by Pam Hillman
“Go wash up now, Tommy. Dinner’ll be ready in no time.”
“Aw, Ma.”
“Do what Ma says,” Jake ordered.
“And tell your sisters to come on too,” she called out as he skidded into the hallway.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How’re things in town?” she asked, busy setting the table.
Jake hesitated. His mother knew enough about the goings-on in Chestnut that he couldn’t make light of his duties as deputy. “Not bad.”
She spared him a glance, lines of worry and grief etched on her once-youthful face. “I heard about the robbery the other night.”
“It was nothing. Just some kids trying to get a little spending money.”
“Spending money? Youngsters haul coal and pull corn in the summer for things they want. They don’t break in to the mercantile and steal things, let alone expensive knives and pocket watches.”
She sat across from him and clasped his hands in hers. “Jake, I wish you’d give up this foolish notion of being a deputy. I worry about you staying up all night, then coming out here four or five times a week and helping me with chores. I can’t imagine how you’ll manage this summer.”
“Ma, we need the money, and Sheriff Carter needs the help.”
“I’m afraid something’s going to happen.” Tears swam in her eyes. “I don’t think I could stand it if . . . if something happened to you, too. It’s as dangerous as working in the mines, maybe even more so. Your father—”
The sound of Jake’s two sisters and Tommy pounding down the stairs interrupted her. His mother sniffed and jumped to her feet, wiping her eyes with her apron.
Jake sipped his coffee and listened to the chatter as his brother and sisters told of their adventures the previous week. He couldn’t blame his mother for worrying, but what else could he do? He needed to work through the winter, and the job of deputy had been the only thing available other than working the mines.
And contrary to what his mother believed, his job as deputy wasn’t nearly as dangerous as working in the mines. He’d rather face down a drunken outlaw any day than be trapped in a mine.
A wagon rattled into the yard.
“There’s Charlie and Susie.” His mother pulled a pone of hot corn bread from the oven. “Just in time.”
Jake’s oldest sister and her husband entered the kitchen a few minutes later. Jake pumped Charlie’s hand and gaped at his expectant sister. “What happened to you, Sis? You look like a maypop with four sticks stuck in it.”
Where his sister once would have thrown a skillet at him, she simply smiled and hugged him. “Nice to see you, too, little brother.”
Jake looked down at her. “And who are you to be calling me little?”
She nudged him aside and sat in the chair he’d vacated. “Just because you’re bigger in size does not mean you’re bigger in brains.”
Jake laughed and claimed another chair. “How much longer before I’m an uncle?”
“Doc Valentine says not for another month, at least.”
“Another month?” He couldn’t believe Susie had a whole month to go. He wasn’t joking about the maypop.
“Babies come when they’re good and ready,” his mother said. “Okay, everybody, sit down, and let’s eat while it’s hot. Charlie, would you say the blessing please?”
Charlie’s ruddy cheeks stained red, but he cleared his throat. “Lord, bless this food and the hands that prepared it. Protect each and every person in this household as we go forward into this next week. Amen.”
Jake’s younger sisters started pestering Susie to tell them all about the clothes she’d made for the baby. While Susie described the baby’s outfits in detail, Jake turned to Tommy. “How’s school, squirt?”
“Fine.”
“Tommy, don’t talk with your mouth full,” his mother said.
His brother swallowed. “Georgie and I have snowball fights every day.”
“And they’ve been throwing them at us, too, Ma, even though Miss MacKinnion told them not to.”
Tommy stuck out his tongue at his sister. “Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did—”
“Quit arguing, you two.”
“Georgie?” Jake asked. “From the orphanage?”
Tommy frowned. “What’s an orphanage?”
“It’s a place where children who don’t have any parents live.”
“Oh.” Tommy poked another spoonful of peas in his mouth. “Then I must be half an orphan.” Without giving them a chance to respond, he piped up, “Georgie’s my bestest friend, ’cept he’s always hungry.”
