“Livy, those boys will chew you up and spit you out. They’re not like the three little orphans we brought to you last night. These boys are used to lying, stealing, and cheating to get whatever they want.”
She shook her head, the need to defend the street kids so strong she threw caution to the wind. If only someone had defended her. Just once. Before she’d lost Katie. If someone had, maybe her sister would be alive today instead of in a cold, dark grave.
Oh, Katie, I miss you so.
She took a deep breath. “No, they don’t take what they want, only what they need. That’s all they dare risk. I’ve seen children with their feet wrapped in rags to keep from getting frostbite. I’ve seen them lose toes and fingers to the bitter cold. I’ve seen them take turns beating off rats so everyone could make it through the night. I’ve seen the police chase them down and whip them like dogs.” She blinked to hold the tears at bay, but one slipped free to track down her cheek. “No, these children don’t steal because they want to; they do it because they have to. They don’t know any other way.”
He reached out a gloved hand and wiped the moisture from her cheek with his thumb, his touch soft as the brush of a snowflake. His green eyes darkened. “I’m sorry. I hate that you saw things like that in Chicago, but I can’t let these young hoodlums run loose.”
“You don’t have to.” She grabbed his hand in both of hers. “If you find them, send for me. Let me talk to them. Please?”
A pained look crossed his face. “Livy . . .”
“Please, Jake? Give them a chance. Believe in them.”
Just like Mrs. Brooks had believed in her on that fateful day in Chicago.
He stared at her for a moment before he glanced away. “I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you.” She slipped her arm back through his. “You can take me home now.”
* * *
Luke ducked into the shack he shared with the other kids, the basket under his arm. The others dove for the hamper, grabbing the food. He made sure they shared with the younger ones. He took a small piece of ham and hunkered down in front of the fire. The girl he’d rescued from the warehouse stared at him, her eyes red and swollen from crying.
“I want Bobby.”
He wrapped one of the thin blankets around her shoulders. “Is Bobby your brother? Was he in the crate with you?”
She nodded, fresh tears brimming in her green eyes. The other boys had never come out of the warehouse, so Butch and Grady must have caught them.
“I’ll look for Bobby, but if I find him, I’ll have to know your name so I can tell him where you are.” He handed her the ham. “You gonna tell me your name?”
She gave him a look, one that said she didn’t trust him any more than she’d trusted Butch and Grady but that maybe he had a point. “Jessica.”
Luke tugged on a shank of matted red hair. “I’ll find him if I can.” He slanted his gaze at her. “You said there was a Mark in another crate. Can you tell me what he looked like? How old he is?”
She squinted at him, her face thin and gaunt in the firelight. “He looks like you.”
Quick tears sprang to Luke’s eyes. He blinked. Mark was here. Here in Chestnut.
In the clutches of Butch, Grady, and the man with the diamond-studded stickpin.
Chapter Four
Jake tilted the split-bottom chair against the wall and listened to the half-dozen men gathered around the stove in McIver’s Mercantile. Sam McIver leaned on the counter, throwing his two bits into the conversation in between his morning customers. Jake whittled on a small piece of wood, trying to figure out what it might turn out to be. Sometimes he came up with an idea, and sometimes he whittled a hunk of wood down to nothing while he pondered things.
“Hey, Jake, how ya like being a deputy?”
“It pays the bills.” He took a swipe at the wedge in his hands. A sliver of wood fluttered on top of the pile of shavings at his feet.
“Yeah, ain’t much going on around here right now other than the coal mines. That’s where the money is. They’re hiring over at the Lucky Strike. You’d be a shoo-in, Jake.”
He gripped the wooden block in his suddenly moist palm. Could he do it? Could he