Mission of Hope (5 page)

It was just very irritating to be on the receiving end. And Quinn, like most of Dolores Park's residents, had come to see it a mile off.

Nora wasn't like that. And yes, he had come to think of her as Nora, even though he'd always address her as “Miss Longstreet,” of course. Quinn felt as if he could read all her thoughts in those violet eyes. It seemed such a cliché to say “there was something about her,” but he could get no more specific than that—something about her tugged at his imagination constantly. Little details, like the gentleness of how she bandaged Sam's foot. The delicacy of her handwriting or the way her fingers fluttered over the locket when she was thinking.

He could no longer lie to himself: Nora Longstreet had caught his eye.

“I
've laid it all out in my head, Reverend. It wouldn't be that hard, actually.”

Reverend Bauers sat back in his chair, ready to listen. Quinn had once loved the meticulous order of the reverend's study—it had seemed to him like an enormous library, although he'd never actually seen a true library. Today, Bauers reclined between tall stacks of linens and a tottering tower of pots and pans. The neatness of his study had been overthrown by the new demands on the Grace House kitchen, which had suffered damage in the earthquake but now had even more mouths to feed. As such, the study now doubled as an extra pantry, so the books shared their shelves with tins of tomatoes, jars of syrup, and whatever foodstuffs Bauers had managed to find to feed his flock.

“I expected as much, Quinn.”

Quinn again had the sensation of being the center of a story that had begun before he arrived. As if everyone around him knew more of his own future than he himself did. It was the kind of thoughts that could make
a man edgy. And bold. “If we could get them from the army or the hospital, it'd be easy as pie.”

Reverend Bauers frowned. “If you could get them easily from those places, you'd have them already.”

Quinn leaned one shoulder against the wall. “You're right. And that's wrong. Even I can see we can't fit in those official camps. Why bother to divide us at all unless someone wants the groups to start fighting each other?”

“Just to make things clear here, man, stealing will not be an option. I admit we might have to stretch our definition of ‘procurement,' but there will be no taking of supplies against the will of those who have them. You must become an agent of expediting, not a thief.”

Quinn furrowed a brow at the long word. “Expediting?”

“The art of expediting is the art of getting things where they need to go quickly. Efficiently. And, I've no doubt in this case, rather creatively. You possess the creativity in spades. We just need someone very well-connected. And, you'll be happy to know, God has been kind enough to present us with an ally. Can you be at Fort Mason tomorrow afternoon at two?”

Quinn winced. There was only one place he ever wanted to be at two in the afternoon, and it wasn't anywhere near the army base. “I've got someplace to be at two, but make it three and I'll be there.”

 

“Two minutes after three,” said a dark-haired man in uniform with a precise mustache and an even more precise snap of his pocket watch. “He's punctual, at least. That's something.” Quinn found himself nose
to nose with a meticulously dressed man with dark, sharp eyes.

“I'm told you run fast.” The man pocketed his watch.

“I do.”

“Have you a steady hand?”

Quinn wasn't entirely sure where this was heading. “So they tell me.”

“Quinn Freeman,” Reverend Bauers cut in, “may I present Army Major Albert Simon. Major Simon, this is Quinn Freeman, the man I've been telling you about.”

Major Simon walked around him, appraising him as if he were buying a horse. “Tall, strong, good reach, I'd expect.” He turned to Bauers. “He's had some training in fencing?”

“Two years,” Quinn stepped in, not liking the idea of Bauers and Simon talking about him as if he weren't in the room. “It was a long time ago, but I still remember most of it.”

Simon stroked one hand down either tip of his mustache. “Ever shot a pistol, Freeman?”

“I've been fired at,” Quinn offered, “but I don't own a gun.”

“It's harder than you think.”

“So is a lot of life, Major. Especially now.”

“Which is why we're here,” Bauers declared. “Major Simon,” he said in a lower tone, “has agreed to be in on our little scheme.”

Quinn looked at the man. He was fit but a bit on the heavy side, somewhere in his late thirties from the looks of it and alarmingly serious. He didn't seem at all like the scheming type. “The Bandit—”

“Is not a name I'd mention in loud tones around here,”
the major cut in sharply. “Not everyone in the army is a fan of such…resourceful measures.”

