Fair Play

by Deeanne Gist

  He looked away, his jaw ticking.

  She touched the place that vibrated, wondering what physiological phenomenon occurred to trigger it.

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple jumping. “As long as they’re out there, you’re in danger.”

  Touching his chin, she brought his face back around. “With the way you looked when you came after me, I feel sure they’d not dare to come near me again.”

  “Then you’ll wait for me?” he asked. “You won’t go back to the ward unless I’m with you?”

  She brushed a piece of lint from the shoulder of his jacket. “Let’s not argue. Please.”

  He dragged a hand down his face. “You tell me when you feel good enough to argue. Because we’re not done with this.”

  Cupping his face, she leaned in. “Hold very, very still.”

  As close as she was, she could see tiny specks of black in the browns of his eyes, making them appear darker than they really were.

  She grazed her lips against his. The barest of touches, but all her bruised jaw could manage. “Walk me home?” she whispered against his lips.

  “Yes.” Helping her to her feet, he tried to mask his distress.

  Of a sudden, she realized she’d never said anything to him about what he’d done. “Thank you for saving me yesterday.”

  “It’s what I do.”

  She could tell from his tone he wasn’t being boastful. Simply matter-of-fact. Protecting the weak was second nature to him.

  Was she weak, then? Yesterday morning she’d have staunchly denied it. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  LOG MOUNTAIN ON HULL HOUSE PLAYGROUND25

  “Older boys sliced logs in the shape of sausage patties. Others handed them to Hunter, who then arranged and nailed them into a giant, climbable mound.”

  CHAPTER

  30

  What Billy’s appeals for playground support hadn’t done, her battered face had. The Chicago Women’s Club devoted a full thirty minutes to her in its program. She spoke of the conditions of the streets and the children who played there, the sweatshops conducted around kitchen tables in dilapidated buildings, the tragedies occurring because mothers couldn’t be home to supervise their little ones, the young innocents being arrested, and the horrid conditions of the jailhouse.

  “Crime on the West Side is really a matter of athletics.” She wore the same green and pink outfit she had when she’d spoken at the Woman’s Congress. It was feminine and fashionable, yet in a bold way. “Every young person has a natural, God-given animalistic spirit that needs an outlet. If we don’t provide one, they will turn to criminal activity, for it offers a convenient and adventurous way to exercise it.”

  The women muttered and shook their heads. They could hardly refute the point when Billy herself stood before them as visible evidence.

  “A playground will provide them with light and air,” she continued. “A place to enjoy themselves and to learn the importance of courtesy and citizenship. If boys are given space to expend their energy and show off their prowess, they’ll no longer need to frequent saloons or loiter in the streets where their activities will lead to arrest.”

  No one moved. Not a sound was made. They all knew what had happened to her because of the “activities” of loitering young men.

  “The most expensive part has been done,” she reminded them. “The land has been acquired. All that’s left now is the comparatively small cost of preparing it. I believe two hundred dollars is all that is required.” She placed both hands on the lectern. “This is not only a matter of necessity, ladies, it is a matter of civic pride. We can cut down on disease, clean out our jails, and restore our city’s reputation. So what do you think? Shall we provide a playground or enlarge the jail?”

  An immediate response came from the group, their voices rising until gloved hands came together in enthusiastic applause.

  I came. I saw. I conquered. She didn’t shake her fist or chant her battle cry, but the words echoed in every fiber of her being.

  She didn’t raise two hundred dollars, but did manage one hundred, which allowed them to buy the tools and materials they needed to start on the equipment. Miss Addams introduced her to a wealth of other possible donors. After an untold number of hours calling on them, explaining the conditions of the streets, the danger the children were in, and the absolute necessity for a playground, she finally managed to scrape together the last hundred dollars, thus ensuring she and Hunter would have the fence they needed, materials for the rest of the equipment, and even an awning for the sandbox.

