Searching for Home (Spies of Chicago Book 1) (30 page)

Should she write a letter to James? Ellen rubbed her temples.

No. James needed to stay away from Haymarket Square. A safe James was the only good James there was. Hopefully he was well. If only she knew.

Her mind wandered. After they finished their respective schooling, she’d never gone this long without seeing him. And it had only been a day and a half.

Snatching the finished letter, she went in search for a servant to post it by messenger. The note had to arrive in the next hour in order for Peter to make a difference.

It was an odd feeling, having the only person she could trust be someone she didn’t even know. And as far as that went, she didn’t know if she could trust the slick detective, but at the moment he proved to be her only option.

Ellen tugged open the bureau and seized the servant’s dress she wore on her last few adventures. The fabric showed rips and stains, and it smelled like mildew when she jerked it over her head. She tucked her hair under a mobcap and glanced in the mirror. She cringed at her reflection.

With a sigh, she flipped through
Robinson’s Atlas to the City of Chicago
. It wasn’t difficult to locate Haymarket Square at the intersection of Randolph Street and Des Plaines Street. She would need to change street cars twice to get there, which would require the last of her savings.

But it would be worth the effort. Maybe she could do one last bit of good before she had to move west. If she could locate Lewis at the meeting tonight, there remained the possibility that she could convince him to stop the spying nonsense. He needed to come home.

Besides, she had to make certain Iana wasn’t among the crowd.

Ellen scanned the gathering of people. Black storm clouds cloaked the area in darkness. It made finding Lewis or Iana difficult. A steady drizzle kept the crowd small. The smell of wet horses and mud clogged the air.

As the audience huddled together, they shivered. Men took turns standing on the back of a wagon to offer speeches and express their outrage. The man currently speaking stomped his boot on the wooden slat to punctuate the end of each sentence.

Someone placed a hand on the small of Ellen’s back, and she jumped. Releasing a yelp, she spun to find Peter beside her. Clad in the same suit as yesterday, he had a small bag clutched in one hand.

He winked and his beard twitched with a smirk. “Sorry, girly, didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Grateful to find someone familiar, Ellen latched onto his arm. He might have been a day’s old acquaintance, but she didn’t have much to work with at the moment. “You came! Did you bring more detectives?”

“We’re the ear that always hears … of course there are more of us about. But a pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be here.” He waggled his eyebrows. “What do you think of that lot there?”

She followed the jut of his chin.

Police officers formed a sea of blue along the opposite end of the square. Some held torches, their shadows casting eerie masks across their expressions. Some of their profiles were illuminated by the gas lamps, their whiskered faces grim.

Ellen trembled. “They won’t hurt anyone, will they? They’re just following orders.”

Peter shrugged. “Doesn’t matter much to these people. All the workers see is another repression. And believe you me, they’ll fight.”

Fight?
She unwound herself from Peter’s hold. “I have a friend I want to find.”

Peter reached to catch her arm, but Ellen avoided his grasp. “I’d feel better if you left. This isn’t the place for a girl like you. Especially tonight.”

“I’ll leave after I find my friend.” She swept away.

Bells from a nearby church tower rang out, announcing ten o’clock. She pressed into the crowd and searched for Iana. A girl near the south end of the group looked to be about the right height and build. Ellen might as well investigate.

She froze when she saw Mayor Harrison climbing down from a white horse. What would she say if he recognized her? It would shame her aunt and uncle.

Jot down one more failure to add to her ever growing list.

After yanking her mobcap lower, she slouched her shoulders and hunkered her back.

Hopefully the night sky and minimal light would hide her.

The mayor strode straight toward her. He couldn’t have zeroed in on her quicker, even if she had a fancy advertisement affixed to her head. Like a small child, Ellen closed her eyes and prayed to be made invisible.

He bumped into her as he passed. She stumbled forward.

“Oh.” Mayor Harrison righted her. “I’m very sorry about that, Miss.”

Please let it be dark enough for him not to notice her. She dug her chin into her collarbone. “It’s no matter.” Dropping her tone, she attempted to disguise her voice as she tugged her mobcap lower.

