Sons of an Ancient Glory (46 page)

Billy Hogan lay curled on his side in the dank cellar, his feet drawn up almost to his chin. His entire body shook from the cold, for he wasn't allowed to have a jacket in the cellar. Bearing the cold was part of his punishment, Uncle Sorley said.

He tried to remember what, exactly, he was being punished for this time. He must have done something very bad, for it seemed he'd been here a long time. Longer than any time before. Days, perhaps an entire week.

He remembered the thrashing, remembered Uncle Sorley throwing himself at him, pounding at him, his huge, bruising hands hammering at his head, his ears. He remembered being hauled and kicked down the stairs, then thrown inside the storage press. And he remembered Uncle Sorley looming over him, the red, angry gash of his mouth shouting at him over and over, the fire in his eyes, the whiskey smell—

“This time you'll stay, boy! You'll stay down here till you learn to keep that bold mouth of yours shut!”

Then hours…days…of nothing but cold and darkness and pain. The difference between daylight and dark was vague, for he could barely see. His eyes were so swollen, the cellar so dark, he could scarcely make out anything in the storage press. First came the gnawing hunger, for he wasn't allowed food, but for the most part, the hunger had passed. His belly still ached some and burned, but he no longer thought much about food.

Most of the time he slept. His head and shoulders hurt so bad that he welcomed sleep, actually sought it. Even when he dreamed about Uncle Sorley or the rats lurking in the corners, he craved sleep, for it was his only comfort.

His belly cramped, and he drew his legs up as tightly as he could. Except for the burning in his stomach, he didn't feel much of anything at all. The weakness was on him bad again. He felt numb and lifeless. Even his feet were numb, as they had been that time back home, when he trekked through a snowstorm to find his dog, Reg.

He remembered Reg, his old red dog, as if they had parted only yesterday. He had cried and begged to be allowed to bring him to America, for he knew poor old Reg would die without anyone to feed and look after him. The dog was almost blind, and he counted on Billy to bring him his food, to rub his ears, and sometimes sing him a tune.

For weeks after leaving Ireland, Billy had prayed that someone with a kind heart would take Reg in, would give him a new home so he wouldn't be lonely or hungry. Sometimes he still thought about him, wondered what had happened to him. An old dog like Reg wouldn't live long without food or someone to talk kindly to him now and then.

His mind began to drift, as it usually did when the weakness was on him. He wanted to go to sleep, but the thought of his mother and brothers roused him.

Had Mum asked about him, he wondered? Did she or the wee boys miss him at all? Were his little brothers all right without him?

What if Uncle Sorley started beating on them in his absence?

Billy didn't think he would. Uncle Sorley pretty much ignored the younger boys. And his mum. He paid her little heed at all, except to snarl at her now and then if supper wasn't to his liking.

Perhaps Patrick or Liam would coax Mum to go looking for him while Uncle Sorley was at work. Surely
someone
would miss him.

But even if they
did
try to find him, how could they? No one knew where he was.

Uncle Sorley had brought him down to the cellar while Mum was at work and the wee boys were playing out front in the street. He said Billy had to stay here until he learned not to talk back. Billy was impudent, he said.

Billy didn't even know exactly what
impudent
meant. And he didn't remember talking back, he truly didn't. That's what Uncle Sorley always accused him of, although most of the time Billy didn't remember his offense. In fact, by the time the beatings were over, he could scarcely remember anything.

This time when he got out, he would be extra careful not to talk back. Not ever again. He would guard every word and say nothing that could possibly rile Uncle Sorley.

This time when he got out, he would be the best boy he could be. The
best.

His head felt light again, yet he wasn't all that drowsy. He stiffened suddenly at a rustling noise from the opposite wall. Squeezing his eyes shut, he waited. After a moment, he realized he was grinding his teeth together. The pain in his jaws surprised him.

There was something…something he needed to remember.…

It came to him, then, what kept the rats away. He began to hum, his voice sounding distant and strange in his ears. Words came, words that Mr. Evan had taught them. Mr. Evan often said that singing God's music or speaking God's Word was like building a fort around yourself…a fort of protection, for the things of darkness couldn't bear things of the Light.…

“Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart,

Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.

Thou my best thought by day and by night,

Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.…”

Unable to remember the rest of the ancient hymn, for his mind was like a ship drifting out to sea, Billy went on singing the same words, over and over, until the scratching sounds in the corner finally ceased.

Over an hour later, Evan and the sergeant had questioned a number of newsboys. Some were small, others nearly grown. Some were huddled on doorsteps, some in alleyways around open fires. Others had pitched rude tents a distance outside the Five Points.

