The Girl in the Torch (16 page)

T
HE AIR IN THE ROOM WAS SO
clouded with cigar smoke that she could barely see more than a few feet in front of her. Dozens of men crowded around the bar, holding mugs of beer or gathered around the piano that was against the back wall. There were just a few women in the room, and most of them wore low-cut dresses and had their hair hanging loose.

Sarah pressed herself into a shadowy corner, hoping to wait out the storm and not be noticed. A half-empty mug of beer sat on a counter nearby. Her throat constricted from thirst. The mug appeared to be abandoned, and she watched it closely to make sure no one would claim it.

Finally, she moved forward to grab the mug, but a man in a brown tattered coat and hat stepped into her path.

“Hey, girlie, can I buy you a drink?”

“No thank you,” she said, shrinking back, hoping to become invisible again. But the man followed her back to her corner.

“Aw, come on,” he said. “I won't bite.”

Another man approached.

“Jimmy ain't got the teeth to do much damage anyway,” he said.

The first man smiled and revealed a red, toothless upper gum.

Sarah recoiled. The men laughed.

“I just came in to find my father,” she said.

“Your pa's here?”

“My mother told me to come fetch him for dinner. He's a police officer. Have you seen him?”

“A copper, you say?”

The men instinctively took a step back.

“Yes. A big man, with red hair.”

“I haven't seen him. Have you seen him, Jimmy?”

“Naw, I haven't seen him neither.”

“I'm going to look for him.”

Sarah slipped between the two men and wound her way through the crowd to the other side of the bar, where she hid in the opposite corner.

Her mouth felt dry and her stomach ached with hunger. She spied a large jar of hard-boiled eggs, sitting on the wooden counter behind the bar. Dozens of white eggs floated in a clear yellowish liquid. Periodically the bartender would reach in and hand one out along with the drinks he served. Sarah's stomach groaned at the sight of the food.

The bartender placed one egg in front of a man sipping a large frothy mug of beer. The man left the egg untouched on the bar as
he turned to talk to another man.

Sarah's eyes fixed on the egg, like an animal stalking its prey, waiting for an opportunity to pounce. She had scavenged piles of food on the Lady's island, but all of it had been thrown away or abandoned. If she took the egg, she knew, she would be crossing a different line, that she would be stealing food that was not hers. But she had to eat something.

Would anyone really care about a single egg?

It was not even clear to Sarah if the eggs cost any money. Maybe no one would notice or mind if she took it.

After a minute of observing the man and the egg, Sarah decided to make her move. She inched toward the bar, trying to simultaneously keep an eye on the bartender and the man drinking the beer. Saliva formed beneath her tongue in anticipation. She squeezed between a group of men crowded near the bar and slowly extended her arm.

A man accidentally jostled her and she pulled back for a moment. But then she carefully reached out her hand and grabbed the egg.

“What's this then?” the man with the frothy mug of beer said, as he caught sight of Sarah.

The bartender turned to look at her.

“The kid grabbed your egg, Charlie,” another man said.

“What are you doing there, girl?” the man with the beer said.

Sarah's eyes widened in fear, but she did not let go of the egg.

“Get out of here, you little thief!” the bartender shouted as he made a move toward her.

Sarah quickly turned, snaked her way between men, and bolted back out into the rainy night.

No one seemed to be following her, but she ran on anyway. She shoved the egg into her mouth and was shocked by the briny, pickled flavor, completely unlike any egg she had ever eaten. She almost choked as she attempted to run, chew, and swallow at the same time. The yolk of the strange-tasting egg stuck in her throat, and one single, awful word the bartender had said echoed in her mind.

Thief.

A powerful sense of shame washed over her as she realized what she had become. From her earliest childhood, she had been taught that stealing was wrong, that it was one of the most important of the Ten Commandments delivered by God to Moses on Mount Sinai. She had never felt that she was doing anything wrong on the Lady's island, but now she was clearly guilty of something.

Those thoughts weighed on her almost as heavily as the question of where she would spend the night.

T
HE RAIN STARTED TO
fall harder in thick sheets. She kept moving uptown, but within minutes she was completely drenched.

Reading street signs as she went, she walked by several drunks lying on the sidewalk, pulling long draws from their bottles, oblivious to the storm. Spring Street, Prince Street, Houston. The names had no meaning, but she read them anyway. Until she reached Bleecker Street and the name triggered something.

Bleecker Street.

That was where Tommy said he lived with Mr. Duffy! A spark of hope flickered inside her. Maybe if she could find them, they would let her stay for the night.

