The Lightkeeper's Daughter (4 page)

“And my father?” She was unable to keep the eagerness from her voice.

“He knows as well. But remember, say nothing. I sent a telegram to a Pinkerton agent in San Francisco, and he is investigating. Once I have proof, we’ll talk to your father.”

Gideon laid his muzzle on her shoe. She rubbed her temple. The stage jerked to a stop. Moments later, the driver opened the door. Mr. Driscoll disembarked first, then extended his hand and helped her alight. She’d just completed the pale-green dress she wore, and the boots were new, a gift from Mr. Driscoll. Her hat, decorated with tulle, was a concoction she’d created to give herself courage, though she found it failing now.

Placing her hand on her dog’s head, she stared up and down the sidewalk and smiled at several passersby. Such an interesting town.

“Shall we walk, or is there a carriage to greet us?” she asked Mr. Driscoll.

“The carriage is there.” He indicated a grand brougham across the street. “But I need to run in to see Henry a moment. Will you be all right by yourself?”

“Of course.” She watched him walk away, then glanced up and down the busy street. Through the open windows of the building to her right, she heard the familiar clatter of sewing machines. Gideon growled and strained at his leash.

“Is something wrong, boy?” She allowed the dog to lead her toward the sounds of sewing. The austere brick building sat on the corner. She peeked inside the open door and saw rows of sewing machines. Women bent over their machines, and their feet pumped the pedals furiously. Addie had never seen machines sew so fast. How did they manage to keep their fingers unharmed?

Gideon led her to a small, sobbing girl. She stood to one side of her machine and held her left hand in her right. Addie saw the child’s finger welling with blood. Gideon nudged the little girl’s leg and whined. The child leaned against the dog.

“Honey, are you hurt?” Addie asked, hurrying to reach her.

A man in suspenders over his short-sleeved shirt approached. He gripped the girl’s shoulders roughly. “You’re being ridiculous, Bridget! Get back to work or I’ll have to dock your wages.” He thrust the child toward the vacant sewing machine.

She couldn’t have been more than eight. She wore a rough dress made from a flour sack. Her dark-blonde hair hung in strings around her face, and she had a smudge on her cheek. Who knew when she’d last been bathed?

“What’s going on here?” Addie asked. “Where is this child’s mother? She needs attention.”

The man narrowed his eyes at her well-made dress and black shoes. “You’re not one of my workers.”

Most of the machines had slowed or stopped, and Addie realized she had the attention of all the workers. “No, I certainly am not. This child is much too young to be working with a sewing machine. She belongs in school.”

The man put his fists on his hips. “Look, lady, this is none of your business. Run along and let me tend to my workers.”

“Where is this child’s mother? I want to speak to her.”

“My mama is sick,” the little girl said. Her tears had stopped, and her eyes were big as her gaze traveled from the foreman to Addie. She had one arm looped around Gideon’s neck.

Addie squatted in front of her. “Where do you live, honey?”

“Across the street on the top floor,” the child said. She leaned forward and whispered, “My mom has consumption.”

Addie winced at the family’s lot in life. She well knew the pain of the illness. “What’s your name?”

“Brigitte.”

“That’s a pretty name. Where is your sister?”

Brigitte pointed. “She’s over there.”

Addie saw another child only slightly older than this one. “How old is she?”

“She’s nine. I’m eight.”

Much too young to be working here, both of them. Addie inched closer and held out her palm. “I’d like to look at your hand.”

The foreman grabbed the girl and drew her away from Addie. “Lady, this is not your business. I’m going to call the owner if you don’t get out of here.”

Addie stood. “Why don’t you do that? Let’s talk to the owner of this place and see what excuse he has to offer for forcing a child to do an adult’s job.”

“Mr. Eaton is across the street,” the foreman said. “I’ll go get him, and he’ll toss you to the street.”

Addie barely restrained her gasp. “Mr. Eaton?”

The foreman’s cocky grin straightened. “You know him?”

She held out her hand again. “I’m taking this child with me. Her sister too. What’s her name, Brigitte?”

“Doria.”

Her skirts swishing, Addie marched between the rows of sewing machines to the little girl. “Come with me, Doria,” Addie said.

The child’s brow wrinkled. “I’ll lose my job, miss. We can’t afford to lose our jobs.”

