Into the Whirlwind (21 page)

There was worse to come. They found Frank’s tent, jerking it aside as Frank clutched the muslin bundle of watches to his chest, his sightless eyes wide with panic. One of the thugs riffled through his blankets. “Where’s the stash?” the stranger demanded.

“Get out of here,” Frank warned.

“Or what, old man?” The stranger punched Frank in the face. Even as he fell to his side, Frank maintained his grasp on the bag.

“Leave him alone,” Mollie shouted. “He’s blind!”

Pandemonium continued around them as the intruders ransacked tent after tent. Declan tried to get to Frank’s side, but another man hit him from behind, driving him to the floor. Two of the men noticed how protective Frank was of the bag and honed in, circling like wolves. When they tried to pry the bag away, Frank rolled over onto it.

One of the men lifted his rifle and clobbered Frank in the side of his head. Two more brutal blows landed on Frank’s head before Mollie could get to his side, swinging the tentpole like a baseball bat at the stranger’s head. The thin pole didn’t carry much weight. One of the other thugs pried it from her hands and shoved Mollie aside.

“Got it!” The man had wrestled the bag from Frank’s arms and was poking through it. “Lookie here,” he gloated. “We struck gold!”

The men lost interest in Frank, who lay motionless on the ground. Mollie stumbled to his side. “Frank? Frank!”

Having gotten what they came for, the strangers ran from the church, taking their lantern with them. The weak moonlight showed trails of blood streaming down Frank’s face. His face was ashen, but his lips twitched as he tried to say something.

The others gathered around. Dr. Buchanan brought a towel and pressed it against the wound pulsing on Frank’s forehead. “Hold on there, old soldier,” the dentist said in a shaky breath.

Frank opened his eyes. “Mollie?”

She grasped his hand. “I’m right here, Frank. Gunner has run for a doctor. Just hang on.”

Frank’s mouth struggled to form words. There was enough light for Mollie to see something was badly wrong. One of Frank’s pupils was huge, the other a tiny pinprick.

“Mollie,” he gasped. “Your dad—greatest man I ever knew. Gave us dignity.” His breath was jerky, and his voice was as pale as a wisp of smoke. “Thankful. I’m thankful.”

Her vision blurred through the tears. “I know that, Frank. I need you to save your breath.” But Frank stared straight ahead, his face blank in the moonlight. His lips stopped moving.

This couldn’t be happening. Frank could conquer anything, rise to any challenge. He was a mighty oak tree that could withstand any storm and shelter her from whatever fears plagued her. He couldn’t be this broken man sprawled on the church floor. Alice brought a bowl of water and squeezed out a rag, but Dr. Buchanan leaned down, his ear close to Frank’s face, then laid a hand on Frank’s chest. Mollie held her breath and waited.

“He’s gone, Mollie.”

She doubled over, clasping Frank’s still-warm hand, still soft and pliable, but lifeless. Everyone from the church clustered around Frank’s broken body, staring in disbelief. She looked to the sky, spattered with stars a million miles overhead. Somewhere out there, Frank’s soul was speeding toward heaven. She knew
that angels were waiting to receive him, and Frank would be able to see again through eyes that could behold the beauty of creation.

Frank’s suffering was over.

“We should pray,” she said weakly. But her mind was blank. How could she pray when her heart was splitting apart in grief? Frank had been taken in such a brutal manner, but he was now looking down on them. She was weeping for herself, not Frank. But as tears fell and prayers were said, Mollie’s spirit stumbled. Fell. It was hard to even breathe as the grief descended and covered her.

“Dear Lord, help us all,” she whispered before collapsing into tears.

14

N
o one was sure what had happened to Declan after the attack. Mollie remembered seeing him lunge at one of the men, but after that, he had vanished.

“I’m worried about him,” Mollie told the police officer who came to inspect the scene the afternoon following the crime. “Declan is a good man, but a fragile one. Can you help us find him? I fear he may come to harm.”

Officer O’Malley shook his head. “Ma’am, we’ve got our hands full trying to get this city back in order. An able-bodied man is not someone we can afford to spend time tracking down.”

It was another blow to her reeling mind. The logical portion of her brain told her it was right for the police to focus on hunting down the ruffians who had killed Frank. She could accept that, but every instinct in her body feared for Declan. Frank had passed over to a better place, but Declan had sunk backwards into his mind-shattering torment.

And he wasn’t the only one to go missing after the raid. Ralph Coulter, the lumber merchant, was nowhere to be found. Mollie told the officer she thought she’d heard Mr. Coulter’s voice during the attack. “I think he said, ‘Jesse, don’t be an idiot.’
I can’t be certain it was Mr. Coulter’s voice. It was dark and everything was so confused.”

“Did anyone else hear it?” the officer asked.

Gunner agreed with Mollie and thought Mr. Coulter said it, but one of the other men said it sounded like Declan. Whoever the intruders were, they had known about the watches.

Mollie’s shoulders sagged as she sat on the steps. The police had been there for two hours, interviewing everyone and making Mollie relive those horrible minutes over and over. Had Zack gotten her telegram yet?

It was wrong of her to be so focused on Zack, but this morning she had been on the verge of cracking into a thousand pieces, and it was going to be at least two weeks until Zack came back from New York. She didn’t think she could wait even two more hours to fling herself into his arms and sob out her heart onto his shoulder.

