A Girl Like That (7 page)

Ten

He hadn’t been there when she sang her solo before the show. Why had she thought he would be?

The image in the mirror distorted, and Katie reached up and swiped her eyes. The tears seemed to come out of nowhere when she least expected them. She was getting altogether too much well-intended sympathy from the other members of the troupe, and she wasn’t sure she could take any more of it just now.

The thing to do was pretend she didn’t care a bit that Sam Nelson had turned out to be an intolerant, unfeeling cad. Only, she did care. Way too much. Worse than that, she wasn’t sure he really was all those things. Maybe he was just ignorant and misled about the true conditions of the Patch. And she’d sent him away.

She jumped up before the tears could well up again. Her makeup would just have to do. Grabbing her maid costume from the rack, she lifted it high.

“Here, let me help you with that.” Bridget took the costume and dropped it over Katie’s head and shoulders. Katie felt a tug at her waist as her friend cinched the frilly white apron over the black dress.

Katie peered into the mirror and pinned the mobcap to her curls, the final touch to her maid ensemble.

She caught Bridget’s frowning image in the mirror and turned.

“What’s wrong? It’s straight, isn’t it?” Katie took a closer look in the mirror. The cap was perfect as far as she could tell.

“I’m sorry, Katie,” Bridget choked out.

Katie’s stomach tightened. “What? Is something wrong?”

“I wish I’d never told you about Mr. Nelson and Chauncey Flannigan. It’s hurting you. And it’s all my fault.”

Katie began shaking her head even before her friend finished her sentence. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I needed to know.”

“I’d give anything to take it back. I’d eat my words, I would.”

“Bridget, you only told me the facts. And you were right to do so.” Katie took her friend’s hands and peered into her eyes. “Now stop worrying about it. I’m all right. Really, I am.”

But was she? She left the dressing room and walked down the hall to the stage wing. At her cue, she took a deep breath and, smiling, walked on the stage. Would he be there? As though of their own accord, her eyes went once more to Sam’s special seat. Empty. Disappointment washed over her. She swallowed deeply and focused on breathing normally. Of course he wasn’t there. It was silly to think he might be. Determined to take control of her thoughts, she threw herself into the performance. If only she had more lines or more action during the performance. Anything to fill up the moments.

As soon as the show was over, Katie rushed through the wings and headed down the hallway.

“Hold on there a minute, Katie girl.” She turned and forced a smile as her pa walked up to her. “You’ve been avoiding me all week, you have.”

“Why, Father. Between here and the boardinghouse, we’re together day and night.” She threw him an innocent glance, hoping he’d buy it.

“Don’t be blinkin’ those eyes at me, Katherine Marie O’Shannon. You’re knowing exactly what I mean. It’s time we’re having a bit of a talk.”

Katie sighed. “All right, Pa.”

“I thought we’d go for a walk after we get home tonight. How does that strike you?”

Katie nodded and headed for the dressing room. Going for a walk with her father didn’t strike her that well, but she knew their little talk was inevitable, so she might as well get it over with.

At least it had cooled a little by the time Katie and her father set out from the boardinghouse.

“Ah, nothing like the night air to fill a man’s lungs before bedtime.”

Katie watched, startled as her father took a deep breath. “Pa, do you think that’s—”

Her warning was interrupted by her father’s fit of coughing. She pounded him on the back as he wheezed and coughed in an attempt to breathe.

Finally, the spasms lessened, and he sucked air in between gasps.

“Are you all right?”

He nodded and waved his arm in her direction.

She waited until he was breathing normally again.

“It could be this night air isn’t quite so good for the lungs as it used to be.” He laughed, and Katie joined in with relief.

“Let’s sit on that bench for a few minutes, Father, till you get your breath back.” She guided him toward the small wrought iron bench that sat beneath the lamp at the corner.

“A good idea.” He stretched and sighed as he leaned back on the bench.