  Hunter recruited the help of boys and teeners to grade the land, haul sand, chop logs, and prepare planks. Billy enlisted girls and Hull House volunteers to make skipping ropes, toy brooms, sewing cards, rope ladders, and flags. Miss Addams’s coffeehouse became her home away from home and a place where she formed friendships with women her own age and children of all races.

  During her time there, she often retrieved Joey from the nursery and set him on a blanket where he could see and hear all the commotion. In between tasks, she held him, fed him, rocked him, and told stories to the children.

  Swaddling him in a light cotton cloth, she made her way to the playground with five girls between the ages of seven and ten. They’d finished measuring out ropes for the swings and wanted to show the boys. They skipped ahead of her, braids bouncing and hems fluttering as they dodged trash and jumped over puddles. When they passed the alleyway with the water pump, Billy glanced down it. No one was there.

  She’d made herself walk through it on several occasions, but instead of building her confidence, it shook her to the core. So, she stayed on the bigger streets and kept her eyes open, constantly sweeping the alcoves and doorways for possible threats.

  Kruse and his cohorts kept well out of sight when Hunter was in the neighborhood, but they often showed themselves to her when he wasn’t. Never too close. Always from a distance. But enough to keep her on edge.

  She hadn’t mentioned it to Hunter. He was unhappy as it was about her spending so much time in the ward. His graveyard shift, however, allowed him to be out there almost as much as she. Still, she usually arrived in the mornings and he didn’t make it until after he’d had a few hours’ sleep.

  At least her face had returned to normal, leaving only a bit of yellow to show for her ordeal. She was lucky. And she knew it.

  The sounds of saws, hammering, and children’s laughter lifted her spirits. Green’s property was the antithesis of its name, for not a tree, shrub, or blade of grass graced the L-shaped lot. But neither did any trash, debris, waste, or mud. And as each phase of construction concluded, the boys helping felt a sense of ownership and pride.

  She smiled. The playground was already achieving its goal and it hadn’t even opened yet.

  A flurry of activity congregated on the western side of the lot. Older boys sliced logs in the shape of sausage patties. Others handed them to Hunter, who then arranged and nailed them into a giant, climbable mound.

  “Look, Dr. Tate! It’s so tall!” The girls raced toward the structure, squealing in excitement.

  One of the boys working a saw scowled. “Get on out of here. This isn’t anyplace for you to be. There’s dangerous work going on.”

  Four of the girls immediately stopped and cowered. But Elspeth, a young Irish girl who’d been unfailing in her effort to help Billy, didn’t so much as slow, her thick orange braid lying over her shoulder. “This playground is as much ours as it is yours, Terence McIntosh. And if you don’t let us see what you’re doin’, I’ll be telling our ma you’ve been stealing kisses from Kristin Hannigan.”

  Flushing, the boy threw down his saw. Though he didn’t have orange hair, he too was of Irish descent. “You take that back, or you’ll be sorry, you will.”

  Boots planted wide, Elspeth flipped her braid over her shoulder and prepared to deal with her brother. Hunter leaped the ten feet to the ground, landing in front of her, then turned and faced Terence.

  Billy
couldn’t see Hunter’s face or hear what he said, but whatever it was, it gave Terence pause. Still, when Hunter wasn’t looking, the boy’s green eyes promised his sister retribution.

  Billy joined the girls still holding back. “Come on, now. Let’s show these boys what we’ve been working on.”

  Hunter snagged her gaze, gave her a private hello with his eyes, then waved the children over.

  They laid the ropes on the ground, showing how they’d been cut to just the right length with large knots tied on one end.

  “This one won’t work.” Terence held up an extra-long one with knots on both ends.

  “That’s our jump rope, ya giddy goat.” Elspeth rolled her eyes.

  Dropping the rope, Terence leaped toward his sister.

  Hunter snagged the boy’s arm, his reflexes fast and unwavering. Billy wondered if he was as quick as those sharpshooters the Wild West Show advertised.

