Читать книгу Mission of Hope - Allie Pleiter - Страница 12

Ah, but she was a beauty.

Quinn stood mesmerized by the way she held her ground. Tall and proud, with defiant lines he wanted to catch from every angle.

Quinn was vaguely aware of an elbow to his ribs. “Nephew, ya look foolish just standing there like that.”

Rough hands grabbed his face on both sides and pulled his gaze to the dusty, whiskered sight of his uncle Michael. “There’s something wrong with you, man. It ain’t natural, the way you look at buildings.”

“Architecture. It’s called architecture. I’d give anything to study.”

Uncle Mike snorted. “You need a wife.”

Quinn shifted his sore feet as his mind catapulted back to the rows of tiny black buttons that ran up the sides of Nora Longstreet’s boots. He’d stared then, too, liking their lines as much if not more. “I need to learn,” he said impatiently to his uncle, who simply rolled his eyes at the speech he’d heard every day even before the earthquake. “Apprentice an architect. Only there’s no time to learn anymore. We need loads of builders, but we need them now.” Everything took so much time these days. Lord Jesus, You know I’m thankful to be alive, but this bread line feels two thousand miles long. I’m in no mood to learn no more patience, if You please. He felt he’d die if he wasn’t back at the camp edge by two. He had to see her again. Had to see that dented locket that he just knew would be polished up and hanging around her neck. He’d miss half a week’s worth of bread to make sure he caught that sight—even if it meant he’d catch a whole lot more from his ma for returning without bread.

By the time the sun was high in the sky and the police officer on the corner said it was one-fifteen, Quinn still was looking at forty or so people in line in front of him. Without so much as an explanation, Quinn nudged his uncle and said, “I’m off.”

“And just what do you think you’re doin’?” the man balked as Quinn strode off in the direction of home, his feet no longer feeling the holes that burst through his shoes yesterday.

“I ain’t sure yet,” Quinn replied with a grin, tipping his hat as his uncle stood slack-jawed, “but I’ll let you know.”

Nora sat beside her father in the mail cart, her heart thumping like the hooves of the horse in front of them. Since the earthquake, she’d barely looked forward to anything or been excited about anything.

She wanted to see him. To feel that tug on her pulse when he caught sight of her. He seemed so happy to see her. She knew, just by the tilt of his head, that she brightened his day. There was a deep satisfaction in that; something that went beyond filling a hungry belly. Still, that hadn’t stopped her from bringing a loaf of bread she’d charmed out of the cook this morning.

He was a very clever man. He stood on the other side of the street, far enough from the cart to be unobtrusive, near enough to make sure she caught sight of him almost immediately. His eyes held the same fixation they had at the ceremony, and Nora felt a bit on display as she went about her duties.

He watched her. His gaze was almost a physical sensation, like heat or wind. He made no attempts to hide his attentions, and the frank honesty of his stare rattled her a bit, but not the way that man Ollie’s stare had. She might be all of twenty-two, but Nora had lived long enough to judge when a man’s intentions were not what they should be. Simply put, Quinn looked exceedingly glad to see her again. And there was something wonderful about that.

“You’ll stay by the cart today,” Quinn said, walking across the street when the line finally thinned out. “Mind your papa and all.”

“I should,” she admitted. “However, I would like very much to see the teeter-totter again. It seemed a very clever thing to do, and I wonder if there aren’t some things back at my aunt’s house that we could add to your contraption.”

A bright grin swept over his face. “My contraption. I like that a far sight better than that thing Quinn built.” He pushed his hat back on his head as he looked up at her, squinting in the sunlight. It gave Nora an excuse to settle herself down on the cart, bringing her closer to eye level with the man. “A contraption sounds important. I’ll have to build another just to say I am a man of contraptions.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, and Nora felt it rush down her spine. It was powerful stuff these days to see someone happy—they’d barely left misery behind, and there was so much yet to endure ahead of them. She’d taken the streetcars completely for granted before. Now, everyone’s shoes—and feet—had suffered far too much walking. She imagined his smile would be striking anywhere, but here and now, it was dashing.

“Still,” he said, “it’s best we don’t wander off today. I wouldn’t want your papa thinking poorly of me.”

“Oh, I’m sure he couldn’t do that.” Nora fingered the locket now fastened around her neck. Something flickered in his eyes when she touched it. “You brought me back Annette’s locket, and that was a fine thing to do.”

“The pleasure’s mostly mine, Miss. I think it made me as happy as it made you. And good news is as hard to come by as good food these days.”

“Oh,” Nora shot to her feet, remembering the loaf of bread tucked away behind her. “That reminds me. I know you said you didn’t need a reward, but I just didn’t feel right without doing something.” She pulled out the loaf, wrapped in an old napkin. “Cook makes the best bread, even missing half her kitchen.” She held it out.

“Glory,” Quinn said, his grin getting wider, “You can’t imagine how glad I am to see a loaf of bread. Especially today.”

