The Good Thief (32 page)

“Yes,” said Ren.

“Will you be returning?”

Ren thought of the body down in the basement, the bluebird etched into its skin. “Someday.”

Sister Agnes put the knitting into a bag. She rolled back and forth in her chair, the runners sounding in rhythm against the floor, just like the rocking horse in the mousetrap factory.

“Do you think she’ll forgive me for leaving her?” Ren asked.

Sister Agnes set her mouth. “I could not say.” She stopped rocking and looked out the window. Her hand touched the edges of her habit, then fell into her lap. “That man you brought here before. He was not from Saint Anthony’s.”

“No,” said Ren. For a moment he was buoyed by the thought that Dolly had come looking for him.

“You are from Saint Anthony’s, though. I believe you were raised there.”

Ren wondered how she had discovered this. But nuns and priests and brothers always seemed to know more than most.

“He is the patron saint of lost things,” said Sister Agnes. “I always thought it was an appropriate name for the place.” She took out a folded piece of paper and handed it over. Ren opened it slowly and recognized the handwriting of Brother Joseph.

Dear Sister,

I read your letter with great interest. The boy you spoke of lived here until eight months ago, when he was claimed by a relative. I had some doubt as to the man’s intentions, but it is not my place to question, and as you know our space at Saint Anthony’s is limited and we must take help in whatever form God provides it.

I am thankful that the boy found his way to your door. If you should see him again, please send him our blessings. Tell him that I hope he has put hisLives of the Saints to good use, and that I pray each night that the bad luck of threes has not followed his good fortune (he will know what I speak of).

Yours in Christ,

Brother Joseph Wolff

“Why did you write to him?” Ren asked.

“I had to make sure you were the same child.” Sister Agnes seemed nervous and began to rock again, pressing the chair back, then pressing it forward. “Some years ago a woman came to the hospital in the middle of the night. She said she was a Christian, God be praised. But her dress was covered with blood, and she seemed half out of her mind with fever. She told me that she had killed her baby.” Sister Agnes folded and refolded her hands. “This is rare. But I have seen a woman driven to it in my time, once or twice. I asked her to bring me to the body so that we could give the child a proper burial. She had hidden the baby underneath a bush at the side of the road, near the gate. He was well wrapped in blankets, and when I pulled back the layers, I saw that the child was still alive, and no more than a few weeks old.” Sister Agnes covered her mouth for a moment before continuing. “One of his hands had been cut off.”

Ren looked at Mrs. Sands. He looked only at Mrs. Sands. He expected her to wake up and start shouting. But she stayed completely still and quiet.

“I gathered the child in my arms and rushed back to the hospital. The doctors were able to save his life, God be praised. When the baby was out of danger, I tried to put him in the woman’s arms. She held him, and wept, but refused to admit that the child was living. She removed the baby’s clothes, all but the nightshirt, and filled them with stones from the yard. She kept the doll that she had made, and told me to watch over the other until she returned. She would not tell me her name, or the child’s.

“After a fortnight with no sign of the mother, I took the baby to Saint Anthony’s. We bring all the children there who are left behind, on purpose or by the parent’s death. The coach dropped me at the crossroads, and I walked to the orphanage. It had just started to rain. The baby was so quiet that I worried I had somehow smothered him in the bundle. I opened the blanket and he stared up at my face with a peculiar expression, then stuffed his blunted wrist into his mouth.

“I had been depositing children through the wooden door at Saint Anthony’s for years by that time. I did not enjoy this duty, but I performed it without complaint. I was looking forward to traveling alone back to the hospital, free of my burden, with time for my own thoughts. But the way the child sucked his wrist, as if he were at his mother’s breast, made it difficult for me to detach my feelings. I stood before the small door in the gate with the baby in my arms. I kept thinking of the mother weeping when she first came to the hospital, and saying, ‘I killed him. I killed him.’

“The rain had already found its way into my habit. I made myself go cold and with one last look into the blanket, I tucked it around the child and pushed the whole package through the swinging door. But as soon as I did, I felt regret. I thought that I should have waited until morning, when someone was sure to find him. But they might suspect the baby was one of the sisters’, or even my own, and it would bring dishonor and shame onto our convent. Still, I reached my hand through the tiny door, to see if I could catch hold of the blanket and take the child back. But he had already rolled away, beyond my reach. I stayed there, stretching my arm in all directions, until at last the night began to fade, and I was needed at the hospital.”

Sister Agnes looked at her hands. She threaded her fingers, then twisted them back and forth. “It was wrong to leave you out in the rain. I’ve thought about it many times over the years.”

“I was fine,” said Ren. “They found me.”

“God be praised,” said Sister Agnes. “I’m glad to hear it.” And then she seemed herself again. She sighed. “It will be morning soon.”

Ren saw that dawn was past. A new day was approaching. Mrs. Sands’s face looked younger against the pillow, as if this sleep had taken away years of worry. He reached out and took her hand. Her skin was smooth and papery, her fingers cold. Ren held them until they were warm again. Then he let them go.

“I’ve made an arrangement with Doctor Milton,” said Ren.

Sister Agnes sat up in her chair. “What kind of arrangement?”

“He said it would cover the room and a nurse, until she gets well. However long it takes.”

The nun looked troubled, then sighed again. She said that she would take care of everything. Ren handed her Brother Joseph’s letter, but she pushed it back. “He sent you a blessing,” she said. “You should take it with you.”

The steam from the kettle billowed out of the tent. It covered Ren like a fog, settling deep inside his lungs. The boy inhaled and exhaled, sensing the movement of air, and used his sleeve to wipe the damp from where it rested, underneath his nose.