“I think you'll find Major Simon a most extraordinary fellow.” Reverend Bauers walked over to a large sack Quinn only just then realized sat on a table in the center of the room. “With some very considerable resources.” He pulled open the drawstring and tilted the top for Quinn to peer inside.

The sack held half of what had been on his list. On Nora's list, that is. Bandages, iodine, salt, a few tins of meat, needles and thread and half a dozen other various supplies. Major Simon went up a few notches in Quinn's book, to be sure. More than a few.

“Where'd you get all that?”

“No need for you to know,” Simon said slyly.

“You stole it. Why else would you answer like that?”

“Would you take it no matter where it came from?”

“I'm smarter than that. I don't know you, even if Reverend Bauers does.”

“They were ‘procured,' perhaps, or more precisely, ‘diverted,' but ready for you to put to good use.” Simon pulled the string shut, placing the sack into a crate that sat under the table. “And no, you don't know me. Yet.”

“The major has arranged a discreet drop-off point,” Bauers said, clearly enjoying the adventure of it all. With that look in his eye, Quinn could easily imagine the days when Reverend Bauers had been the Black Bandit's trusted accomplice. He seemed delighted to step into those shoes again. “You're to return tonight and get it back to camp by…well…whatever means you find necessary.”

His first mission. It hummed through Quinn's veins.
Suddenly, he couldn't get the Bandit's old gray shirt on fast enough. He longed to strap on the sword and take the world by storm. Now.

“You have a fire in your eye, Freeman,” Major Simon said to him. “I've found our friend the reverend is rarely wrong on such things. But you'll need far more than good intentions if you really want to do what you say. You'll need training and cunning and several very particular skills. Skills I've offered to teach you. But you'll have to be both patient and discreet.”

“I am.”

“You don't strike me as patient in the least.”

“Would you be patient if your family didn't have enough to eat or a real roof over their heads?”

Simon chuckled and clapped Quinn hard on the back. “Bold as brass. You're right, Bauers, he's just the man for the job. If he doesn't get himself killed first.”

 

“You've no idea where all this came from?” Nora asked as she peered at the supplies that had appeared overnight at the Freeman shack.

Mrs. Freeman squinted at the cut on Sam's foot, paused, and then dabbed it with a bit more iodine. “None at all,” she said over the resulting protests from Sam. “Quinn said he'd put the list up on a fence post across the street last night, asking for help. That's all we know.” She turned to the boy. “Hush, lad, it'll hurt far more than that if it don't heal properly.” Her words were harsh, but her eyes were kind.

“It is amazing, isn't it?” Nora examined the items again, grateful her father had allowed her to come over to Dolores Park to inspect this surprise package—provided, of course, that she was properly escorted, which
wasn't at all an unpleasant requirement. Nora turned over the tins of meats, looking for any clue. She'd shown the list to several people, and obviously someone else had now seen the list, but still no one seemed to know who'd found the rare items and delivered them to camp. It was a feat. As common as the items were, Nora could only manage to scare up two needles and three spools of thread. Before the earthquake, it might have taken her all of fifteen minutes to secure the entire list. How scarce life's necessities had become.

“You'd best listen to my ma,” Quinn said, planting himself down on the chest next to a squirming Sam, whose bottom lip threatened tears at any moment. “You strike me as a smart lad. And a brave one. We'll need you fit and strong to help out. You'll be no use to me limping around like a goat, now will you?”

“I'll need you to escort me,” Nora whispered to Sam, grinning. “I shouldn't trouble Mr. Freeman much longer. He's a busy man and he's likely to tire of leading me to and fro.”

Quinn applied a mock frown, but his eyes told a far different story. While he'd refused her any details, she knew he'd gone to great lengths to meet the two o'clock mail run yesterday. When they were late because one of the cart's finicky wheels had jammed, she'd found him practically pacing the street in a state she could only describe as panic. And while he'd walked calmly—perhaps it wasn't too much of an exaggeration to say he swaggered slightly—back to the edge of the camp, she'd noticed he broke into a flat-out run once he turned the corner. Yes, sir, Quinn Freeman was very late for something yesterday, and she could not deny what his tarrying had done to that sparkling spot just above her
stomach. He looked at her as if she were the best part of his day, and she was not at all certain she hid her own pleasure at seeing him.