“Aren’t you able to get any?”

She thought she saw him wink. “That’s a long story. Just know you couldn’t have picked a better day to give me a loaf of bread.”

That felt simply grand, to know she’d done something he appreciated so much. “I’m glad, then. We’re even.”

“Hardly,” he said, settling his hat down on to his head again. “I’m still ahead of you, Miss Longstreet. By miles.” He bent his nose to the bread and sniffed. “I’d best get this home before it gets all shared away. Thank you, Miss Longstreet. Thank you very much.”

“My pleasure,” Nora said, meaning it. Taking a deep breath, she bolstered her courage and offered, “Tomorrow?”

“Absolutely.”

The only sad thing about the entire exchange was that three months ago, Nora would have rushed home to tell every little detail to Annette. Today, she didn’t mind the trickle of mail customers that still came to the wagon, for there was only Mama waiting at home. Nora laid her hand across the locket, hoping her thoughts could soar to where Annette could hear them. Is heaven lovely? I miss you so much.

Reverend Bauers tried to lift the large dusty box, but couldn’t budge the heavy load at his advanced years. He huffed, batted at the resulting cloud of dust that had wafted up around him and threw Quinn a disgusted glance. “I’m too old for this.”

Quinn wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve. It was stale and dusty down here in the Grace Mission House basement, and he’d already had a long day’s work, but he’d be hanged if he’d let Reverend Bauers attempt cleaning up the rubble on his own. The man was nearly eighty, and although he showed little signs of slowing down his service to God, his body occasionally reminded him of the truth in “the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.”

“Didn’t I just get through telling you the very same thing? Reverend, I don’t think when God spared you and Grace House through the earthquake and the fire that He did it all to have you collapse in the basement. You’ve got to slow down. You’ll do no good to anyone if you hurt yourself.”

His long and fast friendship with the pastor—since boyhood, going on twenty years now—had given him leave to speak freely with Reverend Bauers, but even Quinn knew when too far was too far. And even if the reverend’s insistence on ordering the Grace House basement was a bit misguided, Quinn wasn’t entirely sure he should be the soul to point it out. People reacted in funny ways to the overwhelming scale of destruction. His own ma bent over her tatting every night, even though Quinn was certain there’d be little use for lace in the coming months. Many people focused on ordering one little segment of their lives, because they could and because so much of the rest of their lives was spinning in chaos.

“I can’t seem to stay away,” Reverend Bauers said, giving a look that was part understanding, part defiance. “I keep getting nudges to tidy up down here, and you know I make it a policy not to ignore nudges.” Reverend Bauers was forever getting “nudges” from God. And Quinn believed God did indeed nudge the portly old German—he’d seen far too much evidence of it to dismiss the man’s connection with The Almighty. Only no one else ever just got “nudged.” God seemed to be shouting at everyone else—or so they said. People were talking everywhere about God’s judgment on San Francisco or claiming they’d heard God’s command to destroy the city—and/or rebuild it, depending on who you talked to.

Only, after twenty-six years, God had yet to nudge or shout at Quinn. Reverend Bauers was always going on about purpose and providence and such, and he’d so vehemently declared that God had spared Quinn for some great reason that Quinn mostly believed him. The reason just hadn’t shown itself yet, nor had any of God’s nudges.

Quinn sighed as Bauers slid yet another box out of his way, poking through the cluttered basement. “There must be something down here,” Bauers said, almost to himself. “Over there, perhaps.” He pointed to a stack of shelving that had toppled over in the far corner of the room and motioned for Quinn to clear a path.

It took nearly ten minutes, and Quinn was tempted to offer up a nudge of his own to God about how dinner might be soon, when suddenly Bauers went still.

Quinn looked up from the shelf he was righting to see the reverend staring intently at an upended chest. “Oh, my,” Bauers said in the most peculiar tone of voice. “Goodness. I hadn’t even remembered this was down here.”

“What?” Quinn cleared a path to it.

“That’s it, isn’t it? And there should be another one—a long, narrow one—right beside it somewhere.”

Quinn stared from Bauers to the pair of chests, his heart thumping as he recognized the shape of the long narrow box. He must have been, what, twelve? Surely not much older. He caught Bauers’s gaze, the old man’s eyes crinkling up when he read Quinn’s expression.

“Mr. Covington’s things.” Quinn began tearing through the boxes, bags and beams between him and the pair of chests. “Those are Mr. Covington’s…”

“No, man, not just Mr. Covington’s, and you know that. Those belong to the Bandit.”

Quinn had reached the chests, fingering the latch on the longer box. He remembered what was inside now. He remembered thinking that that sword and that whip were the most powerful weapons on earth. He blew the dust off the box and set it atop a crate. “Do you think it lasted?”

“I see no scorch marks or dents. I’d venture to say it’s in perfect shape.” He picked his way quickly through the room until he stood next to Quinn. “But we’ll not know a thing until you open it.”