Mission of Hope (12 page)

There was a long moment of stunned silence before Quinn replied, “Simon tells me reckless is bad.”

“Of course he would. He's got the army teaching him how to live. You, you've got your heart and life and God guiding you. No sir, reckless has its uses. Messengers who go wandering around past midnight need to be a bit reckless.”

Messengers. Midnight.
The words clicked together in Quinn's brain to solve the one detail in all of this that still eluded him.

Quinn stared right at delightful, frustrating Reverend Bauers, who had no idea what he'd just done. “I know who I am now.” No, Bauers had not solved the larger question of what to do about Nora, nor fixed the challenges of delivering goods, but he had just answered a small but frustrating question. “Thanks.”

Bauers looked stumped. “For what?”

“The name. I'm not the Bandit. I never wanted to be another Bandit anyways. I'm the Midnight Messenger.”

“The Midnight Messenger?” The reverend squinted up his eyes, as if trying the thought out for size. “It fits. It works. Yes, I believe you are the Midnight Messenger. Good gracious, what have I done?”

“Become an accomplice. Again.” Quinn pointed at the old man. “I
knew
God wasn't done with you yet.”

I
t was an unlikely crowd that gathered in the street between Dolores Park and the official camp later that week. Nora and her father stood with Major Simon, Reverend Bauers and Quinn Freeman, staring at the deluge of messages that now covered the post. While Nora was surprised that her father agreed to a further inspection of the notes when Reverend Bauers had asked, she was thankful he didn't seem to view the gulf between the two camps as wide as he had in earlier weeks. As it was, Nora sent up a prayer of praise that these five people could stand here together. She found herself thanking God daily for the wealth of experiences she'd had since that fateful Tuesday morning.

There was almost always a knot of people gathered around the column these days. Word of goods and foodstuffs arriving mysteriously in the middle of the night had spread quickly. Nora knew she had granted Edwina's wish for a doll, but that didn't explain how one family received the blanket they'd requested. Nora heard another story of a woman who tacked up a request for
sewing needles, only to find them stuck in her door the next morning.

Suspicious, Nora had asked Quinn what he knew, but he denied any part in the thing. He had no reason to keep it from her, but then again she had no real claim to his confidences, did she? No matter who was behind it, the good news shot a sense of hope through the camp like a burst of sunshine after so much pain and suffering. Not every need was filled—from the looks of the column, perhaps only one request in twenty met with success—but even those odds seemed enough to fuel a surge of optimism.

Bauers folded his hands over his round torso. “From the looks of it, we'll need a second post by the end of the week.”

“I had the same thought,” Quinn agreed. “But a length of wood that big will be hard to come by. Folks are already saving every scrap they can find in hopes of rebuilding.”

That gave Nora an idea. “Papa, what about the column you kept from our old house? We could use that, couldn't we?” It was charred and had a large chunk out of the top, making her wonder if her father had hauled it out of the rubble for purely sentimental reasons. It didn't look to her as if it could serve much use holding anything up anymore, so why not use it here where it could do a world of good?

“It was one of the few things we could save, burnt as it is.” Her father pondered the idea for a moment, his reluctance obvious, and Nora thought of her locket, so precious to her even though it was battered almost to uselessness. Sometimes people just needed to hang on to something no matter how little sense it made. She
was just about to take back her suggestion when Papa shrugged his shoulders and said, “I don't know why I saved it, to be honest. I suppose this is as good a use as any.”

“You know, Longstreet, there's no reason to think it can't be returned to you later,” Major Simon offered. “It might even be quite a conversation piece when you rebuild.”

“I'm sure it would do good,” Nora added. “We should do it.”

“I could come over this afternoon and fetch it back,” Quinn offered.

“Yes, then, why don't you?” Mr. Longstreet finally agreed.

Nora smiled. “Oh, Papa, I'm so delighted it's coming from our house.”

Papa cleared this throat. “The question remains,” he looked from Reverend Bauers to Major Simon, “
who
is it we are aiding? Reverend, do you know how the first requests were met?”

