A Texas Legacy Christmas (2 page)

Zack shivered in the early morning air as he dressed. His trousers felt like they were lined with ice, and shaving nearly cost him the skin from his face. The stove in the corner of his room went out during the night, and he didn’t have time to build another fire from the scant supply of coal and kindling. He’d rented the apartment because of the low rent, not considering the cost of keeping it warm in winter. Two more days, and he’d board a train that would carry him to central Texas.

As he lifted his suspenders over his shoulders and pranced across the cold wooden floor toward his socks, Zack realized that New York had been a good experience. He’d obtained his education and worked three long, hard years for the New York Times while he finished college. God had been good to him. Not many young reporters were able to cover big stories, but those opportunities caused him to long for a newspaper of his own—back home.

With a grin, he laced up his shoes, thinking how grand to say he was now the proud owner of the
Frontier Press
—editor, reporter, typesetter, deliverer, and janitor. My, that felt real good. He sure was glad the previous owner planned to help him for a while.

And no more women. From here on out, he was married to the paper. Sure would save a lot on the old heart and the wallet.

Wallet . . . What did Curly and Charlie have for breakfast today? Did the sisters find them better shoes and clothing? Were they cold last night?

The Triangle Factory fire had shaken him to the core. Never had he seen such senseless death. He’d labored long hours to report the tragedy accurately and without bias, but he’d discovered the management had ignored basic safety measures for all those people. Low wages and deplorable working conditions still fueled anger in him. That stain in New York’s history had killed Curly and Charlie’s mother. He couldn’t shake the fire, and he couldn’t shake the memory of those incorrigible twins. Zack paused a moment. He’d been rebellious and stubborn, too, after his father had died, but he’d been redeemed. He hoped the same for them.

Yawning, Zack shook his head and considered why he hadn’t slept much the night before. The twins stayed fixed in his mind. He’d seen that mass of curly red hair and those pitiful shoes in every dream. Telling them he was sorry for their mother’s death made him feel like one of those Christians who paid homage with their mouths and did nothing to alleviate the problems of the poor. Why hadn’t he the foresight to buy them a hot meal and arrange for some decent clothes? In short, regret had taken root in his heart.

A memory crept into his mind . . . A long time ago while he was still attending school in Kahlerville, he’d noticed a little girl who never seemed to have any lunch. He got into the habit of bringing an extra sandwich. The twins reminded him of her.

I can’t leave New York without looking into the situation. After making the final rounds at the newspaper, he’d find the orphanage and check on the boys.

*****

Chloe rose long before dawn and bathed in the chilly waters of the creek. She washed her hair and let it drape about her shoulders in hopes it would dry before time to pin it up for work. A satchel held her worldly possessions, but tonight they’d have a better resting place than lying hidden beneath the trunk of a fallen cypress tree. She’d washed her dress last night and wrapped a discarded blanket around her until this morning. The dress was a little more than damp, but it was clean. If only she had something to eat. Maybe she’d be offered some breakfast this morning.

With a sliver missing from a full moon and a sky full of twinkling stars to light her way, Chloe lifted her satchel and started her trek toward Kahlerville. Mr. Barton had indicated she might not be able to handle her new position. She’d show him. Her days had been filled with hard work ever since she could remember. School had been a joy, and she enjoyed the challenge of all her subjects, especially arithmetic. To her, solving number problems was like putting all the pieces of a puzzle together and caused her to temporarily forget her bleak circumstances.

Glancing up at the sky, she figured 80 percent of the right portion of the moon appeared, and that phase was called something . . . She’d remember it later. Ah, a waxing gibbous moon. Her step picked up. Life had taken a definite turn for the best.

The boardinghouse windows revealed a hint of light, and that meant signs of someone up and about. From Chloe’s estimation, the time was around five o’clock. The cook must be starting breakfast before the boarders rise. She could smell the coffee, the bacon sizzling, biscuits baking. Shaking the dizziness from her head, she entered the boardinghouse.

“Good morning. Mr. Barton?”

When no one responded, she made her way back to where the smell of coffee nearly gave her chills.

“Good morning. Mr. Barton?”

“He’s not here,” came a gravelly voice. “Whatcha need?”

