Mission of Hope (15 page)

“I heard you,” Quinn replied, letting his tone show what he thought of that particular strategy. “You sold our relief supplies.” It sounded wrong, no matter how the major put a shine on it.

“It's best.” Simon's tone held a challenge of its own.

“And
you
know what's best?” Quinn felt as if that black shirt and mask were now made of iron, clamping down on him with heavy solidity. People expected the Messenger to give them what they wanted.

“Tight authority means life and death these days. We can't afford another rebellious mob scene like that.”

Quinn forced civility into his words. “So what will we do?” He had a hunch he wouldn't like the answer.

“My grandfather taught me an old saying.” Simon began writing something out on a slip of paper. “When you don't have what you want, make do with what you've got.” He stood and called, “Private!” out his office door, handing the paper to the tense-looking young man who appeared seconds later. Quinn wondered, by the major's behavior, if he'd even remembered he was in the room.

“This is a requisition for two dozen blankets from the barracks warehouse. Tell them to make sure the blankets are in good shape and have the army markings
on them. I want them in my office within ten minutes. Understood?”

“Directly, sir.” The young man barely paused to salute before bolting from the room. Simon pulled the office door shut after his private.

“They want flour, so you're going to give them blankets?” Quinn had serious doubts it would be seen as a fair trade. You could hardly eat a blanket, after all.

“No,
you're
going to give them blankets. Army blankets. It's high time we let everyone know the Messenger's on
our
side. You've lost your night off. I'm sorry for that, but I'm sure you see the urgency of the thing.”

Quinn wasn't liking this at all. “Wouldn't it be better to get the people to understand why they can't have baking fires? I don't see how tossing army blankets at them helps.”

The major frowned. “You cannot reason with a mob. Only distract it. You watch—that post will be filled with requests for flour tomorrow morning. Flour they think the Messenger can find for them because they think we've hid it from them. Nothing personal, Freeman, but you've become a temporary liability, and we need to recast you from rebel to partner. We can't have people thinking the Messenger is out there outsmarting the army. You saw how fast things escalated out there—the Messenger has to be seen as working
with
us.”

Quinn had the disturbing feeling that he'd been enlisted without his consent. That he'd just been sucked up into the army machine, forced—albeit kindly—to do their bidding and serve their purposes. Major Simon had done so much for him, and yet it was hard not to feel as though it had all been for some convenient purpose. Like the small pawns in the chess game Reverend
Bauers was forever trying to teach him. Scooted about to serve some larger aim without much regard for his own health and safety.

Yet, Simon had a valid point—one careless spark could start the firestorm all over again. And Simon had given him weapons, training and was by far his best source for goods. Quinn couldn't be the Messenger without Simon's help—at least not yet. “And what are
you
going to do?”

“Oddly enough, the most important thing I can do right now is to do nothing. To behave as if all were well, as if there were no cause for concern whatsoever.” He raised an eyebrow at Quinn, who tried to swallow the knot currently balling up in his throat. “Which means, thankfully, that it is in the city's best interest that I dine at the Longstreets' tonight as if there were not a single demand upon my time this evening.”

Quinn hoped his mouth wasn't gaping open. It should have been.

“Word of my calm dismissal of any problem will travel through the city as fast as word of your deliveries will fly through camp. We're both making vital deliveries tonight. Just different kinds.”

Quinn let his frustration grind a sharp edge on to his words. “So you solve this by eating a fine meal while I help you by spending another night hiding in shadows?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Simon said, “Would it help if I bought you a steak tomorrow night?”

“Only just.” Quinn was glad no one required him to salute as he left. The Messenger was suddenly feeling less like a calling and more like a punishment.

Q
uinn stalked through the kitchen at Grace House. “I've had about enough of this. He's the one with the problem, so why am I the one staying up tonight to fix things? He's the one denying people what they want.” He turned and glared at Reverend Bauers, not bothering to hide his frustration. “Yet he's with her, and I'm here.”

Reverend Bauers gave out a lumbering sigh and put down the box of silverware he was shelving. “Except that he's right, and you know it. People can't have the flour, even if they think they need it. Simon is right, Quinn, but it's not really why you're rankled, in any case.”

