone that clearly tried to signal her something, but what she couldn’t make out.
The man swiftly flung around to catch another piece of paper that had flown too close to him to let it go.
“Are you two acquainted?” he asked in a British accent, leaning over to Milton to hand him the pile of papers he had managed to gather. Esther marveled at this man’s elegance. His voice, his looks, even the way he picked up newspapers from the floor was as smooth and confident as the movements of a jaguar.
“Y-yes, that’s my l-little brother,” Esther stuttered, finally finding her voice when her gaze turned to Milton, who now slowly stepped behind the man to throw her signals with duck face lips and a wildly shaking head. Esther squinted, blinking her eyes in confusion. Milton let out a breath in annoyance over her incompetence to understand his made-up sign language. He attempted again, but this time he moved his lips in a silent but slow clear motion that said ‘we gotta go,’ when the man jerked around. Milton swallowed his own breath as he narrowed his eyes on him.
“Little brother, is it?" He studied the little boy from head to toe. "You two certainly don’t show much resemblance,” he declared, and bent over to pick up a piece of newspaper the wind had blown against his fashionable leather shoe.
This was not good. Esther could smell his suspicion even against the strong winter winds. He knew something was not right.
“Different fathers,” her innocent voice replied, reaching over to take the piece of paper he held up to her. The man inched closer, scanning her silently with his gleaming eyes that were as blue as the ocean. He was so close that his delightful aroma of soap crawled through her nose, inviting that tingling sense from her chest anew.
“Well, we’d better go,” she uttered, finally able to tear herself free from his spell. “Thank you for the help.”
Milton rushed up beside her. “Yeah, thanks for the help.”
They turned around and started walking. Milton let out a huge sigh of relief. Esther on the other hand swallowed a knot of anger that stuck in her throat like a piece of food. She knew what Milton had tried to do. Her hands twitched in anticipation of turning around the next corner to make him face the music. But just when they were about to turn onto the alley next to Murphy’s, something forcefully snatched Milton away for her.
“YOU!” a deep, angry voice growled. Esther turned to find her worries and fears coming true after all. It was Eric, a notoriously nasty police officer assigned to this district. He was holding Milton by the neck, shaking him out of his senses. “You little rat!” he cursed.
Esther’s stomach turned to rock.
“Let him go!” she shrieked, grabbing Eric by his hairy wrist in an attempt to loosen his strong grip on Milton, who now screamed in pain. “Take your hands off him.” She pulled and pushed at Eric’s enormous arm as hard as she could. But Eric wouldn’t have it. He fumed like a boar, sending out a cloud of mist from his nostrils. His eyes bulged as he swung the back of his hand which met her face in an audible smack. The blow was so hard, she didn’t only tumble backwards, she flew, crashing onto the icy hard pavement.
“I told you I'd catch your rotten, thieving hands one day!” Eric shook his finger at Esther, dragging Milton by the neck back the handsome fellow.
Esther rolled herself to the side as her back and shoulder screamed in torment. Clearly there'd be a bruise by the morning. She struggled to push herself up, tripping face first with her head inches from the ground, when a gentle, warm hand grabbed her by the arm to pull her back up. She panicked and swatted the hand away from her. No one was allowed to touch her, discover her disguise. It was a dead giveaway. No matter how manly she tried to look, there was no way to hide her soft supple skin and feminine bones.
“I’m fine,” she moaned, wiping the metallic taste of blood and snow from her mouth.
“What is the meaning of this!” the man yelled at the brutal police officer.
Eric shoved Milton right in front of the handsome stranger, presenting him like a trophy. Grabbing under Milton’s coat, he pulled out a small leather purse.
“Is this yours?” Eric held the purse up, accompanied by a hoggish wide grin on his gluttonous face.
Esther limped over to Milton, a feeling of panic rushing through her aching body like a galloping stallion. This was the end of it. The end of Milton. And most likely the end of her as well, as she would not let this little boy she’d come to love so dearly get tossed about and tortured in an orphanage without putting up a fight. It would be a spectacularly humiliating one considering that Eric was a modern-day mammoth back from the dead, but she would give it all she had, nonetheless.
“Let me go, please,” she heard Milton cry out in pain. The burning sensation of tears formed in her eyes when they suddenly met with those deep blue eyes of the wealthy foreigner. Would he ever show mercy? Or was he just another Morris without a care in the world?
The man shook his head, tearing his gaze away from Esther’s begging tears.
“Yes, it is,” he now confirmed in an unreadable tone. Eric’s face darkened in fiendish delight and he lifted his huge arm up high into the winter sky, ready to strike Milton, when the handsome man launched forward and grabbed Eric by the wrist, stopping him right in his tracks.
“However,” he narrowed his eyes tightening his grip around Eric’s wrist, “I gave that purse to him.”
“What?”
“Excuse me?”
