Mission of Hope (8 page)

“Nothing bad. Nothing bad at all.” He held her gaze for as long as he dared, which was a lot longer than he ought to have.

After a flustered second, she reached into her pocket to produce another slip of ledger sheet and her pencil. “Well, should we make another list of what's on the post today?” She froze for a moment, as if a thought struck her. “Goodness, who'd have thought?”

“Thought what?”

“Well, now San Francisco has two kinds of ‘post'—the kind you send and the kind you tack your needs to. Both are messages. It's really quite witty, when you think about it. Mr. Freeman, there simply is no end to your surprises.”

Y
ou're being a loon, Nora chided herself after making that ridiculous remark about “posts.” He must think her the most vapid creature to say such a thing. It wasn't even close to funny, and yet he laughed and smiled as though she'd made charming conversation. He'd made far too much of her tiny gift—surely a handful of tea and some coarse sugar weren't that handsome a present.

But oh, there was something handsome about him today. Yes, handsome was the word, even if she'd never speak it aloud to anyone. There was a confidence in him she'd not seen at Grace House. Something in the surety of his steps, even though his boots looked worse than ever. Mama would say something curt about the glint in his eye, but Nora saw it more as a spark, an energy that was so different than the weary glaze most men wore nowadays. “There's a new one over here,” she said, pointing to a bit of shirt collar that had “hammer and nails” written on it with a name scratched alongside.

They went on for a minute or two, Quinn sorting through the messages and she recording what they found. Without ever really discussing it, they'd crafted
a partnership of sorts, and she liked the feeling of camaraderie that rose up as they worked their way around the post. When she helped with the mail wagon, Nora was always aware of her “assistant” status. Always cognizant that Papa could deem it too dangerous or no longer necessary and end her involvement there and then. But here, she was an equal. They worked together, each contributing important skills to the task.

She heard Quinn's breath catch as he squatted down to look at a little strip of blue cloth tacked down low on the far side of the post. “Isn't that the saddest thing ever?” he said, motioning for her to peer down and look.

In an unsteady script was the heartbreaking question, “Can I have a doll again?”

Nora felt a lump in the back of her throat. The little girl had dared to ask for a doll, but put her request on a tiny slip at the very bottom of the post as if she hadn't the right to ask for something so frivolous. But as Quinn's teeter-totter had proven, sometimes the frivolous things were the most important for survival. Her locket had proven that. She raised an eyebrow in silent question, and he nodded. “I'll take care of this one,” she said, not even needing to write it down.

Quinn squinted at the name. “Edwina Walters. She had a baby sister. Died three days after the fires. They had a little funeral, and her mama cried something horrible. Little Edwina just stared all quiet and numb. Broke your heart to see her blank little face with all those folks sobbing around her.”

Nora ventured a look into Quinn's eyes as they stood over the brave request, and she saw the same compassion in his face that welled in her heart. She'd grown too old
for dolls, but she'd ransack every scrap of material in the house tonight to sew up a doll for little Edwina. Even if she had to cut up her own dress to do it.

“I could say a thing or two about simple things that accomplish great feats, Miss Longstreet,” he said with a sad smile. “But I'm guessing you already know.”

Nora tore the two duplicate lists apart and handed one to Quinn. “I'm learning. I have a gifted teacher, Mr. Freeman.”

He took the paper with that thing Mama would call a glint in his eye again. “Is that so?”

“Miss Nora.” Nora heard her father's voice call from behind her. He had been watching the two of them. “Best not to dally, your mother will be waiting.”

Quinn's quick glance spoke volumes. Did he anticipate their daily meetings as much as she? “You'd better mind your pa,” he said. “Everyone will be sorry if you can't come back.” Nora was almost certain there was a meaning to the way he said “everyone.” She hoped there was. Quinn tipped his hat, that breathtaking smile sweeping across his face, and said goodbye.

 

Two days later, Nora clutched the handmade doll to her chest as she scanned the rows of shacks for Edwina's. Papa had been called into an important meeting this afternoon, forcing a last-minute schedule change to the mail run, and she'd barely finished Edwina's little doll in time. She'd stayed up half the night sewing the crude doll, finding yarn for hair and embroidering a simple face. It was no masterpiece by any standards, but she was proud of it and prayed it would be sufficient to cheer young Edwina.

