Stealing Jake (22 page)

Susie’s gaze met Livy’s. She smiled. “You must be Livy.”

“Oh, sorry, Sis. This is Livy O’Brien and that pretty little filly over there is Mary Gregory. Ladies, meet my sister Susie, her husband, Charlie, and little Andy.”

“It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Benson. Your baby is adorable.”

Susie laughed. “Oh, please call me Susie.”

“If you’ll call me Livy.”

Little Andy opened his eyes and yawned. Livy smiled. The adorable baby had a thatch of dark hair and a little rosebud of a mouth.

A pang at what might have been hit her. Memories of a tiny baby girl with dark hair and perfect fingers and toes but no life surged through her mind.
Help me, Lord.

She took a deep breath and looked around, taking in the cozy kitchen and the warmth of the fire, thankful baby Andy lived in a warm home with a loving mother and father and aunts and uncles to take care of him.

What if Katie’s baby
had
lived? What kind of life would the child have had on the streets of Chicago? What if Katie had died and Livy’d been left to care for the baby? What would she have done then? Everything in her power to save Katie’s child, of course. But would it have been enough? As Mrs. Brooks always said, maybe it was for the best, because God didn’t make mistakes.

Susie unwrapped the baby. “Look at his fingers. They’re so tiny. Can you imagine him ever being big enough to hold a hammer or a hoe?”

“Or the reins of a horse.” Tommy pointed to the baby’s hands. “They look like a coon’s paw.”

Amid the laughter, Jake leaned over and let the baby grasp his index finger. The contrast of the baby’s tiny hand clasping Jake’s tugged on Livy’s heartstrings. He rubbed his thumb against the back of the baby’s hand, much as he had done to her on the ride over, and she remembered how he would have kissed her if they’d been alone.

Had his feelings for her changed? Developed into more? Maybe she’d been wrong to tell him she wasn’t interested.

Jake lifted his finger slightly. “For such a little fellow, he’s got a good grip.”

“And he eats like a horse too.” Susie’s eyes grew moist. “I’m so thankful he’s healthy.”

Jake chucked his sister under the chin. “You did good, Sis.”

Livy marveled at the resemblance between Jake and his sister. Jake’s babies would probably look like Andy. The Russell family all had dark hair and bronzed skin. She glanced at Charlie, busy making a dent in the provisions from Mrs. Russell’s kitchen. Charlie sported dishwater-blond hair and skin that freckled rather than tanned. Livy’s gaze swept over Tommy, Susie, and the two younger girls, wondering what they’d looked like as babies. Had Jake looked like Tommy as a child? And been as mischievous? She smothered a tender smile.

Probably.

Livy sat there, feeling strangely comfortable. In this peaceful scene with Susie and her little family, she could almost forget the past.

Almost.

Mrs. Brooks’s words came rushing back. Could her feelings for Jake and the longing for children—dark-haired babies like little Andy—overcome the worst of her fears?

* * *

The day flew by way too fast to suit Jake.

At the orphanage, Mary hurried inside to tell Mrs. Brooks all about the baby. Livy stepped up on the porch, but Jake snagged her hand before she could go farther. “Hey.”

She dipped her head and gave him a shy smile. What he wouldn’t do to keep that smile on her face. He tugged her closer.

“You’ve been quiet today.” He grinned. “’Course, it’s hard to get a word in edgewise with Tommy and those girls yakking nonstop.”

“I didn’t mind.”

He studied the bemused expression on her face, unable to ignore the soft allure of her lips, the curve of her cheek. He took a deep breath as if he’d been slugged in the stomach. He’d never wanted to cherish and protect anyone as much as he did Livy. She made him wish for things he’d never dreamed possible. But she’d told him to wait. And wait he would. He didn’t want to rush things and scare her off.

No matter how much he wanted to taste her kisses again.

He rubbed her arms through the thick cloak she wore. “Cold?”

She shook her head, her reddish-brown hair glistening in the winter sun. “I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry the girls insisted on going to see the baby.”

Livy placed a hand on the front of his coat, close to his heart. “It’s all right. Seeing your sister’s baby today helped me let go of a lot of the fear I’ve had since losing my sister and her child.” She smiled, a tender look on her face, tears in her eyes. “Maybe . . . maybe I can move forward now.”

