A Girl Like That

by Frances Devine

  His father continued. “I’ve asked Flannigan to relate what happened to him. When he’s finished, if anyone has anything to contribute, I’d be more than happy to listen.”

  The room quieted as Flannigan stood and looked around the room. He told about the day of his injury and how he’d come straight home and fallen into bed, the pain in his head so intense he couldn’t feel his other injuries. He told about his trip to the hospital and his treatment there, sharing the details of his injuries. Then he sat down.

  One by one, others stood and told of their experiences as Howard’s employees. Some had been injured on the job, although none as severely as Flannigan, but not one had received any sort of compensation. Several spoke of being cheated out of wages.

  Sam’s father nodded at him, and he stood. “If I can get enough evidence against Howard, my father has agreed to drop him as a client. In such a case, legally I won’t be able to represent Mr. Flannigan. However, I will do what I can to bring the truth to light. I know an attorney who will take the case. It may not be possible to gain evidence for your past mistreatment, but testimony from witnesses such as yourselves could make a difference in the question of justice for your neighbor, although I’ve warned him there is no guarantee. But if enough of these incidents are presented before the court, it will almost force Howard to change his unjust and illegal practices in the future.”

  “So you want us to go to court and tell about our own experiences?”

  Sam looked at the man in the back of the room who’d spoken. “If you will, it could help. We also need those of you who are willing to stand up for Mr. Flannigan’s character.”

  “What if we lose our jobs? We’ve got families to support,” a big man with a red beard and tight red curls called out.

  Sam looked at his father. How could he answer a cry like this? What was it like to be trapped in a low-paying job with no way out? What did it feel like to know your small paycheck was all that stood between your children and hunger?

  He listened as his father told the men he didn’t expect anyone to do what he felt he couldn’t do. Each would have to follow his own conscience. And no one would think less of those who refused to testify.

  Sam and his father left and headed home. Home where Sam had enjoyed wealth and safety all his life. Where wonderful aromas of good food drifted from the kitchen and the smell of spices and perfumes wafted through the house. Where light shone into every corner and beauty filled every room.

  “How do we help them, Father?”

  “One case at a time. One step at a time. That’s all we can do.”

  “That’s what Katie said.”

  His father gave him a startled look, and some other expression crossed his face. But Sam was too tired to question him about it.

  Sam leaned back into the soft, velvety cushions of the carriage seat. Now he understood why Katie worked tirelessly, trying to help the poor. Once she’d said, “We can’t help them all, Sam. But we can help the ones before our eyes. The ones we know about. Little by little, we can make life better for some.”

  He had to see her. He was stronger now. Tomorrow he’d go to Ma Casey’s. He’d find out why she hadn’t answered his letter. He’d know, once and for all, if she still cared for him.

  ❧

  Katie walked out of the theater with Bridget, and they trailed after the others so they could talk on the way to Ma Casey’s.

  “Tell me again why Sam and his father were coming to the Patch tonight?”

  Bridget had gone home during the afternoon break to take some things to her mother for the child care house. She’d bounced into the theater bubbling over with her news about Sam. “Like I told you before, Mr. Nelson and his father were supposed to go to Flannigan’s tonight to talk to some of the men about Howard. I think they must have seen the light. I can’t wait to talk to my mother and find out all about it.”

  “That’s wonderful, Bridget.” And it was. She’d longed for Sam to see the people of the Patch as they really were. But her heart ached, just the same. Sam was up and around, and he hadn’t been to see her. The only explanation had to be that he didn’t care for her anymore. If he ever truly had.

  As they walked on, she listened to Bridget’s excited and hopeful chatter about how the Nelsons could help the employment condition. Irritated, Katie bit her lip. To listen to Bridget, one would think Sam and his father were miracle workers.

  Bitterness bit at her, and anger rose in her heart. All this time, she’d been picturing Sam at death’s door, lying in bed, calling her name, only to discover he’d been at a meeting. How dare he trifle with her?

  As soon as they arrived at Ma Casey’s, she pleaded a headache and went to her room, her body stiff and tight. Flinging herself across her bed, she burst into tears. When the barrage ended, she sat up and rubbed her hand across her eyes. Shame flooded over her. I’m just selfish. I never knew I was selfish. Oh, but Sam, I thought you loved me.

  She had to stop thinking of him. It was over.

  A beam of moonlight caught her attention, and her eyes rested on the small white Bible on the table by her bed. She’d dug it out from her trunk the day after she’d turned her heart over to God. She’d carried it to church during the four years at Grandma and Grandpa’s. But she couldn’t remember ever opening it outside the church walls until last Monday.

  Katie lit the lamp by her bed and picked up the Bible. Opening it to Psalm 1, her eyes scanned the words. She turned the page and devoured psalm after psalm. At the end, she started through Proverbs and read until her eyes were heavy and would no longer focus on the small letters. Yawning, she returned the book to the table and changed into her nightgown. As she sank into the feather bed, the words she’d just read flowed through her.

  “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

  All right, heavenly Father, I’ll trust You to lead me in the way You want me to go.

  Her eyes closed, and she drifted off into sweet, peaceful sleep.

