37
HENRY HADN’T FELT so triumphant since he’d ridden safely away from his final robbery. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how heavy a burden that mistake had become. Year after year had added nothing but weight.
Most of it had lifted when he’d discovered God extended more than enough grace to cover his forgiveness, but the last of that weight had just now disappeared. No more hiding, no more secrets.
He was more eager than ever to speak to Dessa, but as his guests proceeded back into the parlor, he was detained. Person after person wanted to speak with him privately, and when his mother escorted Dessa away, Henry could think of no reason to demand that she stay at his side.
He did, however, take exorbitant reassurance in a smile she sent his way before walking off with his mother on one side and his aunt on the other. It was comforting, this feeling of family.
“How did you take the news, dear?” Mrs. Hawkins asked Dessa as they went into the parlor.
“I’m surprised, of course,” she admitted. “But anyone who’s dealt with Mr. Hawkins knows he can be trusted.”
Both women seemed pleased. “Of course you’re right!” Mrs. Hawkins said.
Dessa glanced back to see that although Henry wasn’t likely to be free anytime soon, Mariadela looked as if she would burst if Dessa didn’t speak to her. So as Mrs. Hawkins and Mrs. Ridgeway began to chat, Dessa found a way to excuse herself.
But she made it no farther than halfway to Mariadela. A sudden tall shadow appeared at her side, followed by a steely grip around her wrist. The grim look on Turk Foster’s face made her guess he was angry that things weren’t going exactly as he’d planned. Yet what real harm had Henry done him? None, as far as Dessa could tell. Henry might not have endorsed him, but he’d offered respectable motives to everything Mr. Foster had done lately.
“I’m sorry, Miss Caldwell.” He held up a note with his other hand. “One of the Hawkins footmen just handed this to me, from my man Thomas. If I’m going to live up to Henry’s words that I’m willing to help Pierson House and everyone in it, we need to leave immediately.”
“We?”
He nodded. “The girls need to be taken somewhere else for safety. They won’t trust anyone but you to take them away.”
“But what’s happened? I thought you were going to pay off Yin Tung!”
“And so I did.” Even as he spoke, he folded her arm through his and led her to the foyer, much to the chagrin of Mariadela, who stood staring at them from the side of the room. Dessa sent her a quick smile, hoping to convey that she knew what she was doing by leaving with Mr. Foster. She had no choice, but there was no sense alarming anyone else.
“I didn’t think I’d need to pay off a mob from our side of the Fourth Ward too,” Mr. Foster added. “But evidently I should have thought of that.”
“What?”
Without even waiting for a footman to retrieve their belongings, Mr. Foster led her from the house. A familiar carriage waited outside—one with the same impressive pair of horses Mr. Foster rarely went anywhere without.
“Thomas tells me a group of drunken whites went into one of the opium dens to make clear what they thought about the slave auction. That sort of thing isn’t likely to be welcomed around here, not even a Chinese slave for a Chinese master. Not with the memory of so many men who died fighting to free slaves in this country.” He eyed her, then raised his palms as if he wasn’t even sure of his own words. “Or maybe they were just looking for a reason to fight. That’s all I know. The fight that broke out hasn’t stopped yet, and the last Thomas heard, they were headed to Pierson House. Even Yin Tung won’t be able to stop this if it spreads.”
The news landed like a heavy weight on Dessa’s chest. But when she saw an eerie light dancing above in the direction of the Fourth Ward, she looked out the window with stark terror.
“Hurry, then, Mr. Foster!” She could barely speak the words over her shoulder. “Hurry!”
A fire burned in the ward; she was sure of that even before she could smell the smoke as the carriage raced down the street.
Not many blocks later, Dessa heard the whinny of the horses, Thomas’s shouts, and the crack of a whip. She peered out the window and saw that the street ahead was filled with other carriages—all heading out of the ward. Mr. Foster’s horses could barely go forward.
It was not possible to proceed with any speed. Without even looking at Mr. Foster, Dessa pushed open the door and leaped to the sidewalk. Pierson House was only a block away. She had no choice but to do all she could to keep the sisters safe—no matter what resulted from her hasty decision to take them in.