“I’ll talk to the owner.” She held out her hand. “Come along.”

Doria took her hand, and Addie led her to where the foreman stood with Brigitte. “I’m taking these children home.”

“If you go with her, girls, don’t bother coming back.” He nodded toward the front of the building. “Here comes Mr. Eaton’s brother-in-law now. We’ll let him sort it out.”

Addie turned to see her uncle coming in the door. A man in a navy uniform was with him. Mr. Driscoll wore a thunderous frown that only darkened when his gaze clashed with hers. She straightened her shoulders and set her jaw.

“What is going on here?” Mr. Driscoll asked.

Addie tipped her chin higher. “Are you aware this business employs children who should not be near these machines?”

He blinked. “I have little to do with this place. It’s one of Mr. Eaton’s pet projects.” He frowned at the girls. “These children work here? They surely don’t run a machine, do they?”

“They do. Look at Brigitte’s hand. She injured it under the needle.”

The uniformed man stared at the foreman. “Is this true?”

He shrugged. “Mr. Eaton arranged it. We have about ten kids, some from the orphanage and some from the community.”

“I’ll have a word with him,” the man said. “Did you care for the child’s injury?”

“It’s just a little prick. She’ll be fine.”

“Her fingers are bloody,” Addie said. “It’s still bleeding. With your permission,” she asked her uncle, “I’d like to clean her up.”

Mr. Driscoll nodded. “By all means.”

“Where is the ladies’ room?” she asked.

The foreman jerked a dirty thumb behind him. “In the back.”

“Where are first-aid supplies to be found?” she asked.

“I’ll get them,” he said grudgingly. He stalked off toward a small office that had a window facing the work floor.

She eyed the navy man. Her uncle had mentioned that her new employer was an officer. If this was that man, she might find herself out of a job before she started.

F
OUR

J
OHN STOOD IN
the shop and watched the workers disappear when the quitting whistle blew. “Who is that young woman?” he asked Driscoll. While her beauty had stunned him, her fire and compassion impressed him even more.

“Edward’s new governess.”

Aware his mouth had dropped open, John shut it. “Miss Adeline Sullivan?”

“Indeed. I do wish she hadn’t gotten involved in this. Henry will be livid.”

“Someone should have gotten involved long ago.”

The foreman had vanished into his office after handing Addie the first-aid box and didn’t return. John glanced at the other little girl. Doria stood off to one side with her hands clasped. Her lips quivered and she stared at the floor.

He saw a movement. “Here they come now.” John watched Miss Sullivan and Brigitte weave through the sewing machines and tables of fabric. The child chattered to Addie, who seemed to be paying grave attention to the little girl. He studied her neat attire and the fiery lights in her hair.

“Ready to go?” Driscoll said when she reached them.

“I’d like to explain to their mother what happened,” Addie said, her voice pleading for Driscoll’s understanding. “She lives just across the street.”

The husky, feminine voice had a confident quality that gave John pause. Her auburn hair glowed with vitality. Her eyes caught his, and he nearly gasped. Thick lashes framed eyes as green as a lily pad, and the flecks of gold in their depths lit them from within. Or maybe it was the compassion that shimmered there. Such purity, such empathy.

“Miss Sullivan? I’m Lieutenant John North.”

She put her hand to her mouth. “My employer? I suspected as much. I’m afraid I’m not making the best first impression on you.”

“On the contrary. I’m quite taken with your desire to help these children.” He held the door open for them, then stepped into the slanting light of the sun. “It’s good of you to care.” Katherine had never noticed the poor around her. And why was he comparing Miss Sullivan to his dead wife? “You needn’t trouble yourself,” he told Driscoll. “I’ll handle this.”

Buggies clattered down the cobblestone street, and he waited for an opening before guiding the governess and the children to the other side. The five-story tenement was down a dark alley. Mortar had chipped from between some of the bricks, and one of the chimneys lay on its side on the roof. The faded paint and gouges in the door attested to the building’s age and lack of upkeep.

He held the door open for Miss Sullivan and the children. Though he didn’t say anything, he frowned. Addie shrugged and went past him up the stairs littered with paper and dried mud. The place stank of body odor, tobacco, and stale food. The banister wobbled when he touched it, and he opted to ascend without its assistance.

