Rory's Promise

by Michaela MacColl

  Quickly, she clambered through the window. Her sleeve caught on a jagged bit of window still left in the frame. Rory jerked herself free. Her arm burned but she kept going and landed in a crouch in the alley. The throbbing in her arm was more pain than she'd ever felt before. Gingerly she touched her arm and felt wetness. Crimson blood stained her fingers. Rory wasn't fond of blood, and she leaned against the building waiting until the dizziness passed.

  The rain had ended but the air was bitter cold and she could see her breath hanging in the air. The bleeding had nearly stopped, and she considered her next move. She desperately wanted to go to Sister Anna. It would be a huge relief to hand her worries over to her. But if she snuck back into the hotel, would Mrs. Gatti and Mrs. Abraham catch her? Those women wanted only one thing and if Rory got in their way, she wasn't sure how much further they would go. Maybe she should find Ramon and make sure Violet was all right.

  But she would never find them in the dark. And if Ramon had done as Rory asked, they might be hiding for Violet's sake.

  She made her way to where the alley met the road. It was late on a Sunday night after a storm and she didn't expect to meet anyone on the street. She was wrong. Two men were carrying a large vat covered with a piece of wood. She jumped back into the shadows and they passed by without seeing her.

  “Careful with that,” one said to the other. “You nearly spilled it.”

  “My hands are burning!” the other said.

  The vat had a foul smell of pine that made Rory's eyes water.

  “I don't know about this,” the second man said. “Could we go to hell for tarring and feathering a priest?”

  Even though Rory wasn't quite sure what tarring and feathering was, it sounded bad. Father Mandin wasn't her favorite person, but torturing him was beyond the pale.

  “Nah,” the other man answered. “It's not like it'll kill him. We're just going to teach the priest and that agent a lesson. They can't get away with giving kids to those people.”

  Her breath coming fast and shallow, Rory felt light in her head. They were going after Mr. Swayne too. She crept out into the street to watch where they went. They wrestled the steaming vat over the cable bridge spanning the creek to a large white building standing alone on the other side. One of them pounded on the door. When it opened, light spilled into the darkness. Rory heard a crowd of angry people inside.

  Rory glanced up at the hotel to the third floor. Every aching, tired bone in her body told her to go to Sister Anna. But what about the priest and Mr. Swayne? Rory had to help if she could. Making sure that the street was empty, she darted across the road and onto the cable bridge. She stopped, spinning her arms for balance. The bridge swayed over the creek. Earlier today the creek bed had been almost empty, but now it was full of rushing water. Her feet slipped and slid as she crossed and she tried not to look down at the fast-moving water.

  The building loomed in the dark and rain. Rory didn't dare go to the door. She headed to the nearest square of light, a window open just a crack. She could distinguish individual voices, including Mr. Swayne's.

  She pulled herself up to sit on the windowsill and lifted the window. It was steamy from the warm breaths of fifty or so people. Inside, Mr. Swayne stood on a platform at one end of the room. Father Mandin hovered nervously behind him. “The children belong to the Foundling Hospital,” Mr. Swayne shouted hoarsely.

  The room was filled with men. There wasn't a woman in sight. Rory wasn't sure if that was good or bad after everything she'd seen today. Were the women more dangerous than the men?

  The sheriff and his men stood between the crowd and Mr. Swayne. The lawmen had their hands on the butts of their guns. She quickly scanned the room and counted at least a dozen guns and a few rifles.

  “The Foundling would never place them in harm's way!” Swayne yelled over the crowd's jeers.

  “Too late for that!” one man called out. “You put white children with dirty Mexicans.”

  “That's not true!” Swayne cried. “Every family was selected and vouched for by Father Mandin. We turned down families who looked too dark.”

  The crowd roared, “Tar the priest!” and parted like the Red Sea, letting the two men with the vat through. A third man trailed behind, easily balancing a large sack on his shoulder. A shower of feathers floated in his wake. The soup in Rory's stomach came back up to her mouth with a sour taste. They were going to cover Father Mandin in hot tar and roll him in feathers. Humiliating and painful too, she bet. And Mr. Swayne would be next. Nothing in Wild West Weekly had ever prepared her for this.

