Stealing Jake

by Pam Hillman

  Livy made up her mind. Until now, she’d respected the boys’ fear of exposing themselves to those in authority or coming to the orphanage for help. She well understood the consequences that might befall a street urchin if he or she fell into the wrong hands.

  But no more.

  She’d seek out those boys and find out why they’d risk the wrath of the local merchants, and the law, by doing something so foolish.

  Chapter Six

  Tucked away at the base of a hillside on the outskirts of town, surrounded by cedars and cocooned in several inches of snow, Gus Jones’s cabin looked downright cozy. But Jake knew better. The rickety structure could collapse at any time. Sheriff Carter had tried repeatedly to get the old man to move into town, afraid they’d come out one morning and find him buried under the remains of the shack.

  But Gus refused. Said the cabin with its lean-to was all he and Little Bit owned.

  Jake heard the humming before he dismounted and tied his horse to a low-lying tree limb. Another Christmas carol.

  “Hello, the house?”

  The humming stopped, and silence descended. But Gus didn’t answer his call or come to the door.

  “Gus, it’s me. Jake. I need to talk to you.”

  After what seemed like an eternity, the door creaked open, and Gus squinted out through the sliver of a crack. “Mr. Jake?”

  “Morning, Gus.” Jake smiled to put the old feller more at ease. A two-day-old colt couldn’t be more skittish. But Gus had a right to be cautious. Not much more than five feet tall, he’d been the brunt of more than one mean-spirited joke in his sixty-odd years. “Mind if I come in?”

  A look of surprise jumped across Gus’s face, and Jake brought himself up short. He stopped by to check on Gus often, but he’d never once invited himself inside. A shy smile replaced Gus’s confusion, and the door eased completely open.

  Jake stepped inside the doorway and swept his eyes across the room, taking in every aspect of the man’s abode. He didn’t know what he’d expected to find inside Gus’s cabin, but it wasn’t this. A cheery fire burned in the fireplace, keeping the one-room dwelling toasty. A small table and single chair sat to the left of the fireplace, while a cot, neatly made up with a patched and fading quilt, took up most of the opposite wall. Rough lumber shelves held a few canned goods and other odds and ends. All in all, the place looked as clean as Jake’s mother’s house, if a good bit smaller.

  Swinging his gaze toward Gus, Jake found the old man grinning from ear to ear, his hands on top of the straight-back chair. He pushed the chair forward. “Sit here, Mr. Jake.”

  Jake wanted to refuse, seeing as Gus only owned one chair, but he didn’t want to offend his host. He took off his hat, placed it on the table, and eased down onto the rickety chair. Gus started humming and bustled over to the fireplace to pour a cup of coffee from a battered pot. He shuffled the few feet back to the table and offered the brew. A lump formed in Jake’s throat as he accepted the mug. “Thanks, Gus.”

  Gus hummed as Jake sipped his coffee, surprised to find it good, if a tad weak. He didn’t know how to broach the subject of the robbery. Gus seemed to be beside himself with joy over having a visitor. Jake didn’t want to destroy the old man’s happiness.

  “How’s Little Bit, Gus?”

  Gus hurried over to a shuttered window between the fireplace and the bed. He opened the window and whistled. Little Bit brayed and poked her head through the opening. Gus scratched her between the ears and she butted against his chest.

  Jake laughed. “Well, at least you know she’s okay, since she’s right here.”

  Gus grinned his shy smile again and pointed to the fireplace and the lean-to at the back of the cabin. “And she’s warm.”

  “That she is.” Jake eyed the setup. “That’s a good idea, Gus. To use the heat from the back of the fireplace for Little Bit’s lean-to. Where’d you come up with that?”

  The man scratched his scraggly beard and shrugged. “I dunno. It just happened.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing, no matter.” Jake stood and scratched the donkey behind her ear. “Gus, I need to ask you something. Yesterday, you helped Mr. McIver out at the mercantile, didn’t you?”

  Gus nodded.

  “Do you remember if you locked up the storeroom at the end of the day?”

