Once a Thief

Two

The fireplace crackled and popped, the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Blake’s mother’s face was a study in emotions. Consternation, pride, and fear. His father, on the other hand, stared with shocked indignation. Blake waited for the explosion.

“Are you insane? Show business! You’d give up a promising law career to write folderol?” Samuel Nelson took a deep breath, and his face turned scarlet. “You can forget this pipe dream, because I forbid it.” Stalking over to his son, he glared into his face. “Do you hear me, young man? I forbid it.”

Blake stared at his father in frustration. There weren’t too many men tall enough to stare eye to eye with him, but his stately father was one of them. Now, standing so close, he noticed the gray hair at his father’s temples and deep lines cutting across weathered skin. A knot of anxiety clutched at Blake’s stomach. His father was getting old. “Father, if you’ll just listen a minute.”

“Listen to what? Listen to you try to reason away your future?”

“Now, Samuel. Surely it’s not that bad. At least give him a chance.”

Blake’s heart jumped and he looked at his mother in surprise. She usually stood firmly beside her husband in any and all family disagreements.

“Besides, he can always come back to the firm if this doesn’t work out.” She reached over and patted her husband’s arm.

“Thank you for your vote of confidence, Mother.”

“Well, I didn’t mean that you would fail, son. I’m sure you are very talented. I only meant, well, you know, if by some chance. . .”

“It’s all right, Mother. I know what you meant.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and turned back to the glaring scowl. “Father, I’m sorry you’re disappointed. I had hoped you’d be proud I’ve accomplished something on my own. Show business is becoming quite respectable, you know. It’s not vaudeville.”

“And just what’s wrong with vaudeville, I’d like to know?”

Blake turned with a grin. His grandfather, Michael O’Shannon, filled the room with his presence.

“Now, Papa, shouldn’t you be resting? You’ve been up and around all day.” Blake felt one side of his mouth twist up as he watched his mother turn from peacemaking wife and mother to hovering daughter in a split second. She took her father by the arm and attempted to lead him from the room.

“Katie O’Shannon, you’ll be getting your hands off my arm. I’m not a doddering old man yet. It’s in my prime, I am. And I can surely be taking part in this discussion. After all, my grandson comes by his love of the theater naturally. His talent, too, if I may say so. And don’t you be getting high and mighty, my girl, your first bed being a costume trunk.”

“All right, Papa. But since you’re not, as you say, doddering, you might try to remember my name hasn’t been O’Shannon for thirty-five years.” Blake grinned as his mother placed her fists on her hips and frowned at her father. He loved it when she forgot for a moment she was the prim and proper Mrs. Samuel Nelson.

Blake seized the moment and patted his grandfather on the shoulder. “Pop, let’s go for a walk. I need to clear my head a little before I return to my music. Mother, Father, perhaps we can continue this discussion later.” He hurried his grandfather from the room, grabbed a heavy sweater from the coat rack in the hall, and handed it to his grinning pop. They made their escape, laughing as they stepped out onto the broad front porch.

“It’s proud of you, I am, my boy. Couldn’t have gotten out of the situation better myself.”

Blake threw his head back and laughed as they headed off down the sidewalk. “Actually, two situations, Pop. Father was about to let me have it with a vengeance.”

“So? And how is Peg in Dreamland coming along?”

“Pretty good. I have a couple of more numbers to complete. I’m not too crazy about the actress they’ve chosen to play the lead, though. She’s nothing like the girl in my mind and I’m not sure she can carry the part.”

“Well, it’s right proud of you, I am. And don’t forget it.”

“Thanks, Pop. I’m glad someone is.”

Blake and Pop crossed the street at the corner and nearly completed the loop around the block when a blaze of black and white fur hurled itself onto Blake’s chest.

Laughing, Blake steadied himself and put up his arms to ward off the slurping kisses of a huge sheepdog. “Wooly, old boy! How you doing, buddy?”

❧

Danielle’s heart sped up, and fear knifed through her stomach as she watched her accuser from the week before. What was he doing here? She’d hoped she’d seen the last of him.

As he grabbed the Kramers’ English sheepdog in a bear hug, Danielle bit her lip. The two looked like old friends. She watched from behind the oak tree as Georgie and David ran through the gate and joined the frolic. She had learned quickly the seven-year-old twins were always ready for any kind of skirmish.

Blake stepped back and laughed as the dog ran circles around him, and the boys cavorted after the dog in what looked like a war dance.

Despite herself, the corners of Danielle’s mouth lifted in a smile.

Blake looked up and saw her peek around the tree.

Danielle’s heart jumped and heat rushed up, washing over her throat and face. She turned and rushed up the side path and into the kitchen where she leaned against the door, breathing heavily. Why was she behaving so foolishly? There wasn’t a man alive who could rile her like this. Well, this one just did. But only because she was worried he might ruin everything for her. It didn’t have anything to do with his deep blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he laughed.

“My dear, whatever is the matter?” Danielle pushed away from the door as Sally, the Kramers’ cook, put her knife down by the big bowl of apples and hurried over with a worried frown. “I heard Wooly barking. That rascal dog didn’t chase you again, did he?”

