A Family Apart (5 page)

As they traveled uptown, Frances dodged and squeezed in and out among women with shopping baskets on their arms, peddlers making sales, and barrels of salted fish, pickles, and crackers lining the sidewalk under store-keepers’ awnings. The midday streets were noisy and crowded, and Frances had to scramble to keep from losing sight of her brothers. “Why did I start this?” she muttered to herself; but she had, and she was stubbornly determined to stick to her task. She followed the boys for blocks, until they reached a neighborhood of fine stores, restaurants, and hotels. But she halted as she saw Mike stop to say something to Danny, then point north along Broadway. Obviously Mike was sending Danny away, and Danny was reluctant to go.

He finally did go, and Frances moved in closer, keeping a sharp eye on Mike. Suddenly he slipped into an alley.

Frances trailed him cautiously, ducking behind a stack of barrels, moving ahead only when she was sure he hadn’t seen her. She squatted behind a large wooden packing box. If she looked through one of its torn slats, she could watch Mike. He was pressed against the rough brick wall, his eyes on the building across the street.

Frances shivered. The dark alley sucked in gusts of the cold wind and spit out swirls of dust, pebbles, and scraps of paper. Frances saw Mike shiver, too, and rub one bare foot on top of the other.

“Hssst, Mike!”

The whisper startled Frances as much as it did Mike. She stuffed a hand against her mouth, trying not to cry out. Mike instinctively jumped to one side, crouching, fists up.

The whisperer appeared from behind a large barrel. “Mike, it’s me, Danny.”

“I told you not to follow me!” Mike said. Grabbing Danny’s shoulders, Mike shook him furiously. “Don’t ever creep up on me like that!”

Danny trembled as another gust of wind rattled through the alley. “It’s cold here,” Danny complained.

Mike peeled off his thin coat and handed it to Danny. “Put this on and get away from here.”

Danny didn’t argue. He dove into the coat and stretched it across his chest, tucking his chin down into what was left of the collar. “I want to stay with you,” he said.

“No, you don’t,” Mike told him firmly. “I’ve got work to do, and I don’t want you around getting in the way.”

“I could watch you and learn,” Danny pleaded. He paused and glanced around carefully. Frances held her breath and tried to shrink back even farther into the shadows, relieved that Danny didn’t see her. Danny turned back to Mike and lowered his voice, but Frances could hear every word. “You’re a copper stealer, aren’t you, Mike?”

Frances held a hand over her mouth, stifling a sob. So Mike was a thief! And Danny, because he idolized his older brother, wanted to be a copper stealer, too.

Frances took a step forward, ready to run into the alley and give her brothers a good, strong piece of her mind; but Mike angrily grabbed Danny, turned him around, and gave him a shove. “None of your business!” he hissed. “Get out of here! I mean it!”

Flinching like a hurt pup, Danny ran back the way he had come, and once again Frances saw Mike position himself against the wall, staring intently at the impressive building. She knew the building. Inside was an elegant
restaurant. Frances started toward Mike, then paused. If she confronted Mike with a threat to tell Ma what he was doing, would he listen, or would he try to shove her away, as he had done to Danny?

Before Frances could decide, a large door swung open across the street, and a group of gentlemen in greatcoats and top hats, loudly talking and laughing, sauntered from the restaurant. Mike crouched like a runner before a race. Oh, no! Frances knew what he was going to do! She tried to shout, but the words grated against her throat like sharp-edged stones.

A cab driver clucked to his horse, which clopped toward the group, and the men moved toward the street.

“Now!” Mike said aloud and dashed from the alley into the street. He dodged carriage wheels and the hooves of passing horses and the whips of angry drivers. Terrified, Frances ran after him.

She saw Mike slam into the group of men who still stood in front of the restaurant. He bounced off the rounded belly of a portly gentleman who was struggling with the long ends of a heavy muffler, trying unsuccessfully to fasten his greatcoat. For an instant the two of them were locked together, twirling and staggering, until the man tottered back, off-balance, his black moustache quivering with indignation. He shouted and waved a fist at Mike, who gave him one last glance before racing around the corner.