“Huh?” Milton, Eric, and Esther blurted simultaneously with their mouths wide open.
“Yes,” he confirmed once more to a crowd in utter shock. “I have tasked this fine young fellow to take care of something for me,” the man explained further, still holding onto Eric's wrist, not giving him an inch to move. Eric gave in and slowly lowered his arm to signal the man that he would not strike the boy, which in return finally got him his wrist back.
“And what would that be at this hour?” Eric expressed his suspicion, narrowing his eyes.
“I’m afraid if you can’t figure that out as a police officer, I shall have to leave you in the dark.” The man crossed his arms. “Quite literally,” he added.
Eric scratched his head for a moment, but then formed his lips into a perverted grin. He instantly released Milton, dry washing his hands in excitement.
“Company, aye?” The Irish accent he tried so hard to hide now came out along with an all-knowing smirk.
“Company?” Esther wondered, pulling Milton into her protective arms. Eric turned toward her.
“Didn’t use your little lad for more than pissing, yet, aye?” he made fun of her.
“What?” Esther was now even more confused. Milton came to her rescue and whispered. “Whores…”
Her cheeks flushed bright red as she nodded strongly, a poor attempt to convince the others that she knew more than she did.
“Oh, yes, of course, I know,” she mumbled, trying not to peek over at the handsome stranger who just saved Milton from the
hell of an orphanage. For some reason she couldn’t bear looking at the man thinking about such things. Living next to prostitutes and being constantly hit on by some of them, she thought she was a little more weathered in this subject by now, but apparently this was not the case.
Eric busted out in whiny laughter and smacked Esther so hard on her back that she tumbled forward a few steps.
“Don’t worry lad, it’s just like pissing!” Eric hit his leg in uncontrollable laughter, spit coming out of his mouth now. Esther stepped away in disgust. The handsome stranger wrinkled his forehead.
“If you are primitive and don’t know anything about it, yes, then it is just like ‘pissing,'” he said to alleviate his very obvious detestation of Eric, whose laugh turned dead silent thanks to this very remark.
The Brit pulled a pocket watch out of his fine coat. His eyes briefly swelled.
“For heaven’s sake,” he said turning on the heel. Something must have been extremely urgent, as the man didn’t even bother to ask for his purse back.
“Your money!” Esther shouted after him.
“The boy can keep it,” were his last words before vanishing behind the corner.
Esther's breath fumed from the cold as she stared at the corner that moments ago had swallowed one of the kindest men she had ever come across. Not only had he saved a boy who had every intention of robbing him, but had also protected him from harm, and on top of that had given him all his money. Milton tore the purse out of Eric’s hand.
"Would you be so kind?!” he barked at him.
“Street rat,” Eric mumbled, tugging his clothes in order before leaving as well, keeping a watchful gaze back toward Milton in a silent 'I'm watching you' before disappearing into the dark.
“Does that mean I won’t get in trouble?” she heard Milton’s voice sounding like that of an angel.
“In your dreams!” she turned to face him, putting her hands on her hips. “What were you thinking?" Esther yelled in an angry tone, waving her hands. "I work day and night to put a roof over our heads and food on the table. Is that not enough?”
Milton lowered his head in shame, staring at the ground.
“It is,” he muttered.
“Then why would you steal again? You promised you would never do it again!” This was a serious situation, and he had to understand that once and for all.
“For me,” Milton almost whispered, biting his lower lip.
“What do you mean?” Her voice softened.
“You asked if it’s not enough. So I just told you that it is… for me at least.” Esther tilted her head in confusion.
“But not for you. You barely eat,” he whimpered, his eyes filled with grief. “And you never sleep, only work all the time. I-I just wanted to buy food for you.”
Esther felt a tight knot in her throat. His words broke her heart. He wasn’t stealing for toys, or sweets, or anything else a kid his age would dream of—and deserved to do so. No, he had risked his life for no other reason than to feed her!
She swung her arms around him, pulling his little body against hers. “I’m so sorry, Milton.” She held him tight to her heart like only a loving mother could. “Please promise me you won’t do this ever again.”
She looked up to the sky, thinking about the pain she would feel if she were to lose him. “There is not enough food in the world that would be worth losing you, you hear me?” She could feel Milton’s head nod in her arms.
Esther was about to tell him that she didn’t need him to steal for her, that she would find a different way to make money, an honorable way, when in the distance, the door to Murphy’s shot wide open and Big Murphy himself stood in the bare cold. His rusty hair bounced in the winter winds with a crunched-up face that was clearly in a bad mood. Next to him was one of his crook-looking friends. They chattered for a moment before Murphy's friend pointed around the corner and started walking. They passed by Milton and Esther, ignoring them as if they weren't there. Nothing but a bunch of street rats left to rot in the snow.
“I’m telling yer, de nobleman has a treasurr map.” Murphy bubbled in his loud, Irish voice. His companion, a tall man with a gaunt drawn face covered under muddy black hair, blew his warm breath onto his hands.
