by Pam Hillman
“Do you think you should? You breathed in a lot of smoke, and that tumble in the creek didn’t help matters.”
“I’ll be fine.” Livy didn’t tell her that her lungs still felt like fire and she hadn’t completely warmed up, but she couldn’t stop worrying about Jake.
Emma tipped her head toward the door. “I’ll manage by myself. Take my coat. It’s mighty cold out there.”
“Thanks, Emma.” Livy hugged the woman, thankful she’d found Emma. Not only had she given her an income that helped out at the orphanage, she’d been a lifesaver last night.
Livy hurried toward Main Street. Merchants were opening their businesses and getting ready for the day, some standing in clusters and talking about the excitement of the night before. She slipped past, in a hurry to get to the jail. She shook her head at the irony.
McIver swept the boardwalk in front of his store.
“Morning, Mr. McIver. Have you seen Jake?”
His broom stilled, and he shook his head. “Not since he arrested Gibbons last night.”
Livy gasped. “Gibbons is in jail?”
“Yep.” He jerked his head in that direction. “Jake might still be there. I haven’t seen him or Sheriff Carter this morning.”
“Thank you.” Livy rushed across the street, trying to keep the hem of Emma’s dress and coat from becoming coated with mud. Had Gibbons resisted? Had Jake been hurt? Fear mounted as she turned the knob.
Sheriff Carter looked up when she stepped inside, his double-barrel shotgun lying at the ready across his desk. His hand fell away from the weapon. “Morning, Miss O’Brien.”
“Good morning, Sheriff. Have you seen Jake?”
He mopped his pasty-white brow with a damp handkerchief. “He left about three hours ago to escort you back to the orphanage. You haven’t seen him?”
Apprehension pooled in Livy’s stomach. “He never showed up at Emma’s.”
“Don’t worry yourself, girl. Jake can take care of himself.”
“Mr. McIver hasn’t seen him either. Something’s happened to him. I just know it.”
Sheriff Carter scrunched up his face as if he might be thinking the same thing. “It doesn’t look right.” He glanced at the cells behind him. “Miss O’Brien, can you do me a favor?”
“Yes, sir.”
He grabbed two pieces of paper off his desk. “I can’t leave our guest alone, but I need to send these telegraphs to Chicago. Can you run over to the post office and do that for me?”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“Could you ask McIver to head on over here? He’ll stand watch while I take a look-see around for ol’ Jake.”
“Yes, sir.” Livy stopped, her hand on the knob. “You feeling all right, Sheriff?”
A grimace of pain crossed his face. “Just a little twinge. I’ll be fine. Now, go on, girl.”
Livy scurried away. She gave Mr. McIver the sheriff’s message and hurried to the post office. After giving the postmaster the messages, she checked at the boardinghouse. Miss Nellie hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Jake all night. Livy thanked her and left. She stood on the boardwalk, trying to decide where to look next.
Panic clawed at her. Gibbons’s men wouldn’t think twice about killing Jake and throwing his body down a mine shaft or dumping him through a hole in the icy creek. If he’d run into those men, she’d probably never see him again. In desperation, she headed to shantytown. A lot of people had been out and about last night, helping fight the fire. Surely someone had seen something.
The temperature had risen, and the snow melted, dripping from the roofs in slow, steady streams. Livy slogged through the slush, keeping to the boardwalk as much as possible, but this part of town didn’t have many walkways, unlike Chicago’s cobblestone streets. She grew more fearful with every step, with every person she asked about Jake. No one remembered seeing him, not since he and Sheriff Carter had hauled Gibbons off to jail in the wee hours of the morning.
She turned down another alley, hoping against hope she’d find him. Lord, let him be alive. Please.
A half-grown boy who looked like Luke darted down the street ahead of her. Livy hiked up her skirts and broke into a run.
“Luke!” she shouted.
They almost collided at the end of the alley.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Luke said.
“Have you seen Jake? I can’t find him anywhere.”
“He’s in a bad way.” He grabbed her hand. “Come on.”
