Into the Whirlwind (14 page)

“I spent the morning with Josephine, trying to reconstruct the crystal and china inventory.” He set a sheaf of papers on Zack’s makeshift desk. “We think it was worth around forty thousand dollars, but how we can prove that is anyone’s guess.”

Zack’s shoulders sagged. “I can send to Paris to see if they have records of our recent purchases.” The merchandise destroyed in the store was worth close to half a million dollars. Every record, file, and bill of sale had been lost in the flames, and they were going to have to battle with the insurance companies to prove what had been lost.

But that was a challenge for another day. Today they needed to get the reconstruction project underway. Louis wanted his glittering store to reopen on the same plot of land on Columbus Street on the six-month anniversary of the fire, but there was a matter that needed to be set to rest before they could proceed with rebuilding.

Zack cleared his throat. “The land on Columbus Street,” he said. “We may have a bit of trouble from Mollie Knox about that.”

Louis stopped pacing to pin him with a suspicious stare. “Knox? The watchmaker’s daughter?”

“Yes. She claims her father never properly sold a piece of the land on Columbus Street. And surprise, surprise . . . she still has the deed.”

Zack watched Hartman carefully. There was no sign of concern as he stared directly at Zack. “Did she show it to you? The actual
deed
to a piece of land I own free and clear?”

“I saw it. It looks authentic, although she didn’t actually let me get my hands on it.”

The fact that Mollie still did not trust him after what they endured together smarted, but why should she? After all, she had a legitimate case, and both he and Louis knew it. The shoddy work of Zack’s predecessor accounted for the loophole that meant Silas Knox had never formally surrendered the original deed. If they had succeeded in buying her company, all this would have been water under the bridge. As it was, her ownership of
that plot of land presented a problem. A big one that was half an acre wide.

Hartman’s eyes turned to steel. “Look, I paid for that land ten years ago. I built on it, paid taxes on it, and operated a business on it for more than a decade. I won’t let that woman waltz in and demand payment when her father already profited plenty from that plot of land.”

“It might be worth it to buy the deed from her,” Zack pressed. “If we rebuild without clearing this up, it will come back to haunt us.”

Louis slapped his gloves on his thigh. “I’m not paying twice for something I rightly own,” he snapped. “I worked hard for every dollar to my name, and I won’t be pressured into paying twice by that woman. The county courthouse and every record inside is now a smoldering ruin. If Miss Knox wishes to try to prove her claim, good luck to her.”

It was true that this city was about to descend into a legal quagmire of contested deeds, lawsuits, and insurance claims. With so much of the city’s legal and banking records destroyed, litigants in court cases were unlikely to receive any form of justice.

Zack shot to his feet. “What am I supposed to do, Louis, lie to her? It was one thing to pressure her to sell us her company, but I’m not going to lie to her about the deed.”

Louis clapped him on the shoulder. “You don’t have to. The failure of my previous lawyer to finalize the paper work for that sale is
confidential information
. If she asks you questions, evade her. Anything else is a breach of the confidentiality a lawyer owes his client.”

He didn’t like it, but everything Louis said was true. Under no circumstances was Zack at liberty to tell Mollie what he knew about their shaky legal claim to that piece of land. He
owed Louis Hartman more than he could ever repay, and cleaning up the disaster left by his predecessor was a small enough burden to bear.

Zack returned the shoulder clap. “I’ll see what kind of deal I can work out with her,” he said.

Zack was going to have to race to catch the last streetcar across town. With the flood of insurance work and rebuilding tasks, his days always ran late, but tonight he had planned a special treat for Mollie and he was not going to miss it.

A grin of anticipation lit his face as he dashed toward his house. He could smell the pierogis even before he opened the door. Nobody made the classic Polish dumplings better than his mother, and she had been cooking all day to supply his request. He’d seen the inadequate food the relief wagons were distributing, but today Mollie and the others at the church would dine on the world’s best pierogis
.
His mother’s dumplings, filled with simmered beef, potatoes, and cheese, would be a welcome change from bread and apples.

He threw his leather case down and raced toward the kitchen. “The pierogis are ready?” An oversized basket was filled to the top with the warm delicacy, and another towering platter steamed on the countertop.

“Get something to eat, Zachariasz,” his mother said. “You left while it was still dark this morning, and I know you haven’t eaten a single thing all day.”

Zack was already wolfing a pierogi down. “Had to meet the five a.m. train,” he said. “It had a delivery of construction supplies for the new store, and someone needed to sign for it.”

Joanna poured him a glass of milk and pushed it across the counter. “You’ll be no good to that pretty watchmaker if you
are dead on your feet. That shirt smells. Go change while I pack this last batch up.”

Zack wolfed down another dumpling, drained the glass of milk in one draw, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I am already late, and I’m not changing my shirt.” He grinned as he imagined the expression on Mollie’s face when she tasted her first homemade pierogi. Someday he wanted to drape her in pearls and fill her evenings with music and dancing, but for now, the best thing was to fill her with a decent meal.

“Zachariasz, I am not having that girl think I raised a son who does not put on a starched shirt to court a woman. Go change, and I will pack this up.”

“Mama, the people in that church live in squalor and sleep on the ground. They don’t care if my shirt isn’t starched.”

It was the wrong thing to say to a woman who carried the fate of Polish cultural identity on her shoulders. “
I care
,” she said. She hustled up the staircase to his bedroom, muttering over her shoulder. “My son went to Yale and works for the finest merchant in the city. He won’t call on a girl stinking like a laborer.”