“Yer man is headin’ to de bridge, aye?”
“Aye,” Murphy confirmed with a smirk that revealed a rotten front tooth. Suddenly, his companion turned toward Esther and Milton.
“Git out o’ here yer rats or you’ll get Mossy’s iron blow,” he growled, clenching his fist, shaking it widely.
Esther grabbed Milton by the arm and pulled him down the street as fast as she could. As soon as they were around the corner, she pressed herself against the wall, peeking back at Murphy and his vagabond who were clearly hatching something out.
“What are they up to?” Milton whispered.
“Nothing good, I’m afraid.” Esther closed her eyes. This handsome stranger was clearly in danger. In these parts of town there were two kinds of criminals. Folks that committed non-violent crimes to get by, and the ones who would make life harder for everyone else. Murphy was not part of the first group. That slimy worm would sell his mother to a butcher shop if he could get a coin for it in return. She had to do something. “Milton,” she kneeled and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Go run home. If I’m not back in an hour, tell Beth and Helga what happened. They will know what to do.” Milton shook his head.
“But—”
“No buts. I’ll be fine, I have my pistol, remember?” Milton nodded his head. “Go, now.” Milton gave her a quick hug and sprinted off. Esther peeked around the corner again, only to find Murphy and his friend disappear into a side street.
“Damn it,” she cussed, a skill she wasn’t proud of but came with the rough life of poverty. For the second time tonight, Esther sprinted as fast as she could to catch up to Murphy. And for the second time this night, she was worried about someone else’s safety. Not the feelings of terror she’d gone through for Milton, but nonetheless a feeling of worry. But why? Why did she even bother to care? She barely knew that man. Surely it was the honorable thing to do after he’d saved Milton from that pig, but something deep inside her whispered to her that there was more to this than the need to make right.
Esther’s frozen feet flew over the pavement through the dark streets of New York, arriving at the base of the world-famous East River Bridge in no time. Its enormous, neo-Gothic stone tower loomed like a huge giant above the East River, laughing at the mere thought of the river trying to separate Brooklyn and Manhattan. Once completed, it would be the longest suspended cable bridge in the world, one of the many industrial marvels of the nineteenth century that made America so famous.
Most of the gigantic columns of the bridge were hidden in the shadows, barely illuminated by a few gas lanterns that lit up the construction zone around it. Esther squinted her eyes to scan the area, which was not easy in this light, when she spotted two silhouettes meeting from opposite directions under one of the sparingly placed lanterns. One of the shadows was short and skinny, the other tall and noble. Without a doubt, she knew who it was.
Esther was too far away to make out the words of their conversation. She creeped closer and stopped when she saw two additional silhouettes rush from behind a small construction building into the darkness of the bridge’s column. This was not good. If Big Murphy had a weapon, she would get shot if she made herself known now to warn the handsome stranger.
Her heart beat wildly against her chest, teeth clenched in anticipation. She had to do something but be clever about it. Clever, or extremely quiet and sneak up on them. Esther had often heard about the Cherokees’ ability to sneak up on others unnoticed. Nobody was better at going about undetected than the natives who had lived and hunted in these lands for thousands of years. They were like ghosts, shadows of the earth. Esther often wondered if her mother was the same, and whether it was something she had inherited and could do out of instinct.
She was about to sneak
up on Murphy, when a sliver of light flashed from where he was hiding. Was it a knife? A pistol? Unfortunately, there was no time for mysteries. It was time to put her warrior blood to the test. ‘The better half,’ as her father always used to say….’The better half…’
Chapter 5
T he man of the hour, Wilson, seemed awfully nervous. He was constantly licking his lips and looking over his shoulders as if he were expecting someone to be following him. Even in a dark place like this, his red hair somehow managed to have a fiery shimmer to it.
“If I had known what you were getting me into, I would never have taken your money,” Wilson said, lurking over his shoulder once more.
George rubbed his chin in a failed attempt to decipher his words.
“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” and he didn’t, but was eager to find out. He’d simply paid this man to find his friend, nothing more, nothing less. But something felt awfully wrong here as his eyes wandered into the background.
“Is Billy in some sort of trouble?”
Wilson laughed sarcastically and pulled out an envelope, handing it to George.
“You could say that. He was last seen about a month ago.” Wilson nodded. “In Chama, New Mexico.”
This piece of information was not surprising at all considering that Chama, New Mexico, was where George and Billy had bought the gold mine and thousands of acres of land with it. But at least he now knew that Billy hadn’t just run off with a fortune, drinking sparkling wine in a romantic coastal town somewhere.
“So, he is alive?” George asked, putting the envelope in his pocket. Wilson shrugged his shoulders.
“Who knows? That’s some dangerous business you two are getting yourselves into,” he snickered.
