Mission of Hope (17 page)

One thumb traced a slow arc across her cheek. “I don't know
how,
yet.” His voice held the same determination that drummed in her heart.

“There has to be a way.”

“I'll find it. After all, I found you, didn't I?” He looked at her with wonder, as if the thought just struck him anew. “In all the city, I found you. After all this, I found you.”

Nora let her head fall against his strong hand. “Find us a way, Quinn.”

It was as if the topaz in his eyes ignited, as if she'd unleashed something fierce and powerful in him. He took both her hands in his and kissed them gallantly. “There's not a thing can stop me now.”

She had to laugh at his exuberance. “What about Reverend Bauers and his ten minutes?” She held up her fingers the way the reverend had.

He laughed as well. “Never you mind that.” He pulled her a bit closer. “Say my name one more time. Say it.” He looked like he would spin them around the room any moment.

“Quinn, be careful.”

“Not at all. I'm done being careful. Can't you see that?”

His defiance lit fire to hers. She brought both his hands to her lips and kissed them tenderly. He began to pull her closer. Neither one of them heard the knock on the door until it opened and Reverend Bauers cleared his throat with mock alarm.

“Good Heavens, I see I've come just in time.”

Quinn scowled. “Go away.”

“I think not.”

Quinn's eyes closed. “Go
away,
Reverend, sir.”

Nora felt flustered. “Reverend,” she interjected, squeezing Quinn's hands, “You've been so kind to us. How can I thank you?”

“By taking this fine thing God has given you and being wise. Keep our friend here from crossing the line from brave to foolish. I'm afraid I haven't had much success in that department.”

Surrendering to the interruption, Quinn reached out and clasped the old man's shoulders. “You've got too much of the fool in you yourself, old man. And I'm glad of it, I am.” His gaze wandered back to Nora, as if he couldn't take his eyes off her for more than a second or two. “And grateful.”

“And one or two other things I won't go into, I'm sure,” Bauers said. “But time's not on our side. Part ways, you two, before anyone's the wiser or I'll live to regret this more than I do.”

Quinn's eyes conveyed a million things, even if he only returned his hat to his head and said, “Soon.” She found his smile the most remarkable sight; the glow of it seemed to settle beneath her ribs and warm her from the inside.

“Soon,” she almost whispered. Even a second earthquake wouldn't prevent them from being together again.

Reverend Bauers folded his hands together across his stomach after Quinn left. “He's a most remarkable young man, but I gather I've no need to convince you of that.”

“No, Reverend.” She sighed. “I'm quite convinced.”

The clergyman's voice fell to an oddly serious tone.
“He faces more challenges than you know. And I fear things will only get more difficult for him in the coming days. He'll need to draw strength from you.” He walked toward her, clasping her hands in his. “But I see great strength in you, too, so I think that perhaps God does indeed know what He's up to.”

Hadn't she wondered the same thing?

Q
uinn lay the list on Major Simon's desk. “I don't know whether to be flattered or worried.” People's faith in the Messenger's abilities had expanded to some rather challenging requests. Pins and basic medicines were one thing. Some of the items on the posts this week made for tall orders. One man had actually asked for lumber—the largest request yet.

“Lumber is gold at the moment,” Simon responded. “I can't get enough to fill my own needs much less extra. Besides, I don't much like the idea of people building on to their shacks. We can't have people thinking of Dolores Park as anything but temporary.”

“Temporary? After three months?”

Simon gave Quinn a hard look. “You think I don't know most of these people don't even have two timbers left of their old homes to nail together? I know I'm not dealing in reality, Freeman. But I've got to work as hard as I can to give the right impression.” He looked down for a moment and swore for the first time since Quinn had met him. “The general got a wire from the president yesterday. The whole world is watching.” Major
Simon was normally such a cool-headed character; it was more than a bit unnerving to watch him fray around the edges. If the pressure was getting even to him, it must be huge.

“All right then, no lumber. I don't know how I'd carry it anyway.” Quinn scooped the bits of paper back up.

Simon let his head fall into his hands and heaved out a sigh. “Their wants aren't your fault.” He looked up, attempting a weak smile. “Now look who's gone off and shot the messenger, hmm? You've done an amazing job.”

Again, Quinn was glad for the praise, but just a bit leery of Major Simon, who seemed to think the Midnight Messenger was an army recruit. He'd made a point to call them “partners” earlier in the discussion, but the relationship was feeling more lopsided day by day. Quinn had already decided it was time to seek out a few sources other than the army.
Lord,
Quinn prayed as he tucked the batch of papers into his pocket and said goodbye to Major Simon,
if You can bring water from a stone, and manna from Heaven, a dozen tins of peas should be easy, right?

