Stealing Jake - By Pam Hillman Page 0,24
His mother sniffed and jumped to her feet, wiping her eyes with her apron.
Jake sipped his coffee and listened to the chatter as his brother and sisters told of their adventures the previous week. He couldn’t blame his mother for worrying, but what else could he do? He needed to work through the winter, and the job of deputy had been the only thing available other than working the mines.
And contrary to what his mother believed, his job as deputy wasn’t nearly as dangerous as working in the mines. He’d rather face down a drunken outlaw any day than be trapped in a mine.
A wagon rattled into the yard.
“There’s Charlie and Susie.” His mother pulled a pone of hot corn bread from the oven. “Just in time.”
Jake’s oldest sister and her husband entered the kitchen a few minutes later. Jake pumped Charlie’s hand and gaped at his expectant sister. “What happened to you, Sis? You look like a maypop with four sticks stuck in it.”
Where his sister once would have thrown a skillet at him, she simply smiled and hugged him. “Nice to see you, too, little brother.”
Jake looked down at her. “And who are you to be calling me little?”
She nudged him aside and sat in the chair he’d vacated. “Just because you’re bigger in size does not mean you’re bigger in brains.”
Jake laughed and claimed another chair. “How much longer before I’m an uncle?”
“Doc Valentine says not for another month, at least.”
“Another month?” He couldn’t believe Susie had a whole month to go. He wasn’t joking about the maypop.
“Babies come when they’re good and ready,” his mother said. “Okay, everybody, sit down, and let’s eat while it’s hot. Charlie, would you say the blessing please?”
Charlie’s ruddy cheeks stained red, but he cleared his throat. “Lord, bless this food and the hands that prepared it. Protect each and every person in this household as we go forward into this next week. Amen.”
Jake’s younger sisters started pestering Susie to tell them all about the clothes she’d made for the baby. While Susie described the baby’s outfits in detail, Jake turned to Tommy. “How’s school, squirt?”
“Fine.”
“Tommy, don’t talk with your mouth full,” his mother said.
His brother swallowed. “Georgie and I have snowball fights every day.”
“And they’ve been throwing them at us, too, Ma, even though Miss MacKinnion told them not to.”
Tommy stuck out his tongue at his sister. “Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did—”
“Quit arguing, you two.”
“Georgie?” Jake asked. “From the orphanage?”
Tommy frowned. “What’s an orphanage?”
“It’s a place where children who don’t have any parents live.”
“Oh.” Tommy poked another spoonful of peas in his mouth. “Then I must be half an orphan.” Without giving them a chance to respond, he piped up, “Georgie’s my bestest friend, ’cept he’s always hungry.”
Jake suspected Georgie wasn’t too hungry now that he lived at the orphanage. He slathered butter on a piece of corn bread. “I met Georgie the other night.”
Tommy’s eyes grew round. “You did?”
“Yeah. I had to go to the orphanage.”
“I heard the lady who runs it is from Chicago,” Charlie said.
“Yeah. A Mrs. Brooks. She’s seems to be a good woman, and the girl that helps her is right nice, too.”
“Right nice?” Susie grinned. “Do tell.”
Jake’s ears started burning like someone had doused them in kerosene and stuck a match to them. He wished he’d never mentioned Livy around Susie.
He’d never hear the end of it.
Chapter Seven
The factory drew Luke like a gnat to a syrup jar. If caught, he’d be snuffed out just as quickly. No, not quick. Gnats didn’t die instantly when they got stuck in the sticky goo.
They became prisoners. Then they died slowly.
And that’s what drew him. Not the thought of what might happen to him if caught but what Mark was going through.
Dying, a little at a time.
He’d take his brother’s place with the snap of two fingers if he thought he could get away with it.
But the man with the stickpin didn’t work like that. He’d lock them both up and not even blink an eye.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Luke flattened himself against the snowy ground behind some bushes. Butch rounded the bend, carrying a sack. As he passed, the smell of fried chicken hit Luke square in his empty stomach. A rumble gurgled up inside him, and he clenched his stomach muscles to stop the sound.
If Butch heard, he’d snatch Luke up like a rat catcher in an alley full of garbage.
But Butch hurried through the door, apparently too intent on his own meal to worry about anyone watching the