by Seven Steps
Celebration broke out as the building burned. The crowd danced and screamed. They threw broken furniture pieces into the burning building and howled.
“Burn! Burn to the ground!” the crowd screamed at the building. They threw more torches on the building, burning it from bottom to the top.
“Well,” Patrick said, “that’s that.”
“Yes. It is.”
“How do you want to die?” Patrick asked.
What a question.
Roland thought a minute. “With pride,” he replied.
Patrick nodded. He turned to his left.
“You’d better pray for a broken neck, nigger lover, cause you’re hanging today.”
A rope appeared in Patrick’s hand.
“String him up!” he cried.
The mob cheered, and began to drag Roland toward a nearby light pole.
He didn’t fight.
I got myself into this. No need to give them a show.
He stood silently as they put the noose around his neck in the fading light.
“Any last words, McAllen?” Patrick asked.
“Freedom and equality for all!” Roland cried out.
My love for Joanna forever, he added in his mind. He thought about how much she’d miss him, and choked back tears. They were just starting to get close, and now they were being torn apart. He wanted to cry out for her, but restrained himself. It was too late for that now.
The rope sailed over the top of the light pole, and the mob grabbed the other end. They were just about to pull when the blaring of sirens interrupted the moment.
The mob looked behind.
The fire department pulled up to the burning orphanage.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Patrick screamed, running toward the firemen.
“We’re saving this building,” the bulky fireman replied.
“No. This building is marked for demolition.”
“By who?”
“By me,” he said, swinging on the fireman and knocking him backward.
The mob jumped on the fallen man, and began to beat him.
His fellow firemen ran to his defense, trying to protect him from the mob. The large men pushed through the crowd, and pulled their colleague back toward the truck.
The mob followed them and threw stones, sticks, and anything else they could get their hands on to keep the firemen at bay. The firemen bravely tried to block the debris and work the hoses at the same time, but to no avail. They looked up. The building was lost. They had failed.
“Are you trying to burn down all of New York City?” one of the firemen cried at the mob. “All of this and for what? Half of Lower Manhattan is gone! You burned it down. Do you know what that means? It means that Irish men and women are now homeless. Is that what you wanted? Is that why you came here today?”
“We came here to fight for the Irish, and keep ourselves out of the war!” Patrick responded.
“Well, you’re not helping anybody. Half of you are too young to fight in the war anyway!”
“We stand for our brothers, our fathers, and our countrymen, who are forced by the nigger loving government to fight in a nigger lover’s war!”
The fireman shook his head. “Do you know who’s coming? Do you?” He climbed into the wagon. “God help you. God help all of you.”
The fire wagon pulled off into the fading afternoon light. The mob watched it as it left. They looked at each other.
“Don’t listen to him!” Patrick cried. “He’s lying! We’re helping the Irish! We’re helping ourselves!”
“Irishmen are homeless because of us,” someone said.
“Some must suffer for the greater good. We are for the greater good!” Patrick screamed at the dissenter.
Some of the crowd drifted off to what was left of their homes. It may have been fun while it lasted, but they were still young men, and the game was beginning to wear thin on them.
“Weak Irishmen are a shame on Ireland,” Patrick said, spitting on the ground. “Only a weak Irishman leaves before his duty is done, and we have a duty to have our voices heard today. Who here is weak? Who?”
No one answered, only buzzed their own strength.
“Then take heart. Take heart, men! We have to fight for all Irishmen. Our voices must be heard!”
That seemed to perk up the crowd a bit, but they were still affected by the firemen’s word and a mixture of hunger, thirst, and exposure to the day’s heat.
“Take heart, men!” Patrick cried again. “We still got a nigger lover to string up. Take heart!”
The crowd turned toward the light pole. They gasped. Roland was gone.
~()~()~()~()~
They had just passed city limits, and were once again in the New York countryside.
We were just getting close, Joanna thought. We were just getting to know each other.
The tears in her eyes made it difficult to see the road that stretched out in front of her. The day was fading quickly, but it was still hot. Nevertheless, Joanna felt cold inside.
Roland was gone.
She looked at the children. Deanna looked back at her, her face stretched in sadness. She walked next to Joanna and held her hand.
“I’m sorry Roland died,” she said.
Joanna choked back hot tears.
“Thank you,” she managed to squeak out. She reached down and picked Deanna up, as they continued to make their way toward the ship. She hugged the little girl closer, and smelled her hair. It smelled of sweat. In fact, they all smelled like sweat. She realized that they hadn’t bathed in three days, only washing as best they could in the washbowls.
“It’s so hot,” Terra said. “Isn’t there a place that we can cool off?”
“There’s a pond around here somewhere,” Marshall said, turning through the foliage. “Follow me.”
They followed him silently as the night got darker, sadness still hanging over the groups head like a dark cloud.
~()~()~()~()~
Roland was on the run.