Tommy had said he lived on the corner of Bleecker and another street, but she couldn't remember which one, so she turned onto Bleecker. Maybe she would remember if she read it.
Mulberry Street—no. Broadway—no. Mercer Street. Is it that
one? No.
She kept moving, the wet chill settling into her bones.
Greene Street—no.

When she came to Wooster Street, she paused.

The corner of Bleecker and Wooster. That was it!

Her joy at figuring out the right corner quickly evaporated as she looked around at the rows of buildings that lined the streets. Which one could it be? She couldn't go knocking on every door. She went up the stairs of the first building she came to and realized that there was a list of names beneath the mailboxes of the people who lived there. Schmidt, Cousins, Morrelli, Anderson. She moved on to the next building. O'Brien. Jamieson. Williams. Leary. Parkman. Again, no Duffy or Grogan. She couldn't find either name on the third building she tried or the fourth or the fifth.

After the sixth building, Sarah gave up hope. She stood at the corner of Bleecker and Wooster and looked around in frustration. She had checked every building anywhere near the corner.

And then she heard a small cough coming from between two nearby buildings. A gaslit lamp beside the door of one of the buildings sent flickering shafts of light into the alley.

Sarah heard the cough yet again and moved toward the sound to investigate. She peered into the dark alley, but in the shadows all she saw were a few trash cans and a large wooden crate. She waited and listened. Nothing. She was about to turn away when she heard the cough again, coming from inside the crate.

Sarah slowly moved to the box and peered into the opening.
Inside, she could just make out a shadowy form lying under a pile of unsold newspapers.

“Tommy?”

The body stirred.

“Red? Is that you?”

S
ARAH KNELT BESIDE THE
crate and peered inside. Tommy was lying on top of a pile of old newspapers with a layer of other papers covering him like a blanket. He used his wool cap as a pillow. In the dim light from the street, she could see him rubbing his eyes as he struggled to sit up.

“What are you doing out here?” he said.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“Come in out of the rain,” he said, shuffling aside to make room for her.

Sarah ducked and squeezed herself into the small space beside him.

“Where's your uncle?” he said.

“My uncle?”

“Yeah. Didn't you say you were staying with your uncle?”

“He wasn't really my uncle,” she said. “And I think he got arrested.”

“Arrested for what?”

“I don't know,” Sarah said. “But I can't go back to where I was staying. Or I'll be arrested too.”

And then she told him everything. When she finally finished, he shook his head. “I'm really sorry you're in such a tough spot.”

“Why are you sleeping out here? What happened to Mr. Duffy?”

“Oh, he's here,” he said.

“He is?”

“Come out here, Mr. Duffy.”

Sarah heard a small growl from beside Tommy.

“It's okay, boy,” Tommy said.

Sarah edged back in surprise as the face of a small mutt popped up from the newspapers beside Tommy and growled at her. He had ragged black hair, with some white around his muzzle, eyes, and on his feet that made him look like he was wearing socks.

“Just let him smell your hand,” Tommy said to Sarah.

Sarah extended her hand to the dog, and he gave it a suspicious sniff and then gently licked the backs of her knuckles. Maryk's horseback riding lesson echoed in her head, and she wished that she had a scrap of food to really win him over.

“That's a good boy,” Tommy said.

Sarah petted the dog's head. “Why didn't you tell me the truth?”

“I don't like nobody worrying about me,” he said. “And Mr. Duffy and I take care of each other. Isn't that right, boy?”

The little dog nuzzled next to Tommy.

“How long have you been sleeping here?” she asked.

“I don't know,” he said. “A year. Maybe more. Since my dad died.”

“Didn't you say there were rooming houses for boys?”

“I tried staying in one of those places. But my first night a couple of older boys roughed me up and took all my money. I'm better off out here with Mr. Duffy.”

“Maybe if we work together, we could afford to stay in a better place,” said Sarah. “Somewhere safe.”

“I'd like that,” he said.

The idea of the partnership sparked new hope in Sarah. Maybe it really would help both of them.

“Let's get a good night's sleep and start fresh in the morning as a team,” she said.

She took some papers from the pile and laid under them beside him.

Thunder cracked overhead and the rain fell harder, trickling through the cracks of the crate. Mr. Duffy ducked under the newspapers at the sound of the storm.

“Mr. Duffy hates the thunder,” Tommy said. “So do I.”

“Do you think he'd like to meet my friend Ivan?”

“Ivan?”