Without exception, no one had seen Billy Hogan for the past several days. He had not picked up his papers since last week, they said. And, no, they did not know where he might be found.

By now it was completely dark, and at the policeman's insistence, they had ceased their search. “I'll look further uptown tomorrow,” the sergeant told Evan as they headed back toward the buggy. “And I'll look up Billy's pal, Tom Breen, as well. We'll find him, Mr. Whittaker, that we will.”

His hopes dashed, Evan felt frustrated and increasingly anxious. And the information Sergeant Price relayed as they walked only sharpened his concern.

Billy's uncle—Sorley Dolan—was a drunk and a small-time gambler who worked as a bouncer in one of the Bowery dens. To Evan's dismay, he was not even the boy's real uncle!

“He's just a bum the mother took up with,” the sergeant said. “I don't know as they ever got married, to tell you the truth. Billy is hers by her dead husband, but the younger two lads are Dolan's. You've got to give the boy credit, though—he looks after those two little tykes as if they're full-blood to him. A regular little daddy to the lads, he is. That's why I'm a bit surprised. I wouldn't have thought that he'd take off like this and leave the wee wanes alone with that soak of a father.”

“What about Billy's m-mother?” Evan choked out, sickened by what he was hearing. “What so-sort of woman is she?”

The policeman shrugged and tucked his nightstick under his arm. As they walked, his eyes moved constantly, darting here and there about their surroundings. They passed hollow-eyed men bunched together in doorways, and streams of raggedy children shouting and tormenting one another. Weary-looking women hurrying home from the factories avoided their eyes as they met and went on by. Defeat and despair fogged the streets, mingling with the uncollected garbage and filth of several days.

“Nell's not a bad sort,” the sergeant replied. “She cares for her boys as best she can. But she works days at the shirt factory and tends to drown her troubles in the drink at night. You can't help but feel sorry for Nell. She's had it hard.”

“I d-didn't know what it was like for him,” Evan said softly, more to himself than to the sergeant. “Poor little fellow.”

“Aye, I expect Billy has had his troubles,” the sergeant agreed as they came up to the buggy. “Well, then, you'd best be away, Mr. Whittaker. 'Tis almost dark. I'll keep an eye out for the lad, you can be sure.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. And you'll let m-me know right away if you learn his whereabouts?”

The policeman tipped two fingers to his forehead as in a jaunty salute. “I will indeed, sir. And I'm sure we'll be finding the lad soon. Try not to worry, though it's good of you to care.”

By the time Evan reached the mission clinic and found Dr. Grafton's note, he was exhausted and nearly ready to snap from the strain of the day. The appalling revelations about Billy Hogan's home life, added to the worry about Nora, had brought on a sour stomach and a throbbing headache.

Yet, on the ferry across to Brooklyn, his mind refused to let go of the implications of what he had learned. Like bees swarming to a hive, the unsettling images of Billy's “uncle,” the ugly tenement that was home to the child, and the countless poor boys living out their existence in doorways or back alleys, continued to torment him.

And where was Billy now? He felt a terrible burden for the sad-eyed little boy, an almost desperate urgency to find him without delay.

But how? He did not even know where to look.

Before the ferry docked, something…a thought, a memory…began to nag at him, insinuating itself into the fringes of his mind. What had Sergeant Price said about Billy and his brothers?

“
…a regular little daddy to them, Billy is.…I wouldn't have thought he'd take off like this and leave the wee wanes alone with that soak of a father.…”

Troubled, Evan rubbed his chin, thinking. Thinking of the many times he had noticed bruises and cuts on Billy, the boy's evasive answers when asked about them, the way he often attempted to hide his face, the eyes that seemed to hold a lifetime of heartache…

What if Billy hadn't run away at all? What if he had been hurt…badly hurt…or worse?

Something deep within Evan's spirit moaned as if bereaved. He sat, unmoving, scarcely breathing, as the full impact of what he suspected seized him, engulfing him in dread.

He was convinced now that he had not heard the truth. Sorley Dolan had been lying, he was sure of it. There was something wrong, dreadfully wrong, in all this.

He
had
to find the boy! He would search until he
did
find him. As his sense of desperation grew, Evan wished he had not left the Five Points at all. Yet his reason told him it was no place to go wandering about at night, even with a policeman at your side. Besides, Nora would be frantic with worry. He had never been this late getting home after rehearsal.

Tomorrow he would go back. He would go back to that terrible place and that horrid man. But this time he wouldn't go alone. He would take Sergeant Price with him.