The mob was considerably smaller now—no more than a hundred men—but they were no less lethal. If anything, the lessened number was made of the more dedicated and vicious teens, making them stronger and even more deadly than before.
Roland had no idea where he was. He’d been running for what seemed like hours. All of the streets were beginning to look alike. All of the buildings and shacks were beginning to blur together. His boots banged the cobblestone as he ran, making his ankles burn and his lungs scream. The sweat poured off him in the early evening. He had to hide. His body couldn’t take the punishment of running anymore.
The mob was smart. They’d catch him sooner or later, and then it would be over. He’d never see Joanna or his friends again. He had to find a way out.
He heard their screams closing in on him.
“He’s around here somewhere!” someone shouted. “I can smell him!”
He looked behind him and saw the mob rounding the corner, torches in hand. Patrick Butler turned his pale face toward him and scowled.
“There he is! Get him!” he shouted, running toward him.
Roland suddenly crashed to the cobblestone. He looked down. He had run into someone.
“Hey! Watch it!” said the dark skinned man with the wiry salt and pepper hair and the bushy salt and pepper mustache.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please help me. They’re trying to kill me!” Roland said in urgency.
The black man looked behind him, and saw the crowd rushing toward them. His eyes grew wide in fear.
“Follow me,” he said, scrambling up and running.
Roland followed the short, pudgy man for a block, before they stopped in front of a storefront with a painted sign that read: WHITE’S GROCERY. He fumbled with his keys before finally getting the door opened, and allowing just enough time for Roland to get in before slamming the door shut. He locked it and put a chair in front of it.
“What you do to them?” he asked.
&n
bsp; “Nothing,” he said, doubled over and panting; struggling for breath.
The man sat down in a chair behind the counter. He gestured for Roland to sit next to him, and Roland did thankfully.
After a minute of sucking in air, they finally looked at each other.
“Phil White,” the man said, holding out a dark hand to Roland.
“Roland.”
Loud banging shook the store.
“Come out here, McAllen, and bring that nigger with you!”
Roland and Phil stood up, and backed toward the rear of the store. Roland looked out of the back window, then the side. Torch lit eyes glared back at him. There were people around the entire building. They were surrounded. There was no way out.
“We’re trapped. What are we going to do?” Roland whispered.
“I don’t know,” Phil replied in horror. “Ever heard of Jesus?”
“No.”
“Well, now’s the time to learn him.”
“McAllen, we’re giving you until the count of three, and then we’re breaking the door down. One.”
Roland sucked in a breath.
Is this how it ends? Is this it for me?
“Two.”
Joanna, I love you. If you can hear me from anywhere, please remember me.
“Three!”
That was followed by a crash.
The door howled and creaked, dust and wood chips beginning to fall from its cracks.
“That door ain’t going to hold for too much longer,” Phil said, ducking down behind the potato rack.
Another crash sent more pieces of the door splintering wildly in the air.
Roland looked around, his breathing becoming faster. He was trapped. There was no place to go. Nowhere to hide. He felt the room becoming smaller, the eyes outside coming closer and glowing ominously in the torch lit night.
I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.
“One more for the gold boys!” they heard Patrick scream.
Roland squeezed his eyes shut.
This is it. It’s over.
He took a deep breath and prepared to face his doom.
“What’s going on out here?” came an angry female voice.
“Go back in the house, wench!” Patrick shouted back at her.
“What?! Charlie! Charlie get out here!”
“Back into your coop, hen!” Patrick screamed.
“What did you call my wife?” came a deep voice.
“Hey. What’s going on out here?” added another manly voice.
“I think they’re trying to get at Phil!” Charlie’s voice said.
“You leave that man alone. He’s a good man, and it’s hard to find a good nigger around these parts.”
“What’s going on out here?” a third male voice questioned.
“They’re at Phil!” Charlie cried. “And they’re picking on my wife.”
“You all get out of here. You’re a disgrace to Irishmen!”
“You all get back to your houses. We got business here!” Patrick shouted.
“You ain’t got no business in the Five Points!” the woman screamed. “Go on and get!”
Roland looked out of the window. The crowd began to move nervously, watching something that Roland couldn’t see.
“You leave us to our business here!” Patrick was shouting, his voice shaking slightly with apprehensiveness.
“Call the rest of the boys! Nobody messes with our niggers here!” the third voice said.
“And no one disrespects my wife!” Charlie cried.
There was a sudden burst of movement as the mob outside condensed itself into a tight line around the store.
“What’s going on?” Phil said, peeking his head up from behind the potato rack.
“I think your neighbors are helping us out,” Roland replied, walking toward the window.
“I’m giving you until the count of three to take your friends and leave the Five Points,” Charlie said. “One. Two.”
“You can’t make us leave,” Patrick said, not even Roland believing him.
“Three.”
There was a sudden uproar. The mob began to scream, and there was the distinct sound of scuffling and fighting outside. The band of the Five Points Irishmen had taken on the mob. They were outnumbered, but it seemed like they were winning. They were driving the mob back, and then, the mob began to run.
