Rory's Promise (19 page)

Violet stirred in her sleep and Rory moved to her side and leaned over her. Vi's eyes, so much like Rory's own, half-opened and she whispered, “
Buenas noches
, Rory, that means good night.” With a little sigh, she rolled over and burrowed into the blankets. Rory bit her lip to keep from crying. She'd forgotten how strong Violet really was. Vi would be just fine.

Rory returned to watching the party. Despite the joyful music and the festive clothes, Rory detected the same uneasiness she had seen at the church. The men were speaking quietly together in the corners and nervously glancing at the door.
And the women tried to be cheerful for Elena's sake; Rory could see strain in their faces and hear tension in their voices. When the door opened—no one knocked, it seemed—all conversation stopped. As the partygoers recognized the new arrival, the noise level would rise—until the next time.

A thundering knock on the door plunged the room into silence. Flung open, the door crashed against the wall. A gust of wind extinguished the candles on the table and tossed the lantern so shadows danced ominously. A single discordant twang from the musician's fiddle sounded loud in the sudden quiet.

Two men strode out of the rain through the open door. Behind them, other men crowded into the opening. The leader had a badge and a sodden list. He read out loud, “Ramon and Elena Martinez.”

“Sheriff Simpson, we're right here!” Ramon snapped.

His hand on the gun at his hip, the sheriff said, “We're here for the children.”

A
LL EYES TURNED TO
E
LENA.
H
ER FACE WHITE
A
GAINST HER D
A
RK hair, Elena stepped in front of William. Her eyes met Rory's. Rory jerked her head behind her to let Elena know Violet was in bed. Who was Simpson and who said he could take the children? No one would steal Violet away if Rory could prevent it.

“My children are not for you to take,” Ramon said. His voice was quiet but its anger chilled Rory. Couldn't the sheriff see how mad Ramon was?

“Martinez, be sensible,” Simpson said. Rory could hear his fingers tapping nervously on his gun. “A mistake's been made. These children don't belong with your people.”

“They belonged to the Foundling Hospital in New York,” Ramon said. There was a rumble of agreement from the crowd. “They gave the children to me. You have no authority over them.”

A rumpled man, smelling of rain and alcohol, burst
through the door brandishing a pistol at Elena. Ramon stepped in front of his wife.

“
Señora
, just hand the kids over.”

Ramon didn't hesitate. He leapt onto a stool, grabbed his rifle from the top of the wardrobe, and pointed it at Simpson's chest. “You broke into my house, disturbed my guests, and pointed a gun at my wife. Even in Clifton, I'm within my rights to shoot you where you stand. You'll take the children over my dead body.” He stepped lightly off the stool.

“Ramon, no!” Elena cried. “You mustn't fight them.”

“Stay back, Elena,” he ordered. “I'll handle this.”

Simpson eased his gun halfway out of the holster. “Ramon, put the rifle away. There doesn't have to be any violence. We've sent for Judge Little to come from Solomonville. He'll settle this, legal-like. In the meantime, it's better if all the children stay together.”

Ramon kept his gun trained on Simpson. Rory knew in her heart that he wasn't going to give in.

Elena stepped between Ramon and the sheriff, her hands outstretched like a saint. “We don't want any trouble, Sheriff.”

“Elena!” Ramon ordered. “Step away.”

She touched his arm, but he wouldn't take his eyes off Sheriff Simpson. “Ramon, please. We can't let the children be hurt.” She turned to the sheriff. “Where will you take them?”

“To the hotel.”

“They'll be returned to the Sisters?” she pressed.

“Yes,” he said. To Rory this sheriff looked shifty. She wanted to shout, “He's lying! Can't you see?” But Elena was
too trusting and Ramon couldn't refuse Elena's pleading look.

“Now that that's settled,” the sheriff said with a wary eye on Ramon, “where are the children the priest gave you?”

Slowly Elena moved to one side, revealing William playing with his toy horse.

Simpson consulted his list. “This says you have two.” He paused. “Now where's the other one?”

Rory didn't believe Sheriff Simpson for one moment. They might bring Violet and William to Gatti's meat market and not even Sister Anna would be able to get the children out of Mrs. Gatti's greedy clutches. Everything had turned topsy-turvy since they had arrived in Clifton. Rory wasn't sure of anything anymore except one thing. No matter what, Mrs. Gatti was not getting her hands on Violet. Her legs shaky, as though she was about to step onto a high wire, Rory tiptoed out of the alcove.

