by Anna Schmidt
“Okay!” Joe ran back off to the playroom.
Mike moved to go into the kitchen.
Maggie stopped him. Gave him a hug. “Thank you.”
“For?” He kept his voice gruff to stave off any more rising emotions. He’d had enough of those already and he’d barely gotten in the door.
“You bring hope, Mike.” She backed off and smiled at him. “It’s your gift.”
Hope, huh?
His hope hadn’t helped his little sister all that much, and he had no idea how to handle the situation. He could barely talk about her condition without wanting to wring the boy’s neck.
And maybe hers.
He’d been young once, but it seemed so long ago now. He understood temptation. And truth to tell, he was no saint, but society allowed different standards for men.
God doesn’t.
The truth of that made Mike sigh.
Eventually he’d matured. Being a soldier had a way of doing that to a man, and serving on multiple fronts deepened the process. But he’d never been a young girl, bereft of parents, longing for love while her big brother worked away his grief protecting the streets of New York. Which meant he’d failed to serve and protect the most important person assigned to him, his little sister.
The swinging door opened once more. This time Mary Lynn came through, carrying a pile of freshly ironed linen napkins. She didn’t look up, didn’t meet his eye, and the pain of that pierced deep.
Did she hate him?
Fear him?
Was she scared to death of what was to come? Because frankly, he was.
She set the napkins around the table, then the silverware, chin down, her blonde hair a curtain drawn over half her face.
He’d stopped at a church early that morning, grateful for the open door. The softly lit sanctuary called him forward. He sank to his knees on a leather-wrapped kneeler and folded his hands, but when he looked up at the cross, anger skewed his emotions. He saw no sacrifice in the burnished oak. All he saw were two planks of wood, crossed in geometric simplicity. And that made him feel even more alone.
“Mare? You need help?” He offered the words as a gesture, because they both knew she needed more help than he could give, but today, for the holiday, they’d pretend everything was all right. Even though it wasn’t.
* * * * *
“You be good for Jane, okay?” Karen gave Laurie one last kiss and then turned her attention to the morning volunteer who had offered to watch her. “And you’re sure you don’t mind having Laurie here? The weather—”
“She’s fine. Go. Ring that bell. No reason for Laurie to be out in the cold today.”
Karen gathered her cloak close as she walked to the Lexington Avenue station. Wind whipped beneath her layered bonnet, and she wished she’d had time to knit a warm hat and scarf for herself, but work and Laurie took the bulk of her time. She was blessed to have a room at the hospital, though, a cozy corner where she and Laurie could be safe and unencumbered with extra bills. Living practically rent free meant a slightly lower salary, but in Manhattan, low rent was nothing to shrug off. And the hospital provided a safe and secure environment for her daughter, and that was nothing Karen took lightly.
She exited the subway in Midtown and hurried to her kettle station, east of where she’d stood yesterday.
Throngs of shoppers made walking slow, and her nursing watch told her she was already five minutes late. She passed Arnie’s Bagels on her right. The warm dough scent was just as good, maybe better, than yesterday because now she understood the delicious chewiness of his hand-turned, fresh-baked bagels.
The girls would eat the second half of the bagels tonight with their dinners, and that was a thought to savor.
She spotted the kettle on the edge of Broadway and paused to collect her bearings. The drop-off person had set it too close to the road, but foot traffic and the cumbersome tripod made it almost impossible to shift the heavy kettle easily. The lock on the kettle made stealing more difficult, but it also meant the whole assembly had to be moved as one.
She drew a breath and started to encircle the unwieldy setup with her arms.
“Let me help.”
She knew that voice. That tone, deep and steady. Firm but kind. “Mike.”
He smiled down at her and lifted two legs of the tripod while she grasped the third. “Where would you like this?” he asked.
“Closer to the buildings,” she told him. “I won’t be collecting anything that close to the road. Unless the taxi drivers decide to throw me their fares.”
His laugh said he didn’t expect that to happen.