  “I don’t remember.” Gus screwed up his face in concentration. “Maybe Will did, but he was in a bad mood yesterday.”

  “I know. McIver told me.”

  “He told you? Why would he do that?”

  “Somebody robbed the mercantile last night.”

  Gus’s face went pale, and he backed away. “I didn’t do it, Mr. Jake. I didn’t steal nuthin’.” When the backs of his knees hit the cot, he plopped down, his gaze riveted on Jake.

  Jake held out a hand, palm up. “It’s okay, Gus. I don’t think you did anything wrong.”

  Gus shook his head, his eyes big and filled with fear. “I don’t want to go to jail, Mr. Jake.”

  “You’re not going to jail. Everything’s fine.”

  “Are you sure?” Gus eyed him as if he’d suddenly grown two heads.

  “I’m sure. There’s nothing to worry about. I just wondered if you’d seen anything or knew who might have locked up.”

  “I don’t know nuthin’.”

  “I believe you, Gus. You’re not in any trouble, okay?”

  Gus nodded.

  Jake placed his hat on his head and moved to the door, giving Gus some space. The poor fellow was too upset to think straight right now. “If you think of anything, you’ll tell me, won’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Take care of Little Bit, okay?”

  Jake let himself out, mounted his horse, and headed back to town. The road split, and he swung toward shantytown. Might as well ride that way and check things out while he was on this end of town. He rounded the bend and pulled his mare up short. Two, three, no, four new buildings—not more than shacks, really—hugged the banks of the frozen creek. A crude sign proclaimed one a saloon. Jake clenched his jaw. Just what they needed. Another one to take the coal miners’ hard-earned pay.

  He could see the glove factory in the distance, nestled under some trees close to the creek and away from town. The structure wasn’t big, but he supposed a large workshop wasn’t needed to make gloves. The new industry didn’t provide many jobs, but it did offer a few people work other than in the mines. And that was always a good thing.

  A young woman hurried toward him, a basket of laundry clasped against her waist. Her gaze lifted and caught his. Her steps faltered, but she gave a short nod in recognition before ducking her head and continuing on.

  Johanna Thorndike.

  Widowed with two small children to raise.

  Jake watched her out of sight, then turned away, a tight knot forming in his chest.

  God, why did I survive when Derek didn’t?

  Not expecting an answer to the question he’d asked a thousand times over the last two years, Jake dismounted in front of a cabin in better repair than most and pulled a burlap sack off his saddle. He knocked, and a frail voice called out for him to enter. A small amount of light from a single dingy window and the low flames of the fire illuminated the cabin. The room felt warm and cozy compared to the bitter cold outside. Jake’s eyes adjusted to the dim light and the figure seated before the fire, rocking slowly back and forth. “Seamus?”

  The old man smiled. “Ah, young Jake. Come in. I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.”

  “Now, Seamus, I came over here last week.” Jake left the sack on the table. He knew better than to mention he’d brought a few things with him. Seamus would find them soon enough.

  Confusion lined the elderly man’s face. He’d not been the same since the mine collapse a couple of years ago that had killed his two sons, Johanna’s husband, and—

  Jake tamped the memories down.

  “You did? Oh, well, the noggin ain’t what it used to be. Sit a spell
, and tell me what’s going on outside these four walls.”

  Jake straddled a chair. “Lots of new folks in town, but I guess you’ve noticed that.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Snowed over two feet the other day. You been outside lately?”

  Seamus cackled. “Not if I can he’p it.”

  They sat for a few minutes, warming by the fire. Jake made a mental note to check the coal bin on his way out. Seamus didn’t have anybody else to care for him these days. “You heard anything about a bunch of street kids roaming around?”

  “Ah, you know young’uns. They wander around day and night. Nobody cares what they do. I’da took a switch to mine and made ’em stay at home.”

  “These kids don’t have a ma or a pa. They live on the streets.”

  Seamus shook his head. “Well, I never. What’s this world coming to?”

  “I don’t know.”