Quinn ignored that last remark. “We should be equals in this, but I've got the short end of the stick by far. I can't remember the last time I slept an entire night. Tonight I was…” He stopped himself. He was going to try and find a way to see Nora, that's what he was going to do with this evening. And now, not only had that opportunity been plucked from his hands, it seemed to have been handed—on a silver platter—to Major Simon. Really, if Simon had asked him to distribute army blankets on
any other night, he would have donned the Messenger's black bag and gladly made the deliveries.

“You were going to what?” Bauers knew the answer. The knowledge in his eyes was disarming even if it was softened with understanding. “I was standing right next to you, you know. Balconies. You really do have a flair for drama, Quinn.” He walked entirely too calmly over to Quinn, reaching up to tap Quinn's throbbing temples. “Use your eyes, man. You stare enough at her, surely you see it. You've no rival in Major Simon. She's as much drawn to you as you are to her. It's her parents who are your rivals. Their views and their expectations for Nora's future.” He clasped Quinn's shoulder and returned to shelving the supplies that were finally leaving his study for their former places in the mission kitchen. “Why do you think God called you to be His messenger?”

His messenger? Quinn thought that made him sound a bit too much like the angel Gabriel. And Quinn wasn't feeling very angelic at the moment. “I don't know, actually.”

“I do. Nora would too, if she knew. You're clever and quick and brave…and willing. Most times, all God really needs is a willing soul—he can always make up for the rest if a man is willing to step out in faith.”

Quinn picked up a stack of plates and put them on a high shelf. “You make it sound noble. I doubt it will feel very noble at three in the morning when I'd much rather be home in bed.”

“It
is
noble. And very few noble things in this world come without great cost. It cost you to help those people. It will keep costing you—probably more as this goes on. The question is, are you going to let that stop you?
Or are you going to keep on in the faith that God will keep on providing?”

“Simon's begun treating me like I'm some sort of secret army weapon. He's using me for his own end.”

Reverend Bauers sat down on one of the kitchen's large wooden benches. How many times had the food Quinn had gobbled down in this kitchen been the only decent meal of the day in his childhood? The wood creaked under the reverend's weight—most of the Grace House furnishings were old and worn, leaving Quinn to wonder how much longer many of them would last. “You can always just quit,” Bauers offered, resting his elbows on the table. “Stop. No one would be the wiser.”

“And just let people think everyone's given up on them? Just vanish, even after people have come to have a bit of hope? What would that solve?”

“Exactly,” Bauers replied. “What would that solve?” He motioned for Quinn to sit. “It wouldn't solve anything to your liking, Quinn. You care. Perhaps too much. But don't let some useless worry about Major Simon muddle your thinking here. You've a mission, and Simon's part of that mission. You need to trust God with the details, even if they don't seem to your liking. God knows what you feel for Miss Longstreet, and He knows what Miss Longstreet feels for you.”

And that was the question, wasn't it? What did Nora feel for him? He thought of her eyes as she held his gaze on the porch the other day. He could dive inside those eyes and live a happy man forever. They seemed to pour courage and purpose into him—as if he caught the world by the tail just by catching her eye. She felt for him what he felt for her. He'd seen it, felt it. He knew she cared for him; he'd just let Simon's arrogant remarks
fester a groundless doubt about it. “What is God up to here, Reverend?”

The question made the old man laugh heartily. “I ask myself that nearly every day lately. I've got an inkling, but if I knew for certain, well then there'd be no use for faith now, would there? Do I believe God sent an earthquake? Can't say that I do. I don't believe God sends evil upon us. But I do believe evil happens and then God works wonders to pull all the goodness he can out of those circumstances.”

“Tell Him to pull harder. I'm running out of steam.”

Bauers laid a gnarled hand on Quinn's forearm and bent his head.
“Holy Father, bless this man, your servant. Grant him strength and endurance. Keep him safe, honor his efforts to serve Your children. Tend to his heart as You tend to his soul. He is near and dear to me, Lord, and I would grant him the world were it up to my wisdom. But it is Your wisdom, Lord, that is always best.”