Livy jerked him to a stop. “Has he been shot?” Oh, Lord, please, not that.
“No. Just beat to within an inch of his life.”
Her heart lurched with fear. She’d known something had gone wrong, or he would’ve kept his promise and come back to Emma’s last night. Oh, Lord Jesus, please keep him alive; please don’t let him die.
“Take me to him.”
* * *
Victor Gibbons stared at the ceiling, hands clasped behind his head. Frustration welled inside his gut. It galled that he’d had to send for his brother’s lawyer to get him out of this mess.
If it hadn’t been for that McIver kid getting the town all riled up, none of this would have happened. Then that deputy and that nosy little lady from the orphanage had decided to snoop around when Butch and Grady torched the factory. Bad timing, to say the least. It would have been better if they’d died in the fire.
But they couldn’t prove a thing.
Grady and Butch had stashed those kids in an abandoned mine. Nobody would think to look for them there. Once Jimmy Sharp took care of them, the only person who could identify him would be that kid named Bobby. No jury would convict him of any wrongdoing on the word of one street kid.
It would be easy to start over somewhere else. As soon as he got out of here, they’d regroup in a bigger town, a little closer to Chicago—but not so close that his brother could tell him how to run his business.
He smiled. Maybe this would all work out after all.
* * *
Jake came to with a start. He felt like he’d fallen down a mine shaft and hit rock bottom. A wave of panic washed over him at the thought of being trapped in a mine. He stifled a groan and concentrated on the scents and sounds around him. The musty smell of old blankets and rotting wood permeated the air along with the pungent odor of burning coal, its fire barely keeping the cold at bay.
Not a mine. At least he could be thankful for that.
He opened his eyes and stared at the remains of an old shack. One wall had collapsed, but the rest looked fairly stable. He turned his head and came face-to-face with a group of dirty, bedraggled boys ringed in a semicircle on the other side of a tiny fire, all eyes trained on him. He didn’t even try to guess their ages. A couple were as big as Luke—he scanned the half-dozen or so faces for the boy and didn’t see him—and some were smaller, as small as Georgie. His heart twisted at the gaunt faces and hollow eyes gazing back at him in the dim light.
He blinked. How had he gotten here?
It all came back with a rush. The fire, arresting Gibbons, going after Livy, the fight.
What if they’d found Livy? And where was Luke?
Daylight filtered through the cracks and crevices of the dilapidated building. Several hours had passed since he’d left her at Emma’s.
He struggled to sit up, breaking into a cold sweat with the effort. It felt like a knife stabbed through his chest with every movement, every breath. The smaller boys scrambled to their feet and retreated behind the older ones. Two of them brandished iron pipes and threw nervous glances at each other. Jake eased up against the wall, waiting for the pain to subside before he tried again.
“How’d I get here?” His voice sounded like the roar of a bear after a long winter of hibernation.
They didn’t seem inclined to answer.
“Do I look like I’m any danger to you? I couldn’t catch a turtle in my condition, let alone one of you boys.” He studied the boys wielding pipes. One of them looked familiar. Jake cau
ght his eye. “You brought Bobby to the orphanage, didn’t you?”
The boy glanced at his companions before giving a cautious nod. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s going to be all right.” He inched into a better sitting position, gasping with the effort. He looked toward the boy who’d answered. “Last thing I remember, two big guys were getting the best of me. What happened?”
“You knocked Grady out; I got in a pretty solid lick to Butch’s head.” The boy grinned. “Shook the ground when he fell.”
Jake returned the grin, but it quickly turned into a grimace of pain.
A fit of coughing took his breath away, and he hugged his torso with one hand, groaning with the effort to keep from coughing up his lungs. The boys watched silently until he regained his breath.
“Where’s Luke?”
“He said something about going for help.”
A thump sounded, then two more. A boy pushed aside a crate and crawled through an opening into the makeshift living quarters, stopping when he saw that Jake was awake. “Luke’s coming.”
