The Heavenly Fugitive (4 page)

“You stay right there. I’ll go get you something. And don’t leave that bed! You hear me?” she said loudly.

Phil smiled. “I think the people next door heard you, sis.”

“You lie there. I’ll be right back.”

Amelia reached for her coat, then paused again, suddenly realizing the fire was out. “It’s cold in here.”

“Couldn’t make a fire. Hurt too much.”

Amelia shook her head as she pulled her coat back on and turned to the task of filling the coal stove. She lit it carefully, thankful that there was kindling, and when she got the coals going well, she closed the door with the draft half open. “