  After a few minutes of silence, Seamus dozed off, rousing when Jake stood.

  “I’d better get going. I’ll see you next week, okay?”

  “All right. Take care, and tell your pa to come see me when his shift is over. He’s working too hard.”

  Jake’s throat constricted. Sometimes Seamus could carry on a conversation for hours without slipping into the past, but today didn’t seem to be one of those days. He’d learned to humor the old man rather than explain things.

  But inside, he felt not an ounce of humor.

  He placed a hand on the old man’s bony shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll do that, Seamus.”

  * * *

  Church bells pealed throughout town, calling everyone to Sunday morning services. Livy bit back a grin as Mrs. Brooks marched down the street, the children following like a brood of little chicks. Livy brought up the rear, keeping an eye on Seth and Georgie. She’d promised them a treat if they stayed away from the iced-over mud puddles. So far, the promise of a sliver of carefully horded peppermint outweighed their desire to see if they could crack through the ice.

  They arrived at the small church to a flurry of townsfolk entering the front door. Reverend Warren smiled and shook hands with Mrs. Brooks. “I’m delighted you and the children could make it out today.”

  “We’re very happy to be here, Reverend.” Mrs. Brooks hurried her charges inside. “Come along, children; let’s find a seat.”

  Livy glanced at the children, making sure the boys hadn’t managed to splatter mud on their pants. She pulled Seth aside, extracted a moistened hankie from her reticule, and scrubbed a spot of mud off his pants. She gave him a quick hug and a smile. “There you go. You look very handsome this morning.”

  Seth squirmed away and joined the others. The girls looked as well as they could, considering their worn and threadbare clothes. The patched clothing didn’t concern Livy. Many of the townspeople didn’t have much better. But she did want the children to behave and represent Mrs. Brooks well.

  As they filed into the church, Livy caught a glimpse of a couple of matronly women standing with Miss MacKinnion, the teacher, eyeing them and whispering behind their gloved hands. She glanced at Mrs. Brooks, who didn’t seem to notice the women. Georgie glared at the teacher, and Livy stepped between them, giving him a frown.

  She sighed. Some people would always look down on destitute children who didn’t have much chance to better themselves. She’d learned that lesson firsthand. No matter. She and Mrs. Brooks would have to do everything they could to make sure the children earned the respect of the townspeople . . . starting with Georgie’s attitude toward Miss MacKinnion.

  If only she could do something about Miss MacKinnion’s attitude toward the children. More than once the orphans had spoken of how the teacher treated them in front of the other students.

  They settled on a bench close to the back as more people filed in, the men stomping snow off their boots, the women chattering among themselves about the past week, the cold, and the upcoming Christmas holiday.

  Georgie grinned before pointing. “Miss Livy, look. It’s Mr. Jake.”

  Livy’s face warmed even as she gently tugged his arm down. “It’s not nice to point, Georgie.”

  She gave Jake a timid smile.

  He shook Georgie’s hand. “Good morning, Georgie. How’re you today?”

  “I’m fine.” He pushed his shoes against the bench in front of him. “Look—I got new shoes.”

  Livy cringed. Georgie’s hand-me-down boots barely had enough remaining leather to protect the soles of his feet. But at least he wore shoes, polished to a high shine late last night.

  Jake eyed the boots. “And they’re very nice shoes too.”

  Livy noticed a middle-aged woman at his side, watching the exchange with a friendly smile. Jake turned. “I’d like to introduce you to my mother. Ma, this is Livy O’Brien. She and Mrs. Brooks are the ones I told you about. And this young man beside her is Georgie. Livy, my mother, Claudia Russell.”

  Livy stood and made an awkward curtsy within the confines of the benches. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Russell reached out and gave her a quick squeeze. “You, too, dear. Jake told me all about the good work you and Mrs. Brooks are doing. You are a godsend to this town, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Livy blushed at the praise, not daring to look at Jake. He’d been talking about her? And to his mother? Had he said anything else about her? Anything at all? And did she want him to?

