by Mimi Barbour
“She’s a heroine? I’m not at all surprised. Actually, she lives in Chicago part of the year. It’s only during the holidays, when her daughter visits her grandparents, that Ellie spends so much of her time here in Bury.” The smile, which lit up Bunty’s face while talking about the famous author, clicked with Troy.
“Do you know her? Could you arrange for us to meet?”
“I know her. We go to the same church. For some unknown reason I’ve never understood, she’s treated me as a personal friend, but I’d never presume on that friendship.”
Bunty’s brightly coloured lips closed tight, a sure signal that she would say no more on this specific topic. Familiar with the reactions of humans to nosiness and uncomfortable questions, Troy backed off. With a jaunty smile, he thanked her for the meal.
“You’re away, then? No more lollygagging with the likes of me? Looks as if you’ve a special destination.”
Troy winked at her presumptuousness and fed her curiosity.
“A fine howdyado. A bloke can’t pull anything over on you today, Miss Smarty Pants.” Armed with a pocketful of sharpened pencils and a notebook under his arm, he gently pinched her nose and left.
On the far side of the street, he passed a tobacco shop he hadn’t noticed before and glanced in the window. On display sat a large black-and-white photograph of Ellie Ward, the very woman he’d been trying to find. Piles of her latest book, Come Find Me—an apt title if he ever saw one—flanked the picture. The setup presented an artistic exhibit, but his eyes were drawn to her image.
Her soft expression dazzled him.
Her rioting curls made him smile.
But her eyes mesmerized, seeming to burn into his soul as though they connected directly with him.
And then the unforeseen happened. A woman stepped from the shop’s doorway, pivoted, and made her way across to the other side of the street. It took Troy a moment to realize who she was. As soon as it kicked in, he started after her.
“Here we go again, pursuing poor Ellie.” Dani’s tone resounded with cheeky sarcasm. All the while he’d been with Bunty silence had reigned. Now, when he’d prefer to be on his own, she’d returned to badger.
“Come on, Dani. The woman’s famous, a true heroine. She’s the reason I’m even here. This could be the proverbial scoop of the year. After I get her to open up and share her story, I’ll send it off to the Sun-Times. They’ll offer me a job, maybe even make me their ace reporter. Besides, people need to know what made her act the way she did. It’s important.”
“That’s rubbish. You’d persecute this poor woman because she’s brave?”
“I’m not persecuting her, as you so indelicately put it.”
“What do you call sneaking around, following her everywhere, asking questions you’ve no business to? Aren’t you planning on revealing her whereabouts to the whole world? You know all she wants is her privacy.”
“Okay! Just maybe you’re somewhat right, but the world needs heroes, and I’m a reporter. It’s my job to get the story. People have the right to know what made her step in and fight. Stop humming in my own head. It’s beginning to bug me.”
“Good! What did this superwoman do to earn such a lofty title as heroine?”
“First of all, she happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and second, she didn’t follow the basic, more intelligent rules of today.”
“Which are?”
“Don’t get involved. And never when there’s danger.”
“You’re one to talk.” Her teasing snort encouraged him to continue.
“Yeah, well, I’m an idiot. Trust me. It’s best to ignore trouble around you, stay away from dangerous situations and let others worry about themselves. Ignoring these proven principles, Ellie Ward single-handedly stopped a bank holdup.”
“And that’s bad how?”
“The thieves were armed killers and known to the police from four other similar jobs they’d recently pulled in the city. Bank customers died at each of the other robberies, and the two suspects, both brutal murderers and both with long records, had been taken very seriously.”
“What did Ellie do?” The intensity of emotion ringing in her voice surprised Troy, but he replied with the details.
“She talked them into swapping herself as hostage with the hysterical teenager they’d first grabbed. When the guy agreed and seized her instead, she pulled some fancy karate move and flipped him in front of her to take the bullet his partner shot her way. Then she hurled a marble pen stand from the counter at the gunman, who’d decided to flee, and knocked him unconscious.”
