Mission of Hope (21 page)

The evening proved far from minor. Rather than an easy delivery, Quinn found himself escaping down the
alleyway at full speed. The small stockpile of fabric and beans in no way merited the four men with very large pistols who were guarding it. Quinn ducked left as shots whizzed by him to the right, hearing a tin in his duffel hiss as it took an entirely too-close bullet. Where had all these armed thugs come from in this neighborhood? Why now, when tonight should have been easy pickings? Panting, Quinn tucked and rolled behind a barrel as another handful of bullets peppered the wall to his left.

Like a bolt of lightning, it hit him; this was no ordinary defense. These men were after him, and they weren't treading softly. After a quick glance at his surroundings—which offered painfully few options—Quinn shed his duffel and ducked into a cellar doorway. If there was any chance at all the pursuers were only out to retrieve their goods, the abandoned duffel should take care of that.

Peering around whatever cellar he'd entered, he saw only rubble at first, and then a small window on the far side of the building. Small enough, he hoped, to allow his exit while being too tight for the band of husky thugs at his back. As he made his way across the pitch black, he prayed the duffel had been prize enough for them. A storm of yelling and footsteps behind him told him otherwise. Quinn began leaping over boxes and beams, heading for the window with all the speed in him. If he had to dive through the glass to make his escape, a few cuts and bruises would certainly be better than whatever waited for him in that crowd.

Quinn pulled his mask off his face, wrapped the cloth around his hand and punched through the window at a run. Already earthquake-damaged, it gave way easily,
and Quinn felt a flurry of scrapes on his knees and arms as he began scrambling out the broken window.

“Don't kill him, ya fools!” A voice came from behind him as Quinn worked to get the rest of his body out the window and on to the glass-strewn street. “The army only pays if he's alive.”

“Nah, kill 'im. I heard a couple of fellers on the police force will pay more for him dead!”

In the split second Quinn paused to realize the army had put a bounty on his head, the bullet hit him. It was as if a cannon had gone off in his thigh, a burning, explosive sensation that shook the breath from his body.
Lord, save me, I'm shot.
It shocked him that his leg still worked, although every movement sent shards of pain throughout his leg. He grabbed at it, not daring to look down, and rolled away from the window as a second shot rang out. He fell more than ran around the corner, out of sight of the heads now surely poking out the window. He didn't stop to find out if they fit through the opening to follow him. Quinn ran until the edges of his sight began to swim, stopping only to take the bandanna and tie it around his throbbing thigh.

He was nowhere near Grace House, nowhere near Dolores Park, nowhere near help of any kind.
Father God, I'm done for. Help me!
He couldn't go home—this crew would think nothing of shooting mindlessly in the camp aisles, and too many people could get hurt in those close quarters. He couldn't go to Grace House—he didn't think he could make it that far. He certainly couldn't go to Simon at Fort Mason. He was injured, losing blood fast, and in very real danger of passing out.

He had to get help, and he had to get it without
revealing who he was. Which meant he had to get his mask, shirt and guns out of sight. With another prayer and a deep breath, Quinn looked around. There was a postbox at the end of the street. Ironic, but useful. It was the slimmest of chances that the Midnight Messenger's costume, if discovered in a postbox, would wind up in Mr. Longstreet's possession. And it was as good a place as any to shed his “identity.” Wincing as he pulled the mask cloth from his leg, he shed the dark shirt, hat and boots, dumping them into the postbox with a sour thought: I'm going to die half-naked and alone. It was the furthest thing from the new future he'd thought to grasp.

Assessing where he was, there was only one place close enough. While it pained him to even think about bringing this to her doorstep, his only real hope of survival was the Longstreets. At least I'll see her again before I die, he thought, as he limped off toward her street, praying he stayed conscious long enough to die in her arms.

 

Nora was startled awake by the commotion. She panicked instantly, her body going back to the horrible earthquake morning before she was completely awake. There were voices, shouting, but nothing shook or rumbled. She heard her father call for something, heard Aunt Julia yelp as if something had frightened her. She found her wrap as quickly as she could, tucked her feet into slippers, and headed out the bedroom door without even bothering with a light.

Mama, Papa, Uncle Lawrence and the cook were huddled around the front door. Papa was calling for water, the cook was grabbing bandages from the basket
that was supposed to go to Grace House this morning and unrolling them. Had someone been hurt?

