“He’s back,” Frank said with more confidence than he had a right to feel. What he knew for sure was that
Frank cursed as he tripped over a drunk sleeping it off in the alley. “Light your lantern,” he told one of the cops irritably. “We’ll need to see who’s in the house.”
After some fumbling and some more cursing, the cop got the lantern lit. It made an eerie glow in the shadowy courtyard, revealing more sleeping forms on the ground here and there, drunks taking advantage of the relative shelter.
Frank sent one of the cops around behind the shanty in case someone tried to create a new exit through the rear wall when the trouble started. Then he stationed the other cop on one side of the crude doorway, holding the lantern up to illuminate the inmates, and he took the other side himself. When they were in position, he nodded to the cop with the lantern. The fellow raised his nightstick and pounded on the door, nearly shattering the flimsy structure with the force of his blow.
“Police!” he shouted. “Everybody out!”
The other cop began pounding on the back wall of the structure to hurry the evacuation process along.
The place came alive like a disturbed beehive. Shouts and screams and the sounds of bodies thudding against walls and each other erupted from within. In another second, the door swung open and small forms spewed out, arms covering heads to ward off blows from the dreaded locusts. They ran in every direction, disappearing into the darkness.
Frank waited like a patient fisherman, letting the little ones go. Finally, a larger figure emerged. The cop brought down his locust, and the taller boy fell to his knees with a cry of pain. He wasn’t Danny, but Frank grabbed him and dragged him out of the way, holding on to the limp form in case he was only faking injury. They watched until the last of the children had vanished, but Danny didn’t come out. Frank sent the cop with the lantern inside to make sure no one else was lingering, then he jerked his prisoner to his feet and slammed him up against the wall of the hovel.
The cop shone the lantern light directly in the boy’s face. He squinted in pain, but Frank recognized him as the one who had sliced his arm so Danny could escape. “Do you remember me, b’hoyo?” Frank asked menacingly.
The boy blinked, trying to focus, but having little success. He stank of beer, among other things, and the blow from the cop’s locust had scattered whatever brains he’d had left.
“Let’s take him down to Headquarters so he can think about his situation for a little while,” Frank suggested and turned him over to the two cops. They each took an arm and began dragging the protesting boy toward the alley that led to the street.
Frank followed, absently rubbing the cut on his arm. The stitches still itched like crazy. His mother said that was a good sign, but it didn’t feel good. It just made him angry. This kid would bear the brunt of his anger. Frank couldn’t help hoping the boy didn’t betray Danny too quickly.
Mrs. Wells had scheduled Sarah’s first class for Tuesday morning. The girls had entered the classroom quietly, almost hesitantly. She could see their wariness and suspicion. Like stray dogs who had been kicked too many times, they trusted no one. The red-haired girl, Maeve, was the worst of all. She glared at Sarah with undisguised animosity.
Sarah forced herself to keep smiling, as if she sensed nothing amiss. At least they were paying attention, she thought, painfully aware of their unblinking stares as she began her lesson. At first they seemed to be afraid to react, but then Sarah said something especially silly, just to test them. Someone in the back giggled, quickly slapping a hand over her mouth as if afraid of being reprimanded, but Sarah laughed, too, and soon they were all laughing. All except Maeve, who continued to glare.
Slowly, Sarah won them over. By the end of the class, they were interrupting each other with questions, raising their hands and waving them to capture her attention, if only for a few moments. When the class was finished and she dismissed them, they jostled each other, pushing and shoving, as they all tried to gather around her at once.
Their faces revealed a variety of ethnic backgrounds, the tongues a babble of different accents, but the eyes were all exactly alike. Every pair held an eager desperation for Sarah’s attention and approval. This, she knew, was why she’d come. Here was her chance to touch these girls’ lives and show them they had other alternatives than the ones they saw around them. She wanted to help them choose the right path so they didn’t end up selling themselves in the streets or worse.
Finally, the bell summoned the girls to their noon meal, and they reluctantly took their leave of her after extracting numerous promises that she would return. Only then did she notice the red-haired girl, Maeve, still lingering. She hadn’t joined the group that had surrounded Sarah but had hung back. When they were alone, she came forward.
“Did you have a question, Maeve?” Sarah asked kindly, hoping to break through the animosity.
Only then did she correctly identify the expression in Maeve’s brown eyes. She was defiant and… and
After gathering her things, Sarah went to find Mrs. Wells to take her leave. Everyone was in the dining room. Plank tables had been set up there, and girls of all sizes and shapes lined the benches on either side of them.
“Won’t you join us, Mrs. Brandt?” Mrs. Wells asked before Sarah could say a thing. If she still harbored any reservations about Sarah’s motivations for being there, she hid them well. Her smile was warm and friendly.
“I don’t want to…” Sarah gestured helplessly. “Imppose.”
“You mean take food out of the children’s mouths?” Mrs. Wells guessed. “Nonsense. We’re just having soup and bread. One serving of each won’t make any difference at all. Please, have a seat.”
She indicated an empty place at the end of one of the tables, across from Maeve and the child Aggie. Maeve didn’t look pleased by Sarah’s choice of seats, but Aggie glanced up when Sarah sat down across from her. Her expression was still solemn, but her eyes danced with mischief.
“Aggie, behave,” Maeve warned sternly, giving Sarah a look that accused her of encouraging bad behavior.
“Maeve, please get Mrs. Brandt some luncheon,” Mrs. Wells said.
Maeve’s expression changed instantly. She smiled, practically beaming with pleasure as she looked up at Mrs. Wells. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, rising so quickly she would have knocked over the bench if the other girls’ weight hadn’t been holding it in place.
“I can serve myself,” Sarah protested, but Maeve didn’t even glance at her. She took her orders from Mrs. Wells and sought only to please her.
“You’re our guest,” Mrs. Wells said, sliding into the bench beside her. She had, Sarah noticed, gotten her own bowl of soup.
“Aggie seems young to be here,” Sarah observed, noticing the next youngest of the girls was at least several years older than the child. Aggie couldn’t be more than five and perhaps as young as three.
“She’s a foundling,” Mrs. Wells explained, giving Aggie a small smile which the child did not return. “We found her sleeping in our doorway one morning several months ago. She was painfully thin and filthy and dressed in rags, and she wouldn’t speak. We tried to find her family, but no one in the neighborhood knew who she was – or at least no one admitted it.”
“She’s still very quiet,” Sarah said, then smiled at Aggie. “Do you like living here, Aggie?”
The little girl did not return the smile, but she nodded slowly, deliberately, proving she’d understood Sarah’s question. Sarah had wondered if the child might be deaf, which would explain her being mute, but apparently, she could hear just fine.
“She still doesn’t speak,” Mrs. Wells explained. “And we don’t really know her name, of course. I named her Agnes, after my mother.”
“Sometimes children stop speaking when they are badly frightened by something,” Sarah said as Maeve returned with her soup and a slice of bread. Sarah didn’t even want to imagine what a child like Aggie might have