“Bless my soul, you’re right. She is crazy.”
“I didn’t say she was crazy.”
“You said she didn’t follow the rules of intelligence.”
“True, I did say that. But crazy she isn’t.”
“You’re quibbling semantics.”
“Dan-i?”
She knew he was losing patience.
“Okay, okay! Then what happened?”
“She snuck out the side door during the ensuing commotion, and the bank customers have been singing her praises ever since, wanting to give her a commendation for her bravery. Everyone from the president of the bank to the President of the country wants to thank her personally for saving so many lives. But at first no one could discover her identity.”
“You did.”
He smiled. “I’m a good reporter.”
“Right. Who told you?”
“The kid she saved ended up with her purse. She didn’t want to tell me, but I can be a persuasive son-of-a-gun when I have to be.”
“Her being female didn’t hurt, either, I’d wager. So you and your silver tongue got hold of the purse and—”
“Actually, no. The kid wouldn’t give it up. She gave me a business card from the pocket of Ellie’s bag, and it had her picture on it. Turns out she’s a famous author, something the kid didn’t realize. But the lead wasn’t so hot, because there happened to be a news photographer at the bank at the same time as the robbery went down. He’d had the foresight to set his video camera on top of one of the marble counters before hitting the floor, and he let the tape run during the whole incident. That night the film showed live on the late news.”
“Poor Ellie couldn’t catch a break, could she?”
“The whole world saw her, so incognito wasn’t an option anymore. The news hounds were after her.”
“You talk like they’re a different breed. Aren’t you one of them? “
“Dani, I have principles. Some of those old dogs would chew off their own legs to get at a story.”
“Whereas you’d just fly from one continent to another.”
“I had to. I have a feeling this meeting will change my whole life, get me the job I want, and at the same time show the world that ordinary people can be special. We can all be… Never mind. I’m rambling.”
But Dani knew he wasn’t. He had come close to telling her what she’d already suspected. This man cared. Not just about the story—he cared about the truth. It lured him, like a Hershey bar lures a chocoholic. “What happened next?”
“She left her home and went to a hotel. The place she picked offered some protection, as did the police, but with a story as hot as this one, someone was bound to either sneak inside or get the facts by other methods.”
“You.”
“Why not? I’m fed up with freelance work. It’s time I settle down and put my career on track, get a desk job, and stay in one place for more than a week. She could be my ticket to success.”
“Your meal ticket, so to speak.”
“You make it sound terrible. People want to know details. Who is this woman? What’s her story? What the hell possessed her to do what she did? It’s important for them to understand.”
“You think so. You keep saying it, so you must believe that rubbish. Well, I don’t. I think people should respect her wishes for solitude and privacy and leave her the hell alone. That’s what I think.
”
“What do you know? You’re just a kid. Oww! Stop that screeching.”
“You’re bonkers, is what you are. I might be only seventeen, but I have more insight into human kindness, more integrity—”
“You’re still sixteen.”
“Troy, you make me livid… Oh, bugger it!”
She shut down. This time it felt like she’d squeezed into a tiny puddle of hurt and lodged herself in a place that made swallowing difficult. He rubbed his chest instinctively, but the horrible feeling wouldn’t fade. It was as if he were a small boy again. One who’d angered a mom who was the love of his entire universe. In those days, all he’d think about was how to fix things and get back into her good graces.
He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and swung around, looking in all directions. He’d been so caught up in his bickering with Dani, Ellie had disappeared, and he hadn’t even noticed.
Enough! He had a job to do, and it was high time he got on with it. He had to eat and pay for his lodging, so his choices were limited. He had to work.
Purposefully, he made his way towards the hospital.
“You’re still planning to interview the fire victims? Even after what we’ve talked about? I wouldn’t have believed you’d be this heartless, disturbing those poor people the day after such a tragedy.” Dani, her tone aggrieved, borderline nagging, had just enough pain ringing through to stop him dead in his tracks.