  Mrs. Russell shook Georgie’s hand. “And how are you, young man?”

  “I’m fine, ma’am.”

  Livy stared at Georgie in amazement. Where had this polite youngster come from? And what had he done with Georgie?

  “Jake?”

  He and his mother turned to face Miss MacKinnion and another woman. The other woman’s thin, hawkish face resembled the teacher’s, only a few years older. Probably her sister. The two women ignored Livy. Embarrassed, she sat down. She didn’t always understand the proper social mores of when she should be included in a conversation or not. But she couldn’t help but feel she’d been snubbed by the two women. She kept her eyes glued to the pulpit, unable to tune out the conversation going on in the aisle.

  “Good morning, Lavinia. Mrs. Johansen.”

  “Good morning, Jake. I’d be honored if you’d join us for Sunday dinner,” Mrs. Johansen said. “Lavinia made a brown sugar cake, and I know it’s one of your favorites.”

  “Thank you for the invitation, ma’am, but Ma’s got dinner waiting for me at home.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe some other time?”

  Livy chanced a glance out of the corner of her eye. The teacher’s lips thinned into a straight line before she relaxed, revealing a pretty smile for such an austere woman. A black cloak was draped over her arm. Livy’s eyes widened and she jerked her gaze away, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was Miss MacKinnion the woman she’d seen with Jake? Her stomach threatened to reject the meager breakfast she’d eaten earlier.

  Lots of women had black cloaks, didn’t they?

  But few were as tall as Miss MacKinnion.

  The thought did little to calm her stomach.

  “Another time, then.” Mrs. Johansen and Miss MacKinnion moved away.

  The organ music started, signaling the beginning of the service, and Jake put his hand on his mother’s elbow. “We’d better find a seat.”

  Mrs. Russell touched Livy on the arm as she passed and whispered, “It was nice to meet you, Livy.”

  “Likewise, ma’am.”

  Jake escorted his mother up the aisle to a seat near the front. Two neatly dressed young girls and a towheaded boy moved over to allow room for them. The congregation stood to sing the opening hymn, and Livy’s gaze fell on Jake, head and shoulders taller than those around him.

  What had Jake told his mother about her and the orphanage?

  And what kind of relationship did Jake and Miss MacKinnion have?

  And more importantly, why did Livy care so much about the answer to
either question?

  * * *

  He needed some fresh air.

  Three women with daughters of marriageable age had asked him over for Sunday dinner, and so had Lavinia MacKinnion’s sister. Since she hadn’t been able to snag the deputy for dinner, she’d set her sights on him.

  He shuddered.

  Playing the part of a devout Christian turned his stomach in more ways than one. Adjusting his diamond stickpin, he moved past the knot of men congregated at the back of the church, but McIver motioned him over.

  “We’ve got to put a stop to these hooligans running around, or they’re going to steal us blind. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, but what can we do?” He’d just as soon stay out of local problems, but as a businessman, it was expected that he’d have a strong opinion about thievery.

  “Well, for starters, Sheriff Carter and Jake can start combing shantytown for these youngsters and get them off the streets.” McIver clamped his hat on his head.

  The circle of men nodded. He nodded along with them because it was the thing to do. But inside, a slow anger bubbled below the surface, kept in check by sheer willpower.

  Just what he needed, the sheriff and his deputy snooping around, making trouble. He’d lost half a dozen youngsters to Butch and Grady’s incompetence the last couple of weeks, and now the ungrateful strays—ones that he’d bought and paid for—were bringing attention to themselves.

  And as a result, to him.

  He’d do something about them, all right.

  But he doubted if McIver or anybody else in this town would approve of his methods.

  * * *

  Jake blocked the tackle and grabbed his assailant around the waist, hoisting him over his shoulder with a primal growl. Gut-busting giggles filled the kitchen.

  “That’s enough, Jake.”

  He lowered Tommy to the floor, then glanced toward his mother, who was putting the finishing touches on Sunday dinner. The indulgent smile on her face belied her reprimand.