Room for Hope

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “Sometimes she even takes sandwiches down to the shantytown by the river and passes them out.” Bud tapped a half biscuit against his plate, dotting the puddle of gravy with crumbs. “Our pop doesn’t like her doing it. Says those men’ll never learn to take care of themselves if she mollycoddles them. But she does it anyway. She’s making herself an easy mark.”

  Belle glared at her brother. “Bud, for shame. The hobos carved a cat on the lean-to’s wall. You know what that means. We ought to be proud we have such a kind mother.”

  “Bud, Belle…” The woman’s voice held a mild reprimand. The boy hunkered in his chair and Belle hung her head.

  Mrs. Gaines slipped her arm around Belle’s waist and faced Jesse. “Since I started putting out what Belle likes to call the ‘share-kettle,’ there have been fewer thefts from root cellars and fewer beggars knocking on back doors in our neighborhood. I see that as a positive change. Besides, as a Christian I believe it’s my duty to assist the poor and downtrodden. My family has been abundantly blessed. It’s only right we should share some of our bounty.”

  She spoke boldly, with assurance, but as soon as she finished her little speech, her face went white and she clutched the bodice of her dress with one trembling hand. If Jesse read her correctly, she was about to be sick. He jumped up, lifting Charley by the arm.

  “You youngsters say ‘thank you’ for the supper.”

  In unison, Charley and Cassie mumbled, “Thank you.” Adeline put her finger in her mouth and huddled against Charley’s side.

  Jesse prodded the children toward the parlor. “Ma’am, if you’d tell me where to unload the furniture and things from the wagon, we’ll be out of your way in a short time.”

  Her hand lifted from her bodice and stretched toward him. “Mr. Caudel, wait.”

  Neva

  Neva glanced across the faces of Warren’s children—all five of them—and then turned to the deputy. “Could we speak privately?”

  He looked at the children, too, uncertainty playing on his square face.

  “Belle and Bud can entertain Charley, Cassie, and Adeline for a few minutes.” They should get acquainted. They were half siblings. Her chest constricted. “Come with me, please.” She headed for the apartment door.

  To her relief, he followed her. She led him down the stairs and into the hallway connecting the store to the backyard. Warren had installed incandescent sconces on the hallway walls two years ago. They rarely used them—once the store was closed for the evening, they spent their time in the apartment—but Neva was grateful for the lights this evening. She didn’t want to visit with a stranger in the dark. She turned the key on one brass sconce and stood beneath its soft glow.

  Mr. Caudel remained at the far edge of the circle of light. “Ma’am, not to be rude, but I don’t have a lot of time to spare. I still need to unload that wagon, and then it’s a forty-mile drive back to Beloit. Sooner I get going, sooner I can get those kids tucked into a warm bed somewhere.” He frowned. “Sure hope the Shillings’ neighbor is willing to put them up a few more nights till the sheriff finds an opening at—”

  “Leave them here.” Neva nearly blasted the words. His mouth agape, Mr. Caudel stared at her. She swallowed and said more calmly, “The children, I mean.” Oh, how her chest ached, but she would do the right thing. “Warren wanted them to be with me. And I know why.”

  “You do?”

  She nodded. “I grew up in an orphanage. A fine one with loving caretakers. I can’t fault them for anything they did for us.” Thanks to the Jonnsons, she’d been well fed, sheltered, educated, and taught to love the Lord. “But living in an orphans’ asylum isn’t the same as living with a family. Those children…” She swallowed the knot filling her throat. “They need a home.”

  His brows descended. “Folks without any kids of their own visit the orphanages, you know—pick out youngsters to take home and raise. Young as the Shilling kids are yet, it could happen for those three.”

  Yes, it could. She’d seen children from the Dunnigan Orphans’ Asylum leave with new parents. But the Jonnsons had insisted on brothers and sisters remaining together. Not all orphanages followed the same policy. And given the country’s challenges, fewer people were willing to assume responsibility for needy children. Hadn’t the trains from New York that once flooded the plains with parentless children stopped running because people no longer freely opened their homes?

  Neva shook her head. “It isn’t likely, Mr. Caudel, and you know it. I can’t in good conscience let them go to strangers.”