Which was, despite the dozens of reasons why she
shouldn't, why Nora found herself not at Grace House as she'd told her mother, but several blocks away, wandering alone into the unofficial camp. She was looking for Edwina's family shelter. As it was well before two, Quinn was not there to meet her. Papa wasn't even sure he'd make a mail run at all today, given this meeting he was attending, so Nora had asked to be driven to Grace House, thinking it would be easy to make it to Dolores Park and back without incident while her father was otherwise occupied. She could have waited until two for Quinn, or try to find him now, but it seemed presumptuous to assume he had nothing better to do with his time than escort her around on missions of mercy. He had devoted a great deal to accompanying her as it was—it would be both improper and inconsiderate to demand yet more.

Then again, it wasn't particularly prudent to be wandering Dolores Park alone, either. Yes, one little girl could easily wait for a doll she didn't even know was coming, but something about this entire process pulled at Nora so strongly that she couldn't rest until Edwina had her doll. And there had to be something behind that sense of urgency, didn't there?

Lord,
Nora prayed as she walked down what she hoped was the final aisle,
I believe that urgency is from You. Am I wrong? Is this just me being willful? Please, don't let me regret this kindness. Guide my steps and don't give Papa reason to be angry with my foolishness.
A few minutes later, she found the shelter someone had described. “Hello, I'm looking for Edwina,” she called, knocking on the broken shutter that served as an entrance.

“Why?” The sharpness of the male voice from inside
the shack caught Nora off guard. It still astounded her how suspicion had become the order of the day all over the city.

“I…have a gift for her.”

A thin old man—too old to be Edwina's father, Nora guessed—slid aside the shutter. He peered suspiciously at Nora. “It ain't Christmas.”

“No, it isn't. But I'd still like to give her this.” Nora held up the doll. “Is she here?”

The man's countenance softened. “Edwina's asleep over by her cousin's. We put the little ones all together so they can nap. Her daddy's in the work lines and my daughter—her mama—well, she ain't been right since the little one passed.”

“I'm sorry about your granddaughter,” Nora said. “Edwina put up a little note on the message post that she'd like another doll.”

The old man shook his head. “And here I was thinkin' that was just plain foolishness to let her put that up.”

Nora held out the doll. “I'm afraid it's not much, but I hope this will do.”

His eyes moved from the doll to Nora's face as he took the toy with careful hands. “And who're you?”

Nora shrugged her shoulders. “Just someone who could help. I got back something I lost, so I thought I'd do the same when I saw Edwina's note.”

“Edie misses her baby sister,” he said wistfully. “This'll help for sure. That's mighty kind of you. Thank you. I bet Edie'll want to thank you, too—how will she find you?”

Nora wasn't sure why, but she liked the idea of staying anonymous. Perhaps some part of her thought the mystery would make the doll's appearance more wondrous
for the girl. On impulse, she said, “Do you know Quinn Freeman?”

“Shamus's son? Tall, sandy-haired, built that thing for the young'uns over on the other side of camp?”

“That's him. Tell Edwina she can thank Mr. Freeman if she wants to thank someone. He made the post that let Edwina ask for what she wanted.”

He squinted at Nora as the sun pierced the afternoon clouds. He had the appearance of a once-strong man who had fallen on hard times. A weary, unshaven look that hung uncomfortably on his straight frame. “That don't make sense. She ought to thank
you.
”

“I don't need it. Perhaps it will help your daughter to know that people care about what's happened to your family. I'm sorry for the terrible loss.” Nora felt her hand stray to the locket around her neck. “I lost my cousin. And her mama, my aunt? Well, she hasn't been right since, either. It feels good just to know I helped, you understand?”

The man's face melted into a sad smile. “Well, what do you know? The world ain't entirely shot to pieces, now is it?” He held out a hand, and Nora noticed he was missing half a finger on his right hand. It was a recent wound, still bandaged. “Thank you kindly, miss. Edwina will be right pleased. Like I said, I didn't think it was such a good idea to write that note. When Edie asked her aunt to write it, I tried to stop her. And my daughter just cried and told her no one could care about one little girl's doll in all this disaster.” He looked at Nora with such a tender heart that Nora felt as if she'd just received all the gratitude she'd ever need to make a dozen dolls. “I've never been so happy to see my daughter so wrong. I hope it helps the both of them.” He managed a wider
grin and put his hand on his chest. “Lightens my heart, that's for sure.”

