Firestorm! Page 2

  He ran down the long driveway that led to the street. Across the road a field of dry grass looked golden as itrippled in the morning breeze. He paused to catch his breath, then turned toward the two-mile walk to downtown State Street, where his father’s jewelry store was located.

  Father said if I helped at the shop and showed I was dependable, we’d pick up my goat tomorrow. And today of all days I had to go and get up late. Justin hurried along.

  It was hot and dry, and Justin could taste the dirt that was stirred up as he ran toward town. When he approached the stable where their horse, Ginger, was boarded, he paused to catch his breath again. Should he take the horse? No, in the time it would take to get her ready, he could make it to the shop.

  It was Saturday morning and the city of Chicago was just waking up. Horses pulling carts of vegetables from the prairie farms crowded the dirt streets to the farmers’ market, stirring up dust clouds along the way. There had been no rain for months, it seemed, and dust was everywhere.

  Justin never wanted anything as much as he wanted that cute little kid. Why, he’d been at the farm when she was born, and every time he went to his grandfather’s, that baby goat followed him all over the place, bleating softly, her little tail wagging like the second hand on a watch.

  Ticktock. That’s what I’ll name her.

  He reached the family’s jewelry store just as the clocks inside began to chime nine o’clock. The big broom, dustpan, and trash barrel were already outside the door, and Justin knew what his father wanted him to do without asking. He set to work first by brushing away dust from the wooden sign on the front of their store, just as his father came out. The winds had blown so much dirt from the dry earthen road that the painted gold words, BUTTERWORTH’S JEWELS AND TIMEPIECES, could hardly be seen.

  Justin’s father pointed to a cluster of dirt that had gathered under the roof of the entrance. “Don’t forget to sweep near the door, son. The wind has piled the dirt up like drifting snow.” Father locked the door. “In case anyone comes, I’ll be back by the time you finish—about fifteen minutes.” He walked up the street toward his favorite café, where he met Mr. Palmer every morning for coffee.

  Justin moved into the entry and began to sweep when SMASH! A girl racing down the wooden sidewalk suddenly turned into the entrance and collided with Justin. “Look what you did,” he complained, giving her a shove. “You knocked over my dustpan, and now everything is dirty again!”

  “Sorry.” She glanced at the display of jewelry in the window. Justin looked at her tattered skirt and grimy blouse and knew she couldn’t possibly shop at such an expensive store. He told her so.

  “Is that how you treat your customers?” The girl stood haughtily. “I’m looking for a gift for … my mother.”

  Indeed! This girl was definitely not a customer! “We don’t have anything you can afford,” Justin said, picking up his dustpan.

  “How do you know that?” The ragamuffin had her hands on her hips and her head cocked defiantly. “How do you know how much money I have?” She turned away to leave, but after peering down the street again, she moved back into the shelter of the entry. “How much is that necklace?” she asked, pointing to a pink cameo on a gold chain on display in the store window.

  “Too much.” Justin tried to sweep around her feet. “Move away.”

  “I asked you, how much?”

  Justin sighed, looked closely at the small tag attached to the necklace. “The price tag says one hundred and fifty dollars.”

  “It ain’t that pretty,” she snapped.

  “The cameo is hand carved.”

  “It ain’t got jewels on it. You ain’t got jewels in this whole window,” she scoffed, gesturing at the showcase. “This is just gold and silver. I don’t believe there’s a jewel in the store.”

  “Don’t be stupid. We don’t put jewels out here. We keep our jewels in the safe in the back room.”

  “So this is your family’s store?”

  “Yes. My name’s Justin Butterworth—like on the sign.”

  The girl’s brown eyes grew large. “So, you’re tellin’ me there’s real sparkly kind of jewels in there? I ain’t never seen a real honest-to-goodness ruby … or diamond. Where’d you get them?”

  “From around the world—emeralds from Colombia, diamonds from Africa …”

  “How come we don’t have jewels here in Chicago?”

  “’Cause precious stones don’t grow here.”

