Rory's Promise (20 page)

H
OW COULD
R
ORY W
A
RN
S
ISTER
A
NNA IF NO ONE COULD HE
A
R her poundings or her screams? The closet reminded her of the paddy wagon in New York. At least she wasn't sharing this cell with a hardened criminal.

Rory turned her back on the door and held out her hands to explore every inch of the pitch-dark closet. Not even a tiny line of light appeared under the door.

There had to be a way out.

A high stack of what felt like folded curtains lay on the floor by the back wall. She shifted them to one side, then stepped back. Was she just imagining it or was that a glimmer of light where that pile of fabric had been?

She reached and felt … glass!

Behind that pile was a narrow window. Pressing her face against the glass, Rory could make out an alley with a blank wall on the other side—the same alley she had passed through with Ramon. The light must be from the hotel windows above her.

She tugged at the window but it wouldn't open. Her fingers felt layers of paint over the wooden sill. Grabbing a handful of fabric, she covered her fist and forearm and broke the window. She gulped in the fresh air as though she had been suffocating. She swept the fabric around the frame to knock the broken glass into the alley.

Quickly, she clambered through the window. Her sleeve caught on a jagged bit of window still left in the frame. Rory jerked herself free. Her arm burned but she kept going and landed in a crouch in the alley. The throbbing in her arm was more pain than she'd ever felt before. Gingerly she touched her arm and felt wetness. Crimson blood stained her fingers. Rory wasn't fond of blood, and she leaned against the building waiting until the dizziness passed.

The rain had ended but the air was bitter cold and she could see her breath hanging in the air. The bleeding had nearly stopped, and she considered her next move. She desperately wanted to go to Sister Anna. It would be a huge relief to hand her worries over to her. But if she snuck back into the hotel, would Mrs. Gatti and Mrs. Abraham catch her? Those women wanted only one thing and if Rory got in their way, she wasn't sure how much further they would go. Maybe she should find Ramon and make sure Violet was all right.

But she would never find them in the dark. And if Ramon had done as Rory asked, they might be hiding for Violet's sake.

She made her way to where the alley met the road. It was late on a Sunday night after a storm and she didn't expect to meet anyone on the street. She was wrong. Two men were
carrying a large vat covered with a piece of wood. She jumped back into the shadows and they passed by without seeing her.

“Careful with that,” one said to the other. “You nearly spilled it.”

“My hands are burning!” the other said.

The vat had a foul smell of pine that made Rory's eyes water.

“I don't know about this,” the second man said. “Could we go to hell for tarring and feathering a priest?”

Even though Rory wasn't quite sure what tarring and feathering was, it sounded bad. Father Mandin wasn't her favorite person, but torturing him was beyond the pale.

“Nah,” the other man answered. “It's not like it'll kill him. We're just going to teach the priest and that agent a lesson. They can't get away with giving kids to those people.”

Her breath coming fast and shallow, Rory felt light in her head. They were going after Mr. Swayne too. She crept out into the street to watch where they went. They wrestled the steaming vat over the cable bridge spanning the creek to a large white building standing alone on the other side. One of them pounded on the door. When it opened, light spilled into the darkness. Rory heard a crowd of angry people inside.

Rory glanced up at the hotel to the third floor. Every aching, tired bone in her body told her to go to Sister Anna. But what about the priest and Mr. Swayne? Rory had to help if she could. Making sure that the street was empty, she darted across the road and onto the cable bridge. She stopped, spinning her arms for balance. The bridge swayed over the creek. Earlier today the creek bed had been almost
empty, but now it was full of rushing water. Her feet slipped and slid as she crossed and she tried not to look down at the fast-moving water.

The building loomed in the dark and rain. Rory didn't dare go to the door. She headed to the nearest square of light, a window open just a crack. She could distinguish individual voices, including Mr. Swayne's.

She pulled herself up to sit on the windowsill and lifted the window. It was steamy from the warm breaths of fifty or so people. Inside, Mr. Swayne stood on a platform at one end of the room. Father Mandin hovered nervously behind him. “The children belong to the Foundling Hospital,” Mr. Swayne shouted hoarsely.

The room was filled with men. There wasn't a woman in sight. Rory wasn't sure if that was good or bad after everything she'd seen today. Were the women more dangerous than the men?

The sheriff and his men stood between the crowd and Mr. Swayne. The lawmen had their hands on the butts of their guns. She quickly scanned the room and counted at least a dozen guns and a few rifles.

“The Foundling would never place them in harm's way!” Swayne yelled over the crowd's jeers.

“Too late for that!” one man called out. “You put white children with dirty Mexicans.”

“That's not true!” Swayne cried. “Every family was selected and vouched for by Father Mandin. We turned down families who looked too dark.”

The crowd roared, “Tar the priest!” and parted like the
Red Sea, letting the two men with the vat through. A third man trailed behind, easily balancing a large sack on his shoulder. A shower of feathers floated in his wake. The soup in Rory's stomach came back up to her mouth with a sour taste. They were going to cover Father Mandin in hot tar and roll him in feathers. Humiliating and painful too, she bet. And Mr. Swayne would be next. Nothing in
Wild West Weekly
had ever prepared her for this.

On the platform, Mr. Swayne stared at the vat and staggered back a few steps. Rory didn't blame him for being afraid; this wasn't hectoring a group of desperate womenfolk. He and Father Mandin were in real danger.

The sheriff pushed the crowd back, saying loudly, “The priest and the Foundling agent are under our protection.” But anyone could see that if the crowd rushed the platform, the priest and Mr. Swayne were done for.