“I'm right here,” Rory said.

Simpson gaped. He looked her up and down. “You're no baby.”

“I'm an orphan,” Rory said.

“I'm the second child.”

“But—” Elena protested.

“Elena, these men are going to take two kids from your house, no matter what you do,” Rory said, briefly casting her eyes toward the alcove. Elena understood.

Simpson was holding the list up to the light. “It says, ‘Fitzpatrick, girl, red hair.'”

Rory held up her braid. “And if you need further proof,” she said, “look.” She pulled her collar away from her neck
and let him see the ribbon with her name.

“Fitzpatrick,” Simpson said with a shrug. “All right, let's go.”

“At least let us say goodbye,” Ramon said.

“There's no time,” Simpson said. “Look at the weather. The streets are already flooding.”

“There's time,” said Ramon flatly, fingering his rifle.

“Hurry, then,” said Simpson. He and the other man waited by the door. While Elena fussed over William's coat, Ramon brought Rory her new shawl and draped it around her shoulders.

“You don't have to do this,” he said quietly.

She nodded. “Better me than Violet.”

Elena hugged her. “Rory, you are very brave. But it won't work. They'll come looking for Violet,” she whispered.

“It's the best I can do,” Rory whispered. “Keep Vi hidden.”

“We'll get word to you somehow,” Ramon promised.

The sheriff bellowed, “Time's up. Let's go.”

R
ORY PULLED THE SH
A
WL
M
ORE TIGHTLY
A
ROUND HER SHOULDERS. Through the sheets of rain, she made out the shapes of two other children, Josephine and Colin. At three years old, they were too little to be out in such weather.

“Rory!” They rushed toward her, clinging to her skirt as though they were afraid of being swept away by the storm.

“I'm here now,” Rory said, giving them quick hugs. “Hey, Mr. Sheriff,” she called. “It's too cold out for these little kids! Who said you should scoop us up in the night? Not the Sisters, that's for sure.”

Sheriff Simpson ignored her. He held his lantern high and gestured toward the center of town. “Let's go,” he said.

Simpson moved along the slick sidewalk. The man who had waved the gun at Elena slipped off the sidewalk into the mud. He tried to catch himself but needed both hands to stop his fall. When his rifle fell into a puddle, he cursed freely.

“Hey, mister, not in front of the kids,” Rory scolded. She
giggled but the little kids were too scared to find anything funny.

“Where are they taking us?” Josephine asked.

“Back to Sister Anna, I hope,” Rory said.

“Where's Vi?” William asked, looking back toward the house.

Rory glanced apprehensively at the men, but they weren't paying any attention to the children. “Shhh, Vi's all right.”

Rory then asked the sheriff, “Where are the others? There should be thirteen of us.” She was proud she remembered to say “us.” If Rory could buy them some time, Ramon and Elena would find a way to hide Violet. After that? Rory didn't know what would come next for her and Violet, but right now this was the best she could do for her sister.

“They're already at the hotel. I saved the Martinezes for last. I knew there'd be trouble there,” Sheriff Simpson called back over his shoulder.

“You brought the trouble, Mr. Sheriff,” Rory pointed out.

“Just be quiet. I've never known a kid to talk so much.”

The children slipped and slid in the greasy mud. Rory tried to keep them upright, but the fierce wind threatened to blow her into the street. Finally they reached a main street with safer wooden sidewalks. Rory kept her head down against the driving rain. The cold and sodden group was relieved when they finally arrived at the Clifton Hotel, its first floor ablaze with light. Mrs. Abraham was keeping watch at the entrance and she held the door wide to let them in. “Hurry,” she called, “it's too cold for the little ones.”

She ushered them upstairs to a parlor that had been transformed into a makeshift dormitory. Rory's eyes scanned the room for the Sisters but they weren't there. Five or six women, Anglos all, were taking care of a dozen children. Some of the little ones were sopping wet like Rory, but most were bundled in warm blankets in front of a roaring fire. Every child given to the Mexican families the day before was here. Sheriff Simpson had been busy. The only good news was that Mrs. Gatti was nowhere to be seen.

“Where's Sister Anna?” Rory asked. “She should be here.”

“Don't worry now,” hushed Mrs. Abraham. “Just come and get warm. Plenty of time for questions later.”

“You've no right … ,” Rory began.