  On the platform, Mr. Swayne stared at the vat and staggered back a few steps. Rory didn't blame him for being afraid; this wasn't hectoring a group of desperate womenfolk. He and Father Mandin were in real danger.

  The sheriff pushed the crowd back, saying loudly, “The priest and the Foundling agent are under our protection.” But anyone could see that if the crowd rushed the platform, the priest and Mr. Swayne were done for.

  “Sheriff, they can't come here from New York and sell the babies to the Mexicans!” Another accuser had stepped forward. It was one of the men from the posse that had collected Rory. He still carried his mud-covered rifle.

  “The Foundling is wealthy,” Swayne insisted. “We don't need to sell children. We find them homes.”

  “Money was exchanged.” It was Mr. Gatti, the butcher. “My wife witnessed it.” Rory thought back. It was true; Elena had offered Sister Anna money. Mrs. Gatti, obsessed with her heart's desire, had misunderstood.

  When Father Mandin saw Gatti he began babbling in French. The crowd demanded that Gatti translate.

  “He says the money was just a few dollars. It was to pay for the children's transport,” Gatti said. “He didn't know there was any difference between Americans and Mexicans.” He paused. “But I don't believe him.”

  The men answered with shouts and swears. Rory couldn't distinguish what they were saying until a rowdy group in the back began chanting, “Tar ’em! Tar ’em!”

  The color drained from Father Mandin's face. He groaned and fainted to the floor like a sack of flour. Rory winced as his head hit the ground with a thud. Mr. Swayne barely spared him a glance as he addressed the crowd again. “Citizens of Clifton,” he said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You've already removed thirteen children from their foster homes. We haven't placed the remaining orphans. We'll take them all back to New York. There's no harm done!”

  Rory nearly fell off the windowsill. Mr. Swayne was a blockhead. This crowd wasn't going to let him sweet-talk his way out of this. How did he not see that?

  “You're a liar!” shouted one of the men. “We'd better keep all the kids just to be safe.” The crowd of men surged toward the platform, fists raised in the air.

  Swayne stuck his chest out and glowered, seeming more angry than afraid. “You just want the children for yourselves! This has nothing to do with the Mexicans!” He made a dismissive gesture that caused another rush of men. One threw a bottle at him. Swayne ducked just in time and the bottle shattered on the wall behind him.

  The sheriff leapt onto the platform and pushed Mr. Swayne down. “Jack Foley and Bill Morse, you put that tar and those feathers away right now.”

  “No!”

  The sheriff shot his rifle into the air. Rory started, banging her head on the windowsill. A large chuck of white plaster came down from the ceiling with a crash and a cloud of white dust. The crowd stood in shocked silence.

  “That's enough,” the sheriff said. “I'm declaring a curfew. Go home peacefully now or I'll throw you all into jail.”

  One man in the crowd, braver than the rest, called out, “What about the children? I can't go home unless I have something to tell my wife!” There was a shout of laughter. Rory nodded to herself. Yep, the women were the ones driving this wagon train. They were the real threat.

  Simpson shouted over the noise. “The judge will be here tomorrow. He'll decide what to do. Tell
your wives that!”

  The crowd started leaving, in groups of twos and threes, but a few men stayed, staring down the sheriff. He patted his rifle and said, “Don't make me do it, boys.”

  Reluctantly the men turned and headed for the door. One of them caught sight of Rory and headed to the window. With a yelp, Rory dropped to the ground. She heard someone shouting after her, spurring her to race across the bridge back to the hotel. Then she ran down the alley, raced through the kitchen and up the back stairs, and pounded on Sister Anna's door.

  “Who's there?” Sister Anna's tired voice asked.

  “It's Rory! It's an emergency!”

  Rory yearned to throw herself into Sister Anna's arms and be comforted but when the door opened, Rory stared, dumbstruck. Sister Anna was still fully dressed in her habit but her bonnet was crooked and there were smudges of mud on her wide skirt. It was as if the Virgin Mary had dirt under her fingernails.