“Sheriff, they can't come here from New York and sell the babies to the Mexicans!” Another accuser had stepped forward. It was one of the men from the posse that had collected Rory. He still carried his mud-covered rifle.

“The Foundling is wealthy,” Swayne insisted. “We don't need to sell children. We find them homes.”

“Money was exchanged.” It was Mr. Gatti, the butcher. “My wife witnessed it.” Rory thought back. It was true; Elena had offered Sister Anna money. Mrs. Gatti, obsessed with her heart's desire, had misunderstood.

When Father Mandin saw Gatti he began babbling in French. The crowd demanded that Gatti translate.

“He says the money was just a few dollars. It was to pay for the children's transport,” Gatti said. “He didn't know there was any difference between Americans and Mexicans.” He paused. “But I don't believe him.”

The men answered with shouts and swears. Rory couldn't distinguish what they were saying until a rowdy group in the back began chanting, “Tar 'em! Tar 'em!”

The color drained from Father Mandin's face. He groaned and fainted to the floor like a sack of flour. Rory winced as his head hit the ground with a thud. Mr. Swayne barely spared him a glance as he addressed the crowd again. “Citizens of Clifton,” he said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You've already removed thirteen children from their foster homes. We haven't placed the remaining orphans. We'll take them all back to New York. There's no harm done!”

Rory nearly fell off the windowsill. Mr. Swayne was a blockhead. This crowd wasn't going to let him sweet-talk his way out of this. How did he not see that?

“You're a liar!” shouted one of the men. “We'd better keep all the kids just to be safe.” The crowd of men surged toward the platform, fists raised in the air.

Swayne stuck his chest out and glowered, seeming more angry than afraid. “You just want the children for yourselves! This has nothing to do with the Mexicans!” He made a dismissive gesture that caused another rush of men. One threw a bottle at him. Swayne ducked just in time and the bottle shattered on the wall behind him.

The sheriff leapt onto the platform and pushed Mr.
Swayne down. “Jack Foley and Bill Morse, you put that tar and those feathers away right now.”

“No!”

The sheriff shot his rifle into the air. Rory started, banging her head on the windowsill. A large chuck of white plaster came down from the ceiling with a crash and a cloud of white dust. The crowd stood in shocked silence.

“That's enough,” the sheriff said. “I'm declaring a curfew. Go home peacefully now or I'll throw you all into jail.”

One man in the crowd, braver than the rest, called out, “What about the children? I can't go home unless I have something to tell my wife!” There was a shout of laughter. Rory nodded to herself. Yep, the women were the ones driving this wagon train. They were the real threat.

Simpson shouted over the noise. “The judge will be here tomorrow. He'll decide what to do. Tell your wives that!”

The crowd started leaving, in groups of twos and threes, but a few men stayed, staring down the sheriff. He patted his rifle and said, “Don't make me do it, boys.”

Reluctantly the men turned and headed for the door. One of them caught sight of Rory and headed to the window. With a yelp, Rory dropped to the ground. She heard someone shouting after her, spurring her to race across the bridge back to the hotel. Then she ran down the alley, raced through the kitchen and up the back stairs, and pounded on Sister Anna's door.

“Who's there?” Sister Anna's tired voice asked.

“It's Rory! It's an emergency!”

Rory yearned to throw herself into Sister Anna's arms
and be comforted but when the door opened, Rory stared, dumbstruck. Sister Anna was still fully dressed in her habit but her bonnet was crooked and there were smudges of mud on her wide skirt. It was as if the Virgin Mary had dirt under her fingernails.

“Rory, what are you doing out at this time of night?” Sister Anna yawned, too tired to cover her mouth. “I assumed you were spending the night with Violet.”

“Sister, the kids are in trouble!” Rory cried.

“The children are asleep in the next room,” Sister Anna said.

“Not those children. The ones you already placed.” Rory couldn't stand still as she tried to explain.

“What are you talking about?” Sister Anna noticed the bloodstained cut on Rory's arm. “You're hurt.”

“It's nothing, Sister.” Rory slipped inside, shut the door, and quickly told her everything that had happened. The only information she left out was that Violet was not with the other children.

Sister Anna stood up straight, adjusted her bonnet, and after noticing Rory's surreptitious glance at her skirt, brushed away the mud. “Those children belong to the Foundling and they won't go to any family that I do not personally approve. Bring me to Mrs. Abraham.”

Relieved to see the old Sister Anna back, Rory led the way down the hall to the main stairs. Rory started to take the stairs two at a time, but Sister Anna said, “With dignity, my dear.”

When they reached the landing outside the room where
the twelve children were, Rory got a bad feeling in her stomach. It was too quiet. Even if the children were all asleep in their makeshift beds, there should be some noise. They opened the door. Sister Anna's eyes raked the empty room.

“They're gone!” Rory cried. The cots and used dishes were still there, but the children were missing. Rory ran to the window and looked in the street. Empty.

“Rory, are you sure you didn't imagine …”

Rory held up her bloody arm. “Like I imagined this, Sister?”

“No, of course not,” Sister Anna said. She prowled about the room looking for any signs of the children. She reached under a sofa and picked up a bit of ribbon with embroidered lettering. “This is Josephine's and it has no business being here. The children
were
in this room.” She turned to Rory. “But where did they go?”

Rory thought she saw Sister Anna's hand tremble, but that was impossible; Sister Anna was never scared. “I'm sorry, Sister, this is my fault,” Rory cried. “I told Mrs. Gatti you would never let them have the kids. They must have decided to take them away so you wouldn't interfere.”

“My child, you're not to blame,” Sister Anna said wearily. “If anyone deserves blame, it is I. I should have sent Mr. Swayne ahead to see the town and the parents. We would have known then not to come.”