“I work all day washin’ dishes, and spend me evenin’s with the Salvation Army preachin’ on the street,” Gardner said.
“Happy as a clam, I am!” he said when Barney asked if that satisfied him. “The Good Lord is with me, I’m able to move about, and I get to spread the gospel every day.” Then he put his hand on Barney’s shoulder. “And you, old chap? How goes it with you?”
“Good.” Barney nodded. “I’m in training now. Looks like I’ll get my first fight in a couple of weeks.”
Gardner eyed him doubtfully. “A hard life, fightin’. It done me in, just about.”
“It’s all I know, Awful.”
“Aw, laddie, we will see. If God can get you out of Sing Sing, He can do anything—wonderful things with you!”
Barney shifted around and Gardner saw his visitor’s discomfort at any mention of God. “Well, now,” Awful said wisely, “I’ll come and watch you train, and you can come and drink me tea.”
“I’d like that, Awful.” He hesitated, then smiled. “I never did tell you what a big help you were to me in prison.”
“Ah!” Gardner scoffed, waving his hand. “Not a bit of it!”
“Yes, you were.” Barney thought for a moment. “I still have bad dreams about that hell hole. But nearly always when it starts closing in on me, I remember that you were always there. I could always count on you—calling me ‘dear boy’ and promising me things would be all right. It—it meant a lot to me, Awful. It really did!”
On that note, Barney left, and true to his word, Gardner was at the gym the next day. Barney, too, kept his promise and had tea and cake in Awful’s room.
Three weeks later, on October 14, Barney’s first fight was scheduled. But the afternoon before he fought, he was walking along Water Street, when a woman stepped out of a bar. At first he paid no attention. Then she turned.
It was Katie Sullivan! She did not see Barney, and he darted back to watch her. She and the man with her staggered down the street. She still looked as petite as she had the first time he saw her at Antoine’s when his family had visited him. But now she had the appearance of a common woman—painted face and droopy mouth. He realized he was not the only one who had changed over the past months.
His mother had told him that Katie’s testimony led to his release. Strangely enough, his bitterness at being locked up had fastened on her.
“If she’d spoken up,” he’d said to his mother, “I would never have gone to prison.”
Lola had tried in vain to explain that Katie had little to offer and had not understood how important it was.
“It was her fault,” he told himself. “All she had to do was speak up—but she wouldn’t!”
Looking at the retreating figure, he felt hatred rise up, and he wanted to smash her face in. Then he pushed the rage aside. Can’t get into trouble with the police, he decided.
The night of the fight he boxed poorly. Benny thought it was because Barney wasn’t trained properly, but he blamed it on Katie Sullivan. The hatred he felt toward her made him so angry he rushed his opponent, flailing blindly. The other fighter, a skilled boxer, stood away from Barney and left him looking like hamburger.
Barney lost the fight on a decision. The disappointed trainer said afterward, “Barney, you used to be a good boxer, but now you’re just a street fighter. You’ll get your brains scrambled if you go on in the ring. Get a job.”
That night, instead of going to sleep, Barney got drunk, then crawled to his room at daylight and fell across the bed, his sodden mind raging, It was her fault—Katie Sullivan! I’ll get her sooner or later!
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rescue Mission
“Miz Winslow?”
“Yes, Helen, what is it?”
As the maid came into the drawing room where her mistress was reading a book, she said in a perplexed tone, “Ma’am, there’s a man come to the door asking to see Mr. Winslow.”
“A gentleman to see Mr. Winslow?”
“Well—not to put too fine a point on it, ma’am. He ain’t no gentleman. Not no regular gentleman, that is.”
“Bring him in, then,” she said, putting her book down.
That response wasn’t enough for Helen. She was proud of the Winslow status and quick to protect it. “He ought to go to the back door, not come up to the front.”
“Is he a tradesman?”
“I dunno, Miz Winslow.” She shrugged her shoulders. “He just don’t fit into no kind of pattern.”
“Well, just bring him in,” Lola said again, smiling as the maid stalked off. The roly-poly maid’s insistence on protocol amused Lola, for she herself was not given to class consciousness. She got up and looked out the window as she waited.