 

Actually, it was. For all the talk of scarcity, Quinn had secured half of what he needed from sources outside the major in the space of two hours. Things could be found with a little clever trading here and there. It took time, connections and creativity. The last two Quinn had always had in abundance. Time, however, was growing as scarce as sleep. By dinner, Quinn only had left the last four items on his list: two Bibles and two revolvers. He'd already decided not to even attempt the revolvers, and he had a pretty good idea where he could manage
the pair of Bibles. He needed a safe place—other than Major Simon's cache or his own shack at the camp—to stash his Messenger “booty” anyway, and the Grace House basement was ideal.

“Glory!” Reverend Bauers remarked when Quinn came up the basement steps in the full Messenger gear he'd pulled from its hiding place at the army base, suddenly uncomfortable with it staying there. “You look dark and dangerous. I venture even the Bandit would be wary of you with that pistol at your side.”

“I haven't used it yet,” Quinn remarked, adjusting the large duffel that was beginning to wear permanent bruises in his shoulder.

“I pray you never do,” Reverend Bauers said, “but that's optimistic, I fear.” He handed Quinn the two Bibles he'd requested. “I feel much better knowing you've gotten even two requests for God's word. I know it's my weapon of choice against all we face these days.” He stopped for a moment, considering Quinn with a wistful look. “‘Blessed are the feet of him who brings good news,'” he quoted.

“Maybe, but sore are the feet of him who brings canned peas.” He shifted the sack again, straining under the weight, cringing when the tins inside the sack clanged against each other despite the careful packing he'd done. “I'm delivering those first. No one had better ask for potatoes this week. Or anvils.” Quinn turned his back to the reverend so he could untie the top of the duffel and tuck the pair of Bibles inside.

“You've still your humor about you,” Bauers said as he retied the bag. “I'm glad of that.” He gave Quinn's shoulder a quick clasp. “And you have much to be glad of, especially today.”

“I'm glad of
you.
” Quinn was pleased to have an ally in the old man, especially in terms of Nora. “Thanks.”

“The glint in your eyes is thanks enough.” Bauers moved aside the scraps of cloth that had been hung in the mission kitchen as make-do curtains. “It's good and dark out now. Off with you, and take care. Come back when you need anything else.”

Quinn settled his hat down over the mask. “That won't be long, you know.”

 

The night was thick with mist, hiding the slip of a moon that had appeared earlier in the evening. It made travel easier in some respects, with more shadows for hiding and bad visibility. The lack of vision, however, seemed to amplify sounds so that Quinn stilled and flinched every time the tins clanked against each other.

Inside Dolores Park, deliveries were always challenging. Close quarters granted all kinds of nooks in which to hide, but it meant eyes were everywhere. The camp never really went to sleep—someone was always up somewhere—but the lack of lanterns, fires, or street-lamps made concealment easier. Quinn had become so acquainted with Dolores Park's cracks and corners he could probably find his way blindfolded.

Saying a prayer of thanks for his gift at memorizing things, Quinn ticked down the list of who got what in his head as he peered down the next aisle. Two tins of peas to the third shelter on the left, one of the Bibles to the last shack on the right. Just before setting the tins down outside the structure, Quinn wet the nub of charcoal he'd found yesterday and used it like a pencil to add his new flourish—a large “MM” on the top of
the tins. Not quite the Black Bandit's calling card of a white ribbon—frankly, he found that a bit overdone—but a mark of his own. Something to let folks know it wasn't just the United States Army looking out for their welfare. He did the same in the dedication page of the Bibles, and on every other item he'd procured himself rather than from the army stocks.

It was near three o'clock when Quinn finally folded the dark duffel and the other Messenger items into their new hiding place at Grace House, yawned, and headed for home. Just before turning in, Quinn removed a small square of lavender soap from his pocket, marked its muslin wrapping with the double M sign and hung it with a set of pins to their door for Ma to find.

 

Nora came downstairs later that week, still smiling from a bouquet of blue flowers that had once again found their way to the backyard garden fencepost. Even better, attached to the flowers this time was a large lump of sugar—something nearly impossible to get lately, and she had no idea how Quinn had acquired it. How clever he was—it was an ideal token to offer to her parents.

The packet fell from her hands on to the hall table, however, as she turned into the front room. Mama and Aunt Julia had the most dreadful looks on their faces. She hurried into the room, worried as to what could have made them so upset.

Until she saw what Aunt Julia clutched to her breast with brittle, shaking hands. She remembered now. She had heard a rustle in the garden last night, and had stolen out of bed to find the flowers and sugar tied to the fencepost as the bouquet had been the last time. It had
been nearly impossible to fall back asleep, and instead she had stayed up until nearly dawn, reading.

Reading Annette's journal, which had become a treasured companion to all the emotions roiling around inside her. And she had fallen asleep, journal in hand, sleeping late into the morning. She had not realized, until just this horrid moment, that while the flowers and sugar were still on her coverlet, the diary was gone when she awoke.

Of course it was gone. It was now in Aunt Julia's hands. They must have found it when her mother came in to wake her. Nora squeezed her eyes shut against the wall of remorse that stole every drop of the joy she'd felt only seconds before.