“She's far too much work, this one,” Quinn said. The sour notes in his voice were no match at all for the spark in his eyes. “Take her off my hands as fast as you can, man.” He ruffled Sam's moppish hair.

Mrs. Freeman gave the quickest of glances back and forth between her son and Nora. “When the foot's ready, and not a moment before. Iodine and bandages are too rare to go wasting with foolishness. Put that sock back on, young man, and mind you stay out of the dust as best you can. Come back tomorrow and I'll have a look at it again.”

“Yep,” said Sam, sliding off the trunk.

Quinn snagged the boy's elbow as he went to leave. “Yes,
ma'am,
and say thank you.”

“Thanks, ma'am.” Sam punctuated his attempt at manners by wiping his nose on his sleeve.

Mrs. Freeman moaned. “I'm climbin' uphill both ways to keep anything clean here.” She rubbed the back of her neck with her hand and sighed. “What I wouldn't give for a true sink and a clean set of sheets.”

Quinn gave his mother a quick peck on the cheek. “You've worked wonders as it is, Ma.” He pointed to the stock of supplies. “And somebody's taken notice.”

“And wouldn't I like to know who?” his mother said, smiling. “And what else they've got. Father Christmas coming in July. Who'd have thought?” She wiped her hands on her apron and began loading the supplies back into the trunk. “Get her back now, Quinn, before her father starts to worrying about where she is.”

Quinn shrugged his coat back on as they walked. “So
your father's office didn't deliver that package? I thought surely you'd done it. You had the list, after all.”

“So did you,” Nora replied. “And you posted it. Someone with the things must have seen the one you tacked up. Still, what showed up didn't really match up to the list we'd made.”

“It's a mystery, to be sure.” He went to do the button on his coat, found no button to do, and gave out a little
hrrmph
as he was forced to let it hang open. “I may have to beg Ma for a little of that thread, won't I?” They walked on, and Nora made a note to dig through her father's coats for a spare button tonight. “Everyone needs everything, it seems,” Quinn sighed. “Reverend Bauers at Grace House can be a resourceful man, but he needs all of those things as much as we do, if not more.”

“I've heard stories about Grace House. Is it still standing?

“It is,” Quinn replied. “The building next door fell to the ground, but Grace House is mostly fine.”

Nora let out a long sigh. “It's hard not to wonder how He's let all this happen and why. I can't get my mind around anything that makes sense, no matter how many prayers I say.”

“No sense to be made, if you ask me. Some things just are. You could stand around all day trying to figure out why, and it still won't find you dinner or get your house rebuilt. It's not the
why
s we need to worry about now, Miss Longstreet, it's the
how
s that matter most.”

“
How,
then, do you think those things found their way to your mother?”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. “Don't rightly know.”

“Someone, somewhere, has played the hero. I think it's perfectly grand. I hope everyone hears about it and twenty other people do the same. What a wonderful thing that would be, don't you think?”

Quinn laughed. He had a very delightful, forthright laugh. “I think you're getting ahead of yourself, miss. It's not smart to make so much of one good deed.”

“One good deed like a teeter-totter? Oh, I think you know the power of one good deed far more than you let on.” She didn't hide the broad smile that crept up from somewhere near her heart.

“Grace House does the important work, not me. But even they're busting under the load right now, or so Reverend Bauers says. He's got a few benefactors who can help out, you know, friends in high places and all, but not nearly enough.”

Why hadn't she thought of it before now? “I can help with that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I think you're helping as much as you can now. Your pa'll be sore at your being gone as long as you have, if not worse.”

“No, I mean with the benefactors. I know someone who can help. We had a wealthy woman named Mrs. Hastings to tea at the house the other day. She's wanted to see the ruined city but her husband won't let her come any farther than our house.” Nora looked at Quinn. “What if we could get Mrs. Hastings to tour Grace House? Surely her husband couldn't object to something like that? Then she could meet people. She could meet Reverend Bauers. I've heard so much about him, even
I'd
like to meet Reverend Bauers. It's the perfect solution.”