There was no help for it. Zack vaulted up the stairs, tearing his shirt open and shrugging out of it as he went. He tossed it on the bed and grabbed a gleaming white shirt from his mother’s outstretched hands. She beamed with pride as she handed him a pair of cuff links.

“I swear, old woman, you would try a saint’s patience,” he muttered as he fastened the onyx cuff link. “This shirt is going to be covered with a layer of soot by the time I get back.”

“Bring the watchmaker back with you. We have plenty of room, and it is foolish for her to be sleeping with all those strangers in the church.”

Zack didn’t need any prompting from his mother on that score. Looting was getting to be a problem. Not that people in
the burned district had anything worth stealing, but drunken idiots were merely out to cause trouble, and they were the most dangerous kind.

It was almost dark by the time he got to the burned district. Braziers were flickering in the darkness, and clusters of homeless people were warming their hands before the flames. In front of the church, a half dozen people were stooped over to collect bricks. The sight made him feel like he had just stepped back five hundred years into some medieval wasteland where peasants toiled in the dirt. The city had asked people to sort bricks into two piles: those that could be reused for building and those too badly damaged for reuse. Builders were paying five dollars for every wagonload of usable bricks.

A figure separated from the group, and the little ash-covered urchin came bounding toward him. “Did you bring us something to eat?” Sophie eyed the basket like a jackal as he reached in and handed her a pierogi.

“Hello, princess. I am surprised you are still here.”

“My parents probably don’t get the newspaper,” she said through a full mouth. “Otherwise they would have come here right away and I wouldn’t be stuck in this nasty church. These are really good. Can I have another one?”

Zack scanned the group sorting bricks, looking for Mollie among the ragtag group of people. “Yes, you can have another, but they are for everybody, so I want to offer them around first. Deal?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He had just spotted Mollie bending over a mound of rocks, a pair of sturdy work gloves covering her hands. Even dirty and tattered, Mollie looked glorious. Her face was flushed with good health, and that amazing hair spiraled out of its bun, tendrils floating around her face as artfully as if they had been painted by da Vinci.

“Come get something to eat, Mollie.”

At the sound of his voice, she reared upward, tossing a brick to the ground. In the dwindling light of dusk, the joy on her face made her seem lit from within. He didn’t break eye contact as he walked toward her, gawking at her like a complete milksop, loving every second of it.

“You came back,” she said simply.

He couldn’t even think straight with the way she set her delicate little hand on his arm and gazed up at him like he was prince of the universe. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Just happy you did,” she whispered in his ear.

Sophie tugged on the corner of his jacket. “Can I have another one?” she asked, her cheeks still bulging with a homemade pierogi.

Zack set the huge basket down on the steps. “Not until Mollie has had one.”

He pulled the gloves from Mollie’s hands and watched carefully as she took her first bite of a beef and cheese pierogi. Her eyes drifted shut as a look of bliss settled onto her features. She chewed slowly and with relish. “I may die from pleasure,” she finally said, “but I want the world to know I died a happy woman.”

Zack’s chest expanded. He would cross the city to feed her every evening for the rest of his life if he could just watch that expression of sweet delight on her face. The woman he’d idolized for three years looked ready to faint over a gift he had brought her. He might be a sweaty Pole from the docks, but he had just made the most beautiful woman in Chicago sigh with pleasure.

The gathering darkness made it impossible to keep collecting bricks, and the people from the church gathered on the front steps before the brazier to devour the pierogis. Tired, dirty, and
blistered, none of these people knew what the next few months would hold, but there was no despair here, only camaraderie forged by the harrowing experience of the fire. As much as he feared for Mollie living in these terrible conditions, the people who had banded together in this ruined church were creating a workable system there.

But not one that afforded much privacy. After they’d eaten and the veterans started recounting old war stories, Zack leaned down toward the woman he loved.

“Let’s go for a walk, Mollie.”

Frank Spencer stiffened, but Mollie’s annoying lawyer spoke in a calm voice. “They say that when a wolf wants to lead a sheep to slaughter, he’ll try to cut her off from the herd where he can do his worst in private.”

There was snickering around the firelight as the entire herd moved in to protect the object of his affections. With the grinning faces of several men gloating at him, it would be impossible to sneak Mollie away. Zack turned to her with a pleasant smile on his face. “You know how in mythology the blind man is always the source of great wisdom and insight? Why couldn’t you find one of
those
blind guys to be friends with?”

Frank appeared flattered by the statement. He grinned as he warmed his hands before the brazier. “Those blind guys also warned against Greeks bearing gifts. Probably because they never met a Pole.”

Zack let the arrow glance off his skin. If he rose to the bait at every Polish joke, he’d still be nursing the bruises. Besides, there was music. In the burned-out post office across the street, someone had produced a harmonica, and they were clapping and singing from behind the crumbling walls of their shelter. That group of German immigrants played music almost every night—sometimes hymns, sometimes lively folk tunes like tonight.

Zack stepped toward Mollie, and without asking permission, tugged her into his arms. “Let’s dance,” he said impulsively.

Her eyes widened in alarm. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Mollie was not the sort to be drawn out of her comfort zone without a little prodding. She tried to skitter out of his arms, but he hauled her back. “Let me do all the work, Mollie. I know what I’m doing.”

Like any good Pole in Chicago, Zack had been dancing since childhood and confidently led Mollie in a rousing jig. She was clumsy at first, but all she had to do was follow his lead. The tension in her back relaxed, and she learned the steps. Her smile started out hesitant, then bloomed wider. With her face illuminated by firelight and laughter, she was perfect in his arms. Within moments, Declan and Sophie joined the dance as well. Ulysses could not dance, but clapped his hands as Alice danced first with Dr. Buchanan and then the redheaded lumber dealer.