“Now?” he whispered as he drew her closer.

“Yes,” she whispered before his lips claimed hers.

Chapter Eighteen

Something was wrong.

“Gus?” Jake dismounted and crunched through the snow to the door and knocked. He listened for any sounds, but Gus’s ever-present humming was noticeably absent.

Gus hadn’t shown up to fill the coal bin at the jail today, and he always arrived before daylight. No smoke curled from the old man’s chimney, which struck Jake as odd. Gus hadn’t said anything yesterday about being away from home today. And where would he go, anyway?

When nobody answered, Jake pushed open the door to the dark cabin. The coals in the fireplace lay cold. Little Bit poked her head through the opening between the cabin and the lean-to and brayed. One thing was for sure. No matter where he went, Gus wouldn’t leave Little Bit behind.

In the gloom, Jake spotted Gus on his cot, a blanket draped over him.

“Gus?”

The old man didn’t move or acknowledge his presence. Jake hurried to his side, worried that his worst fears had materialized and that Gus had died in his sleep.
First Seamus and now Gus.
He reached out a trembling hand and laid it on Gus’s forehead. His skin felt hot to the touch.

Thank You, Lord. He’s alive.

“Gus? Can you hear me?”

Gus mumbled something, but Jake couldn’t make out what he said. He grabbed a couple of ragged blankets and piled them on. He glanced at the cold fireplace and frowned. Making a quick decision, he hurried outside and hooked Little Bit to the cart. They’d be snug in town before he could get the fire going and bring the doctor.

He lined the bed of the cart with half of Gus’s tattered blankets, hefted him into the little wagon, then covered him with the rest of the blankets and quilts. He mounted his horse, leading Little Bit behind. He hurried Little Bit as fast as he dared. The game donkey’s short legs kept pace with Jake’s long-legged mare as if she knew Gus needed help.

Jake decided against taking Gus to the boardinghouse, the orphanage, or even to Doc Valentine’s. Miss Nellie didn’t have time to see after a sick man, and neither did Mrs. Brooks and Livy, although none of the women would turn him away. But Gus wouldn’t want to wake up at either place.

Instead, he headed straight for the jail. Either Jake or Sheriff Carter were there around the clock. They probably couldn’t take care of the old man as good as the women, but they’d do the best they could.

Abner came out of the mercantile as Jake halted his mare at the jail. “Hey, Abner, run and get Doc Valentine. Hurry.”

“Yes, sir.” Abner darted away.

Jake settled Gus on a cot in one of the cells. He groaned and muttered a couple of times but didn’t wake up.

Lord, help Gus. Forgive me for not doing more for him, for not encouraging him to go to church and to learn more about You. I don’t even know if he’s a Christian.

He worked to make the old man comfortable, sending prayers heavenward for his life and his soul. Relief coursed through him when the door opened. “In here, Doc.”

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s Gus.” Jake stepped back. “He’s burning up with fever.”

Doc Valentine pulled up a chair and checked Gus over. He mumbled as he worked.

Jake gritted his teeth. “What’s wrong with him?”

“A touch of pneumonia.” The doctor muttered under his breath, stood, and snapped his black bag shut. He handed Jake a bottle of medicine. Jake leaned in so he didn’t miss any of the garbled instructions. “Keep his fever down. . . . Give him a dose of this three times a day. Hmmm . . . I’ll be back later.”

And with that, Doc Valentine mumbled himself right out of the jail.

Jake spent the rest of the day sponging Gus. His fever would go down, and he’d rest for fifteen minutes or so; then he’d get restless again. Around noon, Gus looked at him, his eyes glazed with fever. “Mr. Jake?”

“I’m here, Gus.”

Gus reached out a feeble hand. “Take care of the kids.”

“The kids? What kids, Gus?”

“Cold.”

“You’re cold? I’ll get another blanket.”

“No.” Gus gripped his hand. A spasm of coughing hit him. When he could speak again, he rasped, “Kids. Cold.”

Jake frowned. “The kids are cold?”

Confusion clouded the old man’s eyes, but he held up a trembling hand, focused on it a moment. “Gloves.”