Less than a block away Mike dove into another alley. When Frances arrived at the alley, out of breath and gulping for air, he was gone. She was frantic that she had lost him until she heard a scrabbling noise and a chuckle coming from a pile of discarded packing boxes. As quietly as she could, she climbed high enough to look down at Mike, who was sitting in a nest of rags and a
bright piece of woolen scarf. He had opened his fist, and inside it lay a wad of bills and a gold money clip.

“Oh, Mike!” Frances cried out, sick at her discovery. “How could you!”

Mike tried to jump up, but fell back, legs flailing desperately as he fought to regain his balance. “What are you doing here?” he yelled at Frances. “You’ve got no business scaring me like that!”

“You stole that man’s money!” Frances gasped.

Mike scrambled out of his nest so quickly that he knocked Frances off-balance. The two of them staggered, grabbing at each other to steady themselves, before Mike snapped, “I’ve stolen before. Lots of times.”

Frances cried out, “But stealing is wrong!”

“Is it, now!” Mike glared at his sister defensively. Frances had never heard this bitter tone in his voice before.

“You know it is! Can’t you remember Da telling you so?”

Mike snapped back, “Did Da ever say that stealing was wrong when it meant not going hungry?”

Frances pressed a hand against her stomach. She well knew what it was to be hungry; she knew about people—like those gentlemen—who had more food than they could ever eat, while others went to bed at night with their empty bellies aching. But she also knew what was right—what Da had taught her. Those smiling eyes and that firm voice hadn’t lied.

“Stealing for any reason is wrong, Mike,” Frances said.

Mike raised his chin even higher. “You’ve eaten the meat I’ve been able to bring home now and then. Ma’s wearing shoes I bought for her with money I’ve stolen.”

“She doesn’t know.” Frances’s voice was just a whisper.

For an instant there was pain in Mike’s eyes, and his
voice softened. “I don’t like to steal, Frances,” he admitted, “but I haven’t got a choice. You see that, don’t you?”

The words burned her throat, but Frances said, “I can’t, Mike! It’s wrong and it’s untrue to Da!”

“Da didn’t know how hard it would be for Ma and the rest of us to earn enough to live on after he left us!”

“Mike!” she cried. “It wasn’t his fault!”

“He left us to make our way alone! Without him! And it’s none of your business what I do! You’re not in charge of me!”

“I’m not going to let you steal!” she insisted, fighting anger and hurt and a wild desire to shake her brother until his teeth rattled.

“It doesn’t matter,” Mike said. His bravado deserted him as he slumped against the pile of boxes. “It’s something I’ve got to do.”

Frances ached for him. Tentatively, she reached out, then quickly pulled back her hand. If she were going to help Mike, she’d have to remain firm. “You’ll get caught,” she told him.

“No, I won’t,” Mike insisted. “The lads say I’m too clever.”

“What lads?”

“Bertie, Ted, Jack—you know them. We stick together.”

A shadow suddenly fell over them, and Frances was shoved aside. She cried out in terror as a policeman’s hand gripped Mike’s shoulder tightly. “Is this the one?” he asked the man behind him.

It was the gentleman whom Mike had robbed. The man was so angry that his moustache trembled. “Yes! That’s the little thief!” he shouted.

Frances took one look at Mike’s panic-stricken face and stumbled forward, teeth chattering as she tried to
speak. “Please listen to me, sir!” She tugged at the man’s sleeve, but he ignored her.

The policeman scowled at Frances and asked the gentleman, “How about the girl? Was she in it, too?”

As Frances gasped, Mike yelled, “No!” His face was so pinched and frightened that he looked like a shriveled old man. “She had nothing to do with this! She chased me! She tried to get me to give back the money!”

“Come with me, lad,” the policeman said sternly. “You’re under arrest.”

Frances ran after them to the street, her thoughts a terrified jumble. What would happen to Mike? She had heard that copper stealers were sent to the crowded, filthy Tombs Prison. And Ma! Frances groaned aloud as she wondered how her mother would react.

