by Joanna Shupe
She went to Sam and Tom’s bedroom and knocked on the closed door. “Sam, honey, it’s Ava. May I come in?”
A muffled cough, then Sam’s voice said, “Yes.”
Dark shadows cloaked the room. Leaving the door open to filter in light, she lit the gas lamp by his bed. A thin figure was buried under the covers, shivering though the room was adequately heated. “Sam, what’s wrong?”
“I had to leave my corner. Thought I was going to faint.”
She brushed back his shaggy brown hair and felt his forehead. “You’re burning with fever. How long have you felt this way?”
“Since yesterday,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, Ava. I had to leave before I had a chance to sell all my papers. . . .” She could hear the waver in his voice. As a newsie, any papers Sam didn’t sell were taken out of his pay. Newspaper companies would not accept returned copies.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s important that you get better.”
“I’ll be better tomorrow. I have to be. Someone’ll take my corner if I’m not out there.”
A newsie’s corner meant everything to him, as a busy stretch could mean the difference between selling a hundred copies instead of ten. Sam had fought hard to maintain his corner near Broadway and Vesey. “Fine, if you’re well enough. I wouldn’t risk it, though. Did you eat dinner?”
“No, I’m not hungry. I just want to sleep.”
“I’m getting you a cool cloth, and you’re going to eat. Then sleep.”
“Ava—”
“No whining.” She went to the cupboard and found a clean rag. They shared the water closet in the hall with the other family on the floor. Ava hurried there and soaked the cloth with cool water before returning to fix Sam a bowl of soup. Once she had him settled, she sat heavily in a chair at the kitchen table.
“Rough day?” Tom had finished his dinner and sat nursing a glass of ale. Mary appeared, a bowl of hot soup in her hand, which she placed in front of Ava.
“Thank you. Sit, Mary. You look exhausted.”
“I’m fine. Sitting and sewing’s not so hard. Not compared to what you do.”
Ava would beg to differ, of course. She knew Mary’s hands were constantly sore from holding a needle, a perpetual backache from hunching over. “The show went well tonight. There was an even bigger crowd than last week.”
“Mary, I’ve got to talk to Ava,” Tom said. “Alone.”
Their sister’s brow furrowed, and Ava sought to reassure her even as her own insides twisted. Tom’s anger and frustration had been apparent in the last few months. It seemed the older he grew, the more he disagreed with Ava. “It’s all right, Mary. Go to bed.”
Mary glanced between the two of them then rested her gaze on Tom. “Fine. But this had better not be about those boys I saw you talking to after work.”
“I told you to mind your own business,” their brother snapped.
“Ava, he wants to join a gang.” Mary folded her bony arms. “Those boys steal things, I’ve seen them.”
“Shut up, Mary!” Tom bellowed, and he looked so much like their father in that instant that Ava’s heart hurt.
“Mary, please. Let me talk with him.”
Biting her lip, Mary nodded and left them alone. No one spoke for a long moment. Finally Ava pushed her bowl away, soup untouched. “Is this true? Are you hoping to join a gang?”
“They aren’t a gang.” He drained the rest of his ale and sat back. “They’re just a bunch of friends.”
“Who steal. A bunch of friends who steal things and then sell them for money.”
“You act like that’s a terrible thing when you’re nearly doin’ the same. Meeting with those rich folks and convincin’ them you hear their dead parents. Come on, Ava.”
That stung, especially since Will Sloane had accused her of the same not even two hours ago. “But what I do doesn’t hurt anyone. They willingly give me money for entertainment. It’s completely different than outright stealing from people.”
The shadows haunting his eyes deepened. “I hate that goddamn factory. You asked me to stick it out another year, but I can’t stand it any longer. I’m exhausted. This job is going to kill me or take my sanity. Either way, I can’t do it no more.”
“I know, Tom. But I only need four more months, if things continue. Four more months and then we’ll all be able to leave this godforsaken—”
“Maybe I don’t want to leave. Maybe Mary and Sam don’t want to leave either. Have you thought of that?”