She heard footsteps behind her but did not stop to look. A moment later Mr. Foster outran her.
“We’ll get the girls and take them back to the carriage—Thomas will turn the carriage and wait right here to take all of you away.”
Not stopping, Dessa nodded.
She rounded the corner. Amid the cloud of smoke she heard shouts from both men and women. Her heart pounding now, from both running and her fear, Dessa stopped short at the sight.
There, lined up before a perfectly intact Pierson House, was a string of women arm in arm, shouting down a group of men fighting fist to fist. Chinese, white, black—it didn’t seem to matter. Whether they were defending or assaulting, Dessa could not tell.
Frantically she searched the line for a familiar face. If Liling and Mei Mei were there, they were in grave danger.
But the only face she recognized was Remee’s, right in the center and joined at each side by the girls from down the street. Though Miss Leola was not there, most if not all her girls were.
“Go around the back,” Mr. Foster told her, pointing to the darkened gangway between Pierson House and the place next door. “Don’t let anyone see you, or you could be in trouble. I’ll meet you back at the carriage if I can, but don’t wait for me. Get them out of here.”
She was only too happy to follow that order. Picking up her skirts again, Dessa broke into another run. Just as she slipped into the shadows, a shot rang in the air, first startling Dessa then ringing in her ear.
She glanced over her shoulder. It had come from a gun in Mr. Foster’s hand! Had he been carrying it all evening?
“Enough!” he bellowed.
Dessa resumed her escape and could see no more. She rushed around the back of Pierson House, stumbling up the stairs to the rear door. It was dark and quiet in comparison to what went on in front.
“Jane!” She was afraid to peal out a sound, even as she swung through the kitchen door to the unlit dining room and parlor. The voices outside were louder here, closer than ever on the street right out front. To her horror she saw the flicker of light—a torch. Were they going to burn Pierson House?
She stumbled again, this time on the stairs behind the parlor. She went straight to the sisters’ small room, hoping they wouldn’t scream and alert those outside—if anyone out there could even hear over the din of the fighting.
But though Dessa burst into the room, no one was there. It was empty.
She dashed from room to room, finding each one vacant. The girls were gone.
Had they been brave—foolish—enough to stand outside with Remee? Had Dessa missed them when she searched the line of women?
She rushed back to the room Jane used, with a window to the front yard. Peering out from the corner of a windowpane, she looked again at the extraordinary women who could have only one goal: to protect Pierson House. If Dessa hadn’t seen it herself, she wouldn’t have believed it. She wanted to join them but knew her face, of all others, might incite more rage than ever.
Neither Jane nor Liling nor Mei Mei were among them, so she had only one thing on her mind now.
To find them.
Henry entered his parlor at last, his gaze roaming for Dessa. He’d been caught up in answering one question after another: Yes, he was sure he wanted to resign. No, he did not think for a moment the bank would fail without him at its helm. Did he have any real hope that a man like Turk Foster would be a legitimate candidate? Perhaps. He needed to see for himself, along with the rest of Denver.
But Foster, he was intrigued to learn, was nowhere to be found. And where was Dessa?
“She’s gone, Henry,” Tobias whispered. “One of the footmen told me he delivered a message to Foster, and the man all but manhandled her on the way out.”
Henry’s pulse picked up, and he walked through the parlor past yet more of his guests who looked as if they wanted to engage in further conversation. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know myself until a few minutes ago. Mariadela White came to me, concerned about it, so I went to speak to the staff.”
“How long ago did they leave?”
“Fifteen minutes, at least.”
So long! Henry ordered his carriage to the front of the house, where he paced until it arrived.
Tobias climbed in opposite Henry. “I suppose Foster wasn’t able to stop the trouble in Hop Alley,” he said, looking every bit as grave as Henry felt.
Henry did not speak. As much as he hoped the Fourth Ward could avoid any trouble, he also hoped that was the only reason she’d left with Foster.