Jake suspected Georgie wasn’t too hungry now that he lived at the orphanage. He slathered butter on a piece of corn bread. “I met Georgie the other night.”
Tommy’s eyes grew round. “You did?”
“Yeah. I had to go to the orphanage.”
“I heard the lady who runs it is from Chicago,” Charlie said.
“Yeah. A Mrs. Brooks. She’s seems to be a good woman, and the girl that helps her is right nice, too.”
“Right nice?” Susie grinned. “Do tell.”
Jake’s ears started burning like someone had doused them in kerosene and stuck a match to them. He wished he’d never mentioned Livy around Susie.
He’d never hear the end of it.
Chapter Seven
The factory drew Luke like a gnat to a syrup jar. If caught, he’d be snuffed out just as quickly. No, not quick. Gnats didn’t die instantly when they got stuck in the sticky goo.
They became prisoners. Then they died slowly.
And that’s what drew him. Not the thought of what might happen to him if caught but what Mark was going through.
Dying, a little at a time.
He’d take his brother’s place with the snap of two fingers if he thought he could get away with it.
But the man with the stickpin didn’t work like that. He’d lock them both up and not even blink an eye.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Luke flattened himself against the snowy ground behind some bushes. Butch rounded the bend, carrying a sack. As he passed, the smell of fried chicken hit Luke square in his empty stomach. A rumble gurgled up inside him, and he clenched his stomach muscles to stop the sound.
If Butch heard, he’d snatch Luke up like a rat catcher in an alley full of garbage.
But Butch hurried through the door, apparently too intent on his own meal to worry about anyone watching the factory.
Luke inched forward, getting close to the door, watching for an opportunity to sneak in. The door slammed in his face, the sound of something heavy falling into place on the other side.
“’Bout time you got back. I’m starving.”
That sounded like Grady. Luke pressed his ear to the door.
“The boss stopped by.” Grady’s words were muffled as if he’d stuffed a piece of chicken in his mouth. Luke’s mouth watered, but he ignored his hunger. Wishing wouldn’t change anything. His empty stomach twisted with a new worry. What about Mark? Did he have anything to eat?
“What’d he want? Got more beggar lice on the way? We’re busting the traces as it is.”
“No. He’s throwing a fit ’cause somebody’s stirring up a stink around town, breaking in businesses, stealing stuff. People are getting mad, and he’s afraid the sheriff’s gonna start sniffing around.”
“What’s that got to do with us?”
“He thinks it’s those boys that got away when that crate got busted. He wants us to find ’em and get rid of ’em.”
Luke’s eyes closed, and he took a deep breath. Not only did they have to hide from the law, but now Butch and Grady would be on the lookout for them. He was so tired. Tired of worrying, tired of fighting to stay alive, just plain tired. He wanted his brother, he wanted to be warm, and he wanted food to fill his empty belly. Why couldn’t everybody just leave them alone?
Butch snorted. “Kids raised on the streets can
’t be found iffen they don’t wanna be.”
“No matter. That’s what the boss wants.”
A shuffling noise had Luke scrambling away from the door. After one final glance at the building that held his brother prisoner, he hurried back to shantytown, to the shack he shared with the others.
Luke tried to think of ways to keep his little group safe from Butch and Grady. For one wild, crazy moment, he thought about going to the lady at the orphanage. The pretty woman who’d knocked into him the day he stole the watch had left food and blankets for them more than once.
And she’d begged them to come to the orphanage. She made it sound so easy. Was she really as good and kind as she sounded?
Luke shook his head, banishing the warm, fuzzy feeling stealing through him. He couldn’t risk it.
He’d never met an adult he could trust; why would she be different?
* * *
Livy waited until Mrs. Brooks and the children were all sound asleep before she slipped out of the orphanage. She hurried down the street, keeping to the shadows, uneasy that there weren’t many back alleys for her to cut through.
