“An attorney?” Denzil sat up straighter on his chair. “Me, an attorney?” He laughed under his breath. “I’ve had lots of experience with the law, and I’ve met some of those fast-talkin’ lawyers, too. Only they were looking to toss my butt in jail.”
“There are other kinds of attorneys,” Brynn told him.
“I could wear one of those fancy silk suits, couldn’t I?”
“Of course. Listen, Denzil,” she said, her convictions causing her voice to grow strong and sure, “this is exactly what I’ve been telling you all quarter. You can be anything you want. The power is right here inside you.” She held her clenched fist against her breast. “All you’ve got to do is want it bad enough.”
“I ain’t never had anyone tell my mother good things about me,” Yolanda said. “The only time a teacher ever came to my house was because she thought I took something out of her stinking purse.” Looking away, she sighed loudly. “I did it, too, because that teacher was a real jerk. She wasn’t even fair.”
“You got any good things to tell Roberto about me?” Emilio asked, and draped his elbows over the back of his seat. He was sitting proud.
“I have plenty to tell Roberto about you,” Brynn teased as she rubbed the chalk dust from the palms of her hands.
The class laughed, just as Brynn intended they should.
“Now that I’ve answered your questions, please return to your writing assignment.” Generally, when she directed her students’ attention back to a written task, a grumble of discontent would spread across the room. Not this time.
After the bell rang, dismissing the class, Suzie Chang made her way to Brynn’s desk. The shy girl clenched her books tightly. “You wanted to talk to me, Miss Cassidy?”
“Yes,” Brynn said, scooting the chair back. “Suzie, you’re an excellent student. This last paper you wrote about Anne Frank is as good as anything I’ve read on the subject. You revealed both insight and sensitivity to the Jewish girl’s plight.”
Uncomfortable with the praise, the teenager lowered her gaze. “Thank you.”
“I’d like to know if you plan on attending college next year.”
“College.” The girl’s eyes lit up briefly, then she sobered and slowly shook her head. “I can’t.”
“But Suzie, you’re exactly the kind of student who should continue their education. I can feel the hunger in you, the desire to learn. There’s a way, I promise you. I can help you if you want.”
The girl shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She kept her head lowered and refused to meet Brynn’s eyes. “I can’t, Miss Cassidy.”
“Suzie, didn’t you hear what I said to Denzil earlier? Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Now if you’re worried about the money, there are scholarships. I’ll help you fill out the applications, and . . .”
Suzie’s head snapped up, and Brynn noticed that the teenager’s face was streaked with tears. “A scholarship isn’t going to help me, Miss Cassidy. Nothing will.” Having said that, Suzie turned and raced out of the classroom.
Stunned, Brynn sat at her desk for several moments, pondering Suzie’s words. Nothing would help her? That made no sense.
Feeling as though she’d somehow failed her brightest student, Brynn left the building, determined to try again to meet Denzil’s and Malcolm’s parents. Perhaps she’d have more success now that the word was out that she wanted to compliment the teens instead of complain.
A block away from the school the streets were dirty, filled with litter and broken glass. A discarded davenport was turned upside down and garbage dumped in the ripped undercarriage. The smells of rotting food were potent enough to cause Brynn to turn her head away.
Dusk settled over the city. The streetlights that weren’t broken blinked on, casting a clouded yellow glow to the filth on the sidewalk.
From the distance, Brynn watched as a man approached her. She stiffened, then reminded herself she had nothing to fear. This was a violent neighborhood, but like Father Grady, Brynn had faith in the goodwill of those who occupied the tenements.
As the figure of the man grew near, Brynn recognized Roberto. When he realized it was she, his steps became quick and filled with purpose. The tension drained from her, and Brynn relaxed. They’d met twice in the last week, swift snatches of time they’d stolen in an effort to be together. Five minutes. Ten. Just long enough to convey that they wished it could be longer.