Neither did Karen. But then, she hadn’t expected Mike to be on hand to help her get settled with the kettle, and he’d appeared out of nowhere, a knight in shining armor.
Or a man on a mission, with one thought in mind.
“Where’s Laurie today?” His face, gently humored, made her think of long walks and chess games, peaceful afternoons. But his eyes still showed the depth of old aches.
“With a friend.” She wouldn’t say anything more than that, no identifiers. “It’s kind of nasty to have her out here.”
“It’s nasty for you, too.” His voice scolded just a little, as if he cared about her comfort and warmth. “How long are you here today?”
“Two hours.” She made sure the kettle and tripod were secure before withdrawing the bell from her cloak pocket. She started tolling the bell, its cheerful noise drawing smiles from happy shoppers.
“Let me start you off.” Mike reached into his uniform pocket and withdrew a folded bill. As he pushed the folded bill into the money slot, a few folks noticed what he was doing.
Another person filed up to the kettle, slid some quiet money into the slot, and hurried away. He was followed by a mother and two teenage daughters. They fussed as they dug into purses and pockets for every bit of spare change they could find, and when they started inserting the pile of coins, the steady Clink! Clink! Clink! turned heads her way.
“Merry Christmas!” Karen sang the words out, cheerful and sweet, just the way she’d heard others do in the past, remembering a night when a bell ringer’s voice hailed her to warmth and safety. She’d been saved that night, in more ways than one.
Now it was her turn.
More folks stopped by, dropping loose change and the occasional folded bill into the shiny red kettle.
“And you’re on your way.” Mike’s look congratulated her on a good start.
“Thank you for seeding the pot,” she whispered, and when he drew close . . .
So close she could count specks of pale green in sky-blue eyes . . .
He reached out and grasped her hand. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you later.”
His words spiked her heart rhythm, but wasn’t that exactly how she’d felt six years ago? As if Gilbert’s promises meant something?
They didn’t and she’d been foolish, but now she considered herself wiser. Especially where romance was concerned.
For nearly an hour she rang the bell, nonstop. The steady stream of well-wishers and contributors made her feel as if she was accomplishing something today. Making a difference. And wasn’t that another part of why she opted to take the less lucrative job with the Salvation Army hospital? Because these kind, good people made a difference in down-and-out lives, every single day. And she wanted to be part of that.
“Karen? Try this.”
Karen turned with just over an hour to go. Hands numb, she’d been alternating them beneath her cape to maintain some warmth, but it was a feeble gesture in the face of the low temperatures and cold, wet wind. She pulled up a smile from somewhere down deep. “You’re back.”
“Mm-hmm.” Firm hands looped an extra-long, bright red knitted scarf around her neck. Then Mike handed her a matching hat, thick-knit and lined with red cotton. He smiled approval as she pulled the hat down over her head, then drew the bonnet back up to provide another layer of protection.
“Better?”
It was embarrassing to admit, but . . . “Much,” she told him. “I can feel my ears again. Almost.”
He smiled, then held out a pair of costly black gloves. Karen recognized the quality right off and took a full step back, concerned. “I can’t accept those, Mike.”
“You can’t wear warm gloves?” His eyebrows spiked sky-high. “That’s the silliest thing I ever heard.”
She frowned, exasperated, unsure what to say. “I can’t because that’s an expensive gift.” Her gaze swept the lined leather gloves. “I don’t accept gifts from strangers. As a police officer, I’m sure you understand the logic in that.”
“Well.” He stood firm at her side, allowing plenty of room for people to feed the kettle in front of her. The duller sound of the coins meant today’s kettle would help feed many. “These aren’t gifts. They were my mother’s, and she’d be insulted if they sat in our house, unused, while someone stood out in the cold. She’d be affronted by the very idea.”
“She’s gone?”