Her mind stumbled over that information. Why would they want to stay here when they could have a house of their own and a piece of property? “We can have a better life outside the city.”
“Where we work on a farm from sunup to sundown? How the hell is that any different than what we do now? I’m tired of working all the time, Ava. There are people who have money—real money—and they don’t work fourteen hours a day, six days a week.”
“Because they steal it, you mean.”
He shrugged. “Beg, borrow, steal . . . what’s the difference?”
“A lot, Tom. There’s a big difference. And I do not want you turning to a life of petty thievery. You’re better than that.”
“No, I’m not. And the sooner we all realize it, the better off we’ll be.” He stood. “You’ve done so much for us. Never think I’m not grateful. But I’m almost sixteen, and it’s time for me to do my share for the family.”
“Please, give me four more months. That’s all we need.”
He crossed his arms and stared at the window, lines of unhappiness bracketing his mouth. “I’ll try. That’s all I can promise.”
* * *
New York City had many faces, and Will loved each one. From the crowded, dirty tenements of the Lower East Side, the bohemians and immigrants just north of his beloved Washington Square, and the giant stores and growing commerce of Union Square, to the amusements near Longacre Square, he appreciated them all. Every corner, building, and house in this city was rooted deep in the marrow of his bones.
This was his city. The Sloanes had helped Manhattan grow, their money reinvested in the infrastructure to provide the necessary foundation. His great-grandfather had been instrumental in piping water in from a reservoir to supply the city, while Will had invested in elevated trains as well as the telephone and telegraph lines crisscrossing the sky like a fisherman’s net.
He’d started running Northeast Railroad when he was sixteen years old, working without a break since he turned nineteen. Years of long hours, little sleep, worrying and plotting, the fate of his family’s enormous legacy in his hands. There had been quite a lot to learn in a short period of time.
Hatred had fueled him for many of those years. Loathing for a cruel, cold dead man had driven Will to succeed. You’re weak, just like your mother. How often had Will been called a disappointment, an embarrassment to the Sloane name? All because he’d contracted scarlet fever as a child and, he was later told, could not bear to be parted from his mother, even after he recovered. How could Will have known that his parents hated each other, or that his father would view Will’s love for his mother as a betrayal? The years dragged on, yet his father had largely ignored his only son.
And when the bastard died, Will had sworn to build on and far exceed everything Archibald Sloane accomplished.
All had nearly been destroyed, however, when Will’s investment firm had embezzled money—a lot of money—from the company. Everything he’d worked for, all the blood and sweat, almost taken from him, and the shame of his failure caused his stomach to burn constantly. You’ll run it all into the ground, his father’s voice sneered.
With undue haste, the situation had been remedied, and the company was once again thriving. Yet even now, he couldn’t step into the office without a sharp pain erupting under his sternum, as if the guilt made him physically sick.
“You mustn’t work so hard, William,” his physician, Dr. van Kirkland, had told him. “You ought to visit a sanatorium. Get
some rest, otherwise your body will never restore itself.”
“Of course,” Will had snapped in response. “Because the stock won’t tumble when it’s discovered the Northeast Railroad president is ill.”
He couldn’t step away, give up the company and everything his ancestors had built up, in order to recuperate. As much as he needed a respite, he would not jeopardize the empire he’d forged—especially not when the political office his father had once dreamed of was within reach. In fact, lieutenant governor seemed a leisurely stroll in the park compared to what Will dealt with each day. Therefore, he would perform both duties upon election to office. Hell, he wanted to do both. Even if he only slept four hours a night instead of five.
Madam Zolikoff was the unforeseen wrinkle. She threatened his plan with her undoubtedly nefarious presence in Bennett’s life. Will would not allow the venerable Sloane name to become a public joke. Chuckled and guffawed about in taverns and clubs from the Battery to the Bronx. No, not while he still breathed. He would win this election cleanly and without scandal.