Mrs. Abraham's mask of kindness disappeared. “I said, be quiet!” Her eyes narrowed as she took a closer look. “Who are you? You're too old to be an orphan.”

“And you're too respectable to be kidnapping children,” Rory shot back.

Mrs. Abraham raised her hand as if to strike Rory, but she stood tall, ready for the blow.

“Mrs. Abraham!” said the sheriff. “We're protecting the children, remember?”

Her hand slowly fell to her side. “Of course, Sheriff Simpson.” To Rory, she said, “You, just be quiet.”

Mrs. Abraham turned away. Rory slumped against the wall. Her hair felt heavy with the rain and her neck and back ached. Maybe it was time to stop making trouble. So long as the children were in the hotel, they were safe. She just had to
get to Sister Anna and tell her that they were here.

A heavy-set woman offered William hot chocolate and he followed her willingly. Another lady hovered near Rory. She couldn't stop staring at Josephine, who refused to leave Rory's side. “Tom,” the lady said to Sheriff Simpson. “This little girl is soaked through. Let me warm her up.”

“All right, May, but don't get too attached,” Simpson said as he yawned. “We don't know if we can keep her.”

Rory rolled her eyes. Now she knew why the sheriff was so eager to confiscate the kids. Was everyone in this town so desperate for children? Rory shivered and she wouldn't have taken bets on whether it was from fear or cold.

“Tom, I heard that there were twenty more children on that train who got sick. The Sisters gave them to the Indians to get them out of the way before they died.”

Rory stared at Mrs. Simpson. “That's a barefaced lie.”

“Don't listen to her, May,” Sheriff Simpson said. “That one's been nothing but trouble.”

“Doesn't mean I'm not right,” Rory declared. “There
were
other children but the Sisters placed them with good Catholic families. The same as they did here.”

Mrs. Simpson scowled at Rory. “That's what they want us to believe. But these families were not suitable in any way,” she said. Then to Josephine, “You must be hungry, honey. Let me get you a treat.”

“I want to stay with Rory,” Josephine said, her voice muffled by Rory's skirt.

Rory knelt down and looked her in the eye. “Josephine,
this lady will get you warm and give you something good to eat. It will be all right, I promise.”

“They're frozen,” said another woman who wore her hair piled up on top of her head. She carried a tray with mugs of hot soup. “Only those Mexicans would send them out in such weather.” She handed Rory a cup.

“We were safe and warm,” Rory muttered, “until you people snatched us up and brought us out in the cold.”

“For your own good,” the woman said defensively. “And aren't you a little old to be one of the orphans?”

Rory sank down on a velvet armchair and sipped her soup without answering. Sister Anna would want to know everything, so Rory kept her eyes open. Two women came through an archway at the rear of the room. They were carrying stacks of towels. The only one Rory recognized was Mrs. Gatti, looking smugly satisfied as she bustled into the room.

Mrs. Gatti spied William. She dropped the towels on a cot and rushed over and scooped him up in her arms. He started to howl in protest, but Mrs. Gatti was wise to the ways of greedy little boys. She pulled a sweet out of her pocket and popped it in his mouth.

“Poor little one,” she said to William. “Would you like to come home with me and eat meat every day?”

“Roast chicken?” William asked. He beamed when Mrs. Gatti nodded.

“He's starving,” Mrs. Gatti announced. “Those people don't know how to feed children properly.”

“Because we were kidnapped at gunpoint before we could
eat,” Rory called out. Mrs. Gatti scowled in Rory's direction.

Sheriff Simpson approached Mrs. Abraham and Mrs. Gatti to make his report. “That's all of them.” He sighed wearily. “And if you don't mind, I have to go watch over the priest and that agent.”

“Wait …” Mrs. Gatti's eyes swept the room and she counted on her pudgy fingers. “We're missing one.”

“I was told to get thirteen, I got thirteen,” Simpson snapped.

“Where's the adorable little girl with red hair? Her name was Fitzpatrick,” Mrs. Gatti said. “I particularly wanted that one.”

“That's her.” He pointed at Rory. “And watch her sharp tongue.” Tipping his hat, he said, “Good night, ladies.”

“But …” Mrs. Gatti was too late; Simpson was gone. Although Mrs. Gatti was not a big woman, there was strength in her arms. Rory was sure she could butcher beef with the best of them. Carrying William on her hip, she strode over to Rory and stared down at her. “You! I remember you. You took away my girl at the station. Where is she?”