He drew a breath and nodded, but the ache in his eyes said more than his next words. “Four months ago. Cancer. And if you were to have met her, you’d realize that nothing in her house went to waste or sat unused. The very thought would be a travesty of her faith. So, please.” He held out the gloves again. “On behalf of Irina Rose Wolzak, accept these gloves to keep your hands warm. It is the least she would do if she were here. I brought them to the station this morning, in case I saw you.”
His words opened her heart and touched her soul. She reached out and Mike peeled her thin gloves from her hands. Then he held out the leather ones, one hand at a time, allowing her to slip her fingers into the fur-lined hand protectors.
Her smile inspired his, and it broadened as she wiggled her fingers. He grasped her hands in his for just a second, but what a sweet second it was. “Better?”
“So much.”
He dipped his chin with a victor’s grace, as if he’d just won an important battle. “Good. Stay safe.” He tipped his policeman’s cap and moved on, walking the beat with an easy air. But then, he was carrying a night stick and a gun, so he could walk most anywhere un-accosted.
The thick scarf warmed her neck and chest. The hat was snugged tight against her head, and while her hair would look dreadful once she arrived back at the Booth Memorial Home, no one there would care. And she felt so much more comfortable bundled up this way.
But the gloves were the best. Warm fur blanketed both of her hands, from palm to the tip of each finger. Slowly the iced feeling left her, and warmth replaced it.
How did he know to bring her things?
As she watched his broad shoulders move south on Broadway, she realized that his days were exposed to the elements as well. So of course he’d know what she needed to stand out here hour after hour.
But why does he care? What’s in it for him?
A tiny corner of her heart longed to wish for the sincere interest of a good man, a gentle soul, but her track record didn’t bode well in that department.
Maybe Mike was as nice and sincere as he seemed.
Maybe he wasn’t.
But in any case, she was blessed by what he shared, his mother’s accessories, to keep her warm.
The soft scent of sweet vanilla perfumed her face, her chin. Irina had chosen a welcoming aroma, a smell that reminded Karen of vintage kitchens and fresh-baked cookies.
She might do just that tonight, she decided. Once she had a nap, that is. Tonight’s overnight shift would end just in time for Laurie to visit a friend tomorrow. Karen would catch a few hours of sleep first thing in the morning, ring the bell, and then catch another nap before doing the weekend overnight shift.
And then have a quiet Sunday with her daughter. Those hours together made everything else totally worth it.
Chapter Three
• • • • • • • • • • • •
He’d pleased Karen.
A silly grin leaked up from nowhere Mike recognized, a smile in response to a young woman’s look of pleasure and comfort.
He felt good, but when a young thug made off with an elderly woman’s purse two storefronts ahead of him, Mike took off in hot pursuit.
The kid was quick.
Mike was quicker. Of course it didn’t hurt that the clutch of shoppers held the kid up, thwarting his idea of a swift escape. And by the time Mike had the cuffs on him, backup had arrived. The new cop on-scene put in a call for a pickup, but the harried note in the dispatcher’s voice said it wouldn’t be arriving any too soon.
“Great.” The second cop glared at the miscreant, then his watch. “My wife has company coming over tonight, kid. The first time she’s had guts enough to plan anything since we got married, and I’ll be late getting there because you had to knock off an old woman for six dollars and forty-two cents.”
The kid stared down, silent and still.
“Call his mother,” Mike advised. That got the kid’s attention. His chin jerked up and his eyes raked the street, searching for a means of escape.
There was none.
“I bet his mother doesn’t know sonny-boy is out here ripping off old ladies. Does she, son?” Mike laid the question out as if the kid was a long-lost best friend. He leaned in as the kid showed signs of remorse. “She’ll be disappointed, I expect.”
“Mike, we’ve got another situation.” Reggie Smith jerked his head north. “Two kids just ripped off a Salvation Army bell ringer up Broadway. They knocked her down and ran off with the kettle. Some people tried to stop them, but they hopped into a car waiting a block up and sped off.”
Mike heard one thing only. “Salvation Army bell ringer.”