Brigitte and Doria scampered up the stairs like squirrels. Brigitte kept turning to see where the adults were, then dashing ahead a few more steps.

“How far?” he called.

“One more floor. We’re on the top,” Brigitte said.

He shouldn’t be winded climbing five floors, but the stairwell had no ventilation, and the odors intensified as they rose. The last few steps left him breathless and longing for the cleansing coolness of the redwood forest.

The stench of cooked cabbage hung in the air. Doria’s face grew pinched as she approached the first door on the left. The latch plate was bent, and he wondered if someone had kicked in the door. It wasn’t locked, and the knob turned when the child laid her hand on it.

“Mama?” Doria called. “I have visitors.” She held open the door. Her sister had grabbed Addie’s hand and clung to it as they paused on the threshold.

He took Brigitte’s hand and brushed past Miss Sullivan but left the door open. This place needed all the fresh air it could get. She followed with the dog, who rushed past her to the parlor.

Doria beckoned to him. Her face brightened when he stepped into the tiny parlor. “Mama’s getting up. She was in the bedroom.”

He glanced around the room. Sparse, threadbare furnishings, no decorations, paint that was streaked with soot. He heard a sound and turned to see a gaunt woman hurrying toward him. She wore a dressing gown that might have been white once but was now a blotchy gray. Her hair hung untidily from her bun, and she shoved it out of her face as she came.

The dog padded forward to greet her and licked her hand. She patted his head. “Is Brigitte all right?” she asked in a tremulous voice.

“She had a puncture from the needle,” he said. “Please don’t trouble yourself. Brigitte said you’d been ill. I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m John North.”

“I’m Nann Whittaker. Thank you for bringing my girls home, Lieutenant North.” Her gaze went past him to Miss Sullivan, who had retrieved her dog’s leash.

“I’m Addie Sullivan,” the young woman said. “I tended to Brigitte’s wound. It’s quite minor. The iodine should stave off any infection.”

“You’re too kind,” Mrs. Whittaker murmured.

He put his hand on the child’s head. “They’re much too young to be working on machines.”

Mrs. Whittaker’s smile faded. “If there were any way to put food on the table without them working, I’d take it. My husband was killed in a logging accident last year. We got by okay with my job at the sewing factory, but then I took sick.”

“Consumption, Brigitte said?” Miss Sullivan put in.

The thin woman nodded. “The doctor says I need to get into the country, but that’s not possible. I’ve got three other children, all younger than Brigitte.”

Five children and no husband. The knowledge pained him. “Both girls are polite and hardworking. You should be proud of them.”

“Oh, I am!” The woman pressed her trembling lips together. “I’ll go back to the shop myself just as soon as I’m able, and they can go back to school. They are so smart.”

“I can see that,” John said, noticing Brigitte’s bright, curious eyes.

“Brigitte made top grades in school.” Mrs. Whittaker’s hand made a sweeping motion toward the room. “I want more for my children than . . . this.”

John nodded, unable to speak past the boulder in his throat. What chance did this family have? He wished there was something he could do, but he hesitated to bring her into his own house. She might pass her disease on to Edward.

He saw Miss Sullivan’s eyes swimming with tears. He had to help. He dug into his pocket and pressed all the cash he had into her hand. Fifty dollars. “I’ll see what I can find for the girls that isn’t so dangerous,” he said.

“God bless you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I had no food in the house.”

“Can I pick up something for you?”

She shook her head. “The girls will fetch groceries for me.”

“I must go,” he told Mrs. Whittaker. “Good-bye, girls.” He fled the stink of sickness.

Miss Sullivan and her dog followed him down the stairs. He noticed she was still fighting tears. “There’s no choice but to let the girls work in that shop,” he said, “but I’ll talk to Henry about finding a job that doesn’t involve the sewing machine. Mrs. Whittaker needs a good sanatorium for a few months. She might be able to work once she’s stronger, but she’ll never get well breathing in this air.”

Addie kept her hand on the dog’s head. “God is always sufficient. We must pray for them.”

“I fear God isn’t listening much of the time,” he said.

“God is always listening. Sometimes things don’t turn out the way we want. But even when they don’t, God is always sufficient.”