Page 11

The row house was like dozens of others in Irish Town, a worn, flimsy building made of rough-hewn timbers, intended as a temporary lodging for settlers moving on to the bush. But once a family entered Irish Town, they could rarely scrape together the wherewithal to leave.

Sara paused at the back door. Molly, the landlady, was in the middle of one of her rants, and Sara had the sinking feeling she was today’s topic.

“You want to tell me why a fancy-talkin’ lady like her can’t get a job?”

“She’s looking.” It sounded like Molly’s sister Peg was visiting. “Give ’er another week. For Granny’s sake.”

“Bah—she could be a lady’s maid or housekeeper, with all her learnin’. You ask me, she don’t want to work.”

Sara squeezed her eyes shut. It wouldn’t be any use trying to convince Molly she was trying. She was three months behind on room and board as it was. The only thing keeping a roof over their heads was Granny’s position as the healer and midwife of Irish Town.

Sara had paced the streets of the city all morning and had more doors slammed in her face than she cared to remember.

A fresh wave of illness raged through the slums, and no one wanted contact with contagion.

Even if they talked to her, there was a slim chance they’d employ a washerwoman who spoke like a lady.

She was a figure of suspicion, especially without reference or recommendation.

Sara turned and crept back through the alley to the front door, stepping over a stream of filth and the remains of a very large rat. She’d check on Granny and get a drink of water for her hollow stomach. Then, she’d try again.

The front door opened into a tiny foyer with a narrow set of stairs for the upstairs tenant and a hall that led back to the kitchen and Molly’s room.

When Granny was well, the bare wood had been scrubbed clean, but now the corners were full of cobwebs and the stale air was heavy with the lingering odors of cabbage and human filth.

A door on the left opened into the small front room where Granny spent her days.

She pushed open the door and froze, unprepared for the sight that met her eyes. Evie—her Evie—was curled up at Granny’s feet, her face creased in a wide smile while Granny spoke.

“Evie?” Sara said, as soon as she caught her breath.

Evie jumped up. “Sara. I found you.”

When Evie sprang forward, wrapping her slender arms around Sara’s waist, it was the most natural thing in the world to return the embrace, to tuck her chin and press a kiss onto Evie’s flyaway hair and inhale her warm child scent of sunshine and soap.

Evie squirmed and Sara released her. “What brings you here, my love?” The enormity of the situation dawned on her. Evie had no business in this part of town, much less alone. “Does your father know where you are?”

A flush spread up Evie’s cheeks. “Well, not exactly.”

“Evie.”

“He doesn’t know. Henry told me how to get here. Then I asked some children down the street. They pointed to this house.”

Sara closed her eyes for a moment. “Evie, we’ve got to get you home. They’ll be so worried. It’s not safe here.”

Evie dismissed Sara’s worries with a swipe of her hand. “Papa won’t be home from the courts for hours still.”

Granny leaned forward in her chair, her eyes bright. “A few more minutes won’t make a difference. Make us a pot of tea, Sara, there’s a good lass. Not every day I get company.” Sara hadn’t seen her so animated in months.

“Yes, Sara, please. I want to hear the end of the story.”

Sara weakened. “Fine, just a cup of tea, and then I must get you safely home.”

Molly was alone in the kitchen.

“Granny wants tea,” Sara said, hesitating at the door.

Molly shrugged and picked up a basket of clothes. “I’m off to the creek with the laundry.” She sent Sara a narrow glance. “Don’t think I won’t know what you’ve taken from my kitchen.”

Sara let out a slow breath as the back door closed and she was alone.

She took a precious pinch of tea from the tin box high on the shelf and set the water to boil.

There was no milk or sugar, of course. She hoped Evie wouldn’t turn up her nose at such fare.

And she hoped she could somehow get the girl safely home again with James Kinney none the wiser.

James stood in the street, worry growing like a vine in his chest, threatening to cut off his breath. He’d checked the livery and then Sproule’s before racing home again to see if she’d returned. Nothing. Where could she be?

A flash of movement caught his eye and he paused. A closer look revealed it was only the edge of a shirt on the neighbor’s clothesline, blowing up over the fence.

Laundry. The inn. Sara O’Connor.

He jogged to King Street and slipped down the alley to enter the inn from the back, pausing a moment to catch his breath outside the carriage entrance. The courtyard was quiet. There was no sign of the washerwoman... or Evie.

“Somethin’ I can help you with, sir?”

James started, looking down to find a grubby stable boy at his side.

“Name’s Henry.” The boy sketched a bow.

“I’m looking for the laundress. Miss O’Connor?”

The boy took his cap off and scratched his scalp. “Don’t work here no more.”

“What?” He hadn’t reckoned on never seeing Sara O’Connor again. He’d been so certain she held the key to Evie’s whereabouts, too. “Have you seen my daughter, Evie? You might remember her. She took lessons here.”

“I remember her right enough, sir.” The boy rocked back on his heels. “She come by. Looking for Sara, too, she was.” The boy looked him up and down, giving James the curious feeling that this urchin was sizing him up.

James curbed his impatience. “Where is she?”

“Headed out about an hour ago.”

His stomach dropped. Please, let her be safe. Let me find her. “Headed where?”

Henry chewed his lip, looking away.