Danielle groaned at the memory of her first encounter with the huge animal. She had gone out onto the back porch to get some fresh air when the brute bounded up the steps barking his head off. Instead of taking refuge inside, she was so flustered and frightened she jumped off the back porch and ran lickety-split around the house while the dog barreled after her. When he landed on Danielle’s back and knocked her down, she’d thought she was a goner for sure, until the monster licked her face.

“No, I’m fine. The silly dog is playing with the twins and one of the neighbors. Is there anything I can do to help in here?” Danielle asked.

“Lands, no. All the kitchen chores are done and I’m just now getting apples ready for tonight’s pies.” The older woman turned to look at Danielle. “You run along. You’ve been working hard all morning.”

“If you’re sure. . .” Danielle left the kitchen and headed for the room she considered heaven on earth. Leather-bound books lined three walls of the library. A great stone fireplace occupied almost the entire fourth wall. She went to the section that contained the works of Charles Dickens and let her hands run softly over the smooth spines. Ah, there it was. Oliver Twist. Danielle slid the book from the shelf and walked to an overstuffed chair by the fireplace, sinking down into the luxurious comfort.

After nearly a week, she still wanted to pinch herself every now and then, to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. The day after she’d arrived, she’d jumped out of bed early and tiptoed downstairs, planning to pocket whatever she could and make her escape. But she’d found Mrs. Kramer in the kitchen brewing tea. She insisted Danielle join her. Before their conversation had ended, Danielle found herself employed. The kind woman had talked her husband into allowing her to hire Danielle to help around the house. But the employment had turned out to be as much like an adoption as a job. The Kramers treated her almost like a protégé and allowed her to do no more work than a daughter of the house might have done.

She found the place she’d left off from the night before and was once again mesmerized by the similarity between Oliver’s story and her own. Her stomach clenched as she read about Fagin and the orphan children he exploited. She wondered if he’d read the book and got the idea from it. Probably not, though. The evils that occurred to one man could easily occur to another. She couldn’t help chuckling as she imagined Cobb in the role of the Artful Dodger. That didn’t take too much stretch of the imagination.

Danielle and Jimmy hadn’t actually been abused, and until recently they hadn’t been forced to take part in any of the criminal activities. Sometimes she thought they were more entertainment for Sutton than anything. For the most part, he had been kind to them, although the rest of the gang got slapped around often.

But of late, Danielle had noticed his looking at her in a different way. Something in his eyes had made her uncomfortable, if not actually afraid. Then came that awful day she could hardly bear to think of. Danielle had been looking at a drawing that Jimmy had done, and Sutton had leaned over her shoulder to take a closer look. Suddenly, she felt his hand on her neck as he smoothed her curls back. She’d turned in surprise just as he leaned toward her, his lips moist, fire in his eyes. Before she could turn her head away, his mouth had greedily covered hers. She shuddered, even now, as she remembered his disgusting advances and the strong smell of garlic on his breath. Pulling herself free, she’d cried out and slapped him. . .hard.

Danielle’s stomach tightened as she recalled the look of rage on Sutton’s face. With lips clenched tight, he’d gazed at her through narrowed eyes. Without saying a word, he turned and left the house. The next day, he insisted she take part in the “activities of the day” as he called them.

Danielle put down the book. What was she thinking? Here she sat in luxury, doing nothing, when Jimmy might be in trouble. She had to make her move soon. She wouldn’t take a lot, just enough to satisfy Sutton. But would he really let them go as he’d promised? Suddenly, Danielle wasn’t so sure.

❧

Blake stood on the sidewalk and scowled toward the Kramer house as a flash of auburn curls and blue dress disappeared inside. The fact that the girl had seen it necessary to run had reaffirmed his initial suspicion. He’d been so busy since the incident with the robbers and his accusation of the girl that he hadn’t given her more than a passing thought and had no idea she was still at the Kramers’.

He pushed Wooly away. “You boys take him inside and make sure you latch the gate this time. If he runs away, it’ll be your own fault.”

“Yes, sir,” they chorused. Then, with big grins plastered on their faces, they each grabbed Wooly by a side of the collar and dragged him toward the gate.

Blake and Pop walked on toward the Nelson house.

“Who was that pretty young thing?” Blake’s grandfather peered sideways at him, his lips puckered in speculation.

Blake’s scowl grew deeper. “Pretty young thing? She’s a little thief who’s wormed her way into the Kramer family. I just hope she doesn’t get away with all the silver.”

Pop scratched his head and threw Blake a puzzled look. “Well, if she’s a thief, shouldn’t you be telling them?”

Blake snorted. “Apparently I’m the only one who thinks she’s guilty.”

Pop nodded. “Ah, I see. Then you didn’t really see her do anything.”

“Well, no, but. . .” Blake frowned at his grandfather. “Oh, forget it. I’m not going to let that little crook ruin our day.”

“Hmm, I see.”

“Now, Pop, stop saying that. You don’t see anything at all. Don’t be overworking your imagination.”

“Now don’t get all riled up about it.”

“I’m not. . .oh, forget it.” Blake sped up, and his grandfather’s chuckle trailed after him.

Great. Pop trying to fix him up with that feisty little hoodlum was all he needed.