Fair Play

by Deeanne Gist

  “So what’s this about night duty?” the captain asked.

  Hunter jabbed some clams with his fork. “Rice put me on it a few weeks back.”

  “What do you guard?”

  “The same building.”

  The captain stared at him. Waiting.

  Hunter put the clams in his mouth.

  “That’s it?” the captain said. “You’ve done nothing but guard the Woman’s Building this entire time?”

  “I’m to keep my eye on a much smaller building right next to it, but nothing worth mentioning.”

  Setting down his fork, Heywood sat back in his chair. “Why did he take you off the day duty? Were they having a problem at the Woman’s Building during the night?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then why did he move you?”

  Hunter swallowed his bite. “He got wind of something I did.”

  “And what was that?”

  “I had an eight-year-old boy released from the pokey.”

  “An eight-year-old? What the blazes did he do?”

  “Some older boys dared him to steal a handful of coal out of an inoperative train.”

  The captain pulled on his ear. “And instead of taking him home and telling his parents, the officer arrested him?”

  “The boy was from the wrong side of the river.”

  “Ah.” The captain served himself a second helping. “And Rice didn’t like you seeing to the boy’s release?”

  “No, sir. Our jurisdiction is over the fair. He doesn’t want us interfering with the city.”

  “I can appreciate that.” He took a swig of coffee, then looked at the watery brew. “That’s awfully weak.”

  “I know. They’ve nothing but stump water up here.”

  Heywood set down his cup. “I’m assuming you’ve done as Rice has told you, then? And kept yourself away from the jail?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s good. Because things are kinda tense back home. With the frontier beginning to disappear—and the outlaws with it—there’s talk of curtailing the Rangers. Even dissolving us.”

  Hunter’s stomach dropped. All his plans, all his dreams, all his future were tied up with the Rangers. They couldn’t shut them down. They couldn’t. “Dissolve us? But, we . . . they can’t . . . don’t they realize . . .”

  “I know. We’re fighting it tooth and nail, but in the meantime, it’s mighty important you do well up here. This fair is getting attention from the top down. If you could do something, anything, that would distinguish yourself, well, I’m just saying it would help.”

  Hunter shook his head. “Nothing happens here at night. The most excitement I have is a duckling from the lagoon venturing too far from its mama.”

  Gravity pulled at the captain’s features, making him look every bit his age. “I have to say I’m disappointed, Scott. I thought you’d do us proud. But women’s buildings and night shifts aren’t much to go home and crow about.”

  Shame flooded him. He was one of the best Rangers in their company, if not the best. That’s why he’d been sent to the fair in the first place. But everything was different up here. They didn’t ride horses. They didn’t wear guns. They didn’t do ambushes. He had no power to speak of. And nobody needed him to track any outlaws.

  Still, he wasn’t going to make excuses. “What do you reckon I should I do, sir?”

  “Your job. You can’t play with the big dogs unless you get off the porch. So make sure you do what you have to to get yourself promoted to a higher-profile position.” Throwing some bills onto the table, he shoved back his chair. “And in the meantime, stay clear of anything going on outside the boundaries of this fair. You’re representing our entire organization. What you do—or don’t do—could very well influence how we weather this thing.” Rising, he placed his Stetson on his head. “I’m counting on you, Scott. We all are.”

  Hunter rose. “I won’t disappoint you, sir.”

  “See that you don’t.” The captain walked out of the restaurant. He was set to meet with the governor in just under an hour. He’d not volunteered what it was they’d be discussing.

  Hunter sat on a bench in Crockett’s island, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. The early morning dew seeped through the seat of his trousers, but his shift was over, so he’d be taking the uniform off anyway.

  After his meeting with the governor, the captain had left for Washington, D.C. The jeopardy of the Rangers shook Hunter to the very core. He wasn’t worried about obtaining another job. With his background, any sheriff’s office in Texas would take him on right quick.