Such was the reason for a mad dash up Fifth Avenue on a Thursday afternoon, deep into the land of vulgar, oversized mansions. The hubris of these mini-palaces staggered him. Each one bigger and more garish than the last, including his new brother-in-law’s monstrosity. Did these people have no sense of taste? The point of money was not to show it off, but to wield it into the one thing that mattered: power.
He recognized the house from down the block. Will threw open the brougham’s door before the wheels even stopped rolling. He hoped he wasn’t too late.
The butler appeared and immediately pulled the panel wide. “Mr. Sloane, please come in. Mr. Bennett is currently engaged in his study with a guest, but you are welcome to wait in the blue salon until he is—”
Will strode by the butler. He knew the guest as well as what they were doing. Hadn’t he told that woman three days ago to stay the hell away from John Bennett?
When he pushed into the study, he found the two of them cozied up on the long velvet sofa, Ava’s head bent close to Bennett’s as she stared at the bottom of a china teacup.
They both glanced up at the door, Bennett’s face awash in surprise. Ava’s generous, full top lip slowly curled in distaste, and Will felt his own sneer emerge in response. The gorgeous charlatan.
“Sloane.” Bennett rose and walked over to shake Will’s hand. “Had we an appointment?”
Will removed his derby with his free hand. “No, but I heard Madam Zolikoff was visiting and could not stay away.” He turned toward Ava. “You don’t mind, do you? I am quite curious about your renowned talents.”
Her look communicated she knew precisely what he was about, but she said in her terrible Russian accent, “Of course. You must sit. Sit, Mr. Sloane.”
“Thank you.” Without giving Bennett the opportunity to say otherwise, Will lowered into a chair. “Please, don’t mind me. Continue on.”
Bennett retook his seat and addressed the woman earnestly. “Will his presence throw off the reading?”
“No.” She waved a hand. “I can easily pretend he does not exist.” Will bit back a smile, remaining silent as she returned to her tea leaves. “Now here I see an insect.” She pointed somewhere at the bottom of the cup. “That means you are suffering distractions. Or complications. Is there someone in your life preventing you from your purpose?”
“Yes,” Bennett agreed easily. “How did you know?”
Perhaps because everyone suffers distractions and complications. Will sighed heavily, but they ignored him as Ava went on.
“The tea leaves, they never lie. You need to cast aside this person who is not entirely on your side. He will only attempt to bring you down.”
Will gripped the armrest of the chair. Was she speaking of him? Before he could comment, she continued with her inane predictions.
“This appears to be a foot, which is a sign that you need to move forward. Move on. That you will have a change in your location or career.”
Bennett straightened, his face brightening considerably. “The election. Hear that, Sloane? We’re about to move into the governor’s house.”
Will made a noncommittal sound, and the reading commenced, Ava’s head bent over the china piece. “Now, over here I see a barking dog. This means someone close to you has been saying things he should not. He is untrustworthy. Do you know who this could be?”
Bennett shifted in his seat, his brows pinched, as if considering this ridiculousness, and Will felt the tips of his ears grow hot. How dare she. This bogus reading had turned into an assault on him, and he didn’t care for it one bit.
As revenge, she was trying to make trouble between him and Bennett. An egregious error on her part. Bennett knew Will to be a loyal friend—one who would never try to sabotage their future. Unlike a certain little brown-haired minx who dealt in lies and swindles, creating havoc everywhere she went.
Two could play this game.
“Do you see anything specific there for Mr. Bennett?” he called out. “Perhaps the tea leaves could tell him the name of a horse to bet on at Saratoga Springs tomorrow?”
Madam Zolikoff wrinkled her nose in distaste. “The tea leaves do not work for horse racing, Mr. Sloane. The spirits are not for insignificant things, like gambling.”
“Insignificant? Tell that to the losers,” Will muttered.
Her brown eyes narrowed dangerously, and Will lifted a brow in challenge. “John,” she said to her client, “perhaps I should come back tomorrow. There is negative energy in this room.”