“How do you find the meeting tonight?”

She needed to get him away from not only herself, but the gathering altogether. It wasn’t safe for him here.

She turned so he couldn’t see her face. “Peaceable. And cold. I think most of us will leave soon.” She hunkered deeper into her coat.

“Yes. Looks like the rain kept a greater amount of people away.”

Go away.
She wanted to shove him back toward his horse.

He ran his hand over his well-trimmed beard. “Peaceable. Very peaceable, indeed.”

The mayor worked his way around the edge of the people and back to his horse. After he mounted, he nodded to the police and galloped away.

On the heels of his departure, others left. The crowd dwindled to a hundred people or less. Ellen spotted Iana on the other side of the street. She waved and zigzagged through the throng to reach her.

Ellen squeezed her friend’s hand. “You’re wet through. You should go home.”

Wide-eyed, Iana smiled. “How’d you know to come? I didn’t even write you.”

“I have my secrets.” Ellen winked. “How have you been?”

“Oh, mighty interesting as usual. The life of a pieceworker.” Iana yawned.

“Have you ever thought of doing something else?”

“Me?” Iana splayed her hand across her heart. “Like what? I ain’t qualified for much else.”

“Well, I know you said you don’t want to work in service for the wealthy, but would you ever consider working for people who treated you like family and paid you fairly?” Ellen snaked her arm through Iana’s.

“Do you know such people?”

Ellen shook her head. “No. But if I find them, may I refer you?”

“It’d be nice to be treated with respect. But I don’t think such a situation exists. It’s no use. Like making a wish on tomorrow. Every time you almost get to the dream it bumps back another day.”

“If I ever have a house and a need to hire, would you consider working for me?”

Iana giggled. “I guess a little dream now and then is allowable.”

Both women turned to pay attention to the final speaker of the evening.

The rotund man’s hair stuck straight into the air like a rooster’s comb. “The only language that tyranny has ever understood is that of force.”

A shuffling sound caught Ellen’s attention. The police officers began to march toward the crowd. Their boots make squishing sounds in the pooling mud.

The Captain of Police halted near the speaker’s wagon. His badge glinted in the streetlight. “By the power vested in me by the state of Illinois, I command you to stop. Everyone in attendance must disperse immediately.”

Ellen dug her nails into Iana’s arm. “You shouldn’t have stayed so long. We need to leave. Now.”

Iana nodded and the girls tried to move but the crowd surged as the police officers drew their clubs and began to narrow the street.

The final speaker raised his hands. “In the name of peace, we will leave.” He started to descend the steps.

Iana tugged Ellen forward. “Did you come alone?”

Ellen didn’t have a chance to answer.

In her peripheral vision, she watched Peter pull a metallic sphere from the bag he’d been carrying. He concealed it for a moment then lobbed the ball into the air. The object whizzed in a streak of fire, leaving a bright trail in the night sky over the heads of the workers. It landed among the formation of policemen.

Don’t let that be a….

The sphere erupted with a deafening roar. Fire colored the street. Horses reared. The wagon burst into flames. A wave of heat engulfed Haymarket Square. People screamed and officers crumbled to the ground.

After the initial shock, the workers scampered in every direction, but the police officers opened fire into the crowd. Ellen grabbed Iana’s hand and ran like a scared rabbit. They slammed into someone. Iana tumbled to the ground. Ellen toppled over her, street mire caking her hands.

Bullets hissed through the air. Wounded men and women on both sides shrieked and groaned as they fell.

Ellen clapped her hands over her ears. Her arms shook. Tears clouded her vision. Iana motioned for Ellen to follow. She crawled beside her.

“We must try to get away.”

But Ellen couldn’t. Her muscles tightened. Someone stepped on her hand. Pain shot through her body, and she cried out. She looked over her shoulder at the rioting crowd. Pistols brandished by police officers catching light from the street lamps.

Peter had disappeared in the chaos, but he’d thrown the bomb that started the violence. If he hadn’t attended the meeting, it would have ended calmly. These people would be on their way home. Instead, they lay dying in wet mud.

If she hadn’t told Peter to come, they’d be alive.

