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Heat rose in Bart’s cheeks. “You’re gonna need to teach me Spanish.”

  “Okay.”

  Bart wrapped his arms around his friend…his lover and kissed him again.

  In the stable below them, one of the mares snorted and stamped a hoof.

  “We’d better go down and take care of them.”

  “In a bit?” Bart asked.

  George nodded without hesitating and rested his head on Bart’s chest.

  Bart was so happy he thought his heart would explode. He held onto George and decided not to worry about the future just then.

  Instead, he tried to repeat the Spanish words Georgie had used. He knew he hadn’t gotten them right when George snorted and buried his face in the space where Bart’s neck and shoulder joined and shook with laughter.

  “I’m sorry, querido.” He couldn’t stop laughing, starting again almost as soon as he seemed to have himself under control.

  Bart found he didn’t mind in the least, because when George finally was able to stop, his eyes, though bright with tears, were also filled with such affection Bart thought he would melt into a puddle of love.

  And then George cupped Bart’s face between his palms and said the words against Bart’s lips until Bart finally got them right.

  Chapter 32

  Three days later, after Papa had been buried, after the neighbors had paid their final respects and gone home, George watched as Captain Marriott rode away on Bella, leading Salida. He knew he’d done the right thing, but it broke his heart to see the two mares trotting away, especially when Salida stopped and glanced behind her, no doubt wondering why George wasn’t on her back.

  Then they turned the corner and were gone.

  Captain Marriott had told George he planned to find work as a wagon master taking immigrants west out of St. Joe or Independence, and if George ever needed him, to come find him.

  George sighed and walked toward the front door. He’d see how Mama was doing, and then he’d walk to Hudson’s and see if his boss had a cab he could take out.

  A buggy pulled into the drive, and George felt his gut churn when he saw the driver—Josiah Goodrich, the man who collected the rent for their landlord.

  “Mr. Goodrich.” George crossed to him. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m here to collect the rent.”

  “I paid it last week.”

  “Yeah, well, your landlord wants it collected every week now.”

  “But—”

  “And he wants the same amount.”

  George forced himself to breathe. “I don’t have the money,” he lied. He wasn’t about to hand over such a large sum, more than a fifth of what Captain Marriott had paid him for the horses. The family would be back in the same predicament they’d been in when they’d learned Papa was gone.

  “When do you get paid?”

  “At the end of the week.”

  “I’ll give you until then, but if you don’t have it, I’m evicting you. You don’t want your brother or sister born on the streets, do you?”

  “N-no, sir.”

  Goodrich grinned, revealing a discolored front tooth. He liked to demonstrate what a big man he was, but if George hadn’t had his family to care for, he’d have knocked the man back on his skinny rump.

  “You…uh…you might want to look into a loan,” Goodrich said. “Maybe Mr.—” He stopped short of naming the man who owned the cottage. George had intended to go to the man and plead with him, but he hadn’t been able to discover who it was. “Maybe a rich man might see his way clear to fronting you the money. You’re a pretty boy.”

  George felt nauseous when Goodrich leered at him. George had liked it when those words came out of Bart’s mouth, even though he was just repeating what someone else had said, but this man…

  Goodrich waggled his eyebrows. “If you’re nice to me, I might maybe be able to help you out. I’ve got a tidy sum set aside. You scratch my back, and I’ll…make it worth your while.”

  “I’ll have the money for you on Friday.”

  “Okay, but keep in mind what I said. I could be real generous.” He snapped his whip on the horse’s back, and the poor animal didn’t even have the spirit to startle or flinch or rear up. It just backed out into the street and plodded away, its head hanging low.

  George shivered and went into the cottage. “Mama?”

  “In the kitchen, Georgie.”

  He walked in and watched as she rolled out the dough for cookies. She was finally able to make something without setting the kitchen on fire.

  “We have to have a talk,” he said.

  She studied his face and nodded. “Noelle, take Charlie out to see if La Gata has had her kittens yet.”