“That’s quite all right, Madam Zolikoff. We are nearly to our allotted time anyway.” He stood and held out his hand, helping her to her feet as if she were a blushing debutante and not a hardened fraud. God Almighty, was Will the only rational man left in this city?
Bennett stared at him expectantly, and Will realized he was still seated. Not that he’d shown the disrespect on purpose, but she was not an easy woman to respect. He slowly rose. “May I drop you somewhere, Madam Zolikoff?”
Her right eye twitched slightly. No doubt she wanted to blister his backside with her sharp tongue, but Bennett’s presence meant restraint. “That is not necessary, Mr. Sloane,” she managed. “I am quite capable—”
“Oh, undoubtedly you are, but it would be my pleasure.”
“Now, Madam, don’t fight Sloane here.” Bennett patted her hand. “He’s a gentleman through and through. There’s no better man to ride alone with. You shouldn’t be scared at all.”
“I’m not scared.” Anger stripped her voice of the fake Russian accent, leaving the warm, raspy tone Will preferred. But she quickly caught herself, resumed her persona. “That is, I am sure Mr. Sloane has much better things to do with his time. After all, he came here to meet with you, John.”
With exaggerated flair, Will snapped his fingers, tilted his head back. “Yes, but now I’ve completely forgotten what I needed to speak with Bennett about. No mind. I’ll cable you if I remember, Bennett.”
“Excellent, it’s settled,” Bennett said. “Take care with her, Sloane. This one is a gift from the heavens.”
* * *
“‘A gift from the heavens,’” the man next to her sneered. “Christ, how do you sleep at night?”
Ava kept her stare firmly fixed on the window of the brougham. Difficult enough to concentrate when Sloane’s thigh and hip were pressed tight to her body, and his large shoulder bumped into hers every time they hit a divot in the street. She wished she weren’t so aware of him, but the man was impossible to ignore. Larger than life, he exuded fortitude and determination in spades, a nearly palpable confidence. Power had always attracted her; however, this man had a nasty disposition to match. He was hard and spoiled, a bully in a swallowtail.
She must remain strong.
Ava’s grin dripped with false sincerity. “I sleep the same way you do, railroad man. Like a baby. On top of a pile of money.”
“I don’t believe you. If you had money, y
ou’d possess better footwear. And your own carriage.”
He was right, but she wouldn’t admit it. Ava saved every penny she could, and that meant wearing out her shoes as she traveled about the city. No use paying for the elevated or a hack if she could use her own two legs getting there. “Did you accomplish what you’d hoped, rescuing John from my undue influence?”
“Hardly. You have that man so deep in your clutches he may never see daylight. Where am I taking you? All you told my driver was south.”
“As if I’d give you my address. No, you drive to your house, and I’ll walk from there.”
“Afraid of letting me see your gingerbread house where you roast small children?”
“Not small children, no. Everyone knows obnoxious, self-indulgent rich men taste so much better. Best to stay clear—I might not be able to resist the temptation.”
He snorted but remained silent, for once. She’d rather he kept talking, distracting her from noting his arrogance and self-possession, the qualities he exuded merely by breathing. No idea why she found them so appealing, but some women never learned, she supposed.
His leg bounced, a habit she’d noted before. Did she unnerve him? She purposely averted her eyes, determined to stop noticing anything about him. “Why did you insist on driving me, anyway?”
“Because we never finished our conversation the other night. Damnedest thing, I thought I heard someone calling my name. But when I turned around, no one was about.”
“Strange.” She fought a smile. Learning how to throw her voice had been one of the first tricks she’d perfected. “Still, we’ve said all that needed to be said to each other, don’t you think?”
“No, it is obvious we have not.” He clasped her chin gently and brought her around to face him. Tingles swept over Ava’s skin, womanly tingles that signaled very unfortunate, inappropriate things. He dropped his arm, releasing her. “You don’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. My job is to make you understand. By whatever means necessary.”
“Whatever means necessary? Goodness, you are determined. What if I said I’d leave John alone if you agreed to play a part in my act next Monday?”