his head no, but Jake placed the food in front of him anyway.
A low moan sounded from the bedroom across the hall. Luke shot out of his chair, panic in his eyes.
Jake grabbed his arm and eased him back down. “It’s okay. Doc Valentine will take good care of him.”
Luke’s knowing gaze locked on Jake’s. “His hand’s hurt bad.”
“Yeah, it’s bad.” Jake sipped his coffee. “We’ll just pray that the doctor can save it.”
“Pray?” Luke snorted. “Where I come from, prayer is a long way down the list, mister.”
Jake didn’t doubt it. “Luke, you know who I am, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” His defiant tone reminded Jake of Livy’s when she’d insisted she’d done nothing wrong and he couldn’t arrest her. “You gonna take me in?”
“Why do you think I’m going arrest you?”
“I’m not crazy.” Luke looked at him like he’d gone off his rocker. “I know what everybody’s been saying. They say that me and the other kids are the ones who’ve been stealing stuff, but it ain’t true. We ain’t done nothing.”
“Do you know who it is, then?”
The boy didn’t answer. Instead, he took a huge bite of corn bread. A diversion if Jake had ever seen one. If things hadn’t been so serious, he would have laughed.
“Luke, if I can catch the thief, it’ll go a long way toward keeping the townspeople from coming after you and your friends.”
“I don’t know who it is, but Billy Johansen knows something. I saw him and the thief together the night you almost caught Miss Livy and me.”
“Billy Johansen?” In a way, Jake wasn’t surprised. In Martha’s eyes, Billy could do no wrong, and her husband, Clarence, was as henpecked as they came. If his parents didn’t rein him in, he’d cause some sheriff many a headache down the road. “You think Billy’s doing the stealing?”
“He didn’t that night.”
“Is that all you’ve got?”
“That’s all I know.”
“I need something else.”
Luke stared at him.
“You going to tell me how you kids ended up in Chestnut?”
Luke lowered his gaze and stared into his coffee cup.
“I want to help you, but I can’t if I don’t have something to go on.”
The boy jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over backward. “I’ve got to go.”
Jake stood as well. “You’ve got to trust me.”
Luke shook his head. “I . . . I can’t. The others . . .”
“What? What about the others? Who are you afraid of? Luke, what is it you’re not telling me?”
“Nothing.”
Livy walked into the kitchen, and Luke glanced at her, then at Jake.
“Don’t go back. Stay here and let me help you.” Frustrated, Jake didn’t know how to get through to the boy.
Luke’s eyes filled with tears, and he shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“He’s got my brother.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Where?” Desperate for answers, Livy placed her hands on Luke’s thin shoulders. “Please, Luke, where is the sweatshop? Where are the kids working? Is it in the mines? Jake and I want to help.”
Luke pulled away and dashed at the tears on his face. “He’ll send them all back to Chicago. They’ll go to jail. For good, this time.”
“Luke, the cops lied to you, and so did the man who brought you here. Nobody has the right to barter your life like that. Look at what happened to that child with the mangled hand. He’s not going to let any of them go. Ever.”
“I don’t know anything.” He backed away. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got to check on the others.”
Jake held out his hand. Luke stared at it, his fearful gaze flickering to meet Jake’s. He reached out, his movements slow and unsure. Jake shook the boy’s hand, then released him.
Livy swallowed the lump in her throat. It took a lot for both of them to trust each other. “Thank you for everything you’ve told me, Luke. You’ve been very brave. I wish you’d stay here so you could be safe, but I understand why you can’t.”
Luke pulled his hand free, sniffed, and dashed his sleeve across his eyes. He glanced at the now-quiet bedroom. “How is he?” he asked Livy. “Is he going to lose his hand?”
“The doctor says it’s going to be close for a while. You’ll come check on him, won’t you?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged.
He slipped out the door, and Livy wrapped her arms around her waist, sick with worry for him—for all the street kids. Jake placed his hands on her shoulders. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“I know, but it’s so hard. What if . . . what if something