Fairy Godmother

Battalion 11

John Paolillo

Battalion 12

Fred Scheffold

Battalion 22

Charles Margiotta

Battalion 47

Anthony Jovic

Battalion 48

Joseph Grzelak

Michael Bocchino

Battalion 49

John Moran

Battalion 50

Lawrence Stack

Battalion 57

Joseph Marchbanks, Jr.

Dennis Cross

SOC Battalion

Charles Kasper

Safety Battalion 1

Robert Crawford

Tactical Support 2

Joseph Mascali

Special Operations

Timothy Higgins

Michael Russo

Raymond Downey

Patrick Waters

Division 1

Thomas Moody

Joseph Farrelly

Division 11

Timothy Stackpole

Division 15

Martin Egan, Jr.

Thomas Haskell, Jr.

William O'Keefe

Chapter 1

This is not the way to spend a beautiful spring morning! Elena Klovis thought, as she peered around the pile of bandboxes in her arms. They were full of hats, so they weren't particularly heavy — unlike most of her stepmother's luggage — but they were very awkward to carry. There was a lark serenading the morning somewhere overhead, and Elena wished with all her heart she was him and not herself.

Still, if nothing went wrong, in a few hours she just might be free! If not as free as a bird, at least better off than she was now.

She took a few more steps, feeling her way carefully with her bare toes, and caught sight of the neighbors peering over the rose-covered wall as she passed by their perch. They must have been standing on boxes or a bench to do so, and even at that, all that could be seen of them was the tops of their caps, a few little greying curls escaping from beneath the lace, and two sets of eyes, blue and bright with curiosity.

Their curiosity would have to wait. She didn't have time to satisfy it right now.

Elena felt her way on towards the carriage, the bandboxes swaying dangerously with each step. Madame Blanche and Madame Fleur knew better than to call out to her when she was in the middle of a task, and even if they hadn't been, she wouldn't have answered. Not now. Elena was not in the mood to take either her stepmother's sharp tongue nor the blows of her cane, and if the carriage wasn't packed soon, Madame Klovis would be delivering up both.

She made a few more careful steps. It would have been easier if she'd been properly shod instead of barefoot, but the only shoes she had were the wooden clogs she'd carved herself for winter, and the wooden pattens for rain. The last time she'd asked for shoes, her stepmother had flown into a rage and beaten her so hard that her back ached now at the memory.

Sometimes she thought about what would happen if she snatched that cane away and struck back — and wondered if it would be worth what would follow.

It wouldn't, of course. The girls would run to get help, and Elena couldn't possibly get away before she was caught. First would come the constables, who would charge her before the magistrate for assault, and the law was on her stepmother's side. An unmarried girl was the ward and property of her parents, who could do whatever they wished with her. Of course, most parents were good and kind, and would never hurt their children, not even when they were the children of another marriage — but when they were not, well there was no recourse for the child, none at all....

Well, the magistrate would certainly have his say. Then would come ten strokes of the lash at the hands of the town gaoler, followed by a session in the stocks in the town square. Then things would go right back to the way they were, except that Stepmother's hand would be even heavier.

Even if she was twenty-one, an unmarried maiden was still a child in the eyes of the law, and nothing could free her from her parents but marriage.