The carriage house door was stuck tighter than ever. How was that possible? Having Mr. Dunne using it with regularity had loosened it long ago. Dessa called his name, but didn’t dare say it very loudly for fear of attracting the attention of those on the other side of the house.
Nothing.
She moved to look along the side of the outbuilding, through the opening between Pierson House and the shop next door. The carriage house was certainly safer than the house itself—or was it? The wooden slats she’d repaired all those weeks ago would easily burn, if the mob had burning in mind.
Yet where else could the girls be hiding? Even now, standing in front of the carriage house, Dessa was afraid to be seen. If they weren’t inside, Dessa herself might find refuge here, at least until Mr. Foster broke up the mob. If he could.
She gave up tugging on the latch and walked around to the back. She herself had pounded those nails to straighten the slats, but the wood in several places had been decaying. Even if she couldn’t loosen the nails, she could likely crash through one of the boards.
But the wood was more solid than it appeared. All she did was bruise her elbow and catch the lace sleeve of her borrowed gown, tearing it.
To her own shame, she wanted to sit down and cry. Perhaps she wouldn’t be seen if she stayed right where she was, behind the carriage house. Perhaps the police would arrive and quell the violence. But what was afire? She could still smell the smoke, but she couldn’t see flames anywhere.
Why, oh why, had she allowed Mr. Foster to whisk her away without telling Henry? If he were here, she wouldn’t be so afraid.
The scent of smoke on the breeze wrapped itself around Henry’s leaden heart, tugging it further into the pit of his stomach. What if Pierson House was burning? What if Dessa was in the midst of all the trouble?
“Let me off here,” Henry shouted, pounding on the roof of the carriage with his fist. He’d left behind his walking stick. Traffic was so thick his carriage crawled far more slowly than the pace of his heart. With a hand on the door latch, he spoke to Tobias. “Tell Fallo to take you to the nearest precinct. If the police aren’t already on their way, demand that they come—and bring help.”
“Right,” Tobias said, but just as Henry was about to jump free of the slowing carriage, he grabbed Henry’s wrist. “Careful as you go, Henry.”
He nodded, but only once. Then he ran toward the ruckus.
“That you? Miss Caldwell, that you?”
Dessa wiped away her tears at the sound of Nadette’s voice from the other side of the wooden slat. “Yes! Are you in there? Are you with the girls?”
“Come around to the door, Miss Caldwell.” Though her voice was not loud, it mirrored Dessa’s urgency.
“I tried. It’s stuck solid.”
“That’s ’cause we got it barred on the inside. Mr. Dunne fixed it up fine. You come round and I’ll let you in.”
Dessa trampled grass and weeds around the carriage house to get back to the front door in time for Nadette to open it barely wide enough to let her slip inside.
“Oh, Nadette!” Dessa hugged her close after the girl had barred the door again. “Where are Liling and Mei Mei?”
Nadette pulled herself away, waving for Dessa to follow. Dessa looked around. The carriage house was empty, looking as it always did—dilapidated and deserted. The only difference was that the blanket at the foot of the cot was missing.
In the center of the square structure, Nadette stopped. She reached down to the dirt-ridden floor and pulled on something. To Dessa’s surprise a hatch appeared, opening to a cellar below.
“Watch that first rung on the ladder, miss,” Nadette warned. “It’s broke.”
Dessa peered below, where the meager light of a single candle illuminated not much more than its immediate surroundings. Then a rounded shadow appeared at the foot of the ladder.
Mr. Dunne held out an arm, as if to assist her in her descent.
“Hurry on down, Miss Caldwell!” Nadette whispered. “Who knows what them men out there are gonna do next. At least some of them still want Liling and Mei Mei.”
Dessa grabbed Nadette’s arms, hope bursting through her gloom. “They’ll never find them here!”
She made her way through the narrow opening, down a ladder that felt anything but secure.
At the bottom Mr. Dunne was fairly shoved aside as Jane rushed for Dessa with a cry and hug. Over the girl’s shoulder Dessa saw Liling and Mei Mei clinging to one another in the far outreach of the candle’s dim glow.
