Speakeasy, Speak Love
Copyright © 2017 by Speakeasy, Speak Love
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Other Titles from Sharon G. Clark
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Speakeasy, Speak Love
by
Sharon G. Clark
Yellow Rose Books
by Regal Crest
Tennessee
Copyright © 2017 by Sharon G. Clark
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The characters, incidents and dialogue herein are fictional and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Print ISBN 978-1-61929-334-2
eBook ISBN 978-1-61929-335-9
First Printing 2017
9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Cover design by Acorn Graphics
Published by:
Regal Crest Enterprises
1042 Mount Lebanon Rd
Maryville, TN 37804
Find us on the World Wide Web at http://www.regalcrest.biz
Published in the United States of America
Acknowledgments
Thank you, Patty Schramm and Brenda Adcock, my fabulous editors; and, a special thank you to Cathy Bryerose for allowing the opportunities you provide me and my imagination.
Dedication
To my incredible son, Jeremy, for making me a grandma; and for always
being there for your crazy mother.
In loving memory of John Minor Purcell, my TigerBro.
Chapter One
1921
FIONA CAVANAUGH SLOWED the Chevrolet truck, pulling close to the curb, shut the engine down and silencing the newest hit, “Second-Hand Rose”, on the radio, and then watched the kids playing stickball in the street. Spring had officially started with a comfortable, warm day. This neighborhood was hers, and it didn’t look too much different from her childhood though much had changed within her. She used to know most the boys and girls by name, which child belonged to whom, or at least recognized family connections by their facial features. It wasn’t all that long ago she too participated in the same street games with her older brother Fionn. She didn’t want to be a kid again, didn’t miss the disadvantages that came with a childhood out on streets like these. Of course, returning to her childhood would have the advantage of still including her mother and brother, if she could go back in time. Maybe then, her dad would—
Fiona didn’t finish the thought. Her father’s abuse of them and his love of liquor wouldn’t improve even had her mother and brother lived. The abuse spread out amongst them. She’d seen her Da getting worse, even back then. That’s simply how Quinn Cavanaugh was, and would always be forever. No one could change the past. She had to move on to the present, think about her future. One thing was certain, though, and that being she couldn’t pass herself off as a boy for much longer. Currently, it worked like a charm, as long as she kept a smudge of dirt here and there, bound her chest, wore baggy clothes, kept her hair short and mussed up; but she was smart enough to know time always caught up with lies, no matter how well intentioned the original untruth.
These gloomy thoughts weren’t getting her anywhere, and Fiona needed to get back to work. Just as she shifted in her seat to start the truck, Fiona caught movement from the corner of her eye. Rushing toward the open driver’s window was a disheveled Willie, a boy of fourteen. Willie lived in her old tenement building but didn’t know her true gender, believing her to be her dead brother. As she turned, Willie pleaded breathlessly, “Finn, you gotta come. Junior’s roughing up a young gal.”
“Willie, I can’t get between a—”
“No, Finn, you got it wrong. She’s a stranger here.”
Despite the urgency and genuine concern in his voice, Fiona hesitated long enough to smile down at him and wonder at his assessment. He was a kid, so how young was this “young” girl? She got out of the truck knowing she’d find out soon enough. Matching Willie’s pace, she followed for half a block and into a littered alley.
True enough, Junior and two of his bullies were harassing a girl, and though young to be sure, she wasn’t a kid. Lying on its side amidst the refuse, what appeared to be lunch and medical supplies spilled from a wicker basket. Picking up a two-foot piece of broken board from the ground, Fiona closed the distance. “Buzz off, boys,” she said. One of the boys, Augustus Detweiler, Junior to most, was the middle child of eleven kids. She knew he’d recently turned eighteen because he never shut up about it. The only way he got his folks to remember him from the others was continually having cops knocking at their door for his current criminal activity. “Junior, don’t give me a reason to wail on you.”
All three turned in her direction. “This don’t concern you, Finn,” Junior said. “Just ’cause you got growed up, and working don’t give you no rights more than me. I’m older, too. Remember? You got no claims on this one. I keep peace in the neighborhood, now.”
Fiona rolled her eyes. “If you don’t scram, you’ll be pieces strewn all over the neighborhood.” She took a step and slapped the board against her palm. “As Good Will Ambassadors, you fellas stink.”
“Good what?” Junior asked.
“Exactly.” Fiona shook her head. “Look at the stuff you’re tossing around. You can see she’s here to help someone who’s sick. What if it’s Wallace’s kin kept from her nursing? You think he’s gonna care you were keeping the peace?” Junior paled when hearing anyone from the Gustin Gang mentioned. She doubted this woman was in the same social circle—not that Fiona knew for certain—as Frank Wallace, but Junior and pals wouldn’t know either. Fiona noticed one of the boys looked almost ready to lose his lunch. “Better hurry off before Sammy there pulls a Daniel Boone.” Fiona snickered. “What kind of tough guy gets sick in front of a lady?” She recognized from the sour expression on Junior’s face; he had realized he’d lost the intimidating edge.