  He frowned. “But aren’t you a stranger to those youngsters, too?”

  “I am.” She hung her head for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Then she faced him with her chin held high. “But I have a…connection…to them. More than a stranger off the streets would have. It won’t be easy to raise five children by myself.” Dear Lord in heaven, what am I doing? “But I’ve raised Bud and Belle mostly by myself. And I have a business that will provide for the children’s needs. They can stay.”

  Mr. Caudel sucked in a long breath, held it for several tense seconds, then let it ease out while he shook his head. He chuckled. “Mrs. Gaines, I don’t know if I should admire you or question your sanity. But you taking those kids is what Warren Shilling wanted, and I suppose I shouldn’t argue with the dead.”

  She formed a weak smile. “No, I suppose you shouldn’t.”

  “Now, can I ask you something?”

  His tone held an edge. She wanted to refuse, but her head bobbed in a jerky assent.

  “You said you were a widow woman, but your kids both talk about their pa like he’s still around.”

  Neva’s frame went hot and then cold. “Yes. They…” She bit her lip, blinking rapidly against tears. “They don’t know that their father isn’t coming home. He’s been away. On business.” Everything she said was true, so why did she feel like the biggest fraud in the world? “I haven’t found the time to tell them…yet.”

  Compassion warmed his expression. He edged toward her, lowering his voice to a raspy whisper. “You need to tell ’em as soon as possible. Something like that? They need to know.”

  She nodded, and one tear slid down her cheek. She swept it away with her fingertips. “I’ll tell them tonight.”

  He straightened, turning businesslike again. “All right then. The Shilling kids’ll stay with you. But what do I do with all that plunder in the back of the wagon? It needs to stay, too.”

  Since the merchant wagon would no longer fill the barn, the furniture could go there. Would the hobos who sometimes slept on the hay bother the fine items? Maybe even steal them? Not all of the unemployed men traveling through were honest. But she had no other choice. “Everything can go in the barn. I’ll send Bud across the alley to ask for help from the Randall boys. They’re young, but they’re tall and strong for their ages. Between the four of you, you should have the wagon emptied in no time, and then you can be on your way.”

  Bud Shilling

  Bud accepted the nickel from Mr. Caudel. “Thank you, sir.”

  The man nodded. He dropped silver coins into Leon’s and Leroy’s waiting hands. Neither of the Randall boys said thanks—they just pocketed their nickels and trotted off toward home, socking each other on the arm. For once they weren’t socking Bud. He appreciated that even more than the nickel.

  Bud trailed Mr. Caudel to the wagon. The man climbed up on the seat, gripped the reins, and released the brake. Bud called, “Ain’tcha forgetting something?”

  He glanced down. His hat brim sent shadows over his whole face, but Bud thought he frowned. “What’s that?”

  Bud huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “Those three little kids you came with.” He’d never seen such peculiar kids. The whole time he and Belle were alone with them, they didn’t say a word. Just huddled together like they thought a bogeyman was under the sofa.

  The man on the wagon seat sent a glance at the kitchen window, then aimed his gaze forward. “Your ma will exp
lain.” He flicked the reins, making a clicking sound with his tongue, and the horses pulled the wagon out of the yard.

  Bud scowled after the wagon for a moment, considering running after Mr. Caudel and demanding answers. But he’d worked up a sweat carting that furniture to the barn, and the cool air was making his moist skin pop out in goose flesh. He set his feet toward the store instead.

  He entered the family apartment and bellowed, “Ma!”

  Ma came tiptoeing up the hallway from the bedrooms. She pressed her finger to her lips and pulled her eyebrows down in disapproval. “Don’t holler, Bud. You’ll wake the children, and they need their rest.”

  “They’re staying here?”

  She nodded.

  Bud stared at his mother. Her face was all pink but her lips were white. She looked plenty guilty. “Where’d you put ’em?” They only had three bedrooms—Ma and Pop’s, Belle’s, and his.

  “Never mind that right now.” She took hold of his elbow and tugged him toward the kitchen. “Come here. I need to talk to you and your sister.”