  Eighteen

  “Where are you, Katie? Not here, I think. You’ve sung the wrong lines again.” Donald Jones whirled around on the piano stool and frowned. “It’s Saturday. You’ve got to hurry and learn this piece.”

  “I’m sorry, Donald. I guess my mind is wandering.” Katie leaned forward, peering over her accompanist’s shoulder at the sheet of music, and found her place. She wouldn’t be singing the new song until Monday, so why was he in such a dither? She should probably be going through today’s solo anyway.

  Donald tapped his fingers against the piano and frowned. “You know I’ll be away tomorrow for my little sister’s wedding.”

  She’d forgotten about that. “Well, Rosie can play for me if I need to practice.” Rosie often played for the troupe at night as they sat around singing old ballads.

  “Oh, can she? Little girl, Rosie can’t read a note. She plays the old songs by ear, which isn’t going to help you.” He turned back around and placed his fingers on the keys. “Let’s try it one more time.”

  This time, Katie ran through the entire song without a mistake, and Donald turned and grinned. “I knew you could do it. Now, one more time.”

  They started from the beginning, and once more, Katie remembered her words and sang with no problems.

  “Katie, I’ve called you twice.” Bridget’s voice rang out above the music.

  Donald hit the piano keys, turned, and glared at Bridget. “Can’t you see we’re busy here, girl?”

  Hands on hips, Bridget glared back. “Katie has a visitor, for your information.”

  “What? Who?” Katie’s stomach lurched, and she started toward the hall.

  “It’s Mr. Nelson, that’s who. I left him standin’ on the porch. Shall I ask him in?” She cast a worri
ed glance at Katie. “To tell you the truth, he’s not looking so good.”

  Not looking so good? “Mercy, Bridget.” Brushing past her friend, Katie rushed to the front door, her pulse racing. “Please come in. I can’t imagine why Bridget left you standing out in the heat.” Her voice sounded breathless even to her. Maybe he hadn’t noticed.

  Sam removed his hat and stepped inside, leaning heavily on a cane. Bridget was right. He was pale, and little beads of perspiration stood out on his face.

  “Please come into the parlor. There’s a little bit of a breeze coming through the window there.” She ushered him in, sending Donald a pointed look.

  “Don’t forget, we need to run through the song again later.” Donald left, and with a bit of triumph, Bridget followed, pulling the parlor door shut behind her.

  Katie hoped Ma Casey didn’t notice she and Sam were alone in a room with the door closed. She stood, tongue-tied, not knowing what to say, then realized Sam was still standing.

  “Oh, please sit down. I’m so glad to see you are well enough to be up and around.” And finally here. She pushed the thought aside. She shouldn’t judge him until she heard what he had to say.

  He sat on the end of the sofa, and she sat on a wingbacked chair facing him, her fingers twisting her handkerchief. He leaned back and took a deep breath, relief crossing his face.

  Katie bit her lip. He must still be in pain. And she’d been blaming him for not coming. But why hadn’t he at least sent word?

  “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me,” he said. Uncertainty crossed his face as he looked at her.

  “Not want to see you? Why would you think that? Just because you didn’t acknowledge my visit or send word that you were all right?” She knew her voice sounded on edge, and although she truly didn’t want to yell at him when he appeared so frail, he was the one who brought the whole thing up, wasn’t he?

  A puzzled look crossed his face. “What visit? And for that matter, I sent a letter that you chose to ignore. I assumed you had lost interest or were angry with me for some reason.”

  Katie gasped. What letter? “Chose to ignore? Why, I did no such thing. I never received one single, solitary letter from you. Not one.”

  “But. . .I dictated a letter to one of the housemaids, and she. . .” Confusion, followed by a flash of anger washed over his face. “And you mean all this time, you thought I hadn’t tried to contact you?”

  “What else was I to think?”

  “Katie, I’m so sorry. I promise I did write and was assured my letter was sent.”

  Katie ducked her head to hide the tears that filled her eyes. He had written. She had no idea why she didn’t receive the letter, but that was unimportant now. He did care about her. That was all that mattered.

  Joy flooded her heart and radiated from the smile that wouldn’t be held back. And needn’t be. Sam’s face told her all she needed to know.

  She held out her hands, and he clasped them in his, holding on tight. “Katie.” His voice broke over the one word. “I thought I’d lost you. And didn’t know why.”

  Just then, the door opened, and Ma stood there with a wooden spoon in her hand, twisting her lips in an unsuccessful attempt to hide her grin. “All right, you two. I understand you’ve been apart for a while, but the door stays open.” She frowned, albeit unconvincingly.

  “Sorry, Ma. It won’t happen again.” Katie smiled as Ma left the door open. It seemed as though a smile was permanently fixed to her lips.

  “Should you be up and about? Perhaps you need to go home and go back to bed.”

  “I’m fine. And wild horses couldn’t drag me away from you now. I’ll need to take things slowly for a while, and Father won’t hear of my going to the office yet, but I’m getting plenty of rest. I promise.”