They sat in silence for a moment. Katie waited, knowing he’d speak as soon as he collected his thoughts. The space between her shoulder blades tightened as she anticipated his scolding.

“Now then, daughter. It breaks my heart to see you moonin’ over that young fellow.”

“That’s not what I’m—”

“Yes, it’s mooning you’ve been doing. No doubt about it.”

His tender smile warmed her heart, even while she dreaded this discussion. “I suppose.”

“It’s probably all for the best, you know.”

Katie frowned. “I thought you liked Sam.”

“ ’Tis true, I did. Everyone knew I liked him. But lately something’s been weighing on my mind.” He paused and squinted up at the lighted gas lamp.

“I don’t understand.”

“Katie, dear, all the weeks he was coming to call, did Sam ever ask you to his home? Did he ever mention wanting you to meet his family?”

Pain, as from a knife, sliced through her heart. She’d thought of it. The possibility that Sam was trifling with her. Having some fun with the showgirl. But every time the ugly thought had pierced her heart, she’d pushed it away. She’d told herself there was a reason he hadn’t asked her to his home. The time simply wasn’t right yet. But deep inside, she’d felt fear. And now, her father had put her fear into words.

Unable to bear the thoughts bombarding her, Katie jumped up and ran toward home.

❧

As he drove through the streets of the Patch, Sam was struck again by the abject poverty. How could there be hope in such a dismal place? The encounter with O’Hooley had brought a drastic change in Sam’s outlook. While still holding reservations about Flannigan’s honesty, he nevertheless looked at Conley’s Patch with new eyes.

A little girl stood near the filthy canal in front of the house next to Flannigan’s. Two other children, one about her size and the other one bigger and a head taller, stood by her.

Sam pulled up in front of Flannigan’s and watched as the two girls crowded the little redhead closer and closer to the edge. Sam jumped from his carriage and ran toward the children. But he was too late. He watched in horror as the little girl tottered on the edge of a board for a few seconds then fell with a splash into the sewer.

When the two children noticed Sam charging toward them, they took off down the street. Sam jumped into the filthy water and grabbed the sputtering child by the shoulders. Tossing her
to safety, he pulled himself out, dripping with slime.

The little girl stared at him, unmoving. He looked around helplessly. Where was everyone? Didn’t anyone see what happened? Stooping down beside her, he gave her a gentle smile. “Where do you live, sweetheart?”

Her eyes widened at the sound of his voice, and tears poured out over her grimy cheeks. She raised a small finger and pointed to the house next to Flannigan’s. He gave her a puzzled look. She seemed to be glued to the spot. Would she scream if he picked her up?

“Is it all right if I carry you home?”

She stared silently for what seemed to Sam like forever then nodded her head and raised her little arms toward him. He lifted her and stood. As he walked toward the house, warmth ran from his arms straight into his heart. Who could have known it would feel like this to hold a child in his arms?

Before he could step up to the porch of the shanty, he felt a tug on his collar.

“Ma’s over there.” She pointed toward the house next door.

“Your mother is at the Flannigans’?”

She nodded, so Sam turned and walked across the hard earth and sprigs of weeds that passed as a yard. When he stepped onto the Flannigans’ porch, he could hear voices through the closed door. At his loud knock, the voices stopped, and almost immediately, the door swung open.

Mrs. Flannigan stood and stared, glancing from Sam to the child, her eyes wide.

“Oh! What in the world? Margaret, you’d best come here.” She stood back and motioned for Sam to enter.

“Betty!” The woman rushed forward to take the child from his arms. “What happened to her?”

“I’m afraid she fell into the sewer.”

She examined the child from head to toe and then looked at Sam. When she spoke, her voice was a hushed whisper. “You jumped into that nasty muck to save her. How can I ever thank ya?”

“I’m sure anyone would do the same. And I don’t think she was in any real danger.”

“Betty, where are the Morgan girls? Beth was supposed to be a watching you.”