  But he didn’t want any other job. The Rangers had been around since before the Alamo, though nothing was official until ’35. Still, through hard work and discipline and sheer willpower, they’d become a force to be reckoned with. A legend of their own making.

  They’d investigated murders, caught bank robbers, tracked down outlaws, put out riots, outdrawn gunslingers, protected their borders, and guarded presidents. They inspired pulp fiction novels and many a campfire story. Only the best of the best were allowed into their companies.

  And he was one of them. He liked his silver badge with its five-pointed star. He liked the awe it inspired. And he liked the danger. The risk. The wide-open spaces. A Ranger was all he’d ever wanted to be.

  Most sheriffs were only responsible for one county. But he didn’t have to be cooped up like that. He and his fellow Rangers watched over all of Texas. And because of it, there were things he could do, criminals he could track, that other lawmen couldn’t. The thought of a bunch of soft, paunchy politicians signing them out of existence just about frosted his ankles. Couldn’t they see they were driving their ducks toward a mighty poor pond?

  What you do—or don’t do—could very well influence how we weather this thing.

  He rubbed his eyes with the balls of his hands. He’d been working this fair for almost three months. There’d been no murders. No shoot-outs. No mobs. No hangings. Nothing. If something like that were to happen, he’d be the one for the job. But if there wasn’t—and he didn’t expect there to be—just what was he was supposed to do to set himself apart from the rest? Every single one of the Columbian Guards was tougher than a basket of snakes.

  They were army men and navy men. They were tall and they were strong. A blue million of them could converse in a dozen different tongues. Some were even experts with their swords. Their intelligence, discipline, and zeal would give the Rangers back home a run for their money.

  So just where did that leave him? On the night shift.

  Stay clear of anything going on outside the boundaries of this fair.

  He didn’t even want to think about what the captain would say if he found out Hunter was building a playground in the heart of the city. Playgrounds weren’t exactly the kind of thing a Ranger used to inspire fear and awe.

  Still, he couldn’t simply walk away from it. Not now. It was set to open this Sunday after church. He only had a few details left. The fence around the perimeter was finished, the sand bin full, the maypole sunk, the frame for the swings erected. He still needed to seat the seesaw and fit the ropes Billy had made onto the swings. Other than that, all that was left was opening the gates.

  Once Sunday was over, however, he wouldn’t be going to the West Side anymore. He needed to stay on the premises and do what he could to help save the Rangers. Maybe he could pick up a few shifts from some of the other fellas. Particularly those who were guarding priceless artifacts. If he did that, and did a better than good job, perhaps the colonel would hear about it and move him back to days—hopefully to something more prestigious than the Woman’s Building.

  MAYPOLE ON HULL HOUSE PLAYGROUND27

  “Billy had been teaching girls the steps to the maypole dance, but today would be their dress rehearsal and the first time they’d practiced with actual ribbons.”

  CHAPTER

  32

  Billy shaded her eyes and watched as Hunter secured the last
colorful ribbon to the maypole. Someone from the Chicago Women’s Club had spread the word about tomorrow’s grand opening of the playground and a groundswell of support had resulted. Various schools and individuals had been dropping off baskets full of flowers for winners of tomorrow’s competitions. A volunteer brass band offered to provide music during the maypole dance. And a reporter from the Chicago Tribune was set to attend.

  Billy was as excited as the children. She’d been teaching a dozen girls—all of different nationalities—the steps to the maypole dance, but today would be their dress rehearsal and the first time they’d practiced with actual ribbons.

  The girls raced to grab their favorite color, then held the streamers aloft while Hunter slid down the pole. As soon as he ducked out from under them, Billy clapped out a beat. The girls wove and unwove, tied and untied, all in choreographed formations. They had many starts and stops as some jumped ahead and others fell behind, until finally, the girls caught the rhythm and plaited the streamers in an intricate and colorful pattern.