She'd just made it down the stairs when Aunt Julia grabbed her arm, pulling her into the front room. “Stay away, Nora!” Julia said, her eyes wide with alarm. “Who knows what that ruffian's brought into my house!”

“Nora.” A voice moaned from the center of the commotion.

The room went still. Mama turned to look at her, her face a silent shocked question as to why the person on the floor knew Nora's name.

Papa moved his arm, and Nora realized why her heart filled with fear.

It was Quinn.

Q
uinn Freeman lay bleeding on the foyer floor, his naked chest covered in bloody smudges and smears of dirt. His leg was soaked in blood, and every spark she'd seen in his eyes was gone when he turned to look at her. “Quinn?” she said before she had the chance to think better of using his given name.

Papa stared. Mama's hand went to her chest in shock. “You know this man?” Papa said, his voice dark with alarm.

“Papa,” Nora said, pulling out of Aunt Julia's arm to kneel down. “This is Quinn Freeman. The man who brought me Annette's locket.” For a minute she was astounded Papa didn't recognize him, then she realized Quinn didn't look at all like himself in his condition.

“Good Heavens!” Aunt Julia gasped from behind them, as if the thought of this bloodied thug touching her daughter's belongings made her ill.

“He's been shot,” Papa said. “He's lost a lot of blood, from the looks of it. Call the police.”

“No!” Quinn gasped.

“Why ever not?” Nora asked, brushing back the hair
from his eyes. He just stared at her, hard, then squeezed his eyes shut as cook tied off the bandage tight over his wound. The bleeding seemed to have been stemmed, but it still looked ghastly.

“He needs a doctor,” Papa said, more calmly this time. “Call Major Simon—Fort Mason has the closest.”

“No!” Quinn said through clenched teeth, pulling himself to sit upright against the wall this time. “Not Simon. I need Bauers.”

“But Simon knows you, that makes no sense. We really should call the major,” Nora said, looking at her father.

“No,” Quinn insisted. “Get Bauers.”

“Reverend Bauers?” Papa furrowed his eyebrows. “You're talking nonsense, man, you need a doctor, not the reverend.”

“Bauers only, please,” Quinn pleaded. He shifted his gaze to Papa. “There's a reason.”

“There had better be a very good reason you're skirting the authorities, Mr. Freeman, and you'd better have out with it right now. I'll not have you bringing any danger to this household.” As if the improbability of him falling on to their doorstep in the middle of the night had just hit him, Papa suddenly leaned in. “Why
are
you at our door, Mr. Freeman?”

For a moment Nora thought Quinn was rattled enough by his wound to simply state the truth. She caught his gaze and tried to hold it, fearing there was no way she could discreetly tell him now was not the time to declare affections.

“I was close by. I recognized the house. From when I came to get the pillar.”

“Does it hurt?” Nora asked, before she realized what a foolish question that was.

Quinn actually managed a wink. “Only just.” Nora noticed a sickeningly red spot now blooming on the white bandage cook had just tied. Something had to be done, and quickly. There wasn't time to stand here and argue whom to call.

“Papa, he's been nothing but kind to our family. He must have some reason, and Reverend Bauers is surely more used to these kinds of emergencies than we are. I think he even has basic medical skills. Please, Papa, can we send word to Grace House?”

Mama looked as though that were a thoroughly dreadful idea. Actually, she looked ready to thrust Quinn back out into the street to fend for himself. Aunt Julia looked like she could barely stand one more minute of this ruffian staining her front foyer carpet. Papa, however, seemed to actually consider her request. “Lawrence,” Papa said to Nora's uncle, “help me get him onto the back porch.” As Uncle Lawrence and Papa helped a swaying Quinn to his feet, Papa gave orders for cook to send her son off with the mail cart to Grace House, returning with the reverend at all possible speed. Much to Nora's dismay, he also told the boy that once he brought back the reverend, he was to turn right around and deliver a second message to Major Simon.

At least Bauers would get here first. At least Quinn wasn't tossed back into the alley. At least Quinn was still alive, although she had no idea what had happened. Whatever it was, it was more than some stray bullet or scuffle, for Quinn looked as if whoever shot him might burst through the door at any minute.