Sam watched in admiration as Betty ducked her head and closed her lips. She wasn’t going to tattle. Sam, however, had no compunction at all. “If you mean the pigtailed tyrant who crowded her over the edge, she and another little girl ran off down the street when they saw me.”

The woman’s voice rose with anger. “You mean Beth pushed her?”

“Not exactly. But she might as well have. The little monster kept crowding her toward the edge until she fell in. I saw the whole thing.”

The little girl’s voice shook. “B-B-Beth said I had to walk the plank.”

Sam’s heart wrenched with sympathy, and he hoped the would-be pirate would get what she deserved.

“Mr. Nelson, thank you so much. I’m beholden to you. Now I need to get my child home and get her cleaned up.”

How did she know his name? Then it hit him. “You’re Mrs. Thornton, aren’t you? Bridget’s mother.”

“That I am. Now I must be getting home.”

“Sarah, dear, don’t be leavin’ Mr. Nelson to stand there in those filthy clothes.” Sam looked in surprise at Chauncey Flannigan. He sounded almost friendly. “Get him some water to wash up, and he can borrow my Sunday suit.”

“Thank you, Mr. Flannigan. I’m not going to argue with you about that. I’d hate to drive home in this mess. But your Sunday suit won’t be necessary. Anything will be fine.”

Fifteen minutes later, somewhat cleaner and wearing the Sunday suit in spite of his protests, Sam sat at the Flannigan table and shared a pot of tea and tried his first bowl of Irish stew.

“Mr. Nelson, we’ve been so caught up in little Betty’s adventure that I haven’t asked your reason for being in the neighborhood.”

Sam hesitated. Why exactly was he here? He wasn’t sure. He only knew that after his experience with O’Hooley, he had to hear Flannigan’s account of the accident again. Because when he’d come before, he had already judged this man guilty. This time he came with an open mind. “Mr. Flannigan, you don’t owe me a second chance, but I would like to hear your side of the story again. I can’t say if I’ll change my mind about this case or not, but I promise to listen this time without a preconceived idea of the truth.”

“Ah well, I may have misjudged you, too. Anyone who would jump into the sewer to save a child can’t be all bad.”

Eleven

“Runnin’ late, are ye?” a toothless old man teased, setting off laughter among the folks around them, as Katie made her way past the crowd. The ragtag line of hungry-eyed people ran all the way around the corner and up the sidewalk to the door of the soup kitchen.

Katie grinned and continued to smile and joke with those she recognized as she worked her way forward. How some of these poverty-ridden people could find a laugh or a smile in the midst of their drab lives constantly amazed her.

She squeezed through the front door, hoping she hadn’t thrown off everyone’s schedule by being so late. Morning rehearsal had gone over by nearly a half hour, and she’d had to scurry to get here at all before the lunch rush was over. By the looks of the crowd, there was still plenty of time to help.

She pressed her way across the room and into the kitchen.

Mrs. Carter stood by the stove, spooning chili from the huge cauldron into a large serving pot. “Oh, thank goodness. Grab that container on the table, please, and take it out front.”

Katie got the pot of soup out just as two more emptied. She slipped it into one of the empty places, ladled hot mixture into a bowl, and handed it to a young boy who stood licking his lips.

“Thankee, ma’am.” The boy took the soup and moved to stand before Mrs. Gilrich, another volunteer, who handed him a hunk of bread.

A bent, white-haired woman stepped up to the counter. She accepted the dish with a shaking hand and started to walk away, passing up the bread as she balanced the bowl of soup in one hand and leaned on her cane with the other.

Katie’s heart lurched. She hung the ladle onto the rim of the pot and stepped around the end of the counter. Grabbing a piece of bread, she hurried to the elderly lady. “May I please help you, ma’am?”

The woman relinquished the bowl and followed Katie to an empty place at a table in the center of the room. Katie placed the food on the table and smiled. “Promise you’ll call to me if you need anything.”