Alice had walked with her to the telegraph station that morning. Her message to Zack was brief and to the point.
Frank killed. Need you. Please come
.

That had been four hours ago. It was possible that even now Zack had received her message and was on his way back home. Knowing that Zack’s strong presence would soon be there was the slender thread of strength to which she clung as her world collapsed around her.

They held Frank’s funeral at a church north of the burned district. The barren sycamore tree limbs looked black against the leaden skies, and Mollie’s heart was so heavy it hurt to even draw a full breath of air. Frank had been a second father to her. Papa’s death had been terrible, but it was a normal and natural part of life. There was nothing natural about what had
happened to Frank. During his last desperate moments he had tried so valiantly to hang on to their watches, the product of a company that had given him work and dignity. Those ignorant jackals had escaped with the watches, leaving a man of immense pride beaten to death in their wake.

It was three days before Mollie returned to the rented attic space above the brewery. The intellectual challenge of assembling a watch was a perfect task to occupy her frazzled mind.

Except that her new landlord was blocking her access to the staircase. “Your rent is late.”

Mollie blanched. He was right, but she didn’t have so much as a dime to her name. In addition to the watches that had been stolen, the thieves had made off with the five dollars Mollie had earned from collecting bricks.

“I’m sorry,” Mollie said. “There was a death in my family, and I have been occupied elsewhere.” Frank Spencer was no blood relation, but he was family, and Mollie would refer to him as no less.

The landlord pursed his lips. “I heard about your troubles, and I’m sorry. But I need rent, and if you can’t pay, I will lease the space to someone who can. I get people asking every day for space, and it was only out of respect I’ve been holding it for you. I’ll need full payment by the end of the week, Miss Knox.”

He wouldn’t even let her into the attic until she’d paid. She returned to the church and asked members of the 57th if they could help. Ulysses had nine dollars, and Dr. Buchanan offered thirty, but it wasn’t enough.

“What about Mr. and Mrs. Kazmarek?” the dentist asked. “They know Zack would loan you the money in a heartbeat.”

She wouldn’t feel right going to the Kazmareks. Zack had not responded to her telegram, and she couldn’t even be sure
he had received it. His parents looked as poor as church mice, and it would be awkward asking them for money.

Besides, Mollie knew exactly where she could turn for a favor. Sophie’s father was one of the most powerful architects in the city. Given the amount of work that was flooding his way, he ought to be flush with cash, and he had already told her to let him know if she ever needed anything.

Never in her life did she think she would stoop to begging, but when the fate of the 57th was on the line, Mollie wasn’t too proud to ask Mr. Durant for a loan.

As Mollie walked down Prairie Avenue, she could hardly believe she was still in Chicago. The homes were monumental in scale, but so different in style. Some looked like castles made of ivory granite with turrets, spires, and balconies. Others were sober red sandstone with mansard roofs and iron gates. All of them were tucked beneath the spreading branches of cottonwood and sycamore trees filling the air with a mossy scent. Mollie had always known there were spectacularly wealthy people in Chicago. After all, they were the people who had bought her gold and gem-encrusted watches, but she had never actually seen the palaces where they lived.

With her donated clothing and the heels of her shoes worn to a nub, Mollie felt like a crow among swans as she approached an impressive Romanesque home built of native granite with rough-hewn arches marching across its front. A flagstone path led to a grand entryway and massive mahogany doors. After pulling the bell, she wondered if there was a different entrance she should have used. Didn’t houses like this have a servants’ entry? But it didn’t matter, because when she gave the butler her name, it wasn’t long before Mr. Durant came striding
through the hall to clasp her hands as though she were a long-lost friend.

“Miss Knox!” he said. “Won’t Sophie be glad to see you. Not an hour goes by that she does not regale us with stories from the church.”

Mollie dropped her gaze. She was embarrassed to admit that coming to visit Sophie had not entered her thoughts. She cleared her throat. “I’d be happy to visit with Sophie, but I actually came to speak with you about a bit of business.”

His brows shot up in surprise, and he stroked his neatly trimmed beard. “Of course. Let us take some tea in the parlor and we can chat there.”

While they were waiting for the tea, Mr. Durant offered his sympathies over Frank. “I saw it reported in the
Tribune
,” he said. “Sophie was upset when I told her, but she needed to know. She had been pestering us to take her to the church for a visit ever since she returned. Everyone else is in good health, I take it?”

“As well as can be expected, I suppose.” She did not want to discuss the continuing absence of Declan. No one believed he had been physically injured, but it had been five days, and he had failed to return to the church. Mollie had made inquiries at the brewery, and no one had seen him there either.

“The men who came to the church stole some valuable watches,” Mollie said. “I had intended to use those watches to restart my business. I expect to collect payment soon for a plot of land I just sold, but the cash will not be available until early November and I am in need of rent money this week. I was hoping you might extend a short-term loan. I can pay you back by the middle of November.”

Mr. Durant waved his hand. “Nonsense. I would be honored to help after all you did for Sophie. How much do you need?”

Mollie named the figure, which did not cause Mr. Durant to
even blink. She followed him down a hallway into a library that had been set up as a temporary office for his use while he was a guest. Even rich people had to be tucked into spare rooms, but this one had a diamond-pane window overlooking a Tudor garden that would have made Alice weep at its beauty. As Mr. Durant wrote out a check, Mollie tried to persuade him to consider it a loan.