“Well, some of them have been met through Grace House and its benefactors, that's to be sure, but there is definitely another party at work. And no, I don't know who they are.”

“I do worry that this ‘generosity' is really the result of theft,” Papa said, stroking his chin. “I'm not for helping out some misguided Robin Hood.”

“I suppose it's always a possibility, but I'm inclined to think otherwise,” Reverend Bauers said. “Until we have evidence that wrongdoing is involved, I choose to encourage this charity. Think of it as merely another version of postage—you are delivering communication, just by a means other than mail.”

Major Simon cast his gaze up and down the first pole. It had so many notes upon it now, wood could no longer be seen. “Still, the postmaster has a point. Another column means twice as many notes. How many notes will be too many? Unmet expectations can be a dangerous tinderbox.”

“We've already survived the firestorm,” Quinn said. “What's a little more tinder if it might do some good?”

Papa sighed. “Mr. Freeman, I'll expect you this afternoon, if Reverend Bauers or the major can supply you with a wagon.”

“Consider it done,” Quinn said.

Nora tried to dismiss her twinge of excitement as simply the satisfaction of helping more people. That was a lie. It was far more about the prospect of Quinn Freeman coming to her house this afternoon. She just hoped her father couldn't tell the difference.

 

When Mr. Longstreet had mentioned he had a usable pillar stowed away in his backyard, he hadn't mentioned that it was hidden under a pile of other rubble and broken furniture. Hadn't Quinn stood on that far corner just days ago, bemoaning his lack of access to Nora's world?
I never learn, do I, Lord?
Quinn grunted and pushed a heap of old bricks out of the way.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nora's face dart away from a window to his left. How long had she been watching him work? He pulled his shirt back on, suddenly feeling the effect of knowing her eyes were on him.
Does it have to be so hard, Lord? Do You set up a man's heart for this foolishness on purpose, or do we
do this to ourselves? Surely You didn't bring me through a disaster only to watch my heart break, did You?

“You look like you could use a drink.” Nora appeared on the porch a few minutes later with a large tin cup in her hand. “We've not had ice for weeks, but the water's still cool.”

Quinn thought he would have gladly drunk hot water just for an excuse to walk up onto the porch and catch a whiff of her hair. “I sure could use any kind of water. That post's heavier than it looks, I'll tell you.”

He drained the cup quickly, glad to have the cool water slide down his parched throat. “Hard to imagine how a house full of sturdy wood came down so quick, isn't it?” He handed the cup back to her after spilling the last bit of the water on his hands and splashing it on to his face.

“The house across the street took three days to fall over. It felt like ours came down in half a minute.” Quinn could practically see the memory darken her eyes as she leaned against one of the back porch's columns.

“I'm sorry,” Quinn said, meaning it. So sweet a face should never bear that pained expression. “Some awful things happened in our neighborhood, too. A chimney fell on a man right in front of my mother. She has nightmares about it now and then, but it's getting better.”

Nora eased herself down the length of the post to settle on the edge of the porch. She was quiet for a moment, fingering the hem of her skirts. “I used to dream about the ground swallowing up Annette every night. I'd wake up feeling like it all just happened, like it would never go away but just keep swallowing the both of us over and over. It was awful.” She looked up at Quinn, who stood on the ground with one foot on
the steps below her. “I haven't had that dream since you gave the locket back to me. Not even after I lost her photograph, although I cried when I got home.” The tenderest of smiles fluttered across her face. “Thank you for fixing it.”

It was a little thing, and then again not so little. He wanted to do so much more for her. “It's not the same. I'm sorry about that.”

“I am, too.” Her hand went up to the locket, and a surge of satisfaction came as her fingers traced his handiwork. She let out a sigh he felt as much as heard. “But nothing's the same, I suppose. We simply have to find the good where we can, make do.”

Quinn couldn't help himself when her voice got that wistful quality. “There is good, you know,” he said softly, daring a long look into those violet eyes. “More than I ever thought, actually.”