A twinkle appeared in the faded blue eyes. “Thank ya, lass. You’re verra kind.”

Shaking inside, Katie rushed back to the food line.
Dear God, how many of these old people are homeless and starving?

By the time things slowed down and Katie glanced over to check on the woman, she had already left. Sadness washed over Katie. Did the poor old woman have a home? Or was she sleeping in an alley somewhere?

When Katie arrived back at the theater for the afternoon performance, she felt a familiar squeeze in her chest. Sam hadn’t been to the show since she sent him away, but a day didn’t pass without her wondering if he’d show up. Strange that her thoughts hadn’t turned to him even once while she was helping at the soup kitchen.

Perhaps if she threw herself into her charitable work and her performances, she wouldn’t spend so much time grieving. And why should she be distressed over a man whose only interest in her had been that of a trivial flirtation? She’d been naive and foolish to think he really cared for her. A twinge of uncertainty wiggled its way to the forefront of her thoughts, right along with a vision of Sam’s deep brown eyes. Eyes that had glanced at her with what she thought was love.

That night, Katie played the part of Rose the maid with an intensity that drew curious glances from her friends. She didn’t look at Sam’s empty seat a single time.

She left the stage and headed down the hall. If she changed quickly and left the theater before the others, she wouldn’t get trapped into a conversation with anyone.

“Hold on a minute, Katie.” Mr. Harrigan touched her arm as she rushed past him. “I noticed you really got into your role just now.” His smile was kind, so perhaps she wouldn’t have to deal with anything but a few words of friendly camaraderie.

“Thank you, sir.”

“It’s okay to put yourself into the part, but try to keep it as close to the way it’s written as possible.” His eyes twinkled as he patted her shoulder and walked off.

Katie put her hands to her burning cheeks. Oh dear. If Mr. Harrigan noticed, everyone else surely did, too. They’d surely know the reason for overplaying her role.

She walked into the ladies’ dressing room and found it full. So much for getting out ahead of everyone.

Giving up on her idea to avoid company, she walked back to Ma Casey’s surrounded by friends. Friends who, to her relief, didn’t mention her performance.

A few minutes before time to return to Harrigan’s for the evening show, Katie and several other members of the troupe were relaxing in the parlor when a knock sounded on the front door. A moment later, Rosie Riley stood in the doorway. “Katie, it’s Mr. Nelson. He’s asking for you.”

Feverish heat shot from Katie’s head all the way down to her toes. She cast about for the right words. “Tell Mr. Nelson I’ve no wish to see him.” Katie almost choked on the words. Did she really mean it?

Rosie threw her a worried look. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Her whispered answer rang like a knell of death in Katie’s ears.

Rosie turned and left the room, and Katie rushed to the window. So what if everyone was watching? She didn’t care.

She peered through the lacy curtain and watched as Sam turned and walked away. Her stomach tightened. The dejected look on his face reflected the ache in her heart.

❧

Sam nudged his horse, urging him toward the river. He’d spent most of the morning at Conley’s Patch talking to Flannigan’s friends and neighbors. Story after story of the man’s kindness and helpfulness to others were repeated as Sam went from house to house. The main two qualities that emerged were that Chauncey Flannigan was as honest as the day was long and that he was a hardworking man who provided for his wife. Sam also learned that the Flannigans’ only child, Patrick, had died on the boat coming over from Ireland four years ago.

The Chicago River wove its way through the city, cutting it in two. So far, most of the fires had broken out on the other side. This side of the river was a hodgepodge of warehouses, stores, and other businesses, with a line of small frame houses where children played. Farther down, in the other direction, lay the docks where riverboats loaded and unloaded both passengers and goods to be hauled downriver. But on this stretch, Howard’s Warehouse and Lumberyard took up an entire block.

Sam hitched his horse in front of the lumberyard and made his way through stacks of wood and piles of sawdust. The sounds
of dozens of saws rang throughout the huge open-air shed.