  Her heart soared. “All right. In that case, please tell me all about what happened and how you’re doing.” She listened in fascinated horror as he told her of the ambush but clapped her hands together when he spoke with admiration and respect of Chauncey Flannigan.

  “I do have one request to make of you, Katie. Please don’t be angry. But I feel it’s unsafe for you to continue your work in the Patch.”

  She took a quick breath, and he held up his hand. “I know how important the work is to you, and I respect that. But isn’t there some way you could help in the background without actually going into the neighborhood?”

  “I don’t see how. Or why I should. The people there need all the help they can get, and no one has harmed me.”

  Sam closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, she saw the worry they held.

  “Crime is high in the Patch. There are very few police officers even in the daylight hours and none at all at night. It isn’t safe for you there.” He gave her a pleading look. “Please, Katie, I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

  Silent for a moment, Katie considered his words. Of course she’d never give up her work. But perhaps she did need to be more careful. “I’ll agree to this much. I won’t go there after dark. And I’ll take someone with me in the daytime.”

  He breathed deeply then nodded. “All right. That relieves my mind some. But please remain cautious at all times.”

  “I will, Sam. I promise.” She looked deeply into his eyes and smiled.

  ❧

  Sam drove home, his eyes shooting flames. He stormed into the house, his cane thumping loudly on the hardwood floor of the foyer.

  “Franklin! Nancy!” he shouted. “Come here!”

  “Sam, what’s wrong?” His mother ran from the parlor, fear in her eyes. “Are you in pain?”

  “No, Mother. I have a matter to settle with Nancy and Franklin.”

  “But, Sam, that’s no way to call the servants. What’s gotten into you, son?” She pressed her lips together in disapproval.

  “I apologize, Mother.” He kissed her on the forehead, and she reached up and patted his cheek.

  “You called for me, sir?” Franklin stepped into the hall, and Nancy came scurrying in from the kitchen.

  “I’d like to see you both in my bedroom as soon as possible. I have some questions.” He turned to his mother, and when he spoke, his voice was gentle. “Mother, I’ll be down for lunch. You don’t need to send a tray.”

  He made his way slowly up the stairs, followed by Franklin and Nancy. When they reached the landing, Franklin stepped around him and went to open the door to Sam’s bedroom.

  When Sam was seated by the window, he looked up at Nancy first. “Please tell me again what you did with the letter you wrote for me last week. The one addressed to Miss O’Shannon at Ma Casey’s Boardinghouse.”

  “Very well, sir. Like I told you, I sent for a messenger boy. But before he arrived, Cook needed me, so I gave the letter to Franklin and asked him to see that the boy got it.” Fright filled her eyes. “Is anything wrong, sir? I wouldn’t want to lose my position.”

  “If what you’ve told me is the truth, you have nothing to worry about, Nancy. You may go now. And thank you.”

  Sam watched her scurry from the room. Then he turned his gaze upon Franklin, who stood ramrod-straight, his eyes veiled.

  “I’d like to know what’s going on, Franklin. Why wasn’t the letter delivered to Miss O’Shannon? If you misplaced it or forgot to give it to the messenger, that’s quite understandable. You’ve been a loyal and trusted servant for many years. But I want to know the truth.”

  Sam watched as uncertainty followed by an expression almost like regret crossed the butler’s face. When he spoke, it was respectful but firm. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t say.”

  Surprised, Sam looked at Franklin. “You can’t or you won’t?”

  The elderly man hesitated then opened his mouth as if to speak but shut it again.

  “Very well, Franklin. You
may go.”

  Perplexed, Sam decided to send for a tray after all. He hadn’t, however, counted on his mother bringing it up. “Mother, you didn’t need to do that.”

  “And why not? I’ve brought you many a tray when you were a child. You’re still my boy, you know.” A twinkle in her eyes proved she wasn’t upset with him anymore.

  “How well I remember. Chicken soup was the meal of the day when I was sick. And also when I pretended to be sick to get out of the classroom.”

  She laughed. “And those times, it was followed by castor oil. A fitting punishment, I thought.”

  Sam grinned. “I don’t think chicken soup or castor oil can fix what ails me now, Mother.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. Affairs of the heart are not so easily cured.”

  He looked at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “You can’t fool me, Sam. I know love when I see it. And perhaps unreturned love from the way you’ve been moping around.”

  Sam hesitated. Would she react the same way his father had? And suddenly, a chill went down his spine. His father had intercepted the letter. That’s why Franklin was so secretive. Because his first loyalty was always to Sam’s father.

  “Sam, what’s wrong?” His mother’s startled voice brought him back from his thoughts.

  He attempted a laugh. “I think I’ve just been overdoing it the last couple of days, Mother. I’m not really hungry. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go to sleep.”

  “Of course.”

  After she left, Sam crawled between his sheets. Suddenly he really was tired. He leaned back on the soft pillows and closed his eyes.

  The sound of footsteps woke him. He opened his eyes to see his father standing beside his bed.

  “Are you awake?”

  “Yes, what time is it?”

  “Nearly six. Your mother said you’ve been sleeping for hours. Guess you needed it.”

  Carefully, aware of the ribs that were still not completely healed, Sam sat up, adjusting his pillows behind his back.