Mission of Hope (19 page)

“I'm glad you agree. And I think your unique talents put us in a place to do something about it. A real something that gets results. But we're going to have to bend the rules a bit to get what we need.”

Quinn smiled. “I'm no stranger to that.”

The major laughed. “That much I knew. But for what I'm about to ask, you need to come out on top of this as much as I.”

“Go on.”

“I don't think I can stop the thieves in any conventional way. But they'll stop each other in the name of greed. That's what I mean by fighting fire with fire. I've got a pool of money—gold, to be exact—at my disposal. We're going to offer gold for information on how supplies are slipping out of army hands. Pay these grifters to turn each other in. Or, rather, turn their information in to the Midnight Messenger. Then you use the information, get the goods and deliver them to the people who needed them in the first place. You know parts of this city I don't. You can go places I can't, can do things that…well, let's just say fall well outside of army protocol. I supply you the gold to pay the informants, with any extra means you need to get and deliver the relief supplies and everybody wins.”

Quinn took off his hat. “Except me, when I get shot for playing both ends against each other.”

“There is that. It'd be far riskier than what you're doing now. But eventually, you'll make it unprofitable to steal from the army while still getting help to the unofficial camps I'm not really allowed to service. Think of it, Freeman. You could be the single most beneficial man in San Francisco.”

“Only no one will know. They'll just know the Midnight Messenger did it.”

“I've considered that,” Major Simon said with a wry grin, “and I've a plan for that, too. I think that once the tension has died down and we've gained the upper hand, that we should reveal you as the Midnight Messenger. With, of course, a whole lot of army gratitude, a public commendation and a commission in the Corps of Engineers for you to get a draftsman's education and apprenticeship. It's never been done, but then again I don't think a lot of what I have in mind for you has any kind of precedent at all. You'll be a hero.”

Quinn pulled in a surprised breath. The Army Corps of Engineers would have a huge hand in rebuilding San Francisco. He'd be building, fulfilling that dream of studying architecture if what Simon said was true. He'd never considered signing up, fearing they'd never grant a real education to a man of his status. Why haul bricks for the army when a civilian firm paid just as well and no one shot at you? He could never reveal his role as the Messenger on his own—it'd be far too dangerous—but with the army at his back, he could take real credit without risking harm. If he lived through double-crossing half of San Francisco's underbelly. “It's a big risk.”

“It's a big reward. I'm offering you an entire new
standard of living, Freeman. For you and your mother. You'd be able to provide—very nicely—for all the people you care about. Isn't that what all this is about, anyway? Providing for them?”

Most of the people in Quinn's life who had power had gotten it by dark means. Influence that was more about fear than respect. The docks were a system of predators, a jungle that had finally consumed his pa and lots of other people he knew. Wasn't it worth any risk to escape that? To count for something in the world, be educated and have a real hand in rebuilding this city? It called to the deepest part of him, answered a need so basic he hadn't even named it until now.

And then there was Nora. What price wouldn't he pay to be able to be seen as “a man of prospects” by her family? To lay aside all the secrecy?

It was the opportunity he'd survived for. The reason God had spared him, had given him the talents he had and the past that now made him so useful.

“I'm in,” Quinn said, without a shred of doubt.

“W
ere these with the other supplies?” Quinn watched carefully to ensure his conversation went unobserved, and made his voice husky so that Leo, a man who most people knew as the butcher but was known to Quinn to have many other well-connected occupations, wouldn't guess his identity.

“No. Finding those'll take some asking around,” Leo replied. His current target was a shipment of hospital supplies that had gone missing from Fort Mason yesterday. Personally, Quinn was in search of crutches for a young woman from the northern part of Dolores Park. The army hospital had a storehouse of crutches, but Quinn wanted to see if he could secure a pair on his own, outside of army influence, as long as he was casting about for information on the missing supplies. He'd been successful. The young lady would find the pair of crutches, with a MM carved into one side, lying outside her shack when she woke tomorrow morning.

“I've heard of a man with tents for sale,” Leo said. “Army tents. Along with some ether. I think he might be who you're looking for. An awful lot of things seem to
wander off the official camps when he's around, seems to me.”

That's exactly the information Quinn was after. “Like I said, I can pay well for information like that,” Quinn said quietly. “And do something about it besides.”

Leo was the first man who dared take the Midnight Messenger up on his offer. The offer had been out on the dock's unofficial grapevine of gossip for a handful of days with no results. Folks were right to hesitate. Men who hoarded supplies for the black market weren't the kind of people to take kindly to exposure. Quinn had been forced to offer a whole lot more gold than he'd originally planned before Leo finally came forth. “Ain't cooperation a profitable thing?” Leo said, keeping his back to the Midnight Messenger as instructed. “Tomorrow, two o'clock. You bring the money, I'll bring a little map showing you where you can find 'im. But I'll need twice what you offered.”