Two men, bending over a sawhorse, looked up as Sam approached then returned to their work. Sam cleared his throat, and they both looked up again. One middle-aged man with a beard that reached almost to his collarbone frowned. He spat and a wad of something landed by Sam’s foot. “Can I do somethin’ for you, mister?”

Sam took a step away from the disgusting glob and shot a look at the speaker. “Maybe. If you were a witness to Chauncey Flannigan’s accident.”

The man’s companion sent a startled look in the direction of the main warehouse.

“Well, now,” the bearded worker drawled, “it depends. Who wants to know?”

Sam wasn’t sure how to answer, but he decided to be forthright. “I’m representing Mr. Howard, but my main concern is to find out the truth about what happened.”

The other worker turned and walked over to another group of men, speaking to them in hushed tones.

The bearded man stared at Sam, working his jaw. He turned and spat. At least this time not in Sam’s direction. “I don’t reckon we saw anything.” He turned his back and headed over to the huddle of men.

Sam stared after the old-timer. That didn’t go very well. If the men knew anything, they weren’t talking. If Sam was reading them right, they appeared more nervous than antagonistic.

Stacks of lumber, some reaching nearly to the ceiling, stood around the shed. He eyed them as he passed through on his way to the warehouse door. There didn’t appear to be any sort of restraints on them, and although Sam had no prior experience as reference, the whole area seemed unsafe to him.

A wide gaping door with a gate hanging in the air above served as passage for smaller stacks of lumber being carted through from the lumber shed. Sam veered to the left and went though the smaller door and into the warehouse.

A man in a business suit looked up from a ledger he held in his hand. “Can I help you, sir? I’m Jonas Cooper, the manager.”

Sam walked over and held out his hand, which the man took. “I’m Sam Nelson, the attorney representing Mr. Howard in the Flannigan case. I wonder if I could speak to the workers and get a clearer picture of the accident.”

Lines appeared between the man’s eyes as he frowned. “You say you’re Howard’s attorney?”

“That’s right.” Sam nodded.

The man stood. “Well then, I believe you have the testimony of the witnesses here and at the tavern where Flannigan got hurt in a brawl. That’s all you need. Our men don’t have time to talk. Anyway, no one saw anything except the ones you have on record.” He rocked back on his heels and gave Sam a determined look. “I think you’d best go back to your fancy office and get to work on the case.”

Sam gave the man a wry smile, thanked him for his time, and left through the door to the lumber shed. Mr. Howard’s foreman bore a startling resemblance to his employer. In personality at least.

But Sam wasn’t going to be put off that easily. Turning his steps toward the lumberyard, he squared his shoulders. He had a job to do, and he was determined to get to the bottom of this situation before he was forced to accept the sworn statements of men whom he increasingly suspected of lying for the establishment.

When he stepped into the lumber shed, he darted a look around, hoping one of the workers would change his mind and talk to him. But of one accord, they averted their gazes. Disappointed, Sam left, got into his carriage, and clicked to his horse.

He skirted the Patch, choosing instead to go in the direction of the docks and cross the Clark Street Bridge to get to his office. He’d had enough of Conley’s Patch for today. He left his carriage at the livery and walked around to the Nelson building.

Charlie looked up and appeared relieved to see him. He handed Sam a stack of papers six inches thick. “Your father wants you to take care of these documents. They’re in relation to a custody case he’d like for you to do some research on.” Charlie grinned. “In your spare time, of course.”

Sam took the papers and locked them in his file cabinet then headed for his father’s office. The custody case could wait until later.

It was time he and his father had another talk. Something wasn’t right at Howard’s warehouse. And he had a hunch it involved Chauncey Flannigan’s accident. Sam wouldn’t make a decision without facts, but his intuition told him Howard and his witnesses were lying about the accident.

And after their talk, Sam intended to make another attempt to see Katie.