Chloe walked toward the voice. “I’m Chloe Weaver, the new desk clerk and bookkeeper.”

A short, chubby fellow with an apron tied around his waist flipped bacon in a huge, cast-iron skillet. “Mornin’, Miss Weaver. You’re a mite early, aren’t you?”

She attempted to ignore the tantalizing smells wafting about. For a moment, she thought she’d faint. “Uh, yes. I’m early. A little eager to get started.”

“Well, Mr. Barton ain’t here yet. Sit a spell. Coffee’s done. He opened the oven door. “And so’s the biscuits. I bet you haven’t had breakfast.”

“No, sir.” Her mouth watered, and she glanced away.

“Call me Simeon.” He nodded toward the coffeepot on the stove. “Open up that there cabinet and get yourself a mug. Butter and honey are on the table for a biscuit.”

Chloe dug her fingers into her palms to stop the shaking.

“Don’t be nervous about your first day at work. Barton’s fair, but he expects ya to do what he’s paying ya for. You can put your bag behind the door.”

“Oh, I intend to. I mean do a good job.” She set her satchel in the appointed spot and poured the coffee, willing her hand to stop trembling. She licked her thumb and forefinger before reaching for a hot biscuit. In the next instant, thick sweet honey and melted butter oozed from her biscuit. “Thank you. This is delicious.”

He chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear. From the looks of you, I’d say you’ve missed a few meals. Ol’ Simeon will take care of fattenin’ you up. You can be my tester.”

“Tester?” she said between bites.

“Yeah. Taste my food and see if it needs anything.”

She smiled. “I’d be happy to help you with that little chore.” Once she finished the biscuit—in as ladylike a manner as possible—she sipped the coffee. “All right. How can I help you?”

Simeon grinned wide, revealing a mouthful of missing teeth. “You and me’s gonna get along just fine.” He leaned toward her. “You shore are purdy. Too bad I’m not thirty years younger. We’d be doin’ some courtin’. All that shiny black hair. My mama was part Indian, too.”

Chloe let him talk. She had no intentions of ever courting or making any excuses about her mama. Today was a fresh start for a new life.

*****

Zack took a bittersweet look around the newspaper office. He loved the sights of people scurrying about, the smell of ink, the sound of typewriters, the hum of reporters and editors relaying the pertinent facts of their latest stories, and the touch of a newspaper. To him, few things compared to the thrill of handing a reader a fresh copy of the New York Times. Once he arrived back home in Kahlerville, he’d do the same for those people he’d grown up with and missed during the past few years in the big city.

“Good luck to ye, boy,” a typesetter said.

“Tear ’em up with your own newspaper,” another man said.

“Enjoyed working with you,” still another said.

Zack returned their well wishes with his sights set toward his cold apartment and then home. He gathered up last night’s newspaper—a keepsake—and headed out onto Times Square into the wintry morning. But before he trudged the streets to his apartment, he needed to stop at the Saint Vincent de Paul Orphanage on Forty-second Street to see about Curly and Charlie. Once he finished there, he’d have time to pack up his few belongings before noon and do a little sightseeing on his last afternoon in New York City.

Taking the trolley, he arrived at the building housing the motherless and fatherless children of the area. A mixture of wondering why get involved and a deep need to make sure the boys were well taken care of swirled about his mind. How easy it would be to simply forget yesterday and carry on with his own affairs. Unfortunately that hadn’t happened. God had pushed him to make sure the twins hadn’t run off again and to contribute a few dollars to their welfare. He could even send a little money regularly to the orphanage. Yes, that was a fine charitable consideration.

Opening the door, he noticed the inside of the building wasn’t much warmer than the outside. Bare toes and ragged coats flashed across his mind.

“May I help you?” a veiled sister said.

Zack moistened his lips. “Yes, ma’am. My name is Zackary Kahler, and I’m checking on a set of twins who I believe were delivered here by a policeman yesterday.”

She smiled. “Welcome. My name is Sister Catherine. You must mean Curly and Charlie.”

He nodded. “Have they decided to stay put?”

“At least for the day. The two often work with the newsboys. Are you a relative?”

“No. I met them prior to the policeman escorting them back to you.”