“This ain’t over between us, Finn,” Junior snarled.
When the three rushed away, Willie immediately ran toward the woman, bending to return the dropped objects to the basket, mumbling when he had to leave the broken items. Fiona also moved closer, happy to note a more natural color than red returning to the woman’s face, and grinned at her. “How much longer were you gonna keep a hold on your temper?”
Surprised green eyes met Fiona’s. “Not much longer. Wish I had thought to bandy about a name or two.” Giving Willie a brilliant smile, the woman took the basket he held out to her, his gaze set in an expression of puppy love. Then, she extended a hand toward Fiona. “Margaret. Mar
garet Graham. And you’re Finn, right?”
“Finn Cavanaugh.” Shaking the hand offered, Fiona nodded. “This here’s Willie.”
“I appreciate you, uh,” Margaret frowned slightly, but her hesitation passed almost seamlessly, “gentlemen coming to my rescue. Guess that’s what I get for releasing the cab so soon. I wanted to enjoy a bit of a walk. I worried losing my temper would only antagonize those hooligans further, and then I’d never get to my destination.”
Fiona put her hands in her trouser pockets, surprised their quick physical contact had sent such heat coursing through her. She wondered if Margaret experienced the same reaction. “And where would that place need to be?”
Margaret glanced down the alley. “Just up the way, I think. Do you know Mrs. Donnelly?”
Breaking into a wide grin, Fiona playfully lapsed into an imitation of her mothers’ brogue. “Quite a few of us Irish this part of town, Miss Graham, lots of clans. Can you be more specific?” She suspected whom Margaret referred to, but found pleasure from drawing out their encounter. No, this wasn’t good, not good at all. This young woman was wreaking havoc on Fiona’s pulse and her heartbeat—and they’d just met.
Blushing, Margaret tucked stray strands of dark brown hair behind her ear and stated, “Surname is all I know. We always referred to her as Nana. She tended my mother during her illness. I want to return the favor now I hear she’s sick herself.”
Willie perked up at this. “Mick’s mom.”
Punching him gently in the shoulder, Fiona said, “Officer Donnelly to you, runt. Be respectful.” She gave her attention and a formal bow to Margaret. “If we may, Willie and I will escort you. You’re right. She’s just on the next street. When you’ve finished your visit, I’d be pleased if you allowed me to drive you home. I wouldn’t want anything else to happen with Junior. Or having you think poorly of us down this way.”
“That’s appreciated, but not necessary,” Margaret said. “I don’t want to take you from anything important.” Was Margaret seriously being polite, or did she doubt Fiona’s claim to a vehicle?
“It would be my honor, Miss Graham. If you’d allow me,” Fiona said, indicating the basket. Margaret handed it to Fiona, and they walked to the end of the alley and turned right. They went up two blocks and crossed the street.
Chapter Two
THE TENEMENT BUILDING housing Nana Donnelly was on the corner. Willie ran up the stairs ahead of them to make sure the way was cleared of more riffraff; and, to give warning to any of Nana’s relatives who might not be expecting visitors, especially from strangers. People in this part of town treasured their privacy as the singular control most had in their possession.
As Fiona and Margaret started up the stairs, a voice called down. “Finn, are you down there?”
Fiona recognized the voice of Claire Donnelly, a childhood friend and the youngest daughter of the sick Mrs. Enid Donnelly. “Nana has a visitor, Claire.”
“Yes, Willie told me,” Claire said. “Please bring Miss Graham up.”
Claire stood at the top of the stairs. When she and Margaret reached the top, Fiona leaned in and placed a quick kiss on Claire’s forehead. “I’m sorry, Claire. I’d have come sooner if I had known Nana was ill.”
She shook her head. “Like Ma would admit it, or let you find out. She even tells us she’s just under the weather a’might.” Claire turned to Margaret and extended a hand. “I’m Claire. Ma has told us of your mother. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” She pointed toward the basket. “It’s not much, but I brought a few things for your mother, to assist with her convalescence,” Margaret said. “I’ll replace the lost stuff.”
“Miss Graham had more to her offering, but Junior’s up to his usual shenanigans,” Finn said.
“Don’t you be worrying yourself. She’ll be pleased to have company other than family. Come in,” Claire said, pointing to an open door at the end of the long hall where Willie leaned against the doorframe. As they went into the small apartment, Margaret flashed a smile at Willie. Claire pointed to the door at the back and the left. “Just go in. Ma’s expecting you. Willie, wait in the hall, please. I need to speak with Finn.”
Fiona handed the basket to Margaret. “I’ll wait here to take you home.” When Margaret entered the room and closed the door behind her, Fiona said, “You should have sent word.”
