Mission of Hope (9 page)

“Come now, hon, let's get you up.” Mrs. Freeman crouched down beside Nora and took her by both shoulders. “There's nothing to be done about your bauble now.” Nora let herself be pulled up, even though she felt as if she couldn't stand on her own. All the previous joy was gone—and then some, for she felt worse than ever to have lost the locket a second time. “You've gotten your fine dress all dirty now, but you don't look hurt. Ollie's a brute. Let's get you inside, Nora, dear. I just happen to have the makings of a cup of tea, and I think we both could use one.”

The generosity—especially knowing Mrs. Freeman's fondness for tea and the scarcity of it—made everything worse. “Oh, no,” Nora cried, the tears still coming down despite her efforts to stop them, “you couldn't use your birthday tea for this.”

Mrs. Freeman stopped for a moment and looked at Nora before she pulled open the flap of leather that served as a door and steered Nora to the one chair inside. “And how is it that you know about my birthday tea, missy?” Her tone wasn't a suspicious inquisition, it was more of an amused curiosity. She began gathering things for tea, only taking her eyes off Nora for a few seconds here and there.

“Your son told me.” Nora had to choose her words carefully for she didn't want Mrs. Freeman to know the tea had come from her. “He was delighted to find some tea to give you.” The tears ebbed, giving way to a huge, shuddering sigh as Nora felt the panic subside. She brushed the worst of the dirt off her skirts—she
would have some explaining to do when she got home. “He told me how much you loved tea and missed it.”

Having sent Sam off to fetch hot water from a common fire pit down the way, Mrs. Freeman hunched down to assess Nora's condition with a mother's experienced eye. “You'll have a bruise where that knee hit, but I think that's the worst of it. On the outside, that is. Ollie get fresh with you, did he? He's all bark and no bite that one, but he can surely bark. He was no good before the earthquake, and now he seems to have plenty of chances to show us what a louse he can be.” She pulled a cloth from her pocket. “Here, love, wipe your face. You've had a good scare, but thank the Lord it's no more than that.”

It was much more than that, but Nora thought if she tried to explain she'd only end up flooding the shack with tears. And these people had endured losses so much worse than hers. It felt selfish to go to pieces over, as Mrs. Freeman put it, “a bauble.”

Sam returned, and as Mrs. Freeman tended to her teapot, Nora wiped her face and then used the cloth to wipe the dust from the remains of the locket. It lay open and empty on her lap, as forlorn a sight as she'd ever seen. Both photos gone, glass gone, chain broken; it made her want to start crying all over again. Mrs. Freeman came back in, “I'll just tell Sam to run and get…” She stopped and looked around the shelter, one hand flying to her chest. “Mercy! Where's Sam? He was just here a second ago…
Sam!
” She pushed her head out of the shack and called “Where'd ya go, lad? Oh!” Nora couldn't see whatever it was that Mrs. Freeman saw, only watch her spine stiffen with the sight—whatever it was. “Glory! What happened to you?”

Q
uinn ducked into the shack a moment later, Sam ahead of him. Quinn's right hand was bruised and bloodied. He ignored his mother, heading straight to squat down in front of Nora. “Are you hurt, Miss Longstreet?”

Sam tugged on Mrs. Freeman's skirts. “Ollie sure is.”

Mrs. Freeman rolled her eyes. “Oh, son, you didn't.”

Nora felt Quinn's eyes lock on to hers. “Did he hurt you in any way?” he said angrily. “Any way at all?”

“He knocked me down, that's all.” She tried to sound as calm as possible.

Quinn's intensity eased—until he saw the locket that lay broken in her hands. He returned his gaze to her eyes, and his simmering anger deepened into a look that held more sorrow and understanding than Nora thought her heart could hold. He, of all people, knew the significance of that “bauble.” He seemed to know it was an almost unspeakable pain for her, for while he saw her own heartbreak reflected in the golden brown of his eyes, he said nothing. Were they alone, Nora felt
she would have flung herself into his arms and cried for hours.

“Sam fetched more than water just now, did he? So you went and found Ollie,” Mrs. Freeman said with an exasperated air. “And you let your fist say a thing or two on the matter?” She shook her head as she rummaged through that enormous trunk of hers for yet more bandages.

Quinn stood up. “Surely you didn't expect me to stand there and wag a finger at him. He had it coming, Ma. He's had it coming for a while.”

“Oh, and that's
just
what we need in these parts,” Mrs. Freeman scolded, “Grown men beating each other up in front of young lads.”

“He had it comin',” Sam piped up, sticking his brave little chin out. “No one gets to hurt Miss Nora.”

Mrs. Freeman leveled a “now look what you've gone and done” glare at her son and showed him precious little mercy with the stinging iodine. Quinn only sucked in a great deal of air between his teeth, winced and glared right back. “Ouch, Ma.”