  The boys hanging swings stopped to watch. Children outside the wire fence sat cross-legged and clapped in time. Hunter pushed back the rim of his hat and tapped his booted toe.

  When they completed the dance, Billy lifted her arms in the air like a pugilist and jumped up and down. “Yes! That’s it! Look, girls! It’s beautiful.”

  Their impromptu audience cheered. Hunter whistled.

  Terence grabbed his sister by the neck and rubbed his knuckles along her scalp. “That was a pretty fair dance you did, Elspeth.”

  She gave him a playful shove and broke free. “Can we untangle them now, Dr. Tate?”

  And so they began again, except reversing their steps.

  Mr. Carlisle arrived and gave a shout of greeting.

  Opening the gate, Hunter held out his hand. “Eddie, thanks for coming.”

  Billy had never seen Mr. Carlisle in anything but the Columbian Guard uniform he wore at the Woman’s Building and almost didn’t recognize him in regular clothes. He, like Hunter, was tall and broad, but where Hunter exuded a virile, rugged, cowboy masculinity, Mr. Carlisle had more of a little brother, devil-may-care way about him. His winsome ways and quick smile caused not a few sighs from the girls.

  The eighteen boys who were to be part of tomorrow’s military drill were let inside the area and Carlisle began teaching them their steps.

  Leaving them to it, Billy corralled the girls and headed back to Hull House, a rush of joy filling her. The sullen, downtrodden girls of before were now chattering and laughing. Skipping and holding hands. Racing and singing. The more they spoke in English and learned American customs, the more they began to forget they were of different skin tones and from different countries.

  At the kindergarten cottage, Billy paused at the door. “You girls go on to the coffeehouse and start sorting out the sacks, potatoes, and ropes for tomorrow’s races. I’m going to get Joey, then I’ll be right there.”

  She stepped into the noisy cottage of youngsters and gave a small wave to the teachers, but instead of smiling back, they looked at one another, then avoided eye contact. Perhaps the children had been unusually fussy.

  Lifting her skirts, she jogged up the steps, humming under her breath. The familiar smells of soiled diapers, malted milk, and borated talcum powder added to her happiness. They were scents she would forever associate with Joey.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Chaffee,” she said.

  Again, no smile was forthcoming from the stout, middle-aged nursemaid. Instead, she put down the baby bottle in her hand, placed the infant she’d been feeding against her shoulder, and set her rocker in motion.

  Walking across the room, Billy approached Joey’s crib. Only, it was empty. “Where’s Joey?”

  She looked in the other cribs, but he wasn’t there.

  Miss Chaffee said nothing.

  A tingle of alarm raced up her spine. She looked again at Joey’s crib. The bed linens were not mussed but pristine, as if he hadn’t been in the bed all day.

  She’d been a doctor long enough to know infants often died in their cribs for no apparent reason, but she’d just seen him yesterday and he’d been fine. More than fine. He’d learned to laugh and giggle. Smile and babble. He was healthy, round, and pudgy. He was . . . perfect. “Miss Chaffee?”

  The woman lifted her gaze, her blue eyes dull.

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s not here.”

  “I can see that. Where is he?”

  Miss Chaffee swallowed. “A fancy lady came to deliver some flowers for tomorrow.”

  Her arms began to tremble. “Please don’t change the subject. Just tell me where he is.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do. He’s, he’s with that lady.”

  Billy frowned. “The one who brought the flowers?”

  “Yes.”

  Letting out a whoosh of breath, she laid a hand on her chest. “Oh, Miss Chaffee. Don’t do that. You scared me to death. I thought something had happened to him.”

  “No, doc. Nothing’s happened. He’s right as rain.”

  “Thank goodness.” The vise around her heart began to loosen. “Are the two of them at the coffeehouse, then?”

  Miss Chaffee pulled her chin down, causing it to fold into two. “No, child. I meant she took him with her.”