With a shrug, Claire said, “I know things have been bad with your Da. It hasn’t passed notice you don’t come home when he’s around. I didn’t want to add to your burden, especially if I sent word by way of Mick.”
“Yeah, would have been hard to explain that away. It’s only—I thought maybe you were punishing me,” Fiona said. She bowed her head, not daring to look into Claire’s eyes. “I never intended to harm our friendship, Claire. I…I just—” Fiona knew the repercussions of her actions toward Claire could harm them in many ways, from incarceration in jail or commitment in a sanatorium.
With a sigh, Claire said in a whisper, “Please, Fiona, I don’t want what happened to be an issue with us. I’m sorry if I’m still hurting you with it. It’s all been such a shock, yes. First learning you’re passing yourself off as a boy and not knowing where you are when you aren’t at home, and then knowing our relationship changed in your heart and I can’t fix it. I do love you, just not the way you want me to feel.”
Fiona nodded. “Yeah, I get it.” She did understand. Most would believe her a deviant and react violently. She may not have Claire’s whole heart, but having her love was as important. “I desperately needed work, too, and by any means. What else was I supposed to do? Leave the responsibility to dear ole Da?”
“Well, no, definitely not, not him.” Claire gave another strained shrug. “I worry about this charade you’ve set yourself. Where are you sleeping at night? Is it a safe place?”
“In the backroom of Old Man Chambers warehouse, or sometimes in the truck; both are safe enough, safer than Da’s place, anyway.”
Claire frowned. “You’re gonna get hurt, honey, possibly killed if the wrong person finds out about you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Not everything can be controlled, particularly not men. Just don’t cross the wrong one. And cross one you surely will if you run around playing Sir Galahad to every lost woman,” Claire said, pointing to the door Margaret was behind.
“I have to—”
A loud bang from the front of the tenement and raised male voices had Willie running into the apartment. “Three of them and one’s steaming mad.”
Willie had just finished the announcement when a well-dressed man burst across the entrance; he had the build of one of Wallace’s henchmen, his face flushed a bright red. “Where is she?” he asked, as two men followed him into the apartment. Obviously, this man believed an open front door invited bad manners.
Fiona moved protectively in front of Claire while tugging Willie’s arm, so he stood behind her. “Keep your voice down. The woman of the house is ill. If you state your business, sir, we can help you.”
The man darted forward, grabbed Fiona by the jacket’s lapels, and jerked her closer. “I won’t play games, boy. I want to see—”
“Eldon,” Margaret said harshly from the bedroom entryway, softly closing the door behind her to shelter Nana from the heated conversation. “Put Finn down this instant.” Fiona hadn’t noticed any wedding ring. Mentally kicking herself for getting into the type of situation Claire had just warned her about was fully possible, evidently. Eldon complied and Fiona straightened her jacket. Margaret moved closer and put her hands on her hips in the same posture Fiona’s Ma would use when prepared to chastise her. “What are you doing here?”
He looked Margaret over from head to foot, as if to assure her unharmed, before he answered. “Terry heard some boys were roughing you up, Babs. I came to take care of the matter personally.”
“And Terry ran to you instead of dealing with the boys himself?” Margaret shook her head in
disgust. “Where are your manners?” she asked him and turned toward the two men beside Eldon. “Wait outside. He’ll be down in a moment. And close the door behind you.” She gave Eldon a gentle push in the chest. Margaret nodded in Fiona’s direction. “Finn took care of the bullies.” She must have caught the crestfallen expression on Willie’s face, because she added, “Willie helped run them off, too. Both deserve your thanks, not your harassment.” Margaret turned toward Fiona and the others. “Finn Cavanaugh, Claire Donnelly, and Willie, this is my brother Eldon Graham, who still thinks I’m four years old. I apologize if Eldon frightened any of you.”
Fiona held out her hand, instantly glad he wasn’t a husband. Not that the distinction should matter, knothead, her inner voice said. This woman is out of your league. Not to mention the obvious issue: she’s a woman and what her heart wanted just wasn’t done if you were normal. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Graham, Sir,” Fiona said. Grudgingly, Eldon shook the hand offered. “I’d intended to escort your sister home after her visit. I would’na let her be in danger.”
Eldon stared hard at Fiona. “I appreciate the consideration, kid, but I can take it from here.” He turned to Margaret. “You shouldn’t have come, at least not without telling me. You sure no one hurt you?”
“No, Eldon. As I said, Finn and Willie shooed them off before things got out of hand. They both escorted me to see Nana. She’s been sick. I had to come and do something. She was so good to Mother, before—”
He grimaced. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t go getting yourself worked up, Babs.” Eldon reached into his inner suit jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Your mom did well by us.” He held out a few large denomination bills toward Claire. “Tell her thanks.”
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