Authors: Frances Devine
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 worried 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.
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
Sam tensed. “Sorry about what?”
“I saw Nancy give the letter to Franklin and heard her tell him it was a letter for your ‘young lady,’ as she said.” His father sighed, and Sam saw sorrow wash over his face. “What can I say except I’m sorry? I thought I was doing the right thing when I took it.”
“You read it?”
“Of course not. I disposed of it.” Shame filled his eyes. “I was wrong. I’m very sorry, Sam. I thought I was protecting you. Now that I’ve gotten to know so many of the Irish people, I’ve come to respect most of them. I asked around about Miss O’Shannon and heard about the good work she’s been doing in the Patch.”
Sam’s chest tightened. He knew his father had thought he was doing the right thing, but could he forgive this outrage?
“Sam, all I can say is I’m so sorry and I’d love to meet the young lady. I just pray you can somehow forgive me.”
With awe, Sam saw tears spring up in his father’s eyes. Eugene Nelson, tough businessman, was crying.
He reached over and pressed his father’s hand. “I do forgive you, Father. And I’m sure my Katie will be thrilled to meet you and Mother.”
Nineteen
Katie put on her best dress and then, peering into the mirror, arranged part of her hair on top of her head. She smoothed the ringlets hanging down on each side then picked up her hat and eyed it critically.
She’d purchased the plum-colored head covering from a catalog shortly before she came to the city. The lace and fake flowers were still as good as new. But the small black bird, which had so fascinated her at the time of purchase, now wanted to lean over onto the brim. She’d have to repair or remove it. But not today. After tugging the bird back into place, she arranged the hat on her head. It would simply have to do.
She’d been excited about church before, but this joy bubbling up inside her wasn’t about sitting in the back pew, giggling
with her girlfriends. She practically skipped downstairs
and was surprised to see her pa, standing beside a smiling Rosie, wearing his best suit and smelling like pomade.
“It’s about time you got down here, Katherine O’Shannon. And here we’ve been waiting for you fifteen minutes or more.” He pulled out his pocket watch, gave it a quick glance, then replaced it in his vest pocket.
“Five is more like it, Michael. Don’t pay him any mind, Katie. You’re very pretty this morning. Isn’t she?”
Katie grinned as her father took a closer look at her.
“Isn’t that waist a little snug, daughter?” Creases appeared between his eyes.
“No, Pa, it’s not snug in the least.” She grabbed his arm. “Shall we go? I wouldn’t want to be late.”
They stepped out into the already scorching hot morning.
“My lands,” Rosie said, holding a handkerchief to her face. “Were there more fires last night?”
“Hmm. It wouldn’t surprise me any,” Pa declared. “The count was at twenty for the week the last I heard.”
Katie latched onto one of her father’s arms while Rosie grabbed the other, and they headed down the street, turning when they reached the corner. By the time they reached the church, she noticed her father wheezed a little, and her own breathing was difficult as well.
A group of men stood on the steps outside the church, their conversation reaching to the sidewalk.
One man flung his arm upward. “That’s right. The whole street’s gone. Houses, stores, everything.”
“What are they talking about, Father?”
Dear God, please don’t let it be what it sounds like.
Her father patted her hand. “Go inside, Katie. You, too, Rosie. I’ll join you shortly.”
She followed Rosie into the church, and they found seats in a pew about halfway up the aisle.
A smattering of women and children sat around the sanctuary, and an occasional whisper reached her ears.
Finally, the men drifted in.
Katie scooted over so her father could slide into the pew next to Rosie. “Father, what’s going on?” She leaned over and peered around Rosie.
“Shhh.” The sound came from the seat behind Katie.
A tall man had stepped onto the platform and made his way to the podium. He stood for a moment with his eyes closed. Was he praying?
“Brothers and sisters, neighbors,” the deep voice sounded throughout the room, “some of you have heard about last night’s fires. For those who haven’t, I’m sorry to be the bearer of sad news.”
A sob sounded from the other side of the room, and Katie heard a moan from farther back in the church.
“Four entire blocks were destroyed last night on the southwest side of town. I don’t know the exact location, and I’m sorry I don’t have more information. If you have family or friends in that area and would like to leave, we will be praying.”
Katie averted her eyes as several people got up from their seats and hurried out.
Dear God. Help them.
Let them find their loved ones safe.
“If you’ll bow your heads, I’ll say a few words of prayer for those who may have lost homes or, worse still, family members.” He paused a moment then sighed. “I’m afraid it’s also time to pray for the safety of our entire city.”
Katie closed her eyes and silently prayed, blinking back tears. Oh, why didn’t it rain?
Lord, please send rain.
“And now, if you’ll open your hymnals, we’ll continue our service with our brothers and sisters still in our hearts.”
As Katie sang the familiar hymns, peace flowed into her spirit. She listened intently to the sermon that followed, almost awestruck. Grandma and Grandpa’s church wasn’t like this. Was it? If so, where was she at the time? In another world? Perhaps it was the tragedy and common-felt sorrow among the congregation that made it feel different. No, the feeling came from inside. Butterflies tickled her stomach.
God is really real.
She had to cover her mouth and nose with her handkerchief during the walk home, as did her father and Rosie. She followed them into the house and went up to change into something fresh and lighter before dinner.
Why hadn’t she invited Sam to dinner? Perhaps he’d drop by later. If not, the afternoon would drag. If only Bridget were here. But she wouldn’t be home until sundown at least.
What could she do to make the time go faster? And get her mind off those poor people? As she walked into the hallway, the aroma of Ma’s fried chicken wafted up the staircase. Her favorite meal. Her stomach churned. Who could eat?