  “Yes, Mama.” She took Charlie’s hand and went out the kitchen door.

  “All right, George. What is it?”

  “We can’t stay here, Mama. Goodrich just left, and he says the landlord wants the rent every week now, and he’s raised it again.”

  Mama turned pale, and he was glad he’d kept Goodrich’s suggestion about George being nice to him to himself.

  “I know we talked about this, and I know you wanted to have the baby here, but we have to leave. He threatened to evict us.”

  She sank down onto a kitchen chair. “Oh dear God. You’re right. We’ll have to leave. But where will we go?”

  “To your papa?” He wasn’t sure he liked the idea, but he felt he had to suggest it.

  “No. You’re old enough now to know this. He wanted me to marry someone else, and when that proved unsuccessful…when I married your papa instead, he never forgave me.”

  “But…”

  She shook her head. “He never thought well of women. He wouldn’t think I could care for my children.”

  That was nonsense, but George could see Mama was getting upset, so he was more than willing to drop the idea.

  They couldn’t go west, not until after this baby was born, and even then they’d have to wait at least for next spring for tolerable weather.

  “I talked with Bart about this. An apartment in his tenement is empty. It’s in the center of the building, right behind their apartment, and it’s going to be miserable, with no light coming in, but I think we should take it. It’s nowhere near as expensive as this cottage, and the money Captain Marriott paid for the horses will tide us over for much longer. Once we get there, we can look around for something that will work better for us without having to worry about Goodrich breathing down my—our necks.”

  “Has he been bothering you? I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  “I can deal with him if I have to. Papa…Papa taught me how to fight.” And George would much rather have Goodrich coming after him than after Noelle. Even though she wasn’t quite six there were men he wouldn’t trust anywhere near her.

  “This baby…” Mama rested a hand on her rounded tummy. “Do you think Dr. Choate will come there when she’s ready to be born?”

  “He, Mama.” He was pleased she was able to tease him about whether this baby was going to be a boy or a girl. “Sure he will. He likes you. And Mrs. Hall will be there if Dr. Choate can’t make it.”

  Mama looked around the kitchen. “We really don’t have many belongings to take with us.”

  “No.” Just their clothes, some books, the few toys that belonged to the girls, and Papa’s saddlebags and weapons that were concealed in his bedroll. “If you’ll get us packed, I’ll ask Mr. Hudson if I can borrow a wagon and drive over to East 21st Street. Once I have the apartment rented, I’ll come back and get you and the girls.”

  “Yes.” She smiled at him, and he leaned down and hugged her.

  “It will be fine, Mama. I promise.”

  Chapter 33

  Deirdre sat on a particularly uncomfortable settee in a corner of Julius St. Claire’s study and observed the three men who were so busy glaring at each other—or in Josiah Goodrich’s case, cowering and hoping not to be noticed—they paid no heed to her.

  God, men c
ould be so boring.

  “What do you mean they’re gone?” St. Claire thundered.

  “When I went to the cottage earlier today, the family had packed up and moved out.” Goodrich tried to meet St. Claire’s cold blue-gray eyes but wasn’t too successful.

  “You were supposed to collect the rent last Wednesday.”

  “The boy was desperate. He swore up and down he’d have the rent money today.”

  “The purpose wasn’t to give him time to come up with the money. You were a moron to give him that extra time.”

  Goodrich turned scarlet, and Deirdre tilted her head. She could understand him being nervous because he hadn’t obeyed St. Claire’s orders to the letter, but in that case he should have lost all color in his cheeks. What was he concealing?

  “The boy was desperate. He told me he got paid today, that he’d have the rent by this afternoon for sure, but I knew there was no chance he could get his hands on that kind of cash money.” Goodrich was starting to perspire.

  Deirdre watched in reluctant fascination as a drop followed the curve of his cheekbone, clung to his chin for a moment, and finally splashed onto his wilting collar.