  Stepping forward, she bounced Joey at her shoulder. “Who’d like to try the jump rope out?”

  All were willing, yet only the girls and a couple of the boys knew how. Appalled, Billy propped Joey farther up on her shoulder, then picked up one end of the rope and directed one of the boys to the other end.

  “Now, swing it back and forth like this,” she said. “Like a hammock.”

  They rocked the rope.

  “That’s right.” She searched the group. “Elspeth, why don’t you start. And once you’re jumping we’ll all say ‘Bluebells, cockleshells, easy, ivy, over.’ On the word ‘over’ ”—she looked at the boy at the other end of the rope—“you and I will start swinging the rope up and over. Are you ready?”

  Biting his tongue, he nodded.

  “Anytime, Elspeth,” she said.

  The girl jumped over the swaying rope with ease, her braid lifting and falling.

  “All right,” Billy glanced at the others. “Here we go. Bluebells, cockleshells, easy, ivy, over.”

  They swung the rope over the girl’s head with plenty of clearance. After a few jumps, Elspeth began to recite a skipping rhyme, her Irish lilt bringing it to life.

  My ma’s man’s a miner.

  He works at Abbeyhill.

  He gets his pay on Sa-tur-day,

  And buys a half a gill.

  He goes to church on Sunday,

  A half an hour late.

  He pulls his buttons off his shirt,

  And puts them in the plate.

  One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .

  The rest of them joined in with the counting until Elspeth’s feet missed a step and stopped the rope. Laughing, the girl ran to relieve the boy at the other end of the rope.

  Next, a blond girl of about seven jumped over the swaying rope.

  “Bluebells, cockleshells, easy, ivy, over.”

  To Billy’s surprise, the girl recited her rhyme in German, though she could speak English without any trouble. When she finished, she relieved Billy.

  The next jumper was new to the game, so Terence recited a rhyme for him.

  Eaver Weaver, chimney sweeper,

  Had a wife and couldn’t keep her,

  Had another, didn’t love her,

  Up the chimney did he shove her.

  One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .

  They continued until everyone had a turn. When Elspeth reached the front of the line again, she waved Billy over. “It’s your turn, Dr. Tate.”

  “Oh, no.” She patted Joey’s back. “I have the baby.”

  “I’ll take him.” Orli, a Jewish girl from the back of the line, ran forward, arms open.

  Biting her lip, Billy looked at Hunter standing on the other side of the children. “I haven’t jumped in years.”

  He winked. “You’ll be fine.”

  Relinquishing the babe, she caught the timing of the rope, then lifted her skirts, and began to jump.

  “Bluebells, cockleshells, easy, ivy, over.”

  She held her breath, but found that the rhythm came back to her immediately—as did a skipping rhyme.

  Mrs. White had a fright,

  In the middle of the night.

  She saw a ghost eating toast,

  Halfway up the lamppost.

  One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Hunter hand one of the boys his hat, then step up to the front. After watching the rope for a second, he ran in and began jumping with her.

  The children squealed in delight.

  Facing her, he held her gaze and called his chant in a loud, clear voice.

  Will I marry? Tell me so.

  Is the answer yes or no?

  Yes, no, may-be so.

  Yes, no, may-be so.

  The children immediately took up the chant. “Yes, no, may-be so. Yes, no, may-be so. Yes, no—”

  Her foot missed a beat. The rope struck her ankle.

  “Oh!” She put her arms out to steady herself.

  Hooking her around the waist, he pulled her against him and dropped his voice. “Maybe so.”

  Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths. Her heart pounded from more than the exertion.

  He kept his voice soft and her body against his. “How’s your jaw, Dr. Tate?”

  She knew what he was asking. “I’m much better, Mr. Scott.”

  He drew up one side of his mouth. “Fully recovered?”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  The girls began to giggle. The boys looked on with disappointment, their hero sliding a bit in their estimation. Terence wore a knowing smirk.

