Mission of Hope

by Allie Pleiter

  “I’m sorry, Papa,” she said in a voice so steady it surprised even her. “I must do this.”

  “Do what?” Papa said, exasperated. Reverend Bauers stood between them, cautious but willing to let her have her say.

  “Try to save Quinn.”

  Nora expected Papa to ask “from what?” thinking his high regard for Major Simon wouldn’t allow for the possibility of Quinn’s current danger. Instead, Papa asked the most dangerous question of all: “Why?”

  It should have been difficult. Frightening, even, to declare it to Papa after all his lectures. Instead, it came out with the ease of truth, necessary as breath. “Because I love him.”

  Papa stared. For all Mama’s suspicions, evidently Papa was genuinely stunned by her admission.

  Reverend Bauers chose that moment to step in. “There’s a good deal to sort out, no doubt, but I do agree with Nora that desperate measures are in order. Let me accompany her to Fort Mason and you have my word she will talk with you further about this. For the moment, time is very much of the essence.”

  Before Papa could even gather his wits to respond, Reverend Bauers had Nora by the arm and they were heading out the back door to climb aboard the minister’s rickety cart and head to Fort Mason. Nora prayed for Mama and Papa the whole way, for in some very real sense they’d lost the daughter they once had. She hoped the new, transformed daughter they now gained would still be welcomed when today’s dust settled.

  Annette would have been proud. For all her adventures, Nora’s bold cousin had never spent a day such as this. As she stared out the window of Major Simon’s office at Fort Mason, Nora could scarcely believe the size of the crowd Mrs. Freeman had gathered outside. Or that her plan had worked. Then again, perhaps Major Simon never stood a chance; once Mrs. Freeman discovered someone had placed her son in harm’s way for his own gain, Nora was sure God’s ears burned with the justice she called down upon the major’s head.

  He’d never looked so unnerved. “Are you quite sure, Miss Longstreet, that your father’s only the postmaster?” His words were smooth, but his knuckles were white as he put down his pen. “It seems to me you’ve a politician’s blood running through your veins.”

  “I’d think twice about that phrase ‘only the postmaster,’ Major,” Reverend Bauers advised. “This entire plan was Nora’s doing. I fear she could easily devise another one nowhere near as favorable to you. And I am quite astounded at how enamored with her those two reporters are at present.”

  When Major Simon had refused an earlier meeting, Nora wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t ever expected the major to cooperate. Instead, Nora asked Reverend Bauers to take her to the offices of the city newspaper. It had been far easier than she imagined to get the reporter to follow her back to Fort Mason. The exclusive revelation of the Midnight Messenger’s true identity was far too good a story to miss. And evidently, when one reporter rushes out of his office, others hear about it soon enough; now no less than four photographers were currently waiting outside with the crowd of refugees from Dolores Park.

  Bauers had been busy as well. As Nora met with the reporter, he’d used the newspaper wire service to arrange for a hefty reward for the names of the army officers who’d been given the instructions to let word out about the price on the Messenger’s head. The size of the reward wired from one Sir Matthew Covington—a friend of Quinn’s from England, who, thanks be to God, happened to be in New York on business—ensured quick success. In addition to that, Nora could now ensure that the men’s corroboration of Quinn’s story reached her parents’ ears.

  “You have the papers?” Nora extended her hand to receive what she had just watched Simon write: Quinn’s commission into the Corps of Engineers, his subsequent draftsmanship education and even a decoration for outstanding citizenship. “I’ll find it difficult to be cooperative outside without this in my pocket.”

  “He’ll come to no harm. I had no intentions of having him shot,” Simon asserted.

  “I cannot believe you,” Nora said calmly. And she couldn’t. She slipped the folded paper carefully into the pocket of her skirt, feeling jaded.

  Major Simon eyed her. “If I’d have wanted him dead, Miss Longstreet, he’d have been shot hours ago. I have enough authority to control someone like Freeman without having to shoot him, you know.”