  Bud dropped into one of the chairs at the little worktable in the corner. He looped his arm over the chair’s back and chewed the inside of his cheek. Ma guided Belle away from the sink to the table. And the dishes weren’t even done yet. Ma was going to let talking come before cleaning? A funny feeling crept through his stomach.

  As soon as Belle and Ma sat, he asked, “What’s the matter?”

  Belle put her hands in her lap and fiddled with her apron. “Have we done something wrong?”

  Ma put her hand over Belle’s and smiled. A fake smile. “No, sweetheart. But I need you both to listen carefully. Will you do that?”

  Belle nodded fast but Bud snorted. “Just hurry up and tell us.”

  “There’s no easy way to say this, so…” Ma took a big breath. Tears made little pools in her eyes. “Children, your father isn’t coming home.”

  Belle blinked. “You mean tonight?”

  “I mean…not ever.”

  Belle jerked her hands out from under Ma’s.

  Bud unhooked his arm and stood up so fast the chair fell over. “That’s not true.” Pop was gone a lot, but he always came home.

  Ma reached for both of them. Belle caught hold, but Bud folded his arms over his chest and glared at his mother. Tears fell from her eyes. From Belle’s, too. Ma spoke soft and kind. “I’m sorry, but it is true. While your father was in Beloit, he ate some tainted meat. It made him very sick. The doctor couldn’t save him.”

  Belle sagged against Ma and wailed. Bud wanted to wail along with her, but he had to be the man now. Hadn’t Pop told him every time he left on his sales route, “You’re the man of the house while I’m gone, Bud. Take good care of your mother and sister.” He’d be the man of the house forever now. He sniffed hard.

  Ma rubbed Belle’s back. “They already buried him in Beloit, so we won’t have a funeral.”

  Belle pulled loose for a minute. “Can we at least go visit his grave? Put flowers on it?”

  That guilty look came over Ma’s face again. “Maybe. Someday. But it’s a long way to Beloit, and we have the store, so…”

  Belle buried her face on Ma’s shoulder.

  Bud leaned on the table. His shaky legs didn’t want to hold him up. “Did Mr. Caudel tell you about Pop?”

  Ma nodded.

  “And he brought those kids, too.”

  “Th-that’s right.”

  “Why’d he bring ’em here?”

  Ma pressed her cheek against Belle’s head and closed her eyes.

  He picked up the chair and sat. “Why, Ma? Why are they here?” He used his deepest man-voice, and for once he didn’t squeak in the middle of his sentence. Ma looked at him. His throat went tight. He’d never seen such begging in her eyes.

  She took hold of Belle’s arms and set her aside. She used her handkerchief to dry Belle’s face, and then she wiped her eyes. Bud wriggled with impatience. When he was about to yell the question again, she said, “They’re here because your father wanted Charley, Cassie, and Adeline. He wanted them to be with us.”

  He pictured the boy and the two pigtailed girls in his mind—quiet and acting scared. More like little ghosts than flesh-and-bone kids. Why would Pop want them? Especially since he already had Bud and Belle. Pop always said Bud would take Ma’s place in the business someday. He promised they’d change the Main Street Mercantile sign to “Shilling & Son” as soon as Bud was old enough. Never once had Pop said “Sons.” Always “Son.” Just Bud.

  Belle sat with her head tipped to the side and her face scrunched up the way she did when she was thinking deep, but she didn’t say anything.

  Bud couldn’t stay quiet, though. “How do you know Pop wanted those kids?”

  Ma’s lips quivered like she was trying not to cry. “Mr. Caudel said so.”

  “Maybe he lied. Pop never said anything about bringing home more kids.”

  Ma’s cheeks went white. “Mr. Caudel didn’t lie, Bud.”

  He clenched his fists. “How do you know?”

  Belle glanced from Bud to Ma to Bud again. “Why would he fib to us, Bud?”

  “I don’t know.” Bud thumped the table with his fist. Hard. It hurt, but he didn’t care. “But it don’t make sense to me, that’s all. Why would Pop want another boy when he already has—had—?” He bit down and held the other words inside.

  Ma got up and moved between their chairs. She squatted down and put her arms around their shoulders. Belle leaned in. Bud wanted to lean in, too. The thought of Pop never coming home again made his chest ache something fierce. His nose burned, too, the way it did when Leon and Leroy picked on him at school. But he sat stiff and straight. Like a man.