“Tell me.” James’s voice was hard, the tone he used for criminals under investigation. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“No call to get tetchy now, sir.” James reached out as though to grab the boy and the lad hurried on. “I told Evie what I know. The washerwoman walked east. To Irish Town, I reckon. She has people there.”

James hadn’t thought the washerwoman sounded in the least Irish, but with a name like O’Connor, it stood to reason. “What has this to do with Evie?”

“Went to find her.”

James’s heart sank. Irish Town was the poorest area of the city, a slum full of crime and disease.

“You sent my daughter off to Irish Town on a wild goose chase?” James’s voice was deceptively smooth, but some instinct of self-preservation must have alerted Henry to danger, for he took a step back, holding his hands out in front of him.

“I meant to go with her, only Rawley wouldn’t let me.” He sent James a look of entreaty. “You don’t know how determined she was, sir. I tried to get her to wait, but she just...”

James swallowed his anger. He knew exactly how determined Evie could be. “How well do you know Irish Town? Think you could find her for me?”

Henry’s chest swelled. “Ain’t no corner I don’t know, sir.”

“Well, then, let’s be off.” Henry sent an anxious glance to the stable. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it right with the stable master when I return. You’d stand to earn a shilling. Or two.”

Henry needed no further encouragement. They zigzagged through a warren of mews and alleys, the tidy yards and storefronts of the upper town giving way to rows of dreary homes in various states of disrepair, some little more than sheds.

The stench grew overwhelming, for there were no ditches here to carry away the filth.

“She can’t be much ahead of us.” Henry attempted to assure him. “She don’t know these shortcuts like I do.”

“There are hundreds of people in Irish Town. How could Evie think she’d even find Sara?” James spoke mostly to himself, but Henry answered, certain enough of his importance now to risk further displeasure.

“Sara’s different. Kind of woman people remember, you know?”

James nodded. He did know. Scarcely a day had passed when the woman’s face hadn’t flashed through his mind.

The closer they got to the heart of Irish Town, the greater his panic.

Groups of ragged, dirty children crept out of alleys as he strode past. Evie wouldn’t have the slightest clue how to go about finding her friend and she was bound to stand out in her fine dress.

A prime target. His stomach clenched, and he strained his eyes for a glimpse of her straw bonnet.

Finally, they stopped in front of a corner house so dilapidated it seemed in danger of collapsing into its neighbor. Henry spoke to a boy out front and sent James a nod. “She’s here all right. In with Granny O’Connor right now.”

A rush of relief carried James up the steps. The front door opened into a narrow front hall. The door to his left was ajar and he peered inside to find a tidy room that belied its surroundings. And Evie.

She was perched on a stool in front of a rocking chair, speaking confidingly to an old woman. A small table and a sagging bedstead were the only other furniture in the room. Under her feet, a braided rug provided a splash of color.

Evie sprang up when James entered, her happy exclamation of “Papa!” silenced as soon as she saw his face.

“Evie,” he said, between relief and anger. “What possessed you to disappear like that?”

“I’m sorry, Papa. I went to Cooper’s Inn, but Sara was gone. I had to find her. I never said goodbye.”

She spoke as though her actions were reasonable. Logical, even. James bit back the reprimand on the tip of his tongue, aware they had an audience. “It was dangerous, Evie.”

“Well, she didn’t come to no harm,” the old woman said.

James remembered his manners, swept off his hat, and directed a bow in the old woman’s direction.

She was small, her form almost swallowed up in shawls and wraps. A cap, worn but clean, was tied under her chin. Though her face was wrinkled, her eyes sparkled with life, and he found himself being sized up under a shrewd gaze that left him slightly uncomfortable.

“She been no trouble, sir,” the woman said. “Right nice young girl, she is.” The old woman frowned. “Ought not to’ve come, though.” She reached down and lifted Evie’s chin. “No young lady ought to be seen careening around the city on her own.”

“I’m in complete agreement with you there.” James shot a severe glance at Evie, and she colored and hung her head.

“I—I’m sorry.”

“Well, come along then. We’ve taken up enough of this good woman’s time as it is.”

The old woman let out a cackle. “Time’s all I’ve got these days. Did me good to have a bit of a visit. And besides—” She studied him, her knowing eyes seeming to see right into his heart. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“For me?”

She nodded. “Been praying for years. Lately, I’ve had a sense my prayers would be answered.”

James took an unconscious step back. He wasn’t sure what the old woman was talking about, but he was certain about one thing. He wasn’t the answer to any woman’s prayers. “I don’t understand. Perhaps you’re confusing me with someone else?”

The old woman swept his words aside with an impatient motion of her hand. “No, I’m not that far gone yet. You’re the one.”

Before James could answer, the door at the back of the room swung open.

Sara appeared, carrying a tray of sorts, with a chipped teapot and an assortment of tin cups.

James froze for a long moment, his eyes roaming over her, soaking in her presence.

A knot in his stomach relaxed, seeing her, knowing she was well and safe.

He felt like... smiling. He frowned instead.

Sara O’Connor had caused him no end of trouble. There was nothing to smile about.

“Here we are then,” she began. She looked up and her eyes met James’s. “Oh—you.” The tray wobbled.

“Yes, indeed,” James replied. “Me.”