Quinn winced. Until folks realized they could deal with the Midnight Messenger and not get shot themselves, it was going to take a whole lot of convincing—the shiny metal kind—to gain conspirators. Success was getting very expensive. “Done.” Quinn tossed a single gold coin at the butcher's feet. “For your time.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Messenger.” Leo picked up the gold and tucked it in his pocket. He walked slowly away, whistling into the night.

It's started, Quinn thought to himself. Let's hope I'm alive to see it finished.

 

It had been an insufferable week. The unspoken tension in the house choked the sunlight out of the air. Nora did not see how Annette's unfortunate romance altered
the sorrow of her death. In fact, Nora took some solace in knowing Annette had been so happy before her life was cut short. No one—most especially Aunt Julia—shared her point of view. Everyone clipped all mentions of Annette or romance or secrecy from their words, lest Aunt Julia fall into another of her crying spells upstairs in her room.

Her own parents took all the regret as fuel to watch
her
with excruciating caution. One more not-very-well hidden sermon on the values of propriety and familial respect, and Nora thought she'd burst. It was odd to have one's life boxed up like a curated museum piece when one had just survived one of the most devastating disasters in history. She couldn't persuade her mother or father that she was not a fragile lily on the verge of being crushed by the slightest misstep. Did Mama and Papa think that all her sense and intelligence had fled at Annette's words?

She knew better. Her chafing came from the inescapable fact that her parents had good reason to worry. She would close her eyes and try to imagine Major Simon kissing her hand in the tender way Quinn had. But she could not recall the color of Major Simon's eyes. And she saw the particular gold of Quinn's eyes in all sorts of things: sunsets, leaves, this color silk or that painting.

Albert Simon was a respected man, and a foundation for a solid marital future. Quinn, for all his impossibility, was a storm she could not escape or contain. He had character but few prospects, passion but earned little respect—at least from those who did not know him, for she knew him to be highly respected and loved throughout Dolores Park. At best, Simon had a space
he held open for faith, whereas Quinn had a faith that seeped into every part of his life.

It could not be denied. She was, quite irresponsibly, in love with Quinn.

Nora had somehow become a different woman. The combination of disaster, Annette's death and secrets, and the laid-bare world she now saw had added a new layer to the old Nora Longstreet. Life wove complexities and consequences into threads she hadn't seen before. Her world had expanded, deepened, and her emotions had undergone the same transformation. She needed time, space and interactions with people to help her work through it all.

All she had were relatives, prayer, confines and the poor distraction of making a dozen or so rag dolls.

It was nowhere near enough.

Her prayers for a chance to get out from under the stifling supervision of her parents were answered, oddly enough, by Major Simon. Word had reached him, evidently through her father, that the supplies he'd given her had been made into dolls that were now ready. As such, he'd sent a young officer to oversee a trip to Grace House so that she could meet with Reverend Bauers to see about their distribution. She would much rather have been escorted to Dolores Park itself, but she knew that to be unlikely. Still, she hoped Reverend Bauers might know more about someone called the Midnight Messenger. For several weeks now, Papa had brought home tall tales of blankets, medicines, foods and such that had been snatched from the hands of marketeers and delivered to those in need. How this dark hero managed to slip in and out performing such deeds of bravery and compassion without anyone discovering his identity
amazed her. She imagined he worked somehow with Quinn's posts, and that pleased her immensely. This hero sounded amazing enough, even if Papa's talent for exaggeration did leave some room for doubt.

“I think Simon's behind it,” Papa had told her last night after seeing her eyes go wide with the latest recounting. “Finding a way to expand the relief efforts outside of the boundaries the army has set for him. He's denying it at every turn, but there's something behind the man's eyes. It's a pity you won't see him today. I suspect you'd be able to charm the truth out of him.”

Whether or not Albert Simon was involved, Nora was grateful for the major's latest heroic act: getting her out of the house. She was utterly delighted to climb into the army cart with her basket of dolls.

“Marvelous!” Reverend Bauers exclaimed upon her arrival at Grace House. “I have missed you greatly, Miss Longstreet.” He gave Nora a hearty kiss on the cheek as if she were his granddaughter. It was a pity the man had no family of his own. Then again, perhaps God had granted him a whole neighborhood as his family precisely because his heart was large enough for the task. “There has been so much commotion about lately. Politics and accusation and midnight deliveries. It is a sorry thing that no one here has any appetite for discussing adventures. I've been starved for good conversation.”

He took one look at the very dutiful-looking private who stood by the cart as if his career hung in the balance. “The good major's not told you to stay the entire visit, has he?”

“Yes, sir.”

Bauers waved him off as if he were an insect. “Glory, how wasteful that man can be. Surely there are more
important things to be doing these days than guarding a young woman in a house of worship. Go find yourself something to eat in the kitchen and tell Major Simon I wouldn't hear of your staying and shall return Miss Longstreet safe and sound myself. Tell him I insisted.” He gave the private a wink. “My boss has more authority than even his.”

When the private hesitated, Bauers nearly bellowed, “Off with you, then!” and chuckled when the young man fairly scrambled in the direction of the kitchen.