In Chicago, she could lose herself—or her pursuers—in the maze of streets and thoroughfares crisscrossing the city. But there weren’t enough side streets in Chestnut to hide a cat, let alone a grown woman. And besides that, she didn’t want Jake to see her. She might not be able to explain herself as easily as the first time he’d caught her out late at night.
She cut down the alley between McIver’s and Baker’s Boardinghouse, sidestepping a pile of garbage that smelled to high heaven. She ran low and light on her feet, not lingering and not making any noise. A dog barked up ahead, and she froze. Wonderful.
The back door to the boardinghouse opened. “What’chere hollering about, dog?”
Livy didn’t linger. She took off in the opposite direction, the dog’s frenzied barking following. She made note of the house with the dog. She wouldn’t make the mistake of going that route again.Not if she wanted to avoid answering questions at the wrong end of a shotgun.
Another thing about Chicago. Dogs were as plentiful as street children. Nobody thought twice if a pack of snarling, fighting dogs careened down a refuse-strewn street. In Chestnut, if a dog so much as sneezed in someone’s yard, a double-barrel shotgun came out from under the bed.
She backtracked, cut across Main Street, hurried two blocks down, then eased into a darkened alley leading to shantytown. Tinny piano music drifted to the street. The saloons were in full swing and would go on into the wee hours of the morning.
Wedging herself between a stack of crates and a rain barrel, she set in to wait. If she didn’t miss her guess, her prey would be out in full force tonight. They’d waylay the patrons of the saloons as they came out, hoping to relieve them of any change they might have left. Many times it wasn’t much, but it didn’t take much to buy a stale loaf of bread. As she waited, she pondered the various places the boys might buy food in Chestnut. There weren’t many. She bit her lip. Maybe she’d found another way to track them down. Tomorrow, she’d ask around.
A bump came from the building behind her. Livy pressed her check against the wall and listened again. A scrape and another bump sounded from within, followed by a muffled curse. Frowning, Livy tried to remember what the building housed. Her eyes widened—it was the gunsmith shop. Surely the boys wouldn’t . . .
She almost jumped clear out of her hiding place when a window no more than six feet away screeched open. Livy shrank against the wall, hoping the stack of crates hid her from view.
Why had she thought she could do this? Hadn’t she left her past behind?
Or was that why she had to do this?
A bag lowered to the ground; metal striking metal clanked loud in the silence. Next, the intruder let himself out the window, dangled by his fingertips for a moment, then lightly dropped to the ground, crouching as he took stock of his surroundings.
She peered from the crates, eyes glued to the thief. The very lack of moonlight that hid her from view kept her from seeing his features enough to recognize him if she saw him again. But he looked a sight bigger than the boys she’d seen on the streets. He turned, and she caught a glint of a pistol tucked into his waistband.
Livy didn’t move, didn’t breathe. She’d learned to be self-sufficient and not afraid of much of anything, but she feared a man—or anybody for that matter—with a gun. When he gathered up the sack and skulked to the end of the alleyway, she breathed a sigh. Just a few more minutes, and he’d be gone.
Thank You, Jesus.
“Hey, you. Stop!”
She started at the shout. Someone had spotted the thief. Not daring to linger, she took off in the opposite direction. Footsteps echoed off the dingy walls as the thief raced back down the alley, then crashed headlong into the stacked crates where she’d been hiding.
“Sheriff Carter. That way, toward Emma’s!”
Was that Jake? If he spotted her, he’d never understand.
She gathered her skirts and lit out, hoping and praying the ruckus would allow her to get away unscathed. Shots rang out, and she kept running. The thief raced after her, followed by his pursuers. They were gaining. On her? On him? No matter.
She had to hide.
Now.
Praying for guidance, she skidded to a stop, dropped, and rolled, wedging herself in the darkness cast by the rear porch of the nearest building. She lay there, willing her pounding heart to slow, her ragged breathing to quiet.