  She stepped away, hoping they would credit her red face to the rigors of jumping. “Well, girls, we’d best let these gentlemen get to work.”

  Thanking Orli, she took Joey, then stepped backward and encountered Hunter’s bulk.

  He stopped her with one hand on her waist and cupped the babe’s head with his other, then gave it a peck. “See you in a bit, fella.”

  She looked at Hunter over her shoulder.

  Leaning down, he gave her a quick kiss, flush on the lips, right there in front of everyone.

  The boys groaned.

  He smiled. “I’ll see you in a bit, too, Billy girl. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  Clearing her throat, she had the girls gather up the ropes, then head back to Hull House.

  “He’s watching ya, Dr. Tate,” Elspeth whispered, looking over her shoulder. “Aren’t ya gonna turn around and wave?”

  “A man enjoys the chase, Elspeth. It’s how God made them. We mustn’t spoil all his fun by making it too easy.” They were words Billy’s mother had passed down to her. She took a surprising amount of pleasure in passing them along to others.

  The girl took on a contemplative look and Billy almost pitied the boys who’d one day catch the young girl’s eye.

  The words of Hunter’s skipping rhyme repeated themselves in her mind. Had she found him? Had she finally found a man whom she was wildly attracted to, whom she had deep feelings for, and who would stay home with their children while she worked?

  She hugged Joey close and whispered in his ear. “I hope so, little one. I really hope so.”

  NEW ENGLAND CLAM BAKE BUILDING26

  “The two-story structure just beyond the Fisheries Building held thousands of restaurant goers all talking over one another.”

  CHAPTER

  31

  Texas Ranger Captain Heywood sat across from Hunter, his silver-gray Stetson on the chair beside him, his expression none too happy. He’d arrived at the Columbian Exposition without any forewarning and found his top Ranger still abed. Or what appeared to be still abed. When, in fact, Hunter had only just fallen asleep.

  “So you’re telling me Rice has you on night duty?” Though the captain had recently turned sixty and now spent his time checking on his Rangers rather than chasing desperadoes, he still had eyes that could chill a side of beef.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The staff-covered facades, arches, and pilasters of the New England
Clam Bake Building were festooned with fishnets, lobsters, clams, and other crustaceans. The two-story structure just beyond the Fisheries Building held thousands of restaurant goers all talking over one another. Hunter never expected to be one of them. It would mark his first—and most likely last—fancy meal at the fair.

  The captain leaned back in his chair. “Your letter back in May said Rice moved you to the day shift.”

  “He had.”

  “You never said in what capacity.” Despite its gray color, the man’s hair was thick enough to supply two others half his age.

  “I was assigned to control the crowd at the Woman’s Congress, then, once that was over, I was stationed at the Woman’s Building.”

  The captain stared at him. “The Woman’s Building.”

  “Yes, sir. They have priceless art there, along with jewels, gowns, and valuables on loan from queens and other royalty from all over the world.” He hesitated. “Much of it is rather impressive, sir.”

  A waiter in a blue-and-white-striped nautical shirt and red bandanna brought them a platter of clams and two plates.

  The captain made no move toward his food. “Did you do something to make Rice angry?”

  “No, sir. He said he was impressed with how well I handled the women at the Congress. They were, um, challenging for many of the other guards.”

  “But not for you.”

  He thought of Billy coming through the cellar window. “No, sir. I had no problems with them at all.”

  With a deep breath, the captain tucked his napkin into his collar and scooped some clams onto his plate. “What about that big fire they had in one of the other buildings? Did you do anything to distinguish yourself there?”

  Sorrow settled on his shoulders. “There wasn’t anything, sir. Everything that could be done was being done.”

  The fire had been of unprecedented proportions and had occurred on one of Billy’s days off. He was glad, for once, she’d been on the West Side and out of reach. He hated to think about her having to deal with the victims of that tragedy.