  Billy shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “She and her mister. They don’t have any children. And Joey, well, everyone’s heard his story, about being abandoned at the fair. So this lady, she came to peek in on him after dropping off the flowers, took one look, and, well, she spoke to Miss Addams. The woman’s husband came right down and it was all arranged.”

  Her heart started hammering again. “Are you saying she took him home with her? To keep? Just like that? Just took one look and said, ‘He’s mine’?”

  The baby Miss Chaffee held began to fuss. She returned him to her arms and gave him the bottle. He rooted, missing the rubber nipple in his desperate search before latching on. A look of contentment immediately followed.

  Emotion rushed up Billy’s throat. Joey used to do that. She grabbed onto the edge of his crib. “Who was she? What’s her name?”

  Miss Chaffee gave her a sympathetic look. “I don’t know. Only Miss Addams knows. But she’s not going to be able to—”

  Billy rushed out of the room, down the stairs, and out the door. With skirt hiked up, she ran to Hull House, in the back door, through the kitchen, and into the drawing room.

  No one there.

  Crossing the entryway, she passed through the first and second parlors until she reached the door of Miss Addams’s octagonal office.

  She rapped on the door. “Miss Addams?”

  “Come in.”

  Billy flung open the door, her chest rising and falling. “They said you gave Joey away.”

  Miss Addams quickly rose and rounded her desk. “Come in, doctor.”

  Billy shook her head. “You didn’t really, did you? He’s coming back, right?”

  Miss Addams reached for Billy. “Please, come—”

  “No.” Her throat began to work. “No. How could you? You knew how I felt. I . . . he’s . . . how could you?”

  Miss Addams clasped her hands in front of her. “They are a very well-to-do couple and have been unable to have children. They will be able to give him a life of privilege and love. You are like me. A working woman. You’re not married and would not be able to keep him. If you had, he wouldn’t have been here.”

  “I’ve helped.” Tears filled her eyes. “I’ve helped as much and as often as I could.”

  “You have. You’ve been a wonderful boon. Not just to Joey, but to Hull House and the children of the West Side. But we’re not an orphanage. We’re not equipped to take children in permanently. We were only keeping Joey temporarily with the hopes we could find a loving home for him. We’re extremely lucky to have found someone. And someone who doesn’t need him as an extra laborer or farmhand. In anot
her month, we’d have had to take him to an orphanage.”

  Billy’s nostrils distended as she tried to hold back her emotions. “But I might get married. I would have taken him then.”

  She lifted her brows. “You’re planning to give up your practice when you marry?”

  “No, no. My . . . the man I’m going to marry. He’s agreed to let me work after marriage.”

  “Then who will take care of Joey?”

  “He will.”

  Miss Addams stared at her. “He’s going to be the . . . wife?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure you haven’t misunderstood?”

  “I’m sure. Very sure. What if we get married right away? Today? Can we have Joey back?”

  Stepping forward, Miss Addams took her by the hand and led her to a pair of chairs. They sat, facing each other.

  “I cannot get Joey back, Dr. Tate. It wouldn’t be right. Not after they’ve already welcomed him into their home.”

  Her lips became dry, sticking slightly when she opened them. “But what about me? I’ve had him since birth almost. She’s had him for less than a day. Please, Miss Addams.”

  “I’m sorry. I cannot.” She took a deep breath. “I will not.”

  “Who took him?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “You can’t even tell me who they are?”

  “That was part of our agreement.”

  Clamping her lips with her teeth, she hugged herself. This couldn’t be happening. How would she ever find him? Chicago was huge. Filled with over a million people. He could be anywhere. For all she knew, he might have been given to a couple passing through to see the fair.

  She had no idea what to do. Where to even start. But Hunter would know. And he wouldn’t allow this. He’d get Joey back.

  “Excuse me, but I have to go.” Shooting to her feet, she rushed out of the office, burst into the alley, and ran pell-mell for the playground. He saw her the minute she rounded Polk Street and dropped the ropes in his hands. Knocking open the gate, he never slowed until he reached her.