This was all her fault.

The popping sounds of gunshot subsided. Two or three minutes had passed, but it felt like a lifetime.

Ellen blinked as she tried to find Iana through the smoke. She groped along the ground. Her hand collided with a body, her fingers drug through a sticky, warm liquid pooling beside the man. The wounded man’s breath came short, and he gurgled.

A sick feeling washed up the back of Ellen’s throat.

Police fanned out among the injured as they gathered offenders to haul to the county jail. But the workers didn’t deserve that fate. Ellen struggled to her feet. She grabbed under the man’s arms and tried to pull him to safety. If only she could help but one person. If only she could save someone from the mess she’d made.

But her strength failed her.

She couldn’t budge him.

The man coughed. “Go. Flee before they come.”

She rose on wobbling legs. An officer called for her to halt. Ellen took a step. Someone shoved her. She lost her balance and dropped to the ground. Her forehead smacked against something solid.

Get up. Get away.

But her muscles felt like sacks of feed.

How foolish to have thought she could save another person. She didn’t even have the power to save herself.

Chicago, May 4, 1886

Ice-cold rainwater seeped through the seams of James’s patchy umbrella. Shaking the ineffectual thing proved … ineffectual. A trickle raced from the handle and down his shirtsleeve to assault his skin.

Grumbling, he turned his attention back to the meeting of protestors gathered at Haymarket Square. The uprising—if a tranquil audience of a hundred shivering people could be named such—seemed pointless.

In fact, James’s jaunt as a spy summed to the total of futile at best. Other than the utter ruin of all his hopes and dreams, what had the last week accomplished? He’d always considered himself a man who could trust his gut. The investment side of banking demanded an instinctive mind, but recent events left him questioning his abilities.

He would have never pegged Lewis as evil, conniving, or able to hurt his family. Their friendship seemed a bit of a joke now. Did James really
know
anyone? Was his judgment so wrong?

Without one wholly successful bout of espionage, James was ready to head back to Hugh’s house and pack his trunk.

At least he’d accomplished the one goal that mattered. He’d kept Ellen safe.

James closed the umbrella. Wasn’t doing much good anyway.

Light from the lamp posts spattered across the line of police officers, stoic as soldiers before battle. No one paid them heed. A few minutes ago, James had spotted Mayor Harrison amongst the crowd, but he’d left on his white horse soon after.

Hugh nudged him. “Ten points to you, Kent. Looks like you were right. We didn’t need to attend tonight.”

James nodded. “A colossal waste of our time.”

What appeared to be the head of the police force marched forward and dismissed the crowd. James and Hugh moseyed across the street to where they’d tied the horse pulling their wagon.

A passerby jostled into James’s shoulder making him turn and plant his feet to keep his balance. His gaze landed on a lady with raven-dark hair spilling from a mobcap. Her height and dress looked familiar, too.

Was that…? But it couldn’t be her. And yet….

“Ellen?” he whispered. He’d know the shape of her nose and the curve of her chin in any costume. Twenty feet separated them. Ellen tugged on a blonde waif’s hand.

Snapping out of his surprise, James bunched his fists. Why was she here? No matter. He’d march right over and snatch her away—for good. On the way home he’d toss her on a train to Wheaton. Well, he’d do it in the morning when the trains boarded passengers.

Before he could take a step, a bolt of light whistled through the air. In a flash, the bright ball landed among the police officers and exploded with a rumble that tossed James off his feet. People screamed and ran in various directions. The police opened fire. Gunpowder burned his nostrils.

Bullets tore through the fabric of night. On his elbows, James struggled in the direction he’d last seen Ellen. Staying low, he crawled forward. Dead weight crashed into his back and James’s chin skidded against the ground. He tasted blood as a stabbing ache raced up his spine. Air whooshed from his lungs.

He flipped to his side, jerking his legs out from under the injured man. Another person collided into James’s side, knocking him down as he tried to stand. He screamed out as pain rippled through his body.

All went quiet.

Smoke laced the air when the gunfire ended. James blinked. He pushed to his feet and stepped over people lying prone.