  “Rory, what are you doing out at this time of night?” Sister Anna yawned, too tired to cover her mouth. “I assumed you were spending the night with Violet.”

  “Sister, the kids are in trouble!” Rory cried.

  “The children are asleep in the next room,” Sister Anna said.

  “Not those children. The ones you already placed.” Rory couldn't stand still as she tried to explain.

  “What are you talking about?” Sister Anna noticed the bloodstained cut on Rory's arm. “You're hurt.”

  “It's nothing, Sister.” Rory slipped inside, shut the door, and quickly told her everything that had happened. The only information she left out was that Violet was not with the other children.

  Sister Anna stood up straight, adjusted her bonnet, and after noticing Rory's surreptitious glance at her skirt, brushed away the mud. “Those children belong to the Foundling and they won't go to any family that I do not personally approve. Bring me to Mrs. Abraham.”

  Relieved to see the old Sister Anna back, Rory led the way down the hall to the main stairs. Rory started to take the stairs two at a time, but Sister Anna said, “With dignity, my dear.”

  When they reached the landing outside the room where the twelve children were, Rory got a bad feeling in her stomach. It was too quiet. Even if the children were all asleep in their makeshift beds, there should be some noise. They opened the door. Sister Anna's eyes raked the empty room.

  “They're gone!” Rory cried. The cots and used dishes were still there, but the children were missing. Rory ran to the window and looked in the street. Empty.

  “Rory, are you sure you didn't imagine …”

  Rory held up her bloody arm. “Like I imagined this, Sister?”

  “No, of course not,” Sister Anna said. She prowled about the room looking for any signs of the children. She reached under a sofa and picked up a bit of ribbon with embroidered lettering. “This is Josephine's and it has no business being here. The children were in this room.” She turned to Rory. “But where did they go?”

  Rory thought she saw Sister Anna's hand tremble, but that was impossible; Sister Anna was never scared. “I'm sorry, Sister, this is my fault,” Rory cried. “I told Mrs. Gatti you would never let them have the kids. They must have decided to take them away so you wouldn't interfere.”

  “My child, you're not to blame,” Sister Anna said wearily. “If anyone deserves blame, it is I. I should have sent Mr. Swayne ahead to see the town and the parents. We would have known then not to come.”

  “Sister, we'll find them,” Rory said. Sister Anna did not make mistakes. In the world of the Foundling, that didn't happen. “We have to.”

  “Of course we will,” Sister Anna said. “I promised you that I would take care of Violet and the rest. I'm going to call the police and demand they get the children back.”

  “Sister, there's no police here except the sheriff. And he's the one who collected them,” Rory said. “They won't give the children back just for the asking.” Thank goodness that Violet was safe with Elena and Ramon.

  Sister Anna's hand went to the crucifix around her neck. “We need help. Rory, can you find Mr. Swayne? Or Father Mandin?”

  “They won't be any help at all.” Rory grimaced. “Mr. Swayne was in fear for his life tonight. And Father Mandin passed out.”

  Sister Anna placed her hand on Rory's shoulder. At first she thought Sister Anna was steadying herself, but then she realized that Sister Anna was trying to reassure Rory. “Rory, I'm sorry you had to see that dreadful scene. But I'm sure it wasn't as bad as you say. You're young and didn't understand what you saw.”

  “Really, Sister?” Rory forgot to watch her words. “Then where are your children? And what about the rest? How are we going to protect them?”

  Sister Anna swept her hand across her forehead and Rory saw that she was sweating under the bonnet.

  Rory went on, “If the town wants those babies, they'll just take them. They don't care if anyone else gets hurt.”

  “Well, we'll have to convince the judge when he comes in the morning.” Sister Anna adjusted her habit. “He'll set everything right.”

  Sister Anna went into the other room to warn Sister Eileen and the nurses, leaving Rory alone.

  It was warm in the room and the plush sofa was soft and inviting. Rory let her head rest on the sofa arm and closed her eyes. Even if Sister Anna was wrong, Rory couldn't do any more tonight. But exhausted as she was, she couldn't fall asleep. The image of Violet sound asleep at Elena's house wouldn't leave her mind. Had Rory done the right thing by leaving Vi there? And where would they hide?