“Roberto.” She didn’t bother to disguise her happiness.
Roberto was frowning. “It’s true, then,” he said, sounding none too pleased.
“What is?” she asked, surprised by his attitude.
“Emilio stopped off at the garage to tell me you were parading around these streets after school visiting families.”
“I wanted—”
“Don’t you realize it’s dark now by four-thirty?” he barked. He jerked off his baseball cap and slapped it against his knee in a display of disgust.
“Roberto, what’s wrong?”
“Are you crazy, woman?” He said something in Spanish, and from his tone, it was just as well she didn’t understand. “You’re inviting trouble. I thought you had more sense than this.”
“Roberto, if you’d only listen.”
“To what? Don’t you realize this is New York City? You’re targeting yourself to be the next crime victim. You’re inviting trouble. I can’t follow you around and protect you.”
She didn’t appreciate his attitude, but she didn’t want to argue, not when they’d come so far. She stiffened her shoulders and glared right back at him. The cold wind whipped about her face as she struggled with her composure. “I know what I’m doing.”
“You haven’t got a clue,” Roberto snapped. “What could possibly be so important for you to risk your life?”
She tried to tell herself that he was so angry because he cared, but his attitude stung. The people in this neighborhood knew her. She couldn’t go more than a few houses before she met someone she recognized from either the school or the church.
“Don’t you understand?” Roberto said, gripping her by the shoulders. “You can’t change the world on your own.”
“But I can help these kids.”
“Brynn, oh, my darling fool.” Briefly he closed his eyes, struggling to hold on to his temper. “You can do nothing. You can change nothing. Denzil, Malcolm, and all the rest will live and die in this neighborhood the same way Emilio and I will.”
“That’s not true,” she argued. She could make a difference. She believed that with all her heart. That was the reason she was here.
“Grow up,” he said, his fingers biting deep into her coat. “You’ve got to step out of this dream world you’re living in. Look around you. Can’t you see?”
Brynn refused to believe what he said. “We have a difference of opinion, Roberto, but that’s no reason to treat me like a child.”
He seemed to be struggling within himself. After a moment, he dropped his hands and his features hardened. “Go home, Brynn. For the love of God, go home where you belong. You don’t fit in here. Just go!” he shouted, and gave her a light push.
She blanched. “You don’t mean that.”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life. Pack your bags and head back to Rhode Island or wherever it was you came from before you get yourself killed. Please, Brynn.” This last part came on a rush of emotion.
The pain his words produced sucked the breath from her lungs. At first she could barely think, and when she spoke her voice betrayed her pain. “You want me to leave?”
He held himself stiffly away from her and didn’t answer for several moments. Then something broke within him, and he expelled his breath forcefully. Before her heart beat again, before she could take another breath, Roberto brought her into his arms. “No, I don’t want you to go.”
Her arms circled his waist, and he relaxed. Nothing had ever felt more right than to be in Roberto’s arms.
“Promise me, if you’re so
anxious to go out nights, you’ll let either me or Emilio accompany you.”
She remembered his words about not having the time to be her bodyguard and knew he’d said those hurtful things only because he was worried for her.
“Promise?” he demanded.
She nodded, and he kissed the top of her head.
Beneath the warm, golden glow of the streetlight, the man who’d shouted at her only moments earlier now bent his head to kiss her. “What am I going to do with you?” he said.
Brynn smiled to herself, content in his arms. In time he’d realize she could make a difference. If it was only to be in one life, then so be it, but she wouldn’t walk away from her students, nor would she leave this neighborhood, no matter what Roberto thought.
Jenny stood on stage, dressed in her tights and dancing shoes. Five others stood with her, including Michelle. All triple threats. Each one accomplished in singing, dancing, and acting. Each one eager to be John Peterman’s latest Broadway discovery. Each one pleading silently to be chosen for this role. Any role. A chance.