  “What do you mean ‘grow’? Stones don’t grow. I’m not stupid, Justin.”

  “They do so grow. They grow in the ground.”

  “Well, who plants them in the first place?”

  “Nobody plants them! They just grow on their own. It takes millions of years.” He thought of his geode collection. “I have rocks with gems growing out of them, right in the back room here.”

  “Show me.”

  “Well, I don’t have the key or I’d prove it.”

  “I guess your father doesn’t trust you very much, if he won’t even let you have a key.” She went to the sidewalk and looked up the street again. Then she returned to Justin. “So does your pa pay you for sweepin’?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  The girl ignored him. “I’ll bet you’re only about … twelve.”

  “I’m thirteen. Who are you, anyway?”

  “Poppy,” she answered. “I’m twelve.”

  “Poppy … what? Don’t you have a last name?”

  “No. I never knew my folks. Just call me Poppy. That’s what everyone else calls me.”

  Justin stopped sweeping. “Well, if you haven’t got folks, why are you lookin’ for a gift for your mother?”

  Poppy sniffed and stuck up her nose. “I live with my … aunt. She’s like a mother. But I don’t need anyone to take care of me.” She looked at Justin more closely. “It looks like you have to work, however—even though your father owns the store and all.”

  “Father promised me that if I helped him on a regular basis and showed I’m dependable, I’d be able to have a pet.” Why am I even talking to this guttersnipe, anyway? He started sweeping again, blowing the dust up in angry swirls.

  “What kind of pet?”

  “A goat,” Justin answered without stopping.

  Poppy threw back her head and burst out laughing. “You want a goat?”

  “Yes. A goat! Why not?” he snapped. “Is that so strange?”

  “I’d rather have a kitten than a goat for a pet. Where would you get it?”

  Justin sighed. Is there any way to get rid of this girl? “My grandpa’s goat had two kids. One is sold, and Grandpa told me I could have the other one.” He gestured to the street. “Isn’t your mother … aunt looking for you?”

  Poppy ignored Justin’s question. “Goats don’t make good pets.” She clamped her fingers on her nose. “And goats stink.”

  “My grandpa’s goats do not stink!” Justin threw down the broom. “That’s ’cause they’re taken care of, and washed and brushed and fed and … loved. And from the looks of you, no one loves you very much, or you’d be washed and brushed and fed and …”

  “Loved.” She turned away and looked up at the roof, her head cocked in a sassy sort of way.

  Maybe she’ll leave now, Justin hoped. Father would be upset if he knew this little tramp has been hanging around our store. Justin began scooping up dirt with the dustpan and throwing it into the trash bin.

  “How can you love a goat?” Poppy asked, still looking away.

  “It’s easy. She runs to me when I go visit, and her tail wags like the second hand on a pocket watch. In fact, I’m going to name her Ticktock.” When Poppy snickered and rolled her eyes, Justin added angrily, “I’ll prove it to you if you come back on Monday. We’re getting Ticktock on Sunday and I’ll be here on Monday afternoon after school. I’ll bring her with me. You can see for yourself what a great pet she is.”

  Poppy stood still, staring at him. She didn’t speak for a
long moment. Then she said, “Well, if you bring your goat on Monday, I’ll come to see her.”

  “All right,” Justin answered.

  “You can show me those jewels, too—the ones that grow in the ground. If you can get a key, that is.” Poppy looked cautiously up and down the street, then walked off onto the crowded sidewalk.

  She’ll never show up on Monday, Justin thought. She was hanging around here only ’cause she’s scared of someone. That’s why she kept looking up the street. Still, he wanted to prove that he had a goat and that his father trusted him with a key. Then he’d show her his geode collection and prove to her that jewels really did grow in rocks.

  Justin finished cleaning the entry and the sidewalk just as his father came into sight.

  Whew! Poppy left in the nick of time! he thought.