  “I know this isn’t easy. It’s all right to be sad and to cry.” She looked right at Bud.

  He gritted his teeth.

  She went on in a sorrowful but steady voice. “We’ll mourn and we’ll miss y-your father.” Her hand closed down tight. “But God will give us strength. We’ll be all right.”

  Bud bolted to his feet. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Bud?”

  He froze in place but didn’t turn around.

  “Go in quietly. Charley’s already asleep in there.”

  Swinging his arms, Bud headed for the hallway. He’d scoop that kid up and carry him out to the sofa. He didn’t have room in his bed—or his life—for some other “son.”

  Beloit, Kansas

  Jesse

  By the time Jesse reached Beloit, the clock on the courthouse tower showed two twenty in the morning. Four more hours and he’d report for work. Tiredness made his bones ache. Or maybe being bounced all day on the hard wagon seat was to blame for his discomfort. Give him a saddle—or a cushiony Model T seat—instead. But all things considered, he had it pretty good. Better than that widowed shopkeeper in Buffalo Creek who’d just taken on three extra mouths to feed.

  He drew the horses to a stop in the dirt yard outside the livery stable. Streetlamps gave him a good view of the looming stable, but not even a flicker of light showed behind any of the windows. Old man Campbell was probably snoring in his bed. Jesse sighed. Even though it would give him some extra minutes for sleep if someone else saw to the horses, he wouldn’t bother the owner. He knew how to unhitch and stable a team.

  He climbed down, trudged to the front of the wagon, and put his hands to work releasing the horses from their traces. He performed the task without conscious thought. Growing up on a farm in Nebraska taught him lots of things, most of which he’d hoped to never use again once he moved to the city. He led the horses to the wide door and unfastened the catch.

  The stable’s interior was dark as a tomb and just as quiet, but the scant light creeping through the glass panes from the streetlights helped him locate an empty stall. He sent both horses inside, then closed the stall door behind them. They nickered and he said, “Hush that. Go to sleep.” He didn’t stick around to see if they followed his directions.

>   Now on foot, he plodded stiffly along the quiet streets beneath the faint glow of streetlamps to Hersey Street and the courthouse. He’d bed down in one of the empty jail cells instead of going home. The courthouse was closer, and the jail cots weren’t too uncomfortable. Not if a fellow was tired enough. And tonight, he was tired enough to sleep on a pile of rocks.

  He used his key and entered through the back door of the stately stone building. The sheriff’s office door stood ajar, and one of the night deputies, Denton Gentry, sat with his feet propped on the corner of the desk, hands linked on his belly and head drooping southwest. Jesse cleared his throat, and the man jerked—head up, arms outward, feet in the air, mouth so wide Jesse spotted the silver fillings in his back molars.

  Jesse burst out laughing.

  Gentry righted himself in the creaky wooden chair and scowled. “That ain’t funny, Caudel. You shouldn’t sneak up on a man that way.”

  He hadn’t sneaked, and Gentry shouldn’t have been sleeping. “Any empty cells available tonight?”

  “Three o’ the six. Peck hauled in some fellas for fistfighting at the train depot. We locked ’em up and they’re sleepin’ off their mad.” Gentry glanced out the doorway. “You got a prisoner with you?”

  “Nope. Gonna sleep here. Just got back from Buffalo Creek.”

  “Ah. That’s right. You drew the short straw and had to deliver the Shilling orphans.” The man worked his lips in and out, making his fuzzy mustache flare and flop like a butterfly stretching its wings. “Everything go all right?”

  Jesse wouldn’t have called the delivery all right. The evidence of Neva Gaines’s distress had pestered him the whole drive back. “As well as it could go, considering. Had me a long day, that’s for sure.” He yawned, inching in the direction of the cellblock. “And I’m on foot patrol at six thirty, so…”

  “Gonna follow a long day with a short night, huh?”

  Jesse shrugged. Wouldn’t be the first time he caught a short night’s sleep, but being a deputy beat planting seeds and slopping hogs even if law keeping had its difficult moments. Like delivering those kids to Buffalo Creek.