  “No, I don’t know that.” And she’d done her best to make sure he couldn’t shoot Quinn now. Not with the crowd outside his window. She was glad for that, seeing the unnerving darkness in the major’s eyes.

  The strength of the midday sun was broiling the crowd into impatience. They could either learn enough to cheer Simon for his accomplishments, or learn more and jeer him for what he would have done to the Midnight Messenger. Nora would be lying if she said the thought of publicly humiliating Simon didn’t appeal to her at the moment. The simple truth was that Simon was currently the lesser of all available evils, and he was still very good at what he did. To remove him from the relief efforts entirely would do little more than heap chaos upon chaos.

  She didn’t need revenge or glory; she needed Quinn. Unharmed and with the commissions Simon had originally promised him. All she was really doing, Reverend Bauers reminded her, was using the leverage they had—namely the press and the mayor’s keen need of good news to tell the world on behalf of their damaged city—to ensure the major kept his original word.

  A knock came on the door, and the reporter poked his nervous head inside. “It’s a powder keg out there. If you’re going to make an announcement, you’d best get to it.” As if on cue, a wave of cries for the Messenger could be heard outside. They’d been told they’d find out who he was today, and they didn’t seem much in the mood to be patient about it.

  “Remember, my good major,” Bauers said as he walked over to stand beside Simon. “I’ll be listening to every word. I’m anticipating a lovely speech. It’ll be a grand day for San Francisco. And you get the rarest of all opportunities—a second chance to do the right thing.”

  Someone splashed water on his face. Quinn moaned, knocking the hand away without even opening his eyes. He knew he’d ended up in some kind of cell, but not much more. During several waking moments over the course of the night, he’d managed to surmise that his attempts to go home had failed. The last thing he remembered was making for Nora’s front door, then it all went black until he woke up here.

  He had a pretty good idea where “here” was. And who held the keys.

  “Freeman, up with you,” a gruff voice said.

  Quinn’s head pounded, his ribs ached, he still had cuts on his hands and arms from climbing out the broken window, and his leg felt as if it would burn right off any second. He definitely was in no mood to stand up and be neighborly. Why they hadn’t simply shot him yet, he didn’t know. Actually, he didn’t want to be shot again, ever. Last night had put him off guns for life, even if life only lasted a few more hours.

  It had all come unraveled. All the help he’d been was of no use. In his arrogance, his craving to be a man of importance, he’d misread God’s calls to him in ways that hurt everyone he loved.

  Nora worst of all. The one detail he did remember last night was the scorching look in her mother’s eyes when Nora’d touched him. As if she’d committed some unforgivable sin by loving him. He’d tainted her future by trying to graft it on to his own. She deserved far more than he could give her now. The physical pain couldn’t hold a candle to the gnawing ache in his chest. It felt like his very soul had been yanked out of his body.

  “Wash up, you’ve got company and an appointment to keep.”

  An appointment with the business end of an army rifle, no doubt. Why on earth did they think it a good idea to wake him up to shoot him? Or dress him? Somebody threw a damp towel and some clothes at him. An army uniform. Quinn was really starting to hate Simon’s sense of humor.

  “I don’t care what he looks like,” someone said outside his cell door. “I insist you let me in right now!”

 
; He must be delirious—the voice sounded like Nora’s. Well, God had answered his prayer—he’d at least gotten to kiss her. He rolled his body away from the light, sinking back into the pain that pulsed with every heartbeat. “I hope Heaven hurts a whole lot less,” he muttered.

  “I hope you don’t see it for a very long time,” the tender voice said, and he felt a cool, smooth hand on his brow.

  He rolled back over and forced his eyes open. Nora’s sweet face stared down at him like God’s gift from Heaven. “Am I alive?” he whispered, reaching out, expecting his hand to slide through the mirage.

  The mirage smiled. “Only just.” She grabbed his outstretched hand and kissed it.

  It was her. He pulled her hand toward his face, pressing it to his cheek. Glory, it really was her, here with him. His pain-fogged brain couldn’t make sense of it.