  “Like I said, I knew there was no possible way he could come up with the money. Not in two days…not in two months. I thought the added despair would be all we needed to get them to cooperate.”

  “You thought? You thought?” St. Claire snarled. “That’s the problem, Goodrich. You don’t fucking think.” He began pacing his study, his face getting redder and redder. “I gave you one simple job—put the pressure on them.”

  “I did,” Goodrich whined. “Besides, he’s a nancy boy.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Deirdre had started to conceal a yawn with a gloved palm, but Goodrich’s words caused her to pause. Did he think the boy preferred male companionship as opposed to female? Had Goodrich agreed to his request in hopes the boy would be grateful and allow Goodrich into his pants? The corner of her mouth curved in a knowing grin. Now things began to make sense.

  “Jesus God, you’re an idiot.” St. Claire gave Goodrich a dismissive glance, obviously unaware of the reason behind his man of business’s foolish decision. “Why didn’t you come to me with this immediately?”

  “I’m here now,” Goodrich said sulkily.

  “But they aren’t. And God alone knows where they are. Do you realize the size of this city? How are we supposed to find them?”

  Goodrich opened his mouth to reply, then shut it. Apparently he had the good sense to not say anything.

  “We hire a detective.” Lewis St. Claire, the third man in this useless trio, finally spoke, causing Goodrich, the fool, to jump.

  That caused St. Claire to pause in his ranting. “Do you have someone in mind?”

  “I might.”

  Deirdre let her gaze shift from father to son as the two walked to the far end of the room and began to talk in hushed tones.

  She rose from the settee and shook out her skirts. All three men ignored her. Goodrich didn’t even have the courtesy to rise. Stupid man. Stupid men.

  She could have told Julius St. Claire exactly where the family was.

  She’d walked down to the kitchen, determined to know why her morning coffee was late, when she heard the scullery maid complaining to the cook.

  “I hate that woman,” she said, and Deirdre was about to stalk in and throw the ungrateful little bitch out on her skinny ass, but then she continued. “Ma always paid more attention to Missus Pettigrew’s kids than to her own. And it’s even worse now they’re living in the same tenement Ma and the kids are. God, I’m so glad I’m out of there. I tell you one thing, Myrtle. I wouldn’t mind living there if George Pettigrew looked at me the way my brother looks at him…”

  Deirdre ignored the rest of the girl’s words—servants didn’t have anything useful to say, and at any rate, she knew all that was necessary.

  Now she stared scornfully at Julius St. Claire. Why should she make things easy for him when he’d seen to it that Tom Pettigrew was killed? He’d known she wanted him alive, and if he’d followed her plan, they both would have gotten what they wanted.

  As it was…She left the study and walked down the hallway to the front door. If she had the opportunity to throw a spanner into St. Claire’s plans, she wouldn’t hesitate.

  And when it came to his daughter, well, Deirdre had a bone to pick with the little bitch as well. Miss High-and-Mighty-butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth had stolen Tom Pettigrew right from under her, and she intended to make Olivia St. Claire pay for that act. Every single day for the rest of her pitiful life.

  Living in a tenement on East 21st Street? Oh, my dear girl, that’s just the start of it. Before I’m done with you, you’re going to wish you’d never set eyes on Tom Pettigrew.

  Deirdre summoned a cab and gave him the address. All she wanted was for him to drive her home. She rested her head back against the leather seat cushion. The sunlight hurt her eyes, and a pounding had begun in her temples, something that had been occurring more frequently than she liked.

  She’d start putting together her plans, but first she’d have Eilis rub her aching head, then fix her a cup of basil tea. That would do the trick, and she’d feel so much better.

  Chapter 34

  George missed the horses, but he knew they were with a good man, so he forced himself not to fret over it. There were other things to brood over.

  The tenement apartment was awful, not only damp and dark due to its location within the building and the lack of windows, but small, consisting of two rooms that would have fit in the parlor of their cottage with space to spare.

  In addition, mice skittered in the walls.