Luke crawled inside, followed by a woman. She stood and shook out the mud-spattered cloak she wore, the hem covered in filth. Then she threw back her hood, revealing a mass of reddish-brown curls.
Jake’s heart pounded. “Livy?” he rasped.
Her blue gaze collided with his and a smile flew across her face. She hurried to his side, knelt, and threw her arms around his neck. “You’re alive.”
Jake almost passed out from the pain when she hugged him, but he didn’t want the boys to think he couldn’t take it. He winked at them. Several grinned.
He’d broken the ice with them. Ignoring the throbbing in his ribs, he wrapped an arm around Livy and pulled her close, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her hair, reveling in having her next to him.
Thank You, Lord.
She pulled away, her hands fluttering over him. She touched his face, her fingers gentle. “Are you hurt?”
“I’ll live. I think.”
Luke hunkered in front of the fire, holding out his hands for warmth. “I think you’ve got some broken ribs.”
Tears filled Livy’s eyes. “Oh.”
“I’m fine. Really. There’s nothing that won’t heal with time.” He let himself drown in her eyes. “I’m glad you’re all right. I was worried about you.”
“Not as worried as I’ve been.”
Jake struggled to stand, his aching body protesting. “Luke, I’ve got to get back to the jail. Sheriff Carter will need me. No telling what Gibbons’s men might do.”
“Think you can make it?”
“Pretty sure.”
Jake led Livy to the opening, but she turned back.
“I wish you’d come to the orphanage.” Her plea included all the boys. “You’re all welcome. You know that. I’ve told Luke part of my story, but you boys need to hear it as well. I lived on the streets of Chicago for years. I did a lot of things I’m not proud of, but when I met Mrs. Brooks, my life changed. She led me to Jesus and taught me that stealing was wrong. She’s not like the others. She’s good and kind and loving.”
“We’ll talk about it, Miss Livy, but we can’t promise anything.” Luke poked at the fire.
Livy touched his shoulder. “We’ll be there when you decide to come, day or night.”
Luke nodded and turned to Jake. “I need to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“Did . . .” His lips trembled. “Did any kids die in the fire?”
“No, thank the Lord. Why do you ask?”
“My little brother was there. The boss, the one you call Gibbons, shipped him here in one of those crates.”
Fingers of pain that had nothing to do with his bruised ribs and tortured lungs clutched Jake’s chest as he recalled Gibbons’s railcar and precious machinery. Had children been in those crates?
Dear Lord, no.
He cleared his throat and gripped Luke’s shoulder. “They weren’t there, but we’re going to find them.”
* * *
Jake left Livy at the orphanage before heading back to the jail.
He limped to the doorway leading to the cells in the back and leaned against the doorjamb, trying not to wince. “Well, Gibbons, your men didn’t finish the job this time either. I’m going to find a way to nail your hide to the wall.”
Gibbons gave him a bored look. “You can try, Deputy. But like I said, you don’t have any proof.”
Jake turned away, and the prisoner called out, “Hey, Sheriff, you sent for my lawyer, didn’t you? A man’s entitled to legal counsel.”
“Yeah, I sent for him,” Sheriff Carter hollered, then muttered under his breath. “Not that it’ll do any good, you good-for-nothing snake.”
Abner McIver skidded into the jail. “Hey, Mr. Jake, Mr. Stillman asked if you could come see him.”
Jake flipped the boy a nickel. “Thanks, Abner.”
The boy grinned. “You’re welcome.”
Jake made his way to the bank, where he approached the nearest teller. “Mr. Stillman in?”
“Yes, sir. Go right on in.”
The banker’s office looked about as cluttered as Jake’s desk at the jail. They shook hands and Stillman gestured to a chair. “Thanks for coming over.”
Jake held his breath and carefully lowered himself into the roomy leather chair. Stillman eyed him over his spectacles. “You all right?”
“I’ll be fine in a week or two.” He winced, inching to a more comfortable position. “Abner said you wanted to see me? Is it about the mine?”
“Yes.”