  Rory sat bolt upright, her heart beating loud enough to echo in her ears. Why would Ramon bother to hide when he could just run to Mexico? There was nothing to stop him and every reason to go. What would that mob do to Ramon if they found him and Elena with a white daughter?

  Rory rushed to the window. The street seemed deserted, lit only by a few lamps on the porch of the hotel. If Ramon had left for Mexico, there was nothing Rory could do. She didn't know where his family lived. And even if she went looking for them, she didn't speak the language. She'd never find Violet. Knowing the Foundling wouldn't approve of Vi being taken out of the country, Ramon would have no reason to write. She should have never left Violet alone. At least Violet still had Ma's necklace.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks but Rory barely noticed. She hadn't even said goodbye.

  CHAPTER Thirty-Three

  RORY SPENT A RESTLESS NIGHT AND WAS AWAKENED BY A KNOCK at the door. She bolted from the sofa. Sister Anna hurried in from the other room.

  “I've got the door, Sister,” Rory said.

  “Be careful,” Sister Anna said.

  Rory pulled the door open slowly, ready to slam it shut if need be. It was the servant, Cheng.

  “It's all right, Sister,” Rory said. She turned toward Cheng, hoping for news. “Did Ramon send you again?” she asked.

  “He gave me this for you,” Cheng said, reaching into his vest pocket and pulling out a chain with a saint's medal dangling from it.

  “My mother's necklace,” Rory cried, grabbing it from his hand. She tried to understand what it meant. Had Ramon sent it? An apology for stealing Violet away and leaving Rory behind? Or did it mean something entirely different?

  “Where is Violet?” she asked, dreading the answer.

  “Come with me.” Cheng turned and walked away.

  “I'll be right back,” Rory yelled to Sister Anna, stuffing the necklace in the pocket of her dress.

  “Rory!” The sound of Sister Anna's voice faded as Rory followed Cheng down three flights of back stairs—not to the kitchen but to the hotel's lobby. Rory wanted to ask many questions, but she held her tongue. Soon enough she would know if Violet was still in Clifton. Cheng pointed to the barbershop with its gaily striped pole.

  Rory pulled open the unlocked door slowly. The room was empty. Two barber chairs reclined as though expecting customers for a haircut and shave. There was a window high in the outside wall and white smocks on hooks next to
the entrance. She followed the faint murmur of voices to a velvet curtain spread across the back of the shop. “Let Vi be all right. Please,” she prayed. As she reached for the curtain she saw her hand was trembling. She swept the curtain aside to reveal Ramon and Elena.

  Ramon's hand moved instinctively to the tied-down holster on his hip, and Elena placed a restraining hand on his arm.

  “Thank God you're still here,” cried Rory. Her knees buckled and she held onto the curtain to steady herself. “I was so afraid …”

  “Of course we're still here,” Elena said, puzzled.

  “Where's Violet?” Rory said, her voice cracking.

  “Here I am,” Violet said, scooting out from behind Elena's legs, a mischievous grin on her face. “Did you know it was us?” she asked. “Ramon said we couldn't let anyone see us, or we'd ruin the surprise.”

  Rory hugged her with all her might. “It's the very best surprise!”

  “Ow, Rory, that hurts.”

  Over Vi's head, Rory said, “This is the last place I expected to see you.” Then she spoke to Ramon and Elena in a voice she hardly recognized as her own. “Is it safe? What if Mrs. Gatti sees her? Or that mob?”

  Ramon said, “Who would look for her in the hotel?” His sly smile invited her to smile back. Maybe another day Rory would find it funny, but not today.

  “Where's Mama's necklace?” Violet asked.

  “Right here, Vi,” Rory said, pointing to her pocket. To Ramon, she asked, “Did you hear what happened last night?”

  Ramon's smile faded. “Swayne and the priest are lucky to be alive.”

  Elena said, “The parish is hiding Father Mandin. We'll keep him safe.”

  “And Mr. Swayne is lying low in his hotel room,” Ramon added. “What happened when the sheriff took you? Did the Anglos notice that Violet was missing?”