  SATURDAY AFTERNOON,

  SEPTEMBER 30, 1871

  CHAPTER THREE

  - Poppy’s Secret -

  Poppy started down the sidewalk, still wary of anyone who might have seen her steal the lady’s money. But the clamor had subsided, so it seemed safe now to head home. She reached under her blouse to feel the packet she had stolen. The woman must have just cashed a check in the bank, for Poppy could tell it was all crisp new bills—the kind the government had printed during the war. Ma would be happy with her take that day. But what about me? Poppy wondered. She had risked getting arrested and put in jail for stealing. She had every right to take her share of what she had stolen, hadn’t she?

  Yes, she’d carry out her plan to save some of the sugar for herself—for when she’d run away and start her own life without Ma and the girls telling her what to do. But first she had to find a spot to hide the money—someplace near the Willow, but out of the way enough where no one else could find it.

  As she turned down a side road to Clark Street, she heard the clang of loud bells. Two horses pulling a fire engine came racing up the road. The sound of steam and the clopping of horses’ hooves resounded loudly on the dry, hard street. The engine turned onto the next street and sped beyond the run-down buildings. Poppy could see a spiral of smoke swirl its way up into the clouds.

  Another fire! Seems like there’s at least one fire every day. If we don’t get rain soon, the whole town may burn up, Poppy thought.

  After she passed a line of deserted, dilapidated houses, she approached an empty lot not too far from the Willow. A building had been moved away to comply with the town’s demand to raise the level of the city streets. The rock foundation was crumbling and the land was filled now with dry weeds, grass, and dandelions. A few small trees reached up to the sky with leafless limbs. Fall had come early this year because of the drought.

  Maybe there’d be a place in there to hide my loot. Poppy crossed the street and looked around to see if anyone was watching her. The large lot was filled with old newspapers, bottles, and other junk that was partly covered with dead leaves. She shuffled through the debris and closer to the stone foundation.

  I’ve got to find a space where I can keep what’s mine, where no one would suspect there’s anything there.

  Poppy glanced over her shoulder again, to make sure no one was around, and then bent down to the stone wall that had once been the foundation for the building. The cement that had previously held the rocks together had crumbled away and the stones all looked alike—except for one gray rock that sparkled with pieces of shiny stuff.

  Poppy wiggled it, and almost immediately the stone fell out and into her hands. Poppy suddenly recalled what Justin had told her—that jewels grew in rocks. She examined the bits of tiny sparkles on this stone. Were they diamonds? If they were, they were very small. And Justin said diamonds didn’t grow in Chicago.

  She reached into the opening up to her elbow, and she could feel another stone at the end of the cavity. Good! Even if someone removed the rock, the money would be way back in the hole. This was the perfect spot for her getaway stash!

  Poppy kicked around at the junk beneath her feet and came across an empty can that was fairly clean inside. Then she removed from under her blouse the bank envelope she had stolen. Twenty-five dollars in five-, two-, and one-dollar bills were folded neatly inside. Ma won’t notice if I take five dollars. She’ll still have twenty, and that’s more than the other girls bring in with just one boodle.

  Poppy folded two two-dollar bills and one one-dollar bill and put them into the can. Then, glancing around once more, she slipped the can into the hole and replaced the rock.

  After putting the rest of the money under her blouse again, she ran back across the street—and stopped.

  Noreen was waiting for her. “What were you doing over there?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Er … nothing. I thought I saw a stray cat. So I went over to see it.”

  Noreen didn’t speak for a long minute. Then she shrugged her shoulders. “You and your cats,” she said. “Ma would never let you keep a cat … or a kitten. So just forget it.”

  “It’s all I want … a little kitten.”

  “Where we live is no place for a little kitten. Someone would probably kill it if they saw it at the Willow.”

  “Someday I’ll have a kitten,” Poppy said. “Even if I have to move away.”

  “Come on, let’s go home.” Noreen started up the road.

  Poppy walked fast to keep up with her, wondering if Noreen really hadn’t seen her put the money into the secret hiding place.

  When they arrived at the Willow, the resort was filling up with boisterous men and women, beginning another evening of drinking and carousing. How Poppy hated going down the dark stairway that led to the cellar foundation where she lived! Even when the sun shone brightly outside, she had to enter this darkness every night as she returned to Ma Brennan’s place.