“You don’t understand, Dani.”
“No, you don’t understand. Those people have lost everything. They need time to heal, and they need to be left alone to do so.”
“I disagree. I think they need to know that someone cares.”
“Why? Do you care? You know nothing about them.”
“I will after today. Trust me, and let me do my job, or stay out of my way.”
Chaos in the hospital impeded him, making it difficult to discover where the victims from the fire had been taken. He finally coaxed a student nurse to take him to the ward where most of them were housed.
Trolleys full of linens, medications, and used food trays lined the hallway. The smells of congealed soup and stale bread mingled with the strong perfume of a cleaning solvent—Eau du Pine Sol, a fragrance he remembered from childhood, from living with a mother who cleaned diligently every day and took a great deal of pride in her modest home.
High counters, behind which the nurses convened with charts and ringing phones, were laden with colourful plants and flowers. Arrayed in numerous displays, tiny white envelopes on sticks poking out from each of them, they waited to find their new homes. The vivid colours, a welcome distraction from the surrounding beiges and greys, added a cheerful note.
The nurses, all in starched white, looked harried and ignored the man who cunningly portrayed himself as a legitimate visitor. Being able to slip into the background, a requirement for any good newspaperman, alleviated suspicion from the staff.
He veered into the first ward, ignored the curtained-off area in front, and made his way over to where an elderly woman lay in a bed by the window. Hair the colour of snow spread every which way over the matching pillow. Her sunken eyes were open as she stared blankly at the view of the city and of trees being blown about by the strong winds. Troy approached slowly and waited.
She finally turned to him. “Who are you?” Her tone sounded harsh, miserable—tragically lifeless.
At first Troy couldn’t speak for the turmoil filling his mind. Dani’s presence, still ranting, destroyed his ability until he cut her off.
“My name is Troy Brennan. I’m a reporter from Chicago, an—”
“You cheeky bugger! How did you get in here? I have nothing to say to you.” Tears appeared and streamed down sunken cheeks as the woman’s agitation increased. Her clenched hands beat on the spread wrapped around her tiny frame. Anger spilled over, as if her body carried more than it could contain. “My Harry is dead.” Wailing the words seemed to break something up inside her, loosening a dam of sorrow.
“Ma’am, I’m so sorry. Was he one of the victims from the fire?” The velvet voice of the man left no doubt to its listener—he felt for her loss. A voice that could wrap itself around a sick, sorry soul with such tenderness could never be questioned for its authenticity. A person just knew. He cared.
She reached out her hand, which he grasped gently in both of his. “My Harry was killed helping his mate who lived in the room next to us. The old fool thought he could work a miracle. I told him there wasn’t time to go back, but did he listen to me?” Spoken in her clogged, teary voice, the words were difficult to understand. Troy sat near her, patting her hand, giving the impression he had all the time in the world to wait until she felt stronger.
She used her hanky to mop up, then mutilated it between her arthritic fingers. Her sigh cut his heart into ribbons and left him wishing he could take on her pain. “That devil never heard a word I said half the time, he went his own way, and that’s the truth. But he was my man, and we had sixty years together.” She turned to Troy. “What’s left for me now?”
“What would Harry tell you if he heard you saying such things?”
A tiny grimace appeared, probably as close to a smile as she could handle at the moment. She swiped at her eyes with her free hand, like a child who’s been forgiven. She sniffed.
“He’d probably say something like ‘faggots and peas puddin’, lass. Give over now and move on’.”
Troy smiled and nodded. “Your Harry sounds like one smart man.”
“He was that. Why, he drove taxi for over fifty years. Even delivered two babies, he did. One’s named after him.”
“A boy, I hope!”
A chuckle burst out before the old woman could stop it. She smacked his hand. “You’re a fine piece of work, ya naughty devil.”