She reached into her coat pocket, pulled out her toy bear, and placed him beside Mr. Duffy.

“This is Ivan. He used to work at a Russian circus before I owned him. He comes from a long line of dancing bears.”

“Do dogs and bears get along?” Tommy asked.

“Sure they do,” Sarah said. “And Ivan can do all sorts of tricks. Look.”

Sarah perched Ivan up on his hind legs and then made him dance in a circle like her father used to do. Mr. Duffy cocked his head and watched with a curious growl. Tommy managed a small smile until there was another loud crack of thunder. Mr. Duffy retreated back under the papers.

“It's hard to sleep with all the noise from the storm,” Tommy said.

“When there was thunder back home, my mother always told me to just sing a song in my head to block it out,” she said, feeling an ache of sadness.

“I don't know any songs.”

“None?”

“Well. No one ever taught me any well enough to remember.”

Sarah recalled a lullaby her mother used to sing her when she was a little girl. And the song just came out naturally as if it were her mother's voice singing from inside her body. For the first time, Sarah realized how much her voice was starting to sound like her mother's.

       
Sleep next to the sun,

       
Safely tucked away.

       
Keep each other warm

       
Until the break of day.

       
The moon and stars above

       
Are hiding skies of blue,

       
So never ever doubt

       
Your mama's love for you.

       
No never ever doubt

       
Your mama's love for you.

Sarah's heart ached to think of her mother, to sing her words and her melody. But remembering also gave her strength. She finished the song and waited for Tommy's reaction. After a moment, she realized that he had fallen asleep. She placed Ivan beside her, spread a few more pages of newspaper over herself, tucked her head under her arm, and closed her eyes.

C
RASH
!

Sarah was startled awake by the screeching noise of metal against stone.

Another crash, and Sarah threw off the newspapers and stepped out of the box. She immediately saw a couple of garbagemen lifting and emptying the trash cans from the alley into a large cart being pulled by a donkey. One of the men saw her and laughed.

“Sorry we woke you, princess,” he said as he tossed a trash can back into the alley.

The other man whipped the donkey on the rear with a small riding crop, and the cart moved on. Sarah stepped out of the alley and onto the street. A bright sun shone in a clear blue sky. She stretched her arms over her head and worked the kinks out of her neck.

Her stomach groaned with hunger. It had been a full day since her last meal. She went back over to the crate and knocked on the top.

“Time to wake up,” she said.

Mr. Duffy stuck his head out of the opening, stared up at Sarah, and growled.

“You're quite a watchdog, I see,” she said. “Come on, Tommy. Let's go make some money to buy ourselves breakfast.”

Tommy crawled out of the crate and yawned.

“You've got a deal.”

As she watched him, Sarah got an idea.

“May I borrow your hat?”

“Sure. Why?”

He handed her his floppy wool cap, and she placed it on her head, carefully tucking most of her thick red hair beneath it.

“It would probably be better if I didn't stand out so much.”

Once her hair was neatly arranged beneath the hat, Sarah and Tommy headed out of the alley and Mr. Duffy moved to follow them.

“No, boy,” he said to the dog. “You stay. Someone's gotta guard the crate.”

The dog whimpered but returned inside.

They walked east a few blocks until they turned down a wide alley at the back of an industrial building. Several large wagons were parked beside the loading dock stacked with freshly printed newspapers. Two men sat behind a desk with a ledger, doling out newspapers. Dozens of newsies crowded around and waited in a long line to pick up their loads. A few of the other newsies greeted Tommy as they joined the line.

“Who's your girlfriend?”

“She's a tall one.”

“Maybe she's his mother!”

“Aw, shut up,” Tommy said. “She's my cousin. And she's just working with me.”

“Don't you know there ain't no such thing as a girl newsie?” an older boy said with disdain. A few others around him nodded their heads in agreement.

“Well there is now,” Tommy snapped. “And if anyone says another word about her, they're gonna answer to me.”

“Oh, we're real scared, Tommy,” one of them said.

“Don't mind them,” Tommy said to Sarah. “They're just jealous.”

They finally made their way to the front.

“Give me thirty-five,” he said.

“Thirty-five?” the dispatcher said. “You usually only take twenty.”

“Got some help today,” he said.

Tommy handed the man some coins, and the man counted out a stack of papers and handed them over.

Sarah glanced down at the paper and gasped when she saw the front page.

The headline read:

CHINATOWN HUMAN SLAVE RING BUSTED!

Staring up at Sarah were large photographs of Maryk and Mrs. Lee.