Roland ran toward the door and opened it in time to see the crowd scatter. Some ran back the way they came, but a large portion ran into a dark alleyway and disappeared. After several seconds, there were screams, and the mob ran back into view with large, red, swelling burn marks on their heads and arms.
Roland saw Patrick Butler run beneath a window and bend down with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He spotted Roland and began to walk toward him, when a fat woman with ample bosom threw hot liquid on his head from the window above him. He screamed, grabbed his head, and took off running, the remainder of his diminishing mob following behind him.
When the last of the mob was gone, the Irish men and women cheered.
“Hooligans! They’re a shame to Ireland. Bring ‘em back and I’ll send ‘em to Saint Patrick!” .
They walked over to Phil’s shop.
“Is Phil okay?” said a large man with an even larger club.
“I’m fine, Charlie,” Phil said, standing up from behind the potato rack and waving. “And thank you.”
“Good,” the large man replied.
“You all can get free potatoes whenever you want!”
The man smiled and, satisfied, he walked back to the celebrating group of Irish.
Roland turned back to Phil, tears in his eyes.
“We made it,” he said.
“Sure did,” Phil replied. He ran his fingers down the back of the door. “I’m gonna have to fix this door, though.” He turned back to Roland. “Come on. We’ll clean up and have some dinner.”
Roland’s stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten all day. His body, now knowing that he was safe, suddenly went weak, and he eased down into a chair. He put his head in his hands and cried.
CHAPTER 27
The pond water was cool.
They’d stripped down to their undergarments and slipped in.
Joanna felt her body relax when it hit the water. The coolness started at her toes, and went all the way up to her sweaty scalp. She began to scrub her skin with the flat of her hand, trying to get off as much dirt and sweat as possible. Marshall handed around a bar of white soap that he had snatched from the precinct, and they began to cleanse themselves.
She heard a splash and turned around. Marshall had taken a running dive into the water, sending a wave toward her. He disappeared beneath the surface for a moment, before popping back up again with a laugh. Deanna was sitting on the shore, only her big toe in the water.
“Come on, Deanna. It’s safe,” Nic said.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m sure. You want to take a nice bath, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well then, you’ve got to get in the water.”
Deanna thought about that for a moment, before easing herself into Nic’s arms. Danny was already in the water, jumping in when Nic did.
Marshall climbed back out of the water and scaled a tree with branches that over hung the pond.
“Hey! Up here!” he screamed. They looked up, and gasped, as Marshall jumped from an over-hanging branch and splashed into the water.
“I want to do that!” Danny cried.
“You do?” Marshall asked with a grin.
“Yeah.” Danny looked at Nic. “Can I, Nic?”
“Go ahead.”
“Are you going to come with me?”
“Marshall is going to go with you,” Nic said. “Go with Marshall.”
Marshall ran up the shore, followed by Danny, and helped him scale the tree. Finally, they reached the branch.
“You ready, buddy?” Marshall asked.
“Yeah.”
“All right. On the count of three. One, two.”
“Danny, don’t jump!” Deanna screamed.
“Three!”
Danny soared downward toward the water, and hit it with a splash. He disappeared beneath the water for what seemed like an eternity before he reappeared, laughing hysterically.
“That was fun!” he exclaimed. “I want to do it again!”
“Well, let’s go, Danny!” Marshall laughed.
Danny quickly swam back toward the shore and scaled the tree, ready for another dive.
Joanna tried to smile, but her grief wouldn’t let her. She wanted to play with them, but she missed Roland.
It feels like I will never smile again.
She felt her heart drop to her gut, and hot tears squeezed out of her eyes. She sniffled and swam away from the group.
I don’t want to ruin their good time.
She found an indentation in the shore and leaned back, kicking her feet to keep afloat.
I’m alone now. I’m totally alone.
The grief tore at her heart, and she felt it palpitate in her chest. She slowed down the kicking of her feet, and gradually began sinking into the water.
I want the pain to be over. If I were at the bottom of this pond, my pain would be over.
She continued to sink, letting the cool water rise from her waist, to her stomach, to her breast, to her throat. She wanted to drown her sorrows by drowning her body. But something held her back. When the water reached her chin, she kicked back to the surface, put her head in her hands, and sobbed.
Oh, Roland. Why did you go? Why didn’t you take me with you? Why did you leave me in all this pain?
She felt a cool hand on her shoulder and looked up. Terra was looking at her with sympathy in her eyes. She held up the bar of soap, and Joanna turned around and allowed Terra to wash her back.
“I know it’s hard, Joanna. We all miss Roland.”
Joanna sniffed and nodded her head.
“He died so bravely. He’ll never be forgotten.”
Joanna turned and threw her arms around Terra shoulders, and cried even harder.
“That’s it. That’s it, Joanna. Let it all out.”
“I miss him so much!” Joanna cried, her shoulders rising and falling with her tears.