  It was a good thing George had decided at the last minute to bring La Gata with them. Her kittens, a litter again all looking like their unknown father, were born in the early morning hours after they had moved in.

  The neighborhood kids got a kick out of the kittens, and that made it easier for Noelle and Charlie to fit in with them.

  During the day, Mama would teach the girls reading, writing, and what arithmetic she knew, and needlepoint.

  George made them slingshots and bows and arrows, and they became skilled in their use. In the morning, before George went to work, he continued to teach them how to protect themselves, using anything that was at hand.

  Mama knew, but she didn’t object.

  In the warm July and August evenings, he and Bart would sit on the front stoop, talking of their day. There was no privacy for them, no hay loft to tumble in, but they’d lean companionably against each other and watch the younger kids. The boys played marbles or jackstraws, while the girls played hopscotch or jumped rope.

  Those were the times George loved the best.

  But he missed Papa. Mama missed Papa, too. The girls…they just didn’t remember him enough, but they listened when he and Mama talked about him, and they wound their little arms around George and Mama’s necks in an attempt to comfort them.

  And then in the middle of August, almost four months after they’d moved into the tenement on East 21st Street, Mama went into labor.

  * * * *

  “It seems you were right all along, Georgie,” Mama said. This birth had been longer than the first two, most likely because this baby was the biggest, and it had taken a lot out of her.

  George rocked his new baby brother gently in his arms. “I promise to care for him.”

  She smiled at him, exhaustion in the lines around her eyes and mouth. For the first time she looked older than her twenty-four years. “I know you will.”

  George had sent one of the older neighbor boys to fetch Dr. Choate, promising him a silver dollar when he got back, but the doctor had been away, according to his housekeeper. George had had no recourse but to get the doctor who lived down the road. He’d smelled of alcohol, and when he hadn’t even bothered to wash his hands before he examined Mama, George had thrown him out of the apartment. Mrs.
Hall had wound up helping Mama deliver the baby.

  “What do you want to name him?”

  “Thomas.” Tears welled in her eyes.

  “Papa would like that very much.” George felt a burning in his own eyes. “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Hall came bustling up. “Take your brother inside while I get your mama cleaned up,” she said.

  George tugged aside the blanket that served as the door to the bedroom that Mama shared with Noelle and Charlie. It offered meager privacy for them, but it was the best they could do.

  “You’re just a little bit of a thing, Thomas, for all you’re a handsome lad.” It looked like the baby was another blue-eyed blond.

  George walked up and down the room, softly singing bits and pieces of the Spanish lullaby Papa used to sing to him. Little Bit was almost asleep when the door to the apartment banged open, causing the baby to startle. George glared at the girl who stood there, arms akimbo.

  “Where’s my ma?” Mary Beth Hall demanded.

  George bit back a sharp comment. “She’s helping my mama. What did you need?”

  “I need my ma.” She started to storm across the room.

  George angled himself in front of her, curtailing her progress. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yeah, something’s wrong. Ma is always here when she has a family of her own to care for.”

  As reluctant as George was to admit it, Mary Beth had a point. “Go on home. I’ll let her know you were looking for her.”

  Mary Beth glared at him, then turned with a flounce and a huff and stalked out.

  “Was that Mary Beth’s voice I heard?” Mrs. Hall asked as she emerged from Mama’s bedroom.

  “Yes. She said she needed you. I’m sorry we’ve made things difficult for you.”

  “You haven’t. That girl hasn’t had any real use for me in ages.” She patted his arm. “Never you mind about her. Your ma is doing better, but she’s still weak. I’m going to make her some rich broth, and I want you to see she eats it all.”

  “What about the baby? Will she be able to nurse him?”

  Mrs. Hall shook her head. “Not this time. I’ll send Mary Margaret out to milk the goat.” Mrs. Hall kept a couple of goats in the backyard and made some money selling the milk and cheese. “Goat’s milk should be easier on this fine gentleman’s tummy than cow’s milk.”