“Here he is, ma’am,” Helen sniffed, adding, “and keep your muddy feet off things.”
“That will do, Helen,” Lola rebuked.
The man was dressed in a dark suit, worn but neat and clean. He was in his mid-thirties, with clear gray eyes and thick black hair.
“Sorry to be a bother,” he said. “I’d like to see the mister if he’s home.” His words rolled off his tongue in a distinct accent.
“My husband is in Chicago. Perhaps I can help you?” she offered. “His office is in the Strand building. You could see him there next Friday, I think.”
He hesitated, his bony hands twisting his hat, as though trying to make a decision. “Is it Barney’s mum you are?”
“Why, yes,” Lola answered. “Barney is my son.”
“Well, Miz Winslow, me name is Gardner. If it’s not—”
“Why, of course! You must be Awful Gardner!”
“That’s me, ma’am,” Gardner said, encouraged by her response. “I hate to be bustin’ in like this, but I didn’t know no way to get a word with you and the mister.”
“Do have a seat, Mr. Gardner,” Lola offered. She smiled as he eyed the fragile Queen Anne chair, adding, “Go ahead, it won’t break.”
Gardner sat down carefully, placed his hat in his lap, and clutched it as if it would give him security in the midst of such grandeur. Perspiration dotted his broad forehead, for it had taken considerable courage to come to the Winslow mansion. He felt completely out of place and might have fled except for the kind smile from the beautiful woman seated across from him.
“Barney has told us so much about you, Mr. Gardner,” Lola said. “You were a great blessing to him in prison.”
“Just call me ‘Awful,’ ma’am,” Gardner nodded. “But it wuzn’t much I wuz able to do for the dear boy. Just a kind word now and then.”
“It was a great deal to Barney. He’s often told me how you kept his spirits up when things were so dark.” Her smile dimpled and she added, “I told Barney you were probably an angel in disguise, sent by the Good Lord to encourage him.”
“Me? An angel?” Awful shook his head and smiled ruefully. “No fear, Miz Winslow! Just an old con saved by the blood of Jesus.”
“Barney’s heart is hardened against God right now, Awful,” Lola said. “But your witness about Jesus won’t be lost.”
“I pray not, ma’am, I do indeed,” Gardner nodded vigorously. “It’s the prayer of me heart that the dear boy will come to ’imself and find the Savior.”
“Have you seen him lately?”
“Yes, ma’am, that I have. It’s that I’ve come about,” he said, shifting his eyes.
Lola sensed he was having difficulty. “Is Barney in trouble?”
“Well, yes, ma’am, he is. You know he’s gone back to fightin’, and that’s a rum go for any bloke.” Gardner shook his head sadly. “I’ve tried to get him to shake free from it. Used to be a pug myself, Miz Winslow, and it’s no life for a man.”
“His father and I have tried to get him to do something else, but he refuses our help.”
“Right-O! The lad’s got a stubborn streak!”
“I’m afraid he comes by it honestly,” Lola sighed. “All the Winslow men seem to be that way.” She bit her lip, then asked, “What else is it? That�
��s not all you came for, is it?”
“To tell the truth, ma’am, I just felt I had to come.” Gardner shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and then looked Lola in the eye. “I been trying to help the lad, but he won’t let me do much. The truth is, he’s gone on the grog.”
“Gone on the grog?”
“He’s drinkin’, ma’am. Pretty bad.”
“He can’t do that when he’s in training, can he?”
“Lots of them do,” Gardner shrugged. “John L. Sullivan was a whiskey soak. I talked to his manager, Benny Meyers, and he tells me that he’s warned Barney to stay off the sauce—but Barney won’t even pay no mind to Benny.”
Lola jumped up and began to pace. She had known things were not going well for Barney. He had not come to the house for days, and Andy had heard that his brother was back to his old ways. She and Mark prayed much for him, and spent endless hours trying to find a way to help their oldest son. The burden had become so great that Lola was never free from it—always finding her mind and heart turned toward Barney.