She smiled. Not the frail smile of a moment before, but a warm, radiant one that seeped into him stronger than the sunshine. “There is, isn't there? Some wonderful things have happened. Things I can't help thinking wouldn't have happened if everything went on the way it was before. I had that thought just this morning as we were all standing around looking at your wonderful post. And now there will be two.” She widened her eyes. “Did you hear the talk as we were standing around? People were saying the loveliest things. They were excited to be receiving gifts and to know that people cared about their needs. Reverend Bauers said that he thought maybe God was giving San Francisco a chance to show the world a good side no one thought was there. Do you think that's true?”

Quinn crossed his arms and leaned against the post
opposite Nora on the porch's back stairs. “I don't try to think what God's motives are. He knows what He's got planned, and I expect we wouldn't understand it much if He did tell us the whole scheme. I've got enough on my plate just working out my little part in it, much less the bigger picture.”

“Oh,” she said, “I think you have an enormous role in it.”

Had Bauers told her something? Did she know his role in those deliveries? He didn't like that idea—the Midnight Messenger could be a very dangerous business, and he didn't want her mixed up in it, even if she did want to fill a few of the requests on the pillars. “How so?” he asked carefully.

“The posts, of course. I think God set you right there with that clever idea just like He set you in the camp with the teeter-totter. Like He set you to save me from Ollie. Or to find my locket.” She looked right into his eyes, and Quinn felt his stomach drop out through what was left of the soles of his shoes. “You'll probably think it's silly, but you've been such an encouragement to me. Here I was thinking God had left me alone, and you do all those things—those little but very big things—that let me know He's still minding my path. You're an answer to my prayers, Quinn Freeman. How does that make you feel?”

He knew the exact moment his heart left his body. The exact instant it disobeyed all the good and solid reasons he had for not pining over Nora Longstreet and left to follow her of its own accord. He stared at her, knowing his affections had just overstepped all kinds of bounds and not caring. He no longer had any choice in
the matter. “I'm thinking it might not be wise to answer that, Miss Longstreet.”

She held his stare with an expression almost too bold for her delicate features. “Nora,” she corrected quietly. “And what if I told you I think I might already know?”

“Nora,” he said unsteadily, feeling the sound of her name play all kinds of havoc with his composure, “you do already know. I'm just not sure it will change anything.” He waited a long moment before he added. “And that's a shame.”

“I wish the world were different,” she said. “Do you think the world can be different now? That the earthquake can change more than just…the buildings?”

Was she asking him if he was willing to defy all that stood between them? Did she realize how dangerous a question that was? “I know how I'd have things if it were up to me.” He tried to tell her, without saying the words, how much that was true. He hoped his eyes showed her what her eyes were showing him. And at that moment, sore and sweaty with the sun beating down on his head, Quinn thought if the only reason God spared him was so that he could feel what he felt from her gaze, then he'd consider it a fair trade. He could do the work of twelve if he could see that look every day. “If God left it up to me…I'd…”

Somehow, some remaining shred of reason stopped him from finishing that sentence. As if it'd lose all its wonder if he tried to put it into words. But she knew. He could tell.

She, however, was willing to go further. “You're one of the very best things about all that's happened, Quinn.” There was a power in her eyes that made him want
to swoop down and carry her off to whatever future they could discover together. But he didn't want to steal her off her aunt's porch like some kind of marauder. If God ever gave him the chance to claim her for himself, he'd walk through the front door with the admiration of everyone who cared about her.

“You are a wonder, Nora Longstreet,” was all he could manage, inadequate as it was. He covered the incredible longing in his chest with a teasing tone. “As big a wonder as they come.”

“What will happen now?”

Quinn pushed off the porch steps and willed his feet to take steps in the direction of the cart. It'd take hours of hammering to squelch the humming in his gut right now. Tired as he was from all this work, he was glad to know more work—not to mention another attempt at a delivery—awaited him. He was lost, good and lost. “I've got to work that out,” he said, snatching one last look at those memorable eyes, “but you'll be the first to know.”