“I've no mind to be supervised,” Bauers said, tucking Nora's basket into one arm and her hand into his other elbow. “Nor, I gather, do you. Captured our good major's attentions, have you?”

“I fear it's more the work of Mama and Papa than anything I've done. I hardly need to add two words to their efforts. I've not had much opportunity to do anything. Mama and Papa have kept me under lock and key since…” She stopped herself, realizing she'd said too much already.

“Since what?”

She shook her head. How could she heap more shame on to Aunt Julia and Uncle Lawrence by telling a man of God what Annette had done? Then again, this man of God was not the sanctimonious Reverend Mansfield. She couldn't help thinking Reverend Bauers probably would have helped Annette and Eric if they'd come to him. Here, out of Aunt Julia's parlor, with all Bauers knew, she could at least speak freely and sort out her thoughts. Hadn't she just prayed for some help in dealing with the storm swirling around inside her?

“It is a long and private story, Reverend. But perhaps it is best that I talk to you about it.”

“Let me attend to a quick matter, and then we'll have tea sent into the study,” Bauers said. “We can talk for as long as you'd like.”

 

Quinn was asleep when he felt his mother push at his shoulder. As he pulled his aching body upright on the bed, she handed him a note. “Come to Grace House?” he yawned aloud, looking up at her.

“Don't you be lookin' at me, boy,” Ma said sharply. “No one tells me anything.” She wasn't at all pleased, and she had good reason. Notes and messages and generally suspicious behavior had been the norm for Quinn for weeks now, and when she'd see him—which wasn't often—she'd look at him with disappointment and anger. Quinn knew she thought he was up to twelve kinds of no good, and it pained him to let her think the worst of him.

Hurry up the day, Lord,
Quinn prayed as he avoided Ma's glare.
I'm tired of waiting for everyone to know what I'm up to.
After a particularly close call the other night, Quinn had begun to say prayers for his safety nightly and had asked Reverend Bauers to do the same. Bauers knew he was the Messenger and was storing additional supplies at Grace House for him, but even Bauers didn't know how far things had gone.

“It'll be all right, Ma.” It was a poor excuse for a response, but Quinn had no other. “Just a little while longer.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Isn't it funny how those same words come out of every mouth these days. If I go to my grave never hearing again about how everythin's coming soon or on its way or in just a while, I'll die a happy woman.”

Quinn pulled on his boots and kissed his mother on the cheek. “Just mind it's not that grave that's coming soon. I need you.”

Her gaze softened. “Aye, that you do. There'll be no rest for me until I see you off and settled with a family of your own. And high time it is for that, too. Not that anyone can make plans for any kind of future while we're here.” She waved her arm around the shack while she pushed out a disgusted breath. “Oh, for a real roof over my head again.”

Quinn grabbed his hat and two of the biscuits that sat on a tin plate by the door. “I'd say soon, but you might cuff me.”

“If you were goin' anywhere else but Grace House, I just might, but for the size of ye.”

 

These days Quinn actually had enough money to occasionally ride the streetcars, so he arrived at Grace House in one-third the time it would have taken to walk the trip. Bauers met him at the door with an assessing stare. “It's as bad as I thought,” he remarked, crossing his arms over his chest. “How much have you slept this week?”

“Just enough.”

“You can't keep this up for much longer. You know that, don't you? Exhausted men make foolish mistakes.” They walked into the hallway toward Bauers's study. “Simon pushes too hard, I think.”

“He's enough of his own worries. I'll be fine, Reverend. I doubt it'll be much longer.”

“Until what?” The reverend regarded him with a narrowed eye. Bauers was clever enough to sense he hadn't been told the whole story. He might have worried less
if he knew the entirety of the Messenger plan, but that wasn't safe. Quinn had already decided only he and Major Simon would know all the elements of how the goods found their way to refugees. Everyone else got only pieces.

“Now, you know better than to ask me that.” The constant evasion was wearing on Quinn, tired as he was.

Bauers's worried look mirrored Ma's. “I'll just have to content myself with a safer question, such as, can you stay an hour or so?”

“I can.” Bauers must have had some request of him to send the note. “What did you need?”

“It's not I that's needing. It's you. When was the last time you've spent more than two minutes in prayer, man?”

“You'd be surprised. They might be short prayers, but there's heaps of 'em every day.”

“The chapel is a healing place to be, Quinn. I want you to spend some time there. I want you to know you're right with God while you walk this perilously thin line. And don't think I don't suspect just how thin it is.”

Quinn had seen Reverend Bauers force folks into the chapel before. Bauers had actually barred the door behind him once when he went on the one and only drinking binge of his youth, and he didn't doubt the good reverend would do it again if he felt it necessary. Truth was, he did need to pray. He needed to pour out his hopes and fears to his Father in Heaven. Right now the thought of an hour in the chapel's cool, peaceful darkness seemed like the only thing that would keep him going. Quinn smiled at the wise old man. “How is it you always know what I need?”

Reverend Bauers smiled. “I listen to the One who really does know what you need.”