❧
Sam scanned the front page of the
Chicago Tribune
. His eyes rested on an article covering last night’s fire. According to the reporter, the absence of rain had left everything so dry it would only take a spark to ignite the whole city. He shook his head. The southwest wind blowing off the prairie could make that prediction come true.
His mother came in from the kitchen and stopped in the middle of the room. “All anyone at church could talk about this morning was the fire and the possibility of more.”
At the sight of her worried face, Sam got up and took her hands in his. “Now, Mother, don’t be worrying yourself sick.”
“I won’t. I’m trying to lift it up to God.” She offered a rueful smile. “Most of the time, I remember.”
A twinge of guilt bit at Sam. How long had it been since he’d gone to church or even opened his Bible? He could remember a time when he was so close to God he could actually feel His presence. What had happened?
His mother placed her hand on his sleeve. “I’d like to talk to you before dinner.”
She sat on the sofa, and Sam returned to his chair. “All right, Mother. What about?”
“Your father told me about Miss O’Shannon.”
Sam’s stomach tightened. “Yes? You know Father hasn’t actually met her yet, and besides, he’s given his permission for me to bring Katie to meet him.”
“You don’t need to sound so defensive, Sam. I’m not planning an attack.” A dimple appeared and then hid again at her brief smile.
“You’ll have to forgive me, Mother. I’ve been defending Katie to Father for some time.”
“But I am not your father.”
He darted a look at her. “Do you mean you approve? Even though she isn’t one of your friends’ daughters?”
“What do they have to do with anything? I want my son happy, whomever he chooses to love. But as to whether I approve of your choice, I can’t say. You haven’t given me the opportunity to approve or disapprove.”
Sam’s jaw dropped open, and he burst out laughing. “You’ve a point there. I haven’t, have I?”
She patted the seat next her. “So, come over here and tell me all about this girl who has managed to capture my son’s elusive heart. Goodness knows I’ve thrown plenty of lovely young women your way with no success at all.”
Sam sat where she directed and leaned back. How good it felt to relax when he spoke of Katie. “Mother, you will love her. I know you will. She’s not only lovely to look at; she’s sweet and kind.”
Sam paused, wondering how to continue. How to show her the Katie he knew and loved. “Her parents were in vaudeville and lived in New York City. When she was fourteen, her mother died, and her maternal grandparents raised her after that. They have a little farm somewhere in southern Illinois. She turned eighteen a few months ago and came to live with her father.”
“Tell me about him.”
Sam smiled. “Michael O’Shannon is bigger than life with a stubborn streak and a heart of gold. He came here from Ireland when he was a small boy and is very much American. He’s very protective of his Katie, and it took me quite awhile to win his trust so that I could call on her.”
“What sort of acting does Katie do?”
“She won her first role after one of the other performers broke her foot. The actress is back now, so Katie only sings a solo before the show. Usually a ballad. She also helps out backstage.”
“I always thought it would be exciting to be onstage.” Her eyes sparkled.
Sam couldn’t help the little choke of laughter at her words. “You, Mother?”
She flashed a smile at him. “I was a young girl myself once, you know. Of course, I’d have been locked up forever if I’d tried to follow that short-lived dream.”
Franklin appeared in the doorway. “Dinner is served, Mrs. Nelson.”
“Thank you, Franklin.”
Sam fidgeted. Had he said enough? Too much?
Mother rose and waited for him then took his arm. “Ask Miss O’Shannon when it would be convenient for her to come to dinner.”
A weight lifted off Sam, and he took a deep breath. “Thank you, Mother,” he whispered.
“I’ve always wanted a daughter, you know.”
Sam smiled at the dimple that appeared in her cheek.
❧
Katie couldn’t join in the festive mood with the rest of the troupe as Pat Devine entertained them with his fiddle. Why hadn’t Sam come to see her? All right. So he didn’t say he would be here today. But still. . .
She glanced at the mantel clock again. Seven. Bridget should have been here by now. Katie went to the window and peeked around the lace curtains and through the open window. With a huff, she sat on the wingbacked chair. Bridget wasn’t coming either. She turned her attention to Pat, who had everyone in the room but her tapping their toes.
Rosie sat beside her. “Bridget’s not here yet?”
“No. She must have decided to stay home tonight,” Katie sighed.
“I know it’s lonely for you with just us older folks for company.” Rosie gave her an understanding smile.
“Oh no, Rosie. I love being with you.” The older woman had been a wonderful friend to Katie. Almost like a mother.
“Mmm-hmm.” Rosie gave her hand a squeeze. “We love you, too. But it’s not the same as having someone your own age to talk to.”
A shout of laughter drew their attention back to their boisterous friends.
Katie smiled at her father, who stood in the center of the room, surrounded by the others. “Rosie, they’re insulting me.”
“Now, you fellows, leave my man alone.” Rosie gave a playful frown and went to stand by Michael, looping her arm through his.
Her man? Did Rosie call Pa “her man”? Katie put her hands to her cheeks. She’d known that Rosie had a crush on her pa, but when did he decide to return her affection?
Deciding she needed to collect her thoughts, she went outside and sat on one of the rocking chairs on the porch. The smoke from the night before seemed even stronger than it had earlier, probably carried by the wind blowing from the south. Like Pa said, the fire department was well equipped to take care of any more fires that broke out. Katie shivered. But then why did four city blocks burn to the ground?
Suddenly part of a verse from the minister’s sermon came to her.
“When thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.”
What did that mean? People did get burned sometimes. Just last week, one of Harrigan’s business associates had died in a fire.
Another shiver went through her body. She jumped up and hurried back to the parlor. Back to the noisy laughter. Back to where she was safe.