“Frances!” Mike cried.

But there was nothing Frances could do to help him now.

A
S
F
RANCES FLUNG
the door open with a crash and dashed into the room, Ma stared in amazement, first at Frances, then at the brown paper parcel she still held. “The shirts—?” she began, but Frances dropped the package and threw herself into her mother’s arms.

“Oh, Ma!” she cried. “Something terrible happened, but don’t get angry, please, Ma!”

Ma moved back, holding Frances by the shoulders so that she could look into her eyes, and said firmly, “Frances Mary, calm yourself, then tell me. What is it?” Ma’s face was pale, but her gaze didn’t waver.

“Mike’s been arrested! He’s a copper stealer!” Frances blurted out and burst into tears, barely managing to relate the entire story.

By the time she had finished her tale, Peg and Petey were wailing, and Megan’s eyes were wide with horror.

Ma, her lips pale and tight, quickly wrapped her shawl
over her head and shoulders and strode toward the door. “I’ll be going to the police station, Megan,” she said. “You know what to do for the little ones.”

“I’ll come with you, Ma,” Frances insisted.

“No,” her mother told her. “Go to work as usual. Tell Mr. Lomax that I was detained by a family emergency and will be along later. That’s all he needs to know.” As Frances hesitated, Ma said, “You’re a good, dependable girl, love. Do your job. We need the money.”

Frances sat on the cot, helping Megan soothe and distract their little sister and brother.

“What will happen to Mike?” Megan murmured.

“I don’t know,” Frances said. “But everything will turn out all right, you’ll see. Ma can take care of it.”

Megan looked at her gratefully, and Frances wished she could have believed her own words. How could Ma, even with all her determination, keep Mike from being sent to Tombs Prison?

Later, while she scrubbed hard at the polished floors in the office building, under the watchful eye and sharp tongue of Mrs. Watts, Frances recalled what she had told Megan. She prayed that her words had been true, that Ma could make everything turn out all right. But the hours crept by, and still Ma didn’t come. Frances jumped at every sound. She dropped her cleaning tools, forgot where she left her broom, and even spilled a bucket of scrub water. For that she took a tongue-lashing from Mrs. Watts. Where was Ma? What had happened?

Finally Frances jumped to her feet with a shout of relief as she saw Ma stride down the hallway of the office building, her bucket and brush in hand.

Ma stopped to lay a hand on Frances’s shoulder. “Mike will be locked up for the night,” she said in a low voice. “He’ll go before the judge tomorrow morning at nine.”

“Have you been at the police station all this while?” Frances whispered, clutching her mother’s arms.

“No,” Ma said. “I found Danny and sent him home. Then there was someone I had to talk to.”

“About Mike?”

“Yes.”

“Will Mike go to prison?”

For just a moment, Ma’s eyes looked old and tired. “I pray not, love. If the judge will allow Mike to be helped—”

Frances interrupted. “But who will help Mike?”

“I’ll tell you later, when it’s the right time.”

“Why not now?” Frances begged.

Ma pulled Frances to her and held her tightly. Against her hair she murmured, “Frances Mary, you’ll have to trust me, no matter what happens. I’m asking you to be strong for me, to help me in what I must do. Just know that I love you with all my heart.”

Frances shivered. The urgency in her mother’s voice frightened her. “Ma,” Frances pleaded, “let me go with you tomorrow. Please?”

She expected her mother to argue, but Ma simply said, “Yes. We will all be there.”

Frances was comforted. She should have known that Ma would want them all on hand to help Mike. Of course they’d all be there.

Mrs. Watts, puffing with indignation, descended upon them, intent on informing the tardy Mrs. Kelly about her daughter’s carelessness, and Frances hurried back to her job. As she scrubbed the dirty floors, she began to puzzle over Ma’s words. What had she meant when she had asked for her trust? And whom had she called on for help? Nameless fears prickled under Frances’s skin, and she shuddered, afraid again of what the next day might bring.