Jake sighed and closed his eyes. “What is it this time? Brown sell out? Or has the new owner upped his offer?”
Stillman laughed softly. “Both, actually.”
Jake cracked open one eye. “What?”
He waited for the familiar ache, the worry that plagued him knowing control of the mine where his father, Seamus’s sons and brothers, Emma’s husband, and others had died. But it didn’t come, only a weary realization that there was nothing he could do about it. “Why? Not that it matters, I reckon.”
“Brown didn’t say.” Stillman leaned back in his chair. “So where do we go from here? As it stands, there are now two owners, you and—” he riffled through some papers on his desk—“somebody named J. T. MacPherson. You can either sell your shares to MacPherson or agree to operate the mine with him. With fifty-fifty ownership, you’re at a stalemate.”
Jake leaned his head against the high back of the leather chair, trying to think. He could sell the shares he owned and easily pay off the loan against the farm. But could he do that knowing that MacPherson planned to reopen the mine? Could he live with himself knowing that any day, the whistle might blow, and dozens of men might die because of him?
He couldn’t. “There’s nothing else to be said, Mr. Stillman. I won’t open that mine back up, and I won’t take money for my shares knowing the new owner plans to open that death trap up again.”
“I see.” Mr. Stillman folded his hands together on his desk. “Jake, I understand your dilemma, but there’s your family to think of. If I have to, I’ll call in that loan, sell the shares, and settle the debt myself.”
Jake eased to his feet, clutching his cracked ribs with one hand. “You do what you have to, then. But put the farm in Ma’s name. I don’t deserve it.”
* * *
Luke took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
“You sure about this, Luke?” The others fidgeted behind him.
“No.”
But he’d follow through.
He didn’t remember the last time he’d had a bath. His clothes hung on him in rags, and his shoes were falling apart. The others were in just as bad a shape as he was. Some were worse. They couldn’t battle the cold much longer, especially the younger ones. If it didn’t work out, they could take off anytime they pleased. From what he’d seen, Miss Livy didn’t keep anybody under lock and key.
When she opened th
e door, he almost bolted.
“Luke.” She smiled. “Come in.”
They filed in, Luke leading the way. The others bunched together close to the door, unsure about becoming part of the orphanage family. Mrs. Brooks stood at the stove, a wide smile on her face.
“Are you here to stay?” Livy grasped him by the shoulders.
Luke glanced at the others, then nodded. “If you’ll have us.”
“Of course we’ll have you.”
And she hugged him to her, dirty, stinking clothes and all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jake spotted the stranger a stone’s throw from the jail.
His gaze narrowed. No, not a stranger. He’d seen the man at the train station the day he’d inspected Gibbons’s railcar.
The man limped toward him, dressed in a suit and a wool overcoat with a cane clasped in his right hand. They met at the jail. A jagged scar raced down one side of the man’s face. A pair of pale-blue eyes flickered to the sign over the door and back to Jake.
“Afternoon. What can I do for you?”
“Jimmy Sharp. Victor Gibbons’s lawyer.”
Jake jerked his head toward the door. “Come on in, then. He’s inside.”
Sharp insisted on seeing his client alone. Sheriff Carter gave them ten minutes. Twenty minutes later, Sharp came out, his gaze spearing Jake before settling on Sheriff Carter. “I need to see the judge about making bail.”
He was soft-spoken, but Jake could sense the steel that lay beneath the words. Maybe such steel made the man a good lawyer. But if Gibbons was guilty of everything Jake suspected him of, Sharp would have a hard time proving his client innocent.
Sheriff Carter shuffled some paperwork. “You’ll have to wait. Judge Parker won’t be back until Monday.”
The lawyer stared at them, his eyes cold and calculating. “I’ll be back on Monday, then.”
He turned to leave, and the door opened. A tall man, whipcord thin, stepped inside. The lawyer and the newcomer squared off immediately, the tension so thick, it rippled through the jail like an unexpected blizzard. The newcomer pulled his coat back to reveal a six-gun strapped to his leg. “Sharp, what are you doing here?”