A lock of hair curled against the landlady’s forehead. Ren reached forward and tucked it behind her ear. He leaned close and threw his arms around her shoulders, pressing his face against her neck. Mrs. Sands coughed. She lifted her hand and touched his head. Then she opened her eyes and pinched his ear until it hurt.

“
TAKE
ME
HOME
.”

“Mrs. Sands!”

“YOU’RE
LEAVING
.”

“I have to,” said Ren. “I’m sorry.”

“
NONSENSE
.” Mrs. Sands tried to get out of bed, but Sister Agnes pushed her firmly and gently back under the covers. “I’VE
HAD
ENOUGH
LOOKING
AFTER
.”

“You’re still too weak,” said Sister Agnes. “You need a few more days in bed, at the very least.”

“MY
BROTHER
NEEDS
HIS
SUPPER
. HE
NEEDS
IT OR HE’LL
DIE
.”

“No one’s going to die,” said Sister Agnes.

“
TAKE
ME
HOME
,” Mrs. Sands shouted.

“I can’t,” said Ren.

The landlady fell back against the pillows. She chewed her lip in frustration. “I
MADE
A
PROMISE
,” she said.

It had been three days since Ren had fed the dwarf. It would be even longer before Mrs. Sands was able to go home. Ren imagined the small man climbing down the chimney and finding an empty kitchen, the pantry raided, no one left but the mousetrap girls.

“YOU’RE A
GOOD
BOY
.”

“I’ve tried to be,” said Ren.

“I
KNOW
IT,” Mrs. Sands said. “
AND
I’VE NO
RIGHT
TO
ASK
YOU
.” She grasped his shoulder and pulled him close. She tried to whisper. “THERE’S
SOME
MONEY
BURIED
IN
THE
YARD
,
NEAR
THE
CHICKEN
COOP
. I
WANT
YOU
TO
TAKE
IT TO
THE
MARKET
.
LEAVE
ENOUGH
FOOD
FOR
HIM
,
AND
TAKE
THE
REST
WITH
YOU
.”

Ren thought of the hat boys, searching the roads. McGinty, pacing the mousetrap factory. “I can’t go back.”

“
PLEASE
,” she said. “I’VE
LEFT
HIM
ALL
ALONE
. I
TOLD
HIM
THAT
I
NEVER
WOULD
.” She began to cry and then to cough, her lungs struggling for air. Sister Agnes stepped forward and began to clap her hard on the back, so hard that Mrs. Sands’s nightcap flew off her head and onto the floor.

Ren bent down to pick it up. It was made of a simple white cotton. He pressed it to his nose and inhaled the smell of soap, fresh and good. It had been so easy for Benjamin to walk away. But Mrs. Sands had not. She ran the house that belonged to her mother. She knit her brother’s socks. And she still dropped to her knees every day and pressed her ear to the ground, trying to hear her husband in the earth.

Mrs. Sands coughed again and grasped his hand. “
REN
.”

“I will,” he said. “I’ll take care of him,” he said. “Be quiet now,” he said.

And she was.

I
t rained all the way back to the boardinghouse. The sky above flashed with lightning, and Ren counted, holding the lead of the donkey, until the thunder rolled in behind and the animal tried to dart for the trees. In the back of the cart Brom and Ichy held blankets over Tom, his leg stretched across the boards. The storm followed them from the hospital all the way to North Umbrage. Every time Ren heard a horse approaching he pulled the wagon deep into the bushes, and they waited there, hidden under the branches, until the other travelers passed by.

With every step Ren told himself that he was not like Benjamin. Water soaked through his clothes, until they weighed heavily on his body. The rain poured down his head and into his eyes. He thought of Brother Joseph, and The Lives of the Saints, and all the stories he’d read late at night in the small boys’ room, of Saint Sebastian, Saint Dymphna, and the martyrs, all the terrible things they had endured in order to do what was right.

Before they crossed the bridge, Ren told the twins to hide in the back with Tom, and covered them all. Then he took another blanket, wrapped it like a hood around his shoulders and across his face. He was glad for the storm. The streets were mostly empty, only the occasional widow hurrying past and looking for shelter. Ren slowly led the donkey toward the boardinghouse, keeping an eye out for hat boys and taking the side streets so that he would not have to pass the mousetrap factory. He could still see the giant building peering over the tops of houses, as if it were following his every move, the smokestack pumping black clouds that clung to the air, even through the rain.

They found the boardinghouse unlocked and disheveled. The mousetrap girls had finished off the pantry before leaving for their next shift. There were stacks of dirty dishes strewn across the table. The roof was leaking from the storm, and pots and pans and buckets had been placed on the floor here and there, catching the rain. Together the boys helped Tom inside and settled him onto the bench, the schoolteacher moaning and cursing all the way. Then the twins went to find some dry clothes and blankets, and Ren led the donkey to the stable. Once the animal was unhitched, he went into the backyard to look for Mrs. Sands’s money.

The chicken coop was set in the corner, covered with a pitched roof and resting on four posts in the dirt. Ren crouched down and pawed through the wet soil with his fingers. He tried digging near each of the posts, and then between the coop and the fence. Finally he slipped his hand into the dirt right before the little doorway. Just as he felt the edge of something in the earth a chicken stuck its head out of the door and pecked his hand. Ren yanked back in surprise, then blocked the hole with his arm. He could feel the hens pecking his elbow as he pulled the money from the ground.

It was sealed in a glass jar, the same kind of jar that Mrs. Sands used for her preserves. Ren brushed away the grime. There was a thick roll of money inside. Plenty for the dwarf and enough to get them started on the road. They only had to wait until morning, when the market opened. Ren tucked the jar under his arm and hurried back toward the house. He found the twins huddled together, waiting for him in the doorway.