“I hope it stings 'til Sunday, ye great oaf.” Anger thickened her brogue. Nora had to give Mrs. Freeman credit; Quinn had almost a foot on her, yet she held her ground fiercely. Of course, she had a bottle of nasty iodine to back her up, but Nora doubted that tipped the scales much.

“Are you badly hurt, Mr. Freeman?” Nora asked, mostly to change the subject. He'd defended her. Brutally, yes, but with such a ferocious loyalty that she felt it lodge deep in her chest and stay there. What a powerful thing it was to know he'd roared out as her champion like that.

“I'll be fine,” Quinn said, flexing his fingers. From the look of things, his bleeding knuckles stung fiercely. “I only hit him twice.” He looked up at Nora, the slightest hint of a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “He deserved more.”

“Enough in front of the lad,” Mrs. Freeman said over her son's shoulder in a low monotone threat. “Now,” she planted her hands on her hips, “this was hardly the tea party I had in mind, but since you're all here, have a cup and then we'll get Miss Longstreet back to her father before yet another man loses his temper in this place.”

 

“I don't know who'll be more angry—your papa or my ma,” Quinn said as he accompanied Nora on the long walk to her Lafayette Park home after tea. It had been the most ridiculous “tea party” in history—Ma seething and him all stinging and bandaged up so he could hardly hold the cup and Sam chattering and Nora so quiet. Quinn couldn't get out of there fast enough. Not to mention his insistent desire to steal a few moments alone with poor Nora so they could talk about the locket. Every time he thought about what Ollie had done, the urge to go find that snake and pummel him again surged up within him. Major Simon was right—his impulsive nature would lead him to trouble again and again. And trouble—even the righteous kind—was still trouble. He'd be no good to anyone locked up for brawling.

Nora nodded toward Quinn's hand. With his knuckles wrapped up just below the bandage still on his forearm from Major Simon's “lesson,” his right hand was looking mighty worse for wear. “Perhaps Ollie is the most mad. It would certainly feel better to think he is.”

“Whatever made you think it'd be wise to find Edwina
on your own? I'd have come if you asked—you know that. I
should've
come—and you know that, too.”

Nora looked up at him with a tender smile. “Oh, and you've nothing to attend to all day but my whims? I've no right to ask you to be at my beck and call.”

She had every right, but Quinn wasn't sure that was a safe thing to say.

Nora fussed with the dark smudge of dirt on her skirt. “It was a foolish thing to do, I know. But I couldn't seem to stop myself. I just kept thinking of poor Edwina. It was like I was choking on her wish until I could get that doll to her.” She looked up at Quinn again. “And I met her grandfather. If you could have seen the way he changed—the way he literally changed in front of me when I told him why I was there. I felt like I was doing just what God wanted me to be doing. At just the moment He wanted me doing it. I don't know that I can explain it any other way. When I was walking back home, it was like I was walking on air.”

He knew that feeling. He'd felt it walking back from his “delivery,” wide-awake and deliriously satisfied even though it was two o'clock in the morning. He'd felt it as he drove that message post into the ground, full of energy even though it was blazing hot and he ought to have been exhausted. Reverend Bauers quoted that scripture about “soaring on eagle's wings,” when he talked about feelings like that, and although Quinn found the description rather fussy, it did fit.

“'Til Ollie knocked you right off that air. I'm sorry that happened. Seems a double sin to take away someone's joy like that.”

Nora's hand went to her throat, as it had done so many times since he'd given her the locket, and found only
her neckline. “It feels awful to have lost her again like that. I know it's silly but it…hurts so much.”

Her voice trembled again, cutting through Quinn. Without thinking, or perhaps it was more precise to say without caring, Quinn reached out and took her hand. He had intended it to be a light, momentary touch, but when she settled her hand into his he felt it ignite his heart.

“I'm going to fix that locket, just like I said. And mind you, don't go off like that without me again,” he said. He hoped his voice didn't betray the storm going off inside him, but from the look on her face he knew it had. “We have to be careful,” he felt compelled to add, meaning more than just her traveling safety. He was going to have to be very careful about her. She could drive him to impulses that were miles beyond unwise.

She pulled her hand from his, but gave it a squeeze before she did. “I know.” He watched her run one hand across the other, and he knew her hand tingled the way his currently did. She did feel something. He knew he couldn't be the only one. There was too much between them to miss it. There was
so much
between them. When they crossed Market Street, Quinn had the uncomfortable feeling that they'd shifted from his world to hers. Funny how life had made him feel like a trespasser in parts of his own city.

She felt it, too, for her steps became more determined. “Papa gave me a speech yesterday.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “He went on about how the world wasn't the same anymore and how I ought to be sensible.”

Quinn tucked his hand in his pocket. “I've never been one much for sensible myself. But he's your pa, that's
his job.” As they started up the hill toward the nicer part of town, Quinn tried to make a mental list of all the reasons he shouldn't be sweet on Nora Longstreet. He failed.