Heaping trouble upon trouble, Mama had seen too
much. She'd stared at Nora with suspicious eyes, cataloging every look she gave Quinn or instance where she touched him. Papa hadn't guessed it yet, but Mama knew. In truth, her face looked as pained and wounded as Quinn's. It was difficult to guess which set of wounds to tend first.

Mama made the decision for her, snatching her elbow as she went to follow Papa and Uncle Lawrence. “What have you done, Nora?” Her voice was low, her words clipped.

“Nothing, Mama.” It was such a useless reply. Nothing but fall in love, actually, but she couldn't put words to that just yet. Not with the look in Mama's eyes. “I know him.”

“How well do you know this man?” It was an accusation, not a question.

“Well.” It said everything and nothing at all. Nora cast about for a better answer but found none.

Aunt Julia called Quinn a slurry of names Nora was glad he could not hear. “He's hurt, Mama,” she said, pulling herself up with a strength she hadn't realized was in her. “He needs help. Now.” Before Mama could reach out and stop her, Nora turned and walked down the hallway toward the back porch.

 

Quinn blacked out twice before Reverend Bauers came rushing out the door on to Nora's back porch. He went to work immediately, motioning for Papa and Uncle Lawrence to put Quinn up on a nearby table. “We'll need a candle if not a lamp.” Suddenly, the gentle pastor she'd known was replaced by a fiercely calm commander, moving with military precision. She'd heard Quinn say once that Bauers hadn't been in the clergy
all his life, and for an odd moment she wondered what kind of adventures he'd had before joining the church. Papa acquiesced and lit a lamp, bringing it over to where the reverend began peeling back the bloody bandage. Nora felt the room sway and backed up a bit to cling to the porch pillar. “I'd feared something like this would happen,” Bauers said, fishing into a bag of medical supplies he'd put on the table. “No good deed goes unrewarded these days.” He poked around in the wound, which snapped Quinn out of his faint to hiss through his teeth. “You're blessed. The bullet went clean through from the looks of it. That means you'll heal fine if you don't bleed to death first.”

Quinn only moaned. And then did a bit more than that when Bauers began poking around some more. Nora wanted to rush up and hold Quinn's hand, to put a cloth to his forehead and let him know she was here, but Bauers managed to catch her eye and give her a barely perceptible “no” shake to his head. The point seemed moot when Quinn blacked out again once the reverend poured a generous dose of iodine into his wound.

“It's not ready to stitch yet. We'll have to pack it to stem the bleeding, then stitch it later. Until then, he can't be moved.”

Papa did not look pleased. Nora was secretly glad to know Quinn wasn't going anywhere. At least she had a chance to find out what on earth had happened, and why Reverend Bauers didn't seem terribly surprised to find his friend shot.

The reverend looked at Uncle Lawrence. “I wonder if you wouldn't mind sitting with the man while I have a conversation with Miss Longstreet and her father. I
doubt he'll come to anytime soon, but I wouldn't be surprised if he tried something reckless if he did.”

That didn't do wonders for Uncle Lawrence's confidence, but he agreed to stay out on the porch with Quinn while Reverend Bauers asked if Nora and Papa wouldn't sit down with him and hear what he had to say. Nora had no idea what to expect and settled herself into a chair in the front room with the two men.
Lord, what is happening here? Stay close to Quinn. Stay close to me. I have no idea what's unfolding.

Reverend Bauers eased himself into a chair and chose his words carefully. “There's more to this man than appears, especially tonight. I've no doubt he came here only out of desperation, for he's been taking pains for quite some time now to keep this from you.” Nora could only guess what dark secret Bauers seemed to be alluding to, and it grew even worse when the reverend looked right at her. “He's sought only to protect you from any harm, Miss Longstreet.”

Papa looked as though he was bracing for the worst. Nora wasn't far behind, as a long list of horrible secrets ran through Nora's imagination, chopping her breaths into short, anxious gulps.

“The man on your back porch is the Midnight Messenger.” Bauers folded his hands and waited for the fact to sink in.

“Quinn?” she nearly gasped.

“Him?” Papa pointed in the general direction of the back porch. “That man is the Midnight Messenger? You can't be serious.”

“It's precisely Quinn's…shall we say…‘colorful' background that gave him knowledge and access to a certain side of the city the Midnight Messenger needed.
In a city as large as this, one clever man can make himself rather invisible.”