The reverend kept Quinn's arm in his grasp, and Quinn's breath caught at the surge of emotion that welled up in him. There was a time, when he was a young and angry teenager, when he'd tried to bolt from the house after an argument with his father. Ma caught him as he attempted to burst out the door, grabbing on to him with a fierce grip that seemed impossible for her size. She pulled him firmly to her, hugging him even though he struggled against it. He'd ended up clutching her to his shoulder—even then, he was taller than she—fighting the sobs that wanted to come tumbling out of his chest at how unfair the whole world seemed. It was
as if she knew of the coming storm and made herself his anchor.

She'd settled something in him that day. Passed some kind of strength through from her heart to his, something that enabled him to stand firm when things got worse and worse with Pa. He felt the same way again, now, only deeper. As if Reverend Bauers had passed a strength of soul between them, lent him the steadfast faith it would take to see this thing through. Not a certainty, not a plan, not even a calm, but the steadfast faith that didn't need calm to stand firm.

Matthew Covington had once told him he was sure God ordained him to be the Bandit. Quinn thought it high-minded talk at the time. From out of the mist of his memory, a verse came to him. A blessing, as it were, from within.
“Be confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.”

 

Major Simon was staring at her. Not in the open, unabashed way that Quinn had, but in glances and gazes over the conversation he held easily with her father. Ease. It was the single strongest word Nora could use to describe Major Simon. He was at ease with himself, at ease with his position, at ease with the chaos he'd been chosen to supervise and at ease with the obvious eagerness at which the Longstreet family welcomed him into their home.

That same eagerness made Nora uneasy. Despite her “advanced” years—most of her friends had been married off by now—she had never felt pressure of any kind to wed. Her parents had always patiently expected the right man to simply present himself in a matter of time.
Now, the earthquake's brush with death had made them anxious. Not in the “imminent disaster” kind of way, but more of a “life must be accomplished as soon as possible” outlook. As if Nora had managed to beat the odds by surviving, but had best grab the elements of life—husband, children and such—quickly, before the odds caught up with her. In fact, record numbers of couples had married since the earthquake. Albert Simon, with his charm and credentials, seemed to Nora's parents to be the perfect solution to all life's problems. The way Mama fussed over him, one would think they'd been betrothed since childhood.

“Nora,” Mama said as if she'd been impatiently waiting for Nora to come up with the idea on her own, “why don't you show Major Simon the garden?”

“The garden” was a stretch of the term. In truth, it was a scratched-out patch of the backyard where Mama and Aunt Julia had managed to coax a few flowers into sprouts. Aunt Julia only had a kitchen garden before the earthquake, whereas Mama had tended a variety of overflowing flower beds. Nora wasn't sure if the new flower garden was for Mama's comfort, or just the only way Mama could think to engage Aunt Julia's increasingly withdrawn disposition. Either way, it struck Nora as the same intent as Quinn's teeter-totter—a “luxury” that was, in fact, very much a survival necessity. It was a pathetic display by Mama's former standards, but then everyone had had to redefine their standards lately, hadn't they?

“You've a garden?” Nora wondered if the major's impressed tone would survive the tour of the tiny seedling patch. She thought of Quinn's frequent reply of “only just,” but swallowed the urge to use it.

“We've done what we could, given the circumstances,” Mama said, smiling at Aunt Julia. Behind Mama's forced smile, Nora could see the hints of longing for her own garden, for her own home. Papa had begun the process of rebuilding just last week, but it would be weeks if not months before they were back in a home of their own, and Papa had decided to move them farther away from the bay. They'd be farther from Dolores Park and farther from Grace House once they left Aunt Julia's. Nora couldn't help but worry how Aunt Julia and Uncle Lawrence would fare, wandering around in their own freshly empty home once her family left.

Major Simon gave that grandly easy smile of his. “I'd like very much to see it.” He looked right at Nora when he said it. The directness of his gaze ought to have disturbed Papa, but instead Papa looked supremely satisfied with the major's obvious interest. For the first time in her life, Nora felt the social expectations of a young woman's future tighten around her. As if she were standing with her feet in a fast-moving river, facing the very real threat of being pulled out into the rapids.