They walked on in a companionable silence for several blocks, looking up once or twice to catch each other's eye and offer a smile. More than once he had to stop himself from reaching out and taking her hand again. Impulsive as he was, he knew that would invite a host of trouble out here in her world.

A block before her house, Nora stopped and drew herself up straight. “Despite what happened today, I don't want to stop at Edwina. I don't think I'm
supposed
to stop at Edwina. I think there are more of these requests I can fill, but I don't know how it's all going to work just yet. I just know it's got to, and I suppose the ‘how' will have to be God's problem.”

Quinn thought he could not find her more endearing. Before today he would not have said something like tender bravery could exist, but it stood before him, her unsteady smile stealing his affections. “Well, then, you leave me no choice. I've got to help. I'm good with impossible problems. So consider me your partner.”

“How?”

“Well, like you said, the ‘how' may just have to be God's problem.”

Her gaze held his eyes. “That would mean I am your partner as well, Mr. Freeman.”

It was a step too far. It was not at all the proper thing to say, but none of that mattered. “My partners call me Quinn.” Suddenly, it was the most important thing in the world to hear her say his name.

The smile on her face reached up into the violet
depths of her eyes. “Quinn. But very quietly and when no one else is around.”

“It'll do.” It would, but probably not for long.

 

Quinn thumped the list of requests he'd written down over the last day onto the table in front of Major Simon. “How many of these can you get?”

Simon peered at the list. “Are these from that post in Dolores Park? The one you put up?”

“It started with just messages, but then people began posting the things they need. It's perfect. They know I built the post, but they don't realize they're telling
me
what they need.”

“Unless they watch you taking down notes every day,” Simon cautioned.

“I make sure no one sees me take things down.”

“You better be.”

Quinn nodded impatiently toward the pile. “So tell me how much of this we can get.”

“After you tell me how you got
that?
” He pointed to the bandage covering Quinn's knuckles.

Quinn told as fast a version of the story of Ollie and Nora as he could manage. “He deserved more. Mad as I was, he's lucky I stopped at two.”

Simon let out a chuckle. “You should have stopped at one. Or none at all.” The major planted his hands on the table between them. “Freeman, there are better ways to deal with louts like that. Think before you act. Rein in your impulses or you'll be no good to anyone.”

Quinn scooped up the list in frustration, stuffing it back in his pocket with a loud grunt. “I'm in no mood to improve my character while things get much worse out there.”

The major crossed his arms over his chest. “So get out your sword.”

Quinn said nothing, just gave Simon the darkest look he could manage.

“Fight me now, while you're good and angry.” With that, the major picked up a sword and readied his stance. He was so annoyingly calm and careful. Quinn wanted to take his sword and slash something to pieces—preferably the major's crisp, clean jacket laying across the back of a chair in the corner of the room. A warm coat had been one of the things on those notes—San Francisco's night winds could be freezing, even in July. Did fine, upstanding Major Simon even know what it was like to need a coat? To be so cold you thought you couldn't ever be warm again or so hot you thought you'd drop over? Quinn snapped open the box that held his swords.

“See if you can channel that anger. Make it a focus instead of a distraction. Fight smart, Quinn, not hard.
En garde!
”

Quinn took a set of lunges at the major, but Simon blocked his thrusts as easily as if he'd known which blows were coming when. “You're an imaginative sort, don't be so obvious.”

Simon pointed the tip of his sword directly at Quinn's neck. “Stop,” he said in a commanding tone. “Take a breath and look at me. Think about what I'm expecting, and then plan the opposite. Plan. Don't react, Freeman,
plan.
”

Quinn took a deep breath, willing the anger to settle down into something closer to resolve. He started off by moving toward the side but ducked around at the last minute to land a blow so hard to Major Simon's chest that it knocked him to the ground. The satisfaction of a
calculated victory sung through his veins. He pulled off his glove to help the major up, only to find his knuckles and other wounds bleeding from the force of the blow he'd just struck. Smiling, he offered his left hand to the major, who took it with an equal grin.

“I haven't been knocked off my feet in five years. My only mistake, it seems, was to underestimate how fast you learn.”

They went through several other lessons, the hour passing by so swiftly that it seemed neither of them had a moment to catch their breath. Wiping his brow, Major Simon snapped his pocket watch shut and pointed to Quinn's pocket. “Shall we have a look at that list again?”

Quinn put the list back on the table. His hand was still bleeding, and a corner of the list had a swath of blood across one side. “Go tend to that,” the major said. “I'll look through these and see what I can do.”

As he walked over to the side table and wet a handkerchief, Quinn hid his smile. “And not just that list. Anything and everything will help,” Quinn offered. “If you've got it, I can find someone who needs it.”

“You know a great deal of people, Mr. Freeman, of the good and the bad variety it seems. Miss Longstreet should be grateful for such a champion.” Simon looked up and caught Quinn's eye with those last words.

“Ollie had no right to trouble her like that.” Quinn tried to keep any hint of his affections for Nora out of his voice. “Or any other lady just trying to help,” he added for good measure.