None of Henry’s shouts were heeded. Men grappled with each other as if in a bizarre dance, choreographed for a blood-lusting audience. Henry kept to the edge, not eager to get involved on either side—unless he found Dessa and she needed his protection.
But she was nowhere to be seen, not even among the line of women with linked arms who stood in front of Pierson House. The only face he recognized was Remee’s. Much as he wanted to know where Dessa was, he was glad neither she nor Jane was out here with all these anger-crazed men.
The brawlers were precariously close to the women, so making his way through without receiving—or swinging—a punch was nearly impossible. Even those women in the line were involved in their own way, kicking away wrestling pairs with the heels of their shoes if any came too close. Over the fighters went, too caught up with the men they fought to pay heed to the women toppling them.
“Remee!”
It took three calls and a half-dozen more steps through the throng before Henry caught her attention. She said something, but he couldn’t make out what.
“Where’s Dessa?”
She shook her head, but whether she didn’t know or hadn’t heard, Henry couldn’t tell. He squeezed closer.
“Dessa! I can’t find her. Where is she?”
“Not here!”
“What about Foster? Turk Foster?”
Without loosening her hold on either girl at her side, Remee pointed with her chin toward the mass of men. Henry turned in time to receive a blow to his nose that sent him reeling backward. He fell against Remee and the woman next to her, who pushed him back without breaking their line. They were like the rope around a boxing ring, and he was in the melee whether he wanted to be or not.
Henry rammed through, ducking another punch, thrusting away a man with a precarious foothold as the fighter leaned back to swing in the other direction. The street was still wet from an afternoon rain; men in every direction were covered in a mix of dirt, mud, sweat, and blood.
From what Henry could see, Foster was also trying to stop the fight. Henry made his way closer while doing the same thing: grabbing lapels, shouting for the brawlers to quit, thrusting some outside the circle of rage. Henry thought he heard Foster warning about the police or the fire coming closer. Smoke continued to mingle with the nearly overwhelming scents around them, but Henry could see it was fruitless to try stopping the fight without a brigade of whistling cops behind them.
“It’s no use!” Henry shouted in Foster’s direction, but the man didn’t see him. He yelled again, with no better result. Stumbling over a fallen man, Henry nearly collided with Foster—who grabbed him by the lapels and might have thrown him aside if he hadn’t seen Henry’s face.
“You! What are you doing here?”
Henry gasped for air. “Dessa! Where is she?”
Foster cocked his head toward Pierson House. “In there!”
“Let’s get out of here, Foster,” he shouted. “There’s nothing to be done about the mob.”
Another man blasted into them both, propelled by a punch. Henry heaved him off, forcing his way through the enraged cluster of men. Why hadn’t he thought to check inside first? Surely the impenetrable line the women made out front would have broken for him.
When they were barely to the edge of the crowd, a flashing light gliding through the air caught Henry’s attention. He stopped, arrested in horrified fascination. The arc of a torch twirled past the line of women, sweeping harmlessly over their heads—only to crash straight through the Pierson House parlor window.
The curtains—ones he was sure Dessa had sewn—went up in a quick burst of flames.
“Dessa!”
Incensed with rage and terror, Henry shoved through the tangle of men, landing a fist on anyone standing in his way. “She’s in there!”
Those were the first words—or perhaps it was the stark dread on his face—that anyone paid heed to. Or perhaps it was the age-old fascination with fire. One by one, the fights around him stopped as men turned to watch the flames lick the inside walls of Pierson House.
The immovable line of women set on protecting it parted when Henry finished his scramble forward—but even as quick as he was to get there, he knew the front door was already impassable. He shot back down the porch, darting around the side and up the steps to the back door. Once inside the kitchen, he could already see flames outlined around the swinging door.
“Dessa! Dessa!”
Snatching a towel from the sink, he covered his face and plunged through the door.
Dessa sat on an upturned bushel basket with one arm around Jane, the other around both sisters, who pressed into her and each other. She’d seen the fright on their faces and knew only one way to attack such overwhelming emotion.