Nora nodded toward the wounded hand. “Is your finger healing? Do you need a doctor?”

The grandfather looked down at his bandaged hand and wiggled his fingers. “Me? I need a good steak more than I need a doctor. Who needs all ten fingers anyways? Don't hurt much anymore.” It was as if he had transformed in front of her. His face had changed from the harsh man who opened the shutter to a fatherly man who thought it wasn't much to lose a finger. It made Nora wonder how many other people's faces would change with an act of kindness. It had been worth whatever risk she'd taken to be here now, delivering the doll. She wished the man well and smiled broadly as she made her way up the row of shacks out of the park. Despite the long walk, her feet hardly felt the ground.

Until she turned the corner.

She hadn't seen Ollie since the day he'd leered at her in front of Sam's shack, but she recognized him instantly. His eyes had a lazy, sinister quality one didn't easily forget.

“It's the pretty mail lady doin' her bit for charity again.” He grinned and looked around them. “Way in here. You sure do get around, missy.”

Nora felt her anger rise. She hated to have the satisfaction of her trip undercut by the nasty look in his eyes. “I've no business with you, so I'll thank you to leave me alone.” She began walking faster toward the park's edge.

He followed. “But you're such a kindly type. There's
all kinds
of need in here. All kinds.” His voice hinted at the kinds no one associated with charity. How foolish
she'd been to think it would be all right to go this far into the park alone. She made her feet move as fast as they could. The way Ollie was following, she'd never make it as far as the street. Looking up, however, she spied the teeter-totter that told her Quinn's family's shelter was only a handful of rows away.

“C'mon, miss mail lady, there's no need to rush.” He began closing the distance between them.

“Stop it!” Nora broke out into a run despite the tangle of her skirts. “Leave me alone.” Praying for protection, she headed straight for the teeter-totter and the knot of children gathered around it, hoping even someone as awful as Ollie wouldn't lay a hand on her in front of children.

“Come on back here and…” Ollie managed to grab one elbow as Nora attempted to turn the corner at a run. She twisted out of his grasp and kept running. Angered, he came after her faster, not caring about the group of shocked young faces who now watched.

Just as they passed Quinn's contraption, Ollie caught her shoulder and tried to spin her around. With dread, Nora felt the chain of her locket tangle up in his fingers and snap off from around her neck. She grasped at it as it sailed through the air to land in the dust a few feet away. Nora lunged for it, ducking out of Ollie's outstretched arm.

“Leave her alone!” Sam's voice came out of the crowd, and running at Ollie full tilt, he knocked the startled man backward a few paces. “You're nothin' but a mean old goat.”

Startled, Ollie backed off and let out a string of curses that made Nora wince and one of the younger girls start to cry. Nora was near tears herself, and she
scrambled in the dust for the locket she couldn't bear to lose a second time.

“Get out of here. Pa! Danny! Missus Freeman!” Sam began howling a list of adult names in an effort to get one—or all of them—on the scene.

The locket was broken. It had come unhinged in the fall, and the tiny ovals of glass that held the pictures had slipped out. Nora's fingers tried to push the charred photos back in place, but they were too cracked and damaged to stay intact without the glass to hold them together. Annette's image, barely visible as it was, seemed to disintegrate under her touch. “No,” Nora sighed, unable to hold back tears of fear and fury. “No, stay together, don't…”

It was useless. The photo crumbled into tiny black flakes that scattered into the dust at her skirts. Her last image of Annette, her locket photograph, was gone.

“Oliver McDonough, ye nasty excuse for a man, so help me if you don't get out of here this very minute…” Mrs. Freeman's sharp brogue cut through the gaggle of children's voices.

Nora felt the woman's strong hand on her shoulder as she bent down. “Miss Longstreet? Is that you? Did Ollie touch you? Hurt you in any way?”

Nora could barely even think about what Ollie had done in the heartache of losing Annette's image. The broken locket hurt much worse than any bruise Ollie had left by grabbing her. “I'm not hurt,” she said as the tears overcame her. “He grabbed me and it…broke the locket.” A small breeze stirred up the dust, setting the flakes flying and setting a panic in Nora's heart. It was somehow like losing Annette all over again. Desperately, she grasped at the tiny charred pieces before the wind
took them forever, but it was impossible to do. “No,” she cried, feeling helpless and foolish and startlingly wounded.