Bright lights blinded her, but Jenny was accustomed to not being able to view her audience. Her throat was raw and her head throbbed, but she ignored the cold and flu symptoms as best she could.
“Miss Lancaster.”
The man with the booming voice called her name. Jenny stepped forward and shaded her eyes with her hand. “Yes.”
“You sang ‘Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina’ in the first audition, is that correct?”
“Yes.” Her voice quivered with the strain of answering his questions.
“Did you bring your sheet music with you?”
“Yes.” She looked to the man sitting at the piano.
“What will you be singing this time?”
With her cold and her throat feeling the way it did, Jenny knew her voice wouldn’t carry any musical number with more than a two-octave range. Normally her voice was able to scale four octaves, something that had amazed and thrilled her music teachers in Custer, Montana. But such versatility wasn’t uncommon here in New York.
“I’ll be singing ‘Rainy Days and Mondays,’ “ Jenny told the faceless voice. The first piano notes broke into the silence. She was forced to clear her throat, which had tightened up on her to where she could barely speak, let alone sing.
The piano player looked at her when she didn’t come in on cue and played the introduction a second time. She opened her mouth and nothing came out. She tried again, and what sound did escape wasn’t anywhere close to being considered musical.
Miserable, Jenny raised her hand and stopped the piano player. There was no use continuing. Not now. She couldn’t do it.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, wavered, and reached out blindly, afraid she was about to collapse.
Michelle gripped her hand. “Jenny’s sick . . . she shouldn’t even be here.”
Her roommate placed her arm around Jenny’s shoulders, and she slumped against Michelle, needing her friend’s support to remain upright.
“She has a fever of a hundred and two,” Michelle informed the casting director.
“And you are?” the loud voice boomed.
Michelle stiffened. “Her roommate. I realize this is none of my business, but I’m afraid Jenny’s sick. If you want to hear her sing, our agent can supply you with any number of tapes. Come on, Jenny,” Michelle said, steering her off the stage. “I’m taking you home.”
“No,” Jenny protested. It was bad enough that her best chance of ever appearing on Broadway was being taken away, but she wouldn’t allow her own misfortune to ruin Michelle’s chances, too. “You stay here.”
“But—”
“I insist. Don’t argue with me. This is your chance.”
“But, Jenny—”
“Michelle Jordan!” the voice shouted.
Michelle wavered and looked over her shoulder.
“Are you staying or going?” the voice asked.
“Staying,” Jenny answered for her. She’d meant to shout. She’d put all her effort into making herself heard, but what remained of her voice was shockingly weak.
“Oh, Jenny, are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“Of course. All I need is a little rest.” She managed to put on a bright smile, which depleted what little energy remained. “I’ll get a taxi,” she promised a second time. A real luxury, considering her finances.
“You promise?”
“Yes. Now break a leg, kid,” she said in her best Humphrey Bogart imitation. “You’ll have to make it for both of us.” She felt like weeping but managed to keep the tears at bay until she was outside the theater.
It was snowing. Wouldn’t you know it? Every man, woman, and child in New York would be looking for a cab. Jenny stepped halfway out into the street and raised her arm in an effort to hail a taxi. The cold snow was a welcome coolant as it drifted onto her upturned face.
“You’re going to help her, aren’t you?” Goodness asked Mercy. “That poor girl’s sick and miserable.”
“Of course I’m going to help her.” Mercy was indignant that her friend would believe otherwise. “It’s just that this is the worst time imaginable for her to find an empty taxi.”
“Well, do something.”
“What would you suggest?” Mercy snapped, impatient herself.
“Stop traffic.”
Mercy grinned. Why hadn’t she thought of that herself? It wouldn’t be so difficult to create a distraction. Not with Goodness there to help her. Naturally it would work; she just hoped Gabriel didn’t find out about this.
“Come on,” she said, sharing a gleeful smile with her friend.
“Where are we going?”
“Times Square,” Mercy answered.