Rory met her gaze, sipped her soup, and did not say a word.

“Where is the Fitzpatrick girl?” Mrs. Gatti's voice rose. “What did you do with her?”

“I am the Fitzpatrick girl,” Rory said. She put the mug down and stood up, her eyes level with Mrs. Gatti's. “If you don't believe me, why don't you ask the Sisters? I'm sure Sister Anna would be happy to discuss it.”

Mrs. Gatti didn't have time to argue, interrupted by the
arrival of her bear of a husband.

“There you are, Louisa! Stirring up trouble as usual.”

“Thank goodness you are here, Jacques. They made a mistake. The sheriff was supposed to bring back the little girl I chose. Instead he brought this one. And I don't like her at all.”

“Girl?” Mr. Gatti gave Rory a disdainful look. “I agreed to a boy.”

“A boy for you and a girl for me,” Mrs. Gatti said.

“And feed two mouths instead of one?” he shot back. “At least a boy can follow me in the business. What does a girl do that doesn't cost me money and good food?”

“But—”

“Enough. One boy, Louisa. That's it.” He turned to go. “I'm going home and if you know what's good for you, you'll come with me.”

“I'm just finishing up, Jacques.” She turned to him and her tone became sweet as pie. “I'll be right home and I'll bring some extra soup. You need some warming up on a night like this.”

“Don't be long—it's not a fit night to be out and about.” He turned and left.

Mrs. Gatti beckoned to one of the ladies and asked her to watch William. “Take good care of him—he's going to be mine.”

Rory blocked Mrs. Gatti's way. “William doesn't belong to you,” Rory said, staring her down. “The Sisters won't let you take him.”

“Take that smirk off your face. Your precious Sisters won't have a choice,” Mrs. Gatti snapped. “They aren't fit to choose parents for white children.”

Mrs. Abraham came up next to Mrs. Gatti. “One of the sheriff's men told me that there was alcohol at the house where these last children were picked up. The man was too drunk to stand and he threatened the sheriff with a gun.”

The two of them loomed over Rory like two desperadoes. Rory wanted to shrink away but there was too much at stake. She straightened up and met the leaders of this gang of kidnappers head on.

“That's nonsense!” Rory snapped. “It was a welcoming party for the children and no one was drinking. And as for threatening the sheriff, Ramon was only defending his home.”

“Ramon Martinez?” Mrs. Gatti said. “He's a troublemaker. If he had his way the town would have burned to the ground in the riots last year!”

Rory deliberately turned her back on Mrs. Gatti and addressed Mrs. Abraham. “Where are Sister Anna and the others?”

“They're sleeping,” Mrs. Abraham said. “I won't let you disturb them.”

“Do they even know you've taken the children?” Rory asked. “Wait till I tell them—they'll have the courts on you.”

Mrs. Gatti and Mrs. Abraham turned away and conferred in worried whispers. Mrs. Abraham handed Mrs. Gatti a key, which she put in her apron pocket. Mrs. Abraham went to the doorway and looked out in the hallway, then beckoned
to Mrs. Gatti, who grabbed Rory's elbow and marched her toward the door, past Mrs. Abraham. Rory started to cry out but Mrs. Gatti muttered in her ear, “Do you want to scare the little ones? They've already been through so much tonight.”

Rory closed her mouth.

“I thought not.” Mrs. Gatti hauled Rory down the stairs. She was as strong as Rory had feared.

“Where are you taking me?”

Instead of answering, Mrs. Gatti stopped in front of a closet door. She inserted the key, quickly opened it, and shoved Rory inside.

“Hey!” Rory fell to the floor with a thud.

Mrs. Gatti slammed the door shut and quickly locked it.

“You can't shut me in here!” Rory yelled. She couldn't see her hand in front of her face.

“I just did,” said Mrs. Gatti, purring with satisfaction.

Rory pounded on the door. “Let me out!” she cried.

“Scream all you want, little girl,” said Mrs. Gatti. “No one will hear you.” She paused. “The judge comes in the morning and he'll tell your Sister Anna what's what.”

Mrs. Gatti's footsteps moved away.

The darkness was thick and Rory felt it press on her skin, smothering her. Closing her eyes so the lack of light mattered less, she forced herself to inhale and exhale slowly until her heartbeat quieted and she could think again. First things first. She had to warn Sister Anna. She had to save the children, no matter what.

But first Rory had to rescue herself. She'd done it before.