Even as the hymns she sang rose as prayers, Dessa’s heart sped through a labyrinth of her own emotion. Besides the fear, the guilt, the regret, new resolve took hold with a grip so tight she knew this night—the result of her actions—was something she would never, ever forget. Every decision she’d made in haste had led to one disaster or another.
True, she couldn’t imagine refusing to shelter the innocent girls she looked over now. But why had she taken this on all by herself? Because she hadn’t thought it through or shared her concerns with others. Perhaps the authorities wouldn’t have done anything. But the church? Surely Reverend Sempkins would have offered help, if she hadn’t so hastily agreed to carry this burden on her own. And Henry—he’d been willing to help. If only she’d gone to him sooner.
Never again would she act without thinking first.
She was just leading a third soft hymn as, at last, she took a moment to look around at their surroundings.
It was—or was meant to be—a cold cellar. Even now, it was somewhat chillier down here than above. Shelves lined the dirt walls, which were haphazardly covered with wood and painted with tar in hopes of keeping at bay whatever critters might wish to take up residence among the fruits, vegetables, and preserves that had likely been stored here.
Now most of the shelves were empty—but for several jugs of what she guessed must be whiskey.
Her gaze fell upon Mr. Dunne, who gave her an abashed smile. Then he raised the volume of his voice to join in the chorus of “I’m Redeemed.”
“I’m redeemed, praise the Lord!
I’m redeemed by the blood of the Lamb;
I am saved from all sin,
And I’m walking in the light.
I’m redeemed by the blood of the Lamb.”
“I’m gonna go up and take another peek outside,” Nadette said when they finished the song.
Dessa reached out a hand to caution her. “Are you sure you ought to, Nadette? That mob out there is dangerous!”
“I won’t go farther than to crack open the door up there. Just for a peek.”
Dessa was about to warn her again to wait, but Mr. Dunne spoke first.
“No, little miss, you leave it to me.” He stood, though the ceiling barely accommodated him; then he burped. Though he’d sat mainly still on the old bench opposite them, Dessa wondered if he’d been drinking again.
“Are you sure you’re up to it, Mr. Dunne?” she asked.
“That I am.” He made for the ladder, but Nadette stepped in between, arms folded obstinately over her narrow chest.
“Yer breath alone will torch the place if we let ya go up!”
“Stand aside, little miss,” said Mr. Dunne, attempting to circumvent the very small obstacle she’d made of herself with a light brush to her shoulder. “’Tis neither the time nor the place to discuss me grooming habits.”
But when the man teetered as he grabbed for the ladder, Dessa stood too.
“Perhaps you should let Nadette take that peek, Mr. Dunne. Your job is to protect the girls. If you go up and are spotted, you may fail in that duty.”
“Now, now, miss, I’ll be careful, that I will.”
He reached again for the ladder, but it seemed to be a moving target. His hand missed the rail and he nearly fell into it.
Nadette scooted in front of him, squeezing onto the rungs. “Not as careful as I’ll be. Stay put.”
He accepted the decision more easily than Dessa expected, reclaiming his seat.
The door at the top must have opened easily for Nadette, sending in a new wave of air—one mingled with more smoke.
Dessa moved to the base of the ladder as Nadette’s cry confirmed her worst fear.
“A fire! I can see it between the boards of the carriage house.”
Dessa tried to climb the ladder, but Mr. Dunne reached for her, his ruddy face alarmed. “Stay here, miss. There’s naught you can do up there, but plenty to be done down here. I may need yer help in protectin’ them.” He nodded toward the sisters, who were still inseparable and full of stark terror.
Nadette bent down, catching Dessa’s attention. “I’ll go and see if there’s anythin’ we can do. I’ll be right back.”
Dessa loosened her hand from its grip on the ladder’s edge. “All right,” she called after Nadette. “But if there’s any hope—any at all—then call us to come up and grab a bucket.”
But Nadette was already gone, the trapdoor slamming in her wake.