Gardner sat quietly, his eyes taking in the anguish on the woman’s face. He had heard enough from Barney to know how much he loved his parents, how he had broken their hearts. Then when Katie Sullivan told him about Mrs. Winslow’s courageous efforts in freeing Barney from prison, Gardner had decided he must come.
Lola stopped before him. “Do you have any idea how we can help Barney, Awful?”
Gardner gave her a startled look. “Coo!” he said with admiration. “If you ain’t a sharp one now!” he said, then added, “No offense, ma’am!”
“No offense,” Lola assured him. “Tell me what you think we can do.”
“Well, I have an idea, though I ain’t so sure it’s a good one. That is, the idea is good, but I don’t know if it’ll pull him out of it.”
“I’d like to hear about it.”
Gardner could not stand the fragile chair, so he got up and walked to the window. A plan had come to him weeks earlier while he was praying. It was as clear as if it had been spoken aloud: Go tell Barney’s parents about this. Gardner was a simple man and assumed that it was God who was giving him instructions. He had ferreted out the Winslow’s address and come directly to the house. All the way from the city he had prepared a speech, but now it didn’t seem to be the right one. Finally he turned, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture.
“Miz Winslow, I ain’t no good with words, so let me just tell you. You see, the poor people in the Bowery and other bad parts of the city, they won’t go to a regular church. I mean the real down-and-outers. The drunks and the common women. They ain’t got no fine clothes, and if you give ’em money for such, they’d spend it on booze—and keep on drinkin’ till they run out. They got no more idea of the Lord Jesus and His cross than the heathens in Africa!”
As Awful continued describing the terrible conditions in the slums, tears gathered in his eyes. “I tell you, ma’am, it fair breaks me heart to see it! Every day there’s some of ’em dead on the street!”
“And you want to help them, Awful?”
“Yes, Miz Winslow, I do. I want to start some kind of place, a mission, where they can come when they’re drunk and when they’ve been beat up. A place where they can have a free meal and a place for the night, you know? Where they feel free no matter what they’ve done.”
“I think that’s a fine idea,” Lola said. “Do you think Barney would come to a service in a place like that?”
“I don’t know, ma’am,” Gardner said. “But I do know he won’t go to no regular church. To be plain with you, I’m afraid Barney’s goin’ down pretty fast. Sooner or later he’ll hit bottom. And I want there to be a place he’ll come to, with folks like me who been at the bottom to tell him about the Lord Jesus and His cross.”
“Oh, I’m glad you’ve come to me,” Lola said. “My husband will want to help. What can we do?”
“Well—” Gardner was embarrassed now, and ducked his head. “Well, now, not to hurt your feelin’s, Miz Winslow, but I don’t think right at first, you and your husband ought to be at the mission. It might scare some folks off.”
“I suppose you’re right. Maybe we can help get it started? You’ll have lots of expenses.”
“To be plain, ma’am, you can. That’s why I come. I want to quit my job washin’ dishes. Not that I’m too good for it, but there needs to be somebody at the place all the time. I got a building all picked out, an old store down on Water Street, in the worst part of the district. It’s got room upstairs too. It won’t cost much to rent, but I got no money at all.”
Taking a key from her pocket, Lola walked quickly to the rosewood desk and removed a small metal container from the drawer. “Here,” she said, opening the box and pulling out some bills, “will this be enough for the first month’s rent?”
Gardner stared at the cash. “Oh, my word! Yes, ma’am, and to get the place all cleaned and buy some furniture as well!” He looked at her and stated, “You don’t know me, Miz Winslow.”
Lola knew what he was saying. “I think I do, Awful. The spirit of man is the candle of the Lord, and I can see His Spirit burning brightly in you. Would you come back next week when my husband is here? He’ll want to know all about this.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll do that.” Awful burst out laughing and held the money high. “How do you like that, devil?” he cried, his face wreathed in smiles. He began to praise the Lord so loudly that the maid rushed in.
“What is it, Miz Winslow? Shall I call the police?”