“Yes, but . . .”
Even Goodness looked surprised, and Mercy grinned sheepishly. “Don’t worry, Gabriel will never hear of it.” Well, at least she hoped that was the case.
“Look.” Someone near Jenny stretched out an arm and pointed toward the huge electronic billboard above Times Square. “What in heaven’s name is going on?”
Jenny looked up and did a double take. The sign that had flashed a huge Santa drinking a bottle of Coca-Cola only minutes earlier had disappeared. In its stead stood a picture of her own face, with the words flashing “Jenny needs a cab. Help Jenny.”
She blinked, certain she was seeing things. Her fever must be higher than she realized for her to hallucinate this way. Obviously she’d stepped over the edge of reality.
Cars slowed to a crawl. Any number of people paused and pointed to the sign.
“Are you Jenny?” a bag lady who was nearly bent in half asked her. She wore a ragged wool coat. A worn shopping bag was draped over her forearm.
“Yes,” Jenny whispered.
“I’m here to help you,” the old woman proclaimed. “I’ll get you that cab, now don’t you worry none.”
“I’m sick,” Jenny whispered.
“Yes, I know, dear, now don’t you fret. You’ll be home soon enough.” Holding Jenny by the arm, the old woman marched her out into the middle of midtown traffic and stood in front of the first yellow cab she spied.
The cabdriver stuck his head out the window and shouted angrily. Apparently he hadn’t been in the country long, because his accent was so thick that it was nearly impossible to understand him.
“This is Jenny.” The bag lady opened the cab door and stuck her head inside. “She’s sick and needs to get home.”
“I don’t care if she’s the president,” the man inside the cab muttered, clenching his briefcase as if he expected the woman to snatch it from him. “I’m not giving up this cab. Driver,” he instructed, “do something.”
The driver twisted around and placed his hands over his ears. “Only been in America one day.”
The passenger said something under his breath.
Undeterred, the bag lady tried a second time. “That sign up there says this woman needs help. Now get out.”
The dign
ified-looking businessman bristled. “What sign?”
“Look at the billboard!” she shouted. “Now do as I say.”
Jenny remained in a daze, barely able to decipher what was happening around her. Horns blared. People stopped and stared. Traffic snarled even worse than it normally did. No one moved.
“You’re Jenny?” the businessman leaned halfway out of the cab to ask her.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Oh, all right,” he muttered, and with that he hopped out of the cab.
Jenny turned to thank the bag lady who’d helped her, but she’d disappeared into the crowd. Safe and warm, Jenny climbed inside the cab, laid back her head, and closed her eyes. The next thing she knew the driver pulled up in front of her apartment complex. She couldn’t remember giving him her address.
“How’d you know where I lived?” she asked as she pulled out her limited cash reserve to pay him.
“The old lady told me.”
“But . . .” Jenny shook her head, hoping to clear her thoughts. She’d never seen that woman before in her life. How could the bag lady have known where she lived?
“Good job,” Goodness said, standing under the blinking lights of Times Square.
Mercy was downright proud of herself. She’d pulled off the role of the bag lady with the finesse that had done all angels proud. “Jenny never even guessed she was dealing with an angel,” she bragged to her friend.
“I see you had a bit of a problem with that businessman, though. He didn’t seem willing to give up his seat.”
“A nonbeliever,” Mercy explained. “He prefers to take care of matters himself. Poor fellow. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
“It looks to me like he’s missing his cab.” Goodness chuckled and pointed to the street below. The man stood with his shoulders hunched against the cold, his arm raised in a desperate effort to hail a taxi.
Joshua was about to give up hope that Hannah would show. He’d waited a half hour and was tempted to admit he’d been wrong. His face stung with cold and his fingers were numb. He might have left if it hadn’t been for the skaters gliding over the ice and all the bright lights on the fifty-foot-tall Christmas tree. Both held his attention and kept him from dwelling on his disappointment.
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