“I know they need gloves, Gus.” Jake patted Gus’s shoulder, trying to comfort him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Gus babbled on, but Jake couldn’t make anything else out. After a while, he lapsed into a fitful sleep. Jake spooned a dose of Doc’s medicine into him and tried to keep his fever down.

Sometime midafternoon, Reverend Warren stopped by. “I just heard. How is he?”

“About the same.”

“Mrs. Warren insists we move Gus to the parsonage.”

Jake raked a hand through his hair. “He’d better stay here. You know he’d be mighty uncomfortable to wake up with Mrs. Warren fussing over him.”

The preacher nodded. “You’re probably right. He’d hightail it out of there so fast, he’d forget his britches. We’ll leave him here for now.” He thumbed over his shoulder toward the front room. “The wife sent over a pot of chicken stew. Eat something and get some rest. I’ll watch Gus for a while.”

“Thanks, Reverend.”

Jake wolfed down two bowls of Mrs. Warren’s soup, stumbled out of the jail, and crossed the street. He’d never been so thankful that Baker’s Boardinghouse faced the jail, right next door to McIver’s. He mounted the stairs to his room and closed the door, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

* * *

The six o’clock whistle pierced the evening stillness, echoing through the whole town. The sound galvanized Livy, Emma, and Mary into action. The miners would flood the small café in fifteen minutes. The men would be starving, as usual. Livy rushed around, cutting corn bread and ladling up bowls of beef stew.

Emma took another pone of corn bread out of the oven and dumped it on a platter. “Go ahead and put those bowls on the tables. All we’ve got is stew and corn bread. If they don’t like that, they’ll have to go someplace else.”

There wasn’t anywhere else to go. Miss Nellie only served her boarders. And most of the men who stopped in at Emma’s didn’t have a wife to cook for them. But the miners would be more than satisfied with Emma’s cooking. They wanted something hot and filling, and Emma’s cooking met both requirements.

Livy started pouring coffee the minute the first wave of men hit the door.

And didn’t stop for the next hour.

Over the last few days, the three women had developed a system. As soon as the diners arrived, Livy filled plates and bowls and coffee cups, refilling as needed. Mary washed dishes, and Emma kept cooking more food until she ran out or the crowd thinned, whichever came first.

Tired after a twelve-hour shift, the men rarely lingered. They thanked Emma for a hearty meal and left as soon as they finished. Some would go home to sleep, while others chose to drop by the nearest saloon.

When the café cleared, the women went to work washing up and restoring order. The same crew would want breakfast in the morning.

Livy wiped down the tables, then started washing pans. “Emma, why don’t you serve a noon meal?”

“I can’t hold out for sixteen hours a day. Besides, the miners who work nights are usually asleep during the noon meal, so I don’t think it would be very busy anyway.”

“You never know.”

“I’ll think about it. I’d have to have some more help, though. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“Have you always lived in Chestnut?”

“No. When my husband came to work in the coal mines, I opened the café to bring in a few extra dollars.” A shadow passed over Emma’s face. “He died in the Black Gold mine collapse in ’72.”

Livy touched Emma’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

Emma smiled. “That’s all right. There were a lot of other women in worse shape than me. I had the café and didn’t have any children to support. Twenty-nine men died that day, and a lot of them left wives and young children behind. Only mine disaster around these parts so far, thank the Lord. I cringe every time I hear one of those whistles if it’s not time for a shift change.”

“A lot’s changed since you’ve been here, hasn’t it?”

“When my husband and I came, everybody knew everybody. We didn’t have the riffraff we have now. All these bums from Chicago who ride in on the trains looking for an easy mark. And the children—that’s the worst.”

Livy stopped scrubbing. “The street kids?”

“Yep. Remember that boy I told you about? He stopped by the other night but took off as soon as I mentioned that you wanted to talk to him. He’s a skittish one, he is.”

“Has he caused trouble?”

“No, not that. But it’s sad to know they’re roaming the streets and nobody cares anything about them.”

“I’ve taken them some food,” Livy said.

“Do you know where they’re staying?”

“No. But I know where to leave the food, and they pick it up.”

“To tell you the truth, I always cook an extra pone of corn bread or biscuits. The boy brings a few pennies, and we both pretend it’s enough.”

“I know they appreciate your help.” Good Samaritans like Emma were few and far between.