“Yes,” came Aunt Julia's tight, sharp voice, “I found it. Or rather, your mother did.”

“Nora.” Her mother's voice was laced with disappointment. “Why did you not bring this to us earlier? How could you have kept all this from us when we might have prevented…” Nora was glad Mama thought it too cruel to finish the sentence.

“I only just found it,” Nora admitted, “I didn't know…before. I had no idea.”

“You two shared everything.” Aunt Julia jabbed the words at her. It was a fair accusation.

“I thought we did.”

“You thought.” Aunt Julia seemed to be a coarser, angrier version of the gray ghost she had become on the day of the earthquake when Annette's body could not be found. Annette had been sleeping at Nora's house the night of the earthquake. No one could ever understand why she had wandered off in the melee. It had been assumed, for comfort's sake Nora supposed, that she'd
made her way home more quickly than the others in a desire to see her mother and father safe. As she stood there, watching her aunt's spirit seemingly die right in front of her, Nora realized that it was more likely Annette went looking for Eric. Which, according to the hints in the diary, was right into the heart of the destruction. It seemed so terribly, inexcusably cruel for Aunt Julia to know this now, when it did no good at all.

“Heedless child!” Aunt Julia hissed, her fingers nearly scraping at the bindings. “My own flesh and blood, capable of such…such
wanton
behavior.” It was as if the very words left a foul taste in her mouth. Her face pinched tighter as tears reddened her eyes. Mama reached for her hand but Aunt Julia knocked it away. “And they've paid for their sins, her and that…shiftless cad. What snake of a man lures a young woman like that into plans to abandon us? It's this city, I tell you. This vile, sinful place…”

“Now, Julia.” Mama reached out again, to no avail.

“Reverend Mansfield is right. We shouldn't be surprised. How much longer did we expect God to endure such blatant, sinful ways?” The pastor from the church Aunt Julia and all of Nora's family attended had been vocal in his condemnation of the city's sin. He was one of those people who saw the earthquake as God's judgment sent down upon an evil city. Nora could never see his viewpoint, especially now.

“God struck down the city,” Aunt Julia continued. “And now I have to live with the fact that he struck down
my own daughter
with it.”

Reverend Mansfield would surely see it that way, too. Nora's heart burned with regret for letting the secret slip
when only pain would come of it. There was too much pain already.

“You've had a terrible shock, Julia,” Papa said, coming into the room behind Nora. Land sakes, did everyone in the house know it all by now? “We all have.”

“I want to leave. I want to leave this horrible place and never look back. There isn't a thing left here to want.”

“That's not true,” Nora said before she thought better of it.

“What do you know, you silly thing!” Aunt Julia snapped, making even Mama and Papa flinch. “You didn't even know enough to stop your cousin from walking into her own doom. We've taught you nothing about what's right,
nothing!
” With that, she threw the book on the divan next to her and left the room, her sobs wafting through the house until they all heard her door slam shut upstairs.

Nora went to pick up the journal. Awful as it was, she couldn't bear to think what Aunt Julia might do to it, and it was her last piece of Annette. On her knees in front of the divan, Nora slid the book to her lap and looked up at her mother. “I didn't know, honest. And once I found it, I only thought it would hurt Aunt Julia worse to know.”

Papa came up and sat on the other side of the divan, so that Nora kneeled between her parents. “You really had no idea what this man was planning? You knew nothing of Annette's…” She could tell Papa was trying to think of a delicate term, “indiscretions?”

“I suppose I suspected something. She told me she fancied some man Aunt Julia and Uncle Law
rence wouldn't like. But running off with him? I never dreamed she'd keep something like this from me.”

Mama laid her hand on Nora's arm as it stretched across the divan's thick brocade cushions. A color Annette had helped to choose, Nora suddenly remembered. She was so fond of burgundy. They'd planned to have a portrait of her painted this summer, sitting on this very spot. With a sad twinge, Nora realized it would never have been painted either way. For either way, Annette would have been gone.

But gone was not the same as dead, even if Aunt Julia would disagree right now.

“It is one of life's great tragedies, the things that have been done to innocent young ladies who do not guard their way. You see, now, why your father and I have been so very careful with you. So much can be lost.”

Nora's heart shuddered.

“It is a horrible thing to think, but I can't help wondering if God has been kind in taking Annette when He did.”

“Papa!” Nora said, pulling back.

“I know it seems harsh,” Papa said, “but do you have any idea what kind of life awaited your cousin if she'd have gone through with this mad plan? A man from the docks? It's a terrible squalor of a life, Nora. Why do you think I'm so worried about you at Dolores Park? These are coarse, desperate people. Full of violence, drink and disease.”

She'd never heard her father talk so. “But they aren't all bad. You help them. Papa, you spend
every day
helping in the official camps.”

“It's my duty to serve those camps.” He said it as if his mercies were an unpleasant but necessary task,
like swallowing castor oil. “It's the duty of every good Christian to help those in need.” The words didn't seem to include those in need in Dolores Park.