Nora thought she ought to shake her head to clear it. On the one hand, it seemed utterly impossible. On the other hand, it made all the sense in the world. He had access to all the requests from the posts. He always looked tired. Her gifts in the garden always arrived at night. And he was infinitely clever as well as caring to a fault. He was as strong as he was impulsive. Why couldn't he be the Midnight Messenger?

“All those times he said he knew someone who could help, all my questions he dismissed, they were all…”

“To keep you from any danger your knowing might bring,” Bauers cut in. “As you can see, the Midnight Messenger has made enemies. He's taken many great risks to help the refugees in the unofficial camps, exposed a great many evils, but he'd never bring that risk to your doorstep.”

“Which is
exactly
what he's done.” Papa was trying not to shout for Mama's sake.

“And I'm guessing there must be a very good reason for that, but we might not get the chance to learn it tonight.”

There was a scuffle in the back hallway. Nora heard Uncle Lawrence shout something and was just rising from her chair when Quinn stumbled into the room.

Quinn's gaze flashed from her to Papa to the reverend. “You told them,” he growled at Bauers. Quinn's eyes held the same barely checked temper she'd seen when he confronted Ollie.

Nora rushed up to steady him as he leaned against the wall. “Nora!” Papa said, his disapproval radiating out of the single word.

She ignored her father, locking her gaze on Quinn instead. “Is it true? Are you the Messenger?” He only nodded, and she didn't even need to see that. It was clear in his eyes.

“Impossible,” Papa argued, although Nora could hardly guess why. He'd just as much admitted it and Bauers had little reason to lie about such a thing.

“I shouldn't have come here.” Quinn pulled away, but only succeeded in making it one or two steps down the hall before he fell against the wall again.

Bauers had found a wooden chair from the hallway and essentially shoved it under Quinn. “If you won't lie down, at least
sit
down. You're too big for me to haul off the floor alone.”

Papa stood up to pace the floor, and Nora could see his thoughts churning. Her thoughts should be in a tumble, too, but somehow she saw how the puzzle pieces fit together almost instantly. It seemed impossible that she hadn't put the facts together before, now that she knew them.

She put her hand on Quinn's shoulder, ignoring the dark look it produced from Papa. “Seems to me this business is best sorted out by Simon or the police,” her father said wearily. “He'll settle it soon enough when he arrives.”

That made Quinn nearly bolt out of his chair, almost sending Nora tumbling. “Simon's coming?”

“He's on his way now.”

“Simon's the reason I'm shot!” Quinn exploded, and Reverend Bauers's hand thrust on to Quinn's chest with a power and speed she'd never have attributed to a clergyman in his eighties. “The army's put a price on the
Messenger's head, and the police seem to have upped the offer. I'm as good as dead now.”

“Why?” Nora nearly shouted, planting herself in the middle of this trio of angry men. “What's Major Simon to do with this?”

“He's been getting me the supplies,” Quinn said. “He's been part of it from the beginning. Only things went a bit deeper than that, and he began giving me gold to buy information on where stolen goods were being kept.”

“So Major Simon
has
been in on this?” Papa asked, wiping his hands down his face.

“He trained Quinn and served as a supply source,” Reverend Bauers explained. “It served the army's purposes to see that goods got where they ought to have gone. Major Simon is clever enough to see that one renegade could spur a thousand stories of good deeds, and do any number of things an army couldn't. Or shouldn't.”

“Oh,” said Quinn with a dark laugh. “You'd be amazed what the army can do. I proved too smart for my own good when I figured out half the trouble was coming from within the army itself.” He glared at Bauers, who looked as if that was news to him. “Don't you see? Marketeers weren't just finding their way to the army, it was a couple of rats on the inside selling freely to the marketeers. And I knew. I've become an embarrassment because I can expose the corruption
inside
the army. Under Simon's own nose. And only he knows I'm the Messenger. If he didn't
start
the manhunt, he did nothing to
stop
it, and I'm sure there were dozens of volunteers. I haven't exactly made friends with this.”

No one knew quite what to say. It seemed so impossible.

Quinn sunk into the chair and looked up at Nora. “He said he was going to tell the whole city what I'd done when it was time. Give me a commission in the Army Corps of Engineers. An apprenticeship as a draftsman. I'd be someone you could…” His words fell off. Nora held his eyes, perhaps more in love with him at that moment than she had ever been.