The thief raced by, the burlap bag bouncing over his shoulder. Thirty feet away, he slipped on a patch of ice and went sprawling, so close she felt the thud as his body slammed against the ground. She heard the metallic rattle of the contents of the bag as it tumbled from the thief’s grasp.
Livy shrank into the dark shadow of the porch and lay still. Please, Lord. Please.
The thief paid her no mind but scrambled up on one knee and faced his pursuers, gun pointed in the air above their heads. He squeezed off two shots, then jumped up and sprinted down an alley, leaving the sack behind.
His pursuers’ heavy boots shook the ground as they neared her hiding place. If possible, she drew into herself even more. A tall, broad-shouldered man rushed past, followed more slowly by a stockier man gasping for breath.
Jake and Sheriff Carter.
She willed her breathing to slow so that they wouldn’t hear her or see any movement. Her gaze narrowed to slits, keeping them in her sights, hoping and praying they’d never notice the dark lump huddled beside the building. Jake kept after the thief, but Sheriff Carter slowed to a walk as he neared the bag, leaning over and propping his hands on his knees.
He stayed like that for a long time, gulping in shuddering breaths. He groaned and clutched his chest. Had he been shot in the melee? Should she help him? She started to her feet but shrank back when Jake returned. The sheriff straightened, his breathing starting to return to normal.
“I lost him.” Jake hardly sounded winded.
Livy groaned inwardly, not daring to move a muscle. What would she do if Jake and Sheriff Carter discovered her? They’d never believe she didn’t have anything to do with the robbery.
Please, Lord. Please.
The sheriff reached for the sack, grunting with the effort. “Jake, these are guns. He must’ve broken into the gunsmith shop. If we don’t stop them, those young hoodlums are going to do something dangerous. They’re liable to hurt someone.”
Livy bit her tongue. It wasn’t the boys, but she couldn’t defend them. Not here. Not now.
“We’ll catch them soon. It won’t be long until one of them slips up. We almost caught this one tonight.”
Sheriff Carter sighed. “I wonder what he got away with.”
“We’ll find out in the morning. If you’ll take these on to the jail, I’ll look around some more. I don’t think they’ll try again tonight, but just in case. Are you all right?”
“I’m not as young as I used to be.” The sheriff to
ok a shaky breath. “That short chase about did me in. We’re going to have to talk seriously about getting more help.”
The sheriff shouldered the sack and trudged off. Jake stood still, his gaze raking the surroundings. How could he not see her? Other than lying in the shadows of the porch, covered in black from head to toe, she hid in plain sight.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Hide me, Lord.
After what seemed like an eternity, he moved off in the direction the thief had gone, taking his time. Livy released the breath she’d been holding.
She waited a good five minutes before she moved. She rolled over, put both hands in the snow, and scrambled to her knees. The sound of tearing cloth rent the air, and she groaned. Just one more thing to go wrong tonight. Reaching around, she grabbed her skirt where it was caught on a splintered piece of wood, tugging until she freed the material. She resisted the urge to examine the damage. There’d be time enough for that later.
Gathering her ripped skirt and her wits about her, she made a beeline for home. With Jake roaming the streets looking for the thief, she couldn’t very well search for the boys.
But she would find them, and she’d gain their trust.
One way or another.
* * *
Jake canvassed the town and didn’t see anything out of place. From the looks of things, he’d run the thief to ground, at least for tonight. He headed toward the saloons. If they were good for anything, it was information. A couple of them were closed, but light spilled from the Golden Nugget. He stepped inside.
“Lucky, you ’bout ready to shut down for the night?” He nodded at the bartender, his narrowed gaze studying the half-dozen customers nursing their drinks.
“I reckon so. But not necessarily because you say so.” The saloon keeper rested well-manicured hands on the bar. “The boys are mostly out of money.”
Jake eyed him, not in any mood for Lucky’s shenanigans. It didn’t matter to him why the man closed up shop, as long as he did it. “Heard any commotion tonight?”
Lucky wiped the counter, squinting through the smoke. “Like what?”