Flashing the old lady his most beguiling smile, the one that had gotten him behind the scenes many times in his career, Troy leaned forward so she could see his face. He wanted there to be no doubt about his intentions.
“Do you think Harry would want the folks here in Bury to know he cared so much for a friend that he gave his life to try and save him?”
She listened intently.
“Do you believe that reading his story could one day possibly spur someone else to step up and help another like Harry tried to do?”
She thought for a few seconds and then nodded.
“And do you really want to go through this pain alone?”
“I am alone.”
“You don’t have to be. Tell me your story. I’ll write it tonight, and tomorrow you’ll get to read it before anyone else. We’ll let the world know about the man you lived with and loved. Once you realize the truth—that when others read this piece they’ll feel your sadness—then you’re not alone.”
The stimulus of sharing her history, a concept now firmly anchored, replaced the look of sorrow with one of interest.
“Sharpen your pencil, lad. We’ve got a lot of writing to do.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The black-clad woman snuck up the hallway unnoticed and tiptoed into the sickroom where Dani lay still as death. Covered by a white chenille spread tucked around her shoulders, the teen appeared tiny and frail and very sick. Thank goodness for the fiery curls that haloed her ashen face. They saved her from being totally colourless.
Marion’s brilliant brainstorm of sending a flower delivery to the front door when she knew Mrs. Dorn would be alone had gotten her through the side door and up the stairs undetected. The plans for her siege had given her something to occupy her mind and had saved her sanity. She’d missed her daughter’s presence every minute of every long, lonely day. Knowing her girl rested close by only made it more unbearable.
All she needed was a few seconds to look at her, to see for herself how she fared. No touching or taking any silly chances on catching the virus. She didn’t want to upset her brother, because she truly approved of his taking the initiative to care for his niece. She knew in her heart
how much he loved Daniell. Even as a child the redheaded sprite would follow him around and her tiny arms would reach for him whenever he came into the room. They had a wonderful bond.
Jealousy had never entered the picture because she’d always thought of Robert as a special gift sent just for her, a focus for all her pent-up affection. It seemed only natural for him to share a similar connection with her daughter Daniell.
As she approached the bed, the intravenous setup attached to her girl gave the first hint that something didn’t add up. In fact, the lifelines monitoring the girl’s vitals threw her into a complete frenzy.
The resultant screams brought Mrs. Dorn puffing into the room, clutching her immense bosom, her hair scarf slipping to cover half her frightened face.
“Bleedin’ hell, woman! Shut yer gob! You near scared me half to death.” Rapid breathing, pouring sweat, and a face devoid of any colour hinted at a potential heart attack, which could excuse her lack of respect to a mother near collapse.
Marion stopped the horrific noise in the only manner she could. She clapped her hands over her mouth and pressed. Then, visibly shaking, she leaned over Dani and tenderly pushed the silky tresses away from the girl’s forehead. She tried to feel her temperature, the first thing any mother thinks of when she deals with a sick child.
Her voice thick with emotion, she faced Mrs. Dorn and pleaded, “Call an ambulance!”
“‘Ere now, don’t be daft. Wait for the doctor. He’ll be here in a jiffy. He can set you straight, mum.”
“Set me straight?” The woman’s voice reached screaming proportions in three words. “Mrs. Dorn, you are fired! If you touch my daughter again, I will have you arrested.” Her voice sank with every word she spat out, the eeriness of her tone compelling the housekeeper to believe that she meant exactly what she said. “Pack up your belongings and leave this house.”
“It were all your brother’s idea to keep this from you. I—”
“Quite frankly, I don’t give a damn whose idea it was. Get out!”
Recognizing pending hysteria, Mrs. Dorn gave up the good fight and bolted as quickly as her girth would allow. Before she could reach the telephone, Marion pushed her aside and grabbed at the receiver herself. The ensuing struggle’s outcome would never be questioned. A mother’s love overrode a woman’s loyalty every time.