“No, Helen,” Lola laughed. “Don’t do that. Come and join us as we give thanks to the Lord.”
Helen sniffed, saying under her breath as she left, “Indeed! Church is the place for a thing like that!”
Gardner shoved the money into his pocket. “I won’t thank you, ma’am, for I can see you’re not the sort to want such things. But I’m prayin’ that our dear boy will be one of those who comes to Jesus in this place.”
Lola walked with him to the door and waited until he was out of sight. Then she returned to the drawing room and knelt to pray. For the first time in days she felt the presence of the Lord, and with that the assurance of Barney’s salvation.
****
Of all men, Awful Gardner better understood the terrible living conditions of the poor of New York City. He knew what it was like to be in the police station lodging room, for he had spent many nights there. It was a room about twenty feet by ten feet. Along the wall was a slightly raised and inclined platform, extending the whole length of the room. On this the men lay themselves down, side by side, without mattress, covering or pillow. Drunk or sober, ragged or not, covered with vermin or clean, it made no difference. The air reeked with offensive odors and vibrated to lewd jests and vulgar oaths.
It was, perhaps, better than the gutter, but not much, and Awful Gardner had a vision of a place where he could keep derelicts overnight. That was in the future, however. Now, armed with cash and boundless energy, he plunged into the first phase of the Rescue Mission. He had no trouble renting the store, for it was bringing in no revenue to the owner. Taking a year’s lease by faith, Gardner threw open the door that very afternoon, and worked until the wee hours of the morning, throwing out the rubbish and cleaning with broom and mop to get the place presentable.
Everyone knew Awful, and soon word was out that “the Limey’s startin’ a church down on Water Street.” For the next three days Gardner worked hard, and he encouraged those who stuck their heads in out of curiosity. “Come in, boys!” he would call out. “No proper service until Saturday, but I can give you a sample right now!”
When Saturday arrived, he held the first service, aided by the Salvation Army Band. The audience was sparse, but Awful preached as if he were in a tabernacle seating a thousand. He knew how to preach to the derelicts who came to get out of the cold, the women with bruises on their faces, and the men who were getting over a drunk. Awful would proclaim himself as the worst of sinners, then say, “If Jesus
can take a rummy like me and clean ’im up, He can do it for anybody!”
The following Monday, he went back to the Winslows with his report. “Oh, it was glorious!” he said. “Just a beginnin’, but you’ll see the devil whipped regular at the Rescue Mission!”
“I don’t suppose Barney came?” Mark asked.
“No, but we must be patient,” Awful nodded. “He’ll be around.”
But two weeks went by and Barney didn’t come. Twice Gardner went by the gym, but Barney was not there. “He’s drinking too much,” Benny Meyers told Gardner. “He won’t be no fighter actin’ like that.”
Finally Gardner spotted Barney one afternoon walking down Cross Street and hurried after him. “Barney, where have you been hiding?”
“Awful?” Barney turned, then shrugged. “Oh, I’ve been around.”
“Sure, now, you’ve got to come and see me new place, dear boy,” Gardner said. He skillfully led Barney to the Rescue Mission, speaking so rapidly that Barney had no chance to argue.
But when they got to the mission, Barney stared at the sign. “Rescue Mission? What’s this, Awful? You trying to trick me into going to church?” he asked suspiciously.
“Not a bit! No regular services yet. Going to take a bit of work to get under way. Just wait, lad, pretty soon we’ll have a room for the chaps who are down-and-out and some good food for them as have nothin’! But we can have a bite to eat. I’ve got a pair of chops, and I wuz just lookin’ for a good man to join me!” He pulled Barney into the back of the building where he had made a comfortable room for himself, and soon he was busy cooking the chops, talking all the time.
Barney sat at the table, his face stolid and flushed. He had not been doing well, and was angry at himself. He knew he was ruining his chances for a career in the ring by his drinking and loose living, but he could not seem to stop. He had taken to running with a crowd that never worked. It seemed easier to do that than to train. He had a fight on the next weekend, and had made up his mind that after the fight, he would break off with his companions and train in earnest.
The Final Adversary Page 9