He tossed Reggie the keys to the cuffs and set off at a run. “I’m covering the bell ringer. Call Bucci to help you here.”
“Will do.”
Three blocks separated him from Karen. He’d felt pretty light on his feet when he walked away from her a half hour before. Her accepting attitude made him appreciate things, and he hadn’t had a lot to feel good about lately. Karen’s smile changed that.
Now his feet felt leaden, even though they ate the ground with a speed he didn’t know he possessed.
What if the kids hurt her? Visions of her lying there, injured, took over his senses.
Anger rose inside him, raw fury, a thrusting surge he hadn’t felt since returning home from the front. He cut through lights, bounded the curb, and nearly plowed two older women over in his hurry.
The women scolded something in Italian but went silent when he paused before Karen. Then the two old ladies adopted a more interested posture, along with the small crowd gathered at the corner’s edge.
“Are you all right?” He said it too gruffly, too overwrought, making it sound like the mugging was her fault.
She swung his way and looked happy to see him. “Mike, I’m so glad you came.”
He stared, confused, because the woman before him didn’t look roughed up, or even all that riled. Maybe Reggie was wrong. Or maybe . . . and he hated that he welcomed this idea with more joy than he should have . . . it was a different bell ringer needing his help.
But no. One glance around showed her kettle was gone, tripod and all. “Of course I came.” His inner fury lessened a little because she looked no worse for the wear except for a long streak of muddy water staining the back of her cloak. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, a little wet. Mussed up, for sure. But, Mike”—she leaned closer, her face pinched in worry—“the money is gone. The kettle is gone. And we were doing so well today.”
“The important thing is you,” he insisted. He spun her around, making sure there was no hidden damage, but stopped when she squared her shoulders and faced him down.
“I am fine.” She stretched the words out, enunciating each one, convincing him. “But that money is meant for people down on their luck. The poor. The impoverished. How on earth am I going to replace it?”
“Replace it?” Did he sound as dumb as h
e felt? He hoped not, because they had quite a crowd gathered around them now, a crescent-shaped group, murmuring. Whispering. Wondering. “Karen, don’t worry about that. It’s just money.”
“Just money?”
Her mouth dropped open. Her eyes went wide. Clearly the concept of “just money” didn’t ring her bell. She looked so put out that Mike almost took a step back, but that would be silly. Right?
“That money feeds babies.” She poked a finger at him, narrowly missing his chest, but only because he retreated slightly. “It provides food and shelter for the poor. And Mike, it wasn’t my money. It was the army’s, and I was the guardian of it. I failed, and I need to replace it. How can I do that? Do you think you’ll find the kids that took the kettle? Get the money back?”
They’d try, but most likely the kettle would be found in less than pristine condition, sawed open and the money extracted. “We might.”
“But you might not.” Worry creased her brow, and he found himself in the awkward spot of wanting to soothe the furrow away. Hug her close to make her feel safe. Only she didn’t seem the least bit frightened.
Mad? Yes.
Concerned? Assuredly.
Frightened? Not a bit, and he wondered why that was. She’d just been mugged, for heaven’s sake. Shouldn’t she be?
“And how do we figure out what might have been in there?” She puzzled the question, pacing in front of the shop, seemingly oblivious to the crowd. “It’s not like I keep track of what folks contribute or anything like that.”
“Allow me to help.” A well-dressed man stepped forward and handed Mike a twenty-dollar bill. “Add this to her kettle funds whether or not you find it, okay?”
What choice did Mike have? “Um, sure. Of course. I—”
The Italian women walked up and gave him five dollars. “For the young lady’s kettle.”
A louder murmur swept a wave across the gathered crowd. As more and more people pressed forward to hand Mike money to keep for Karen’s kettle, other passersby paused, wondering what was going on. As the story passed on, how the bell ringer with the merry red scarf and hat was attacked and her kettle stolen, good-hearted people from every direction pushed in, wanting to add to the funds.