“Oh, you must be the man with the wallet.”

“I am.” He relaxed slightly and smiled. “Are they all right? I mean they sure are young to be wandering the streets. I know the city is full of orphans.”

“They’re doing well.”

“I understand their mother was killed in the Triangle Factory fire.” When the sister affirmed this, he braved forward. “And their father?”

“The family emmigrated here from Ireland. According to the children, he died when they were babies. They have no family in this country. Would you like to see the twins?” Sister Catherine folded her hands in front of her, making him wonder if she was praying. An uneasiness swept over him, and he couldn’t shake it off. He had things to do.

“No need to trouble yourself. Actually I wanted to take care of the paperwork for setting myself up as a benefactor of sorts.”

She nodded, as though thinking through his request. “I see. If that is the case, they need to thank you properly.”

Before Zack could object, she disappeared down a dark hallway. Did he really want to see those two again? With his gloved hands behind his back, he glanced about and noted the draft from the door, the threadbare rug, and the lack of light. But he did hear the faint sounds of children in the distance. From what he’d heard, this orphanage was much better than most.

Just when he was about to give up and get busy with the ever-growing list of preparations to be made before he boarded the train for Chicago tomorrow and from there the Northern Pacific to Texas, Sister Catherine appeared with Curly and Charlie. Her hands firmly grasped a shoulder of each twin. From their reddened faces, the two had been scrubbed clean. Their clothes were ragged but patched, and the shoes were the same ones he’d noticed earlier.

“Children, Mr. Kahler has been so kind to visit you.”

The two exchanged wide-eyed glances but said nothing. She tapped their shoulders.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome. I trust you have been behaving yourselves.” When neither responded, he bent to their level. They reminded him of leprechauns. His mother would call them two peas in a pod. She’d also say how cute they were. Cute, but thieves. A curious thought twisted through his mind, then planted itself firmly in his heart. He must have taken leave of his good senses. Standing, Zack smiled at the sister.

“I’d like to complete the paperwork necessary to send money for these two until they are adopted.”

“Adoption, sir, is highly unlikely, unless you were contemplating the idea.”

Zack’s heart suddenly felt like freshly churned butter. Along with the softening came a surge of fear. “I’m not married.”

“A father is better than no parent at all. Our Lord would bless you for this act of charity.”

What could he say? He sensed the twins staring at him—more like boring a hole through his coat, jacket, and shirt. “I’m leaving the city tomorrow. Returning home to Texas.”

“And what will you do there?”

In the past few minutes, the twins had moved closer to him. Their thin bodies touched his, but he refused to look their way. “I recently purchased the town’s newspaper.”

Sister Catherine pulled the twins closer to her side. “Did you hear that, children? This kind man owns a newspaper in Texas. Oh, Mr. Kahler, what a fine home you could provide for these little angels.”

Angels? Obviously, the kind sister had not seen these two in action. “How old are they?”

“Six. They will be seven on June—I’ll have to look at their file.”

Zack regretted ever considering visiting the orphanage. “I know nothing about raising children.”

“Do you have family in Texas? A mother? Sister? Aunt? Any female relatives?”

“I have all of those and an eight-year-old brother.” Why did his heart slam against his chest? No, God. Absolutely not. I have things to do when I get home.

“Splendid. Large town or small?”

“Rather small.”

Sister Catherine stood on her toes and laughed aloud. “You are an answer to prayer, kind sir.” She hugged the children into her black skirt. “My precious Curly and Charlie, you are leaving us for a new home and a father.” Tears filled her eyes and spilled over her cheeks. “God bless you. God bless you, sir. I’ll leave you to get acquainted with the children while I retrieve the necessary papers for you to sign and find Sister Agatha to start the preliminary proceedings.”

What had he gotten himself into? “Do you mean adoption papers?”

“Oh yes. Why, you can’t simply walk out of here with these children. There are certain legal steps that must be followed.”

“And how long will this process take?” Where were his senses?

She touched her forefinger to her chin. “I’m not sure. Please excuse me while I find Sister Agatha. You can wait in our parlor.” Sister Catherine guided Zack and the twins to the small room, which apparently was rarely used.