  Sheila and Ma were already there, and before Poppy could enter the room, Ma grabbed her by the arm and pulled her inside. “Where have you been? Where’s the money?”

  “Right here,” Poppy replied angrily, reaching under her shirt. “Give me a minute, will ya?”

  Ma gave a quick, sharp slap across Poppy’s face. “How many times have I told you not to back talk?”

  Poppy didn’t answer, but her hand shook as she handed the money to Ma. If Ma knew she had taken some of it, what would she do to Poppy? She’d give her more than a slap in the face. That was certain.

  Poppy stood with her head down as she waited for Ma to count the bills.

  “Good! This is what I need to feed the three of you!” Ma spoke with the pained voice she used each time she took money from the girls. “It won’t pay for my meals, but I’m not thinkin’ of myself, as usual. I’ll get by.” Poppy looked away. Twenty dollars was enough to buy food for the family for a month. Poppy knew it was a trick of Ma’s to make her look as if she were giving up so much for her girls.

  “Oh, Mama, you mustn’t sacrifice for us,” Sheila whimpered. “You need to eat and stay well.”

  “We’ll all get by,” Noreen agreed, and went to her mother’s arms. “Poppy is lucky to be part of our family … even though she isn’t really one of us.” She gave Poppy a long look, and Poppy wondered again if she had seen her putting the money away.

  Ma interrupted Poppy’s thoughts. “Hush, Noreen!” said Ma. “Poppy’s like a sister to you. Besides, look what she brought us today. There’s twenty dollars in here!” Ma counted the money again, then patted Poppy’s arm. “Sorry I had to slap ya, Poppy. But your ma has got to discipline ya once in a while—to teach you respect.”

  Poppy nodded, but inside, her desire to get away was stronger than ever. Still, how would a measly five dollars now and then make it possible to run away?

  Suddenly she remembered that boy, Justin, the one whose father owned the jewelry store on State Street—the one who’d promised to show her real jewels.

  SUNDAY MORNING,

  OCTOBER 1, 1871

  CHAPTER FOUR

  - Ticktock -

  Justin gobbled up the breakfast Grandma had set o
n the table—pancakes and syrup and apple strudel from an old German recipe. “You’re starving!” she exclaimed. “You must have left before the crack of dawn to get out here to the prairie so early on a Sunday morning.”

  Father laughed. “He woke me up at five o’clock to get started. Couldn’t wait to get that little goat and bring her home.”

  “You’ve been keeping Ginger, the carriage, and the wagon way down at Thompson’s barn because you don’t have a real barn for your horse. What will your neighbors say about a goat?” Grandma asked.

  “I hope you have a good place to keep her,” Grandpa said. “They’re so snobby in your neighborhood. Will your neighbors mind having a farm animal on the street?”

  “No, they won’t mind since we’re not selling goat’s milk. They’ll hardly realize we have a goat there. Justin’s built a nice, handy little shed just for her,” Father explained. “Charlie helped him. It’s a pretty little goat barn that faces away from the wind, and I think she’ll be very content in her new home.”

  “When are you going to build a horse barn for Ginger?” Grandpa asked. “If there was an emergency, you’d be wasting time trying to get your horse hitched up down at Thompson’s stables. It’s at least a mile from your house.”

  “I know!” Father said with a touch of irritability in his voice. “There’s a lot to do since I’ve taken over the shop. I do need a barn for Ginger and our carriage, but I just haven’t gotten to it yet.”

  “You have a standard to live up to, son,” Grandpa went on. “You’ve taken over the shop, and I don’t mean to sound like a snob, but we’ve been known as the top jeweler in Chicago. We have a name to live up to.”

  “We’re working on it,” Father said. “Charlie said he’d help construct a decent-looking barn for Ginger and our carriage in the spring.”

  “I don’t know what you’d do without Charlie,” Grandma said. “He’s turning into a fine young man.”