  “You’ve got to get up and put these on, Quinn. I haven’t time to explain more.”

  Something had happened. People were rushing about, there were shouts and yells outside. He pushed himself upright, hurting everywhere. Nora took the towel beside him and began wiping his hands. “What’s going on?” he asked, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it.

  “You’re going to need to stand in a few minutes. Can you do it?”

  He took the towel from her and wiped his own face. The cool cloth brought him a shred of clarity, and he looked at the vision of beauty in front of him. Without a moment’s thought, he took that face in his hands and kissed it. Soundly. Bliss. She tasted like sheer, sweet bliss.

  “Time’s a wastin’, Romeo,” the gruff voice said from behind him. “There’ll be time enough for that later.”

  Later? There’d be a later?

  “You’re to be announced as the heroic Midnight Messenger in a few minutes,” Nora said, blushing. “We need to get you cleaned up and dressed.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “I’ve found a way. Don’t worry about that right now, just trust me and put these on.”

  “They’re army clothes!”

  “Indeed they are.”

  “Am I going to be shot?”

  “No, Quinn, I think they said you’re going to be a corporal.”

  The sunlight stung his eyes. Reverend Bauers had a hand on his shoulder, helping him stay upright. The bandage on his leg was too tight, a throbbing distraction, and sweat was pouring down his back. He didn’t care.

  He did care that Nora was yards away from him, standing next to a fellow with a camera and notebook instead of by his side. She had yet to explain why Major Simon was making a speech about the Midnight Messenger, saying all kinds of wonderful things about the “hero who slipped through the night to help those in need.” Reverend Bauers had only barely stopped him from lunging at Simon when they finally met up just inside the doorway. “Touché,” was all Simon had said, tipping his hat in what could only be called a simmering resignation. He held Quinn’s gaze with a nasty glare that evaporated instantaneously the moment the major stepped on to the podium placed on Fort Mason’s front steps.

  And then he heard his name.

  Bauers led him forward as the crowd cheered so loud Quinn thought his head would split open.

  People cried out his name and the mayor came to shake his hand. He’d been revealed as the man behind the Midnight Messenger, as a hero. He saw Ma, standing down off to his left, her face a mixture of joy aimed at him and an anger he guessed was aimed at Major Simon. She knew. Still, Quinn couldn’t figure out how they’d gone from last night’s chaos to this morning’s glory.

  And glory it was. Simon continued his speech, describing the commission he’d originally promised, eliciting more cheers from the crowd. Quinn would begin serving as a draftsman’s apprentice the moment he was well enough to do so. He’d been made a corporal in the United States Army Corps of Engineers. An officer. More men shook his hand. Amazing as it all was, the edges of Quinn’s vision begin to blur and turn colors. “I can’t stand up any longer,” he whispered to Bauers. “Get me out of here.” How funny that a moment he’d been dreaming of for weeks was not nearly as pleasant as he’d imagined. He was grateful—deeply grateful—but all he wanted right now was Nora and sleep, in that order. Glory, it turns out, hurt a lot.

  Ma came rushing through the door a few moments later, bouncing back and forth between fussy praises for his deeds and teary-eyed scoldings for keeping such secrets from your own Ma.

  “Where is she?” he asked Bauers and his mother, hoping at least one of them would fill in the host of missing details.

  “Your Nora?” Ma said, smiling. “She’ll be along. Don’t you worry about that.”

  “I worry about that,” he said trying to peer around Ma and Bauers to the door that still opened on the activities outside. “Where is she?”

  Bauers’s hand came down on his shoulder. “I imagine she’s with her mother and father by now. I asked them to come. I doubt it will be a short conversation, so you’d best find some patience.”

  At that moment, Major Simon came in through the door, surrounded by a quartet of very official-looking men. Quinn stood up, wobbling a little when he did. He held Simon’s eyes until the major said, “Excuse me for a moment,” to his companions and walked over. Bauers and Ma both tensed.

  “They were only supposed to bring you in. I’d no plans to do you harm,” Simon said, nearly under his breath.

  “I don’t believe you,” Quinn returned, equally quietly.

  “I suppose you wouldn’t.” The major extended his hand. Shake his hand? Now? After all he suspected happened?

  Quinn took that hand and gripped hard enough to hurt Simon. It may have looked like a handshake, but it wasn’t. It was a warning. “I ought to run you through right here, in front of all these people,” he murmured loud enough for the major to hear. “But someone once taught me to do the unexpected to my opponents.”

  Simon pulled his hand away.

  “I don’t know what all happened,” Quinn continued, “but I will. I won’t stop watching you, Simon.”

  “You got caught in the cross fire, Freeman, nothing more.”

  “I don’t see it that way.”

  “And now is not the time to have this conversation,” Reverend Bauers cut in between them. “Let the matter rest for the moment, gentlemen, too many eyes are watching.”

  “You’re blessed I’m in no shape to do anything more,” Quinn growled.

  Major Simon paused for a second before replying, “Perhaps I am.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Quinn was tired of sitting. Funny, he could remember the days he’d give anything to sit for hours on end, but now the inactivity was driving him crazy. “Where is she, Ma?”

  Ma looked at him as if he were no older than Sam. “It’s not yet two o’clock, Quinn. The sun doesn’t hurry across the sky just because you’re in love.” She looked at the pile of goods filling their shack. “Someone brought more sugar. Why people think the Midnight Messenger needs sweets is beyond me. Where do they think we can bake out here?” She pointed at him. “Bring me a real oven and a real kitchen to put it in, then I’ll sing and dance.”

  “I’ll dance with you now, Ma.”

  “Ye will not at that.” She scowled at him playfully. “You’re supposed to be off that leg for another three days.”

  “Three days…I’ll go mad,” Quinn moaned.

  “Keep looking at those books the army sent over. I can’t imagine how much you’ve got to learn.”

  “Sam!” Quinn yelled. “Sam, come here!” Ma gave out an exasperated sigh. Sam poked his head into the shack a moment later. “Go see if Miss Nora’s come yet, would you please?”

  Sam was no fool. He looked straight at Ma, who pulled a watch out of her apron pocket and shook her head. “It ain’t two,” Sam said with an annoying amount of authority for someone who came up to Quinn’s waist.

  “I’m outnumbered.” Quinn let his head fall back against the cot where he was propped up.

  �
�Even heroes have to do as they’re told,” Ma said teasingly. “On occasion.”

  Quinn sighed, picked up one of the dry texts he was trying to make his way through before he started studies next month and thought patience was highly overrated for heroes. Even ex-heroes.

  He’d lasted no more than ten minutes, when he heard Nora’s voice call out from beyond the shack door. “Hello, Mrs. Freeman, hello Quinn!”

  He went for the door, but Ma thrust a hand to his shoulder. “Back down with you. She can take the six steps it takes to get inside, son, there’s no worries there.”

  Quinn sat up and ran his hands through his hair just as Nora ducked inside. Followed by a sight he never expected to see: Mr. and Mrs. Longstreet. “I’ve brought someone with me,” Nora said, smiling.

  It was an awkward moment, to be sure. Mr. Longstreet looked uncomfortable, Mrs. Longstreet looked downright panicked. Nora wore a cautiously hopeful expression, and Ma looked flustered. A bristling silence filled the crowded shelter until Ma flung up her hands and said, “I think I’ll make tea. We’ve got real sugar, we might as well enjoy it.”

  Nora reached out her hand to Ma, smiling. “That’d be lovely, I think. Mama, why don’t you sit here?” She motioned to the shack’s only chair and motioned for her father to take a seat on the large trunk nearby. When her parents were seated, Nora perched on the edge of the cot by Quinn. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but the moment seemed too delicate.

  “Thank you for coming,” he managed, sure his face was flushed. He knew what it cost them to make this trip, the grace they’d somehow found a way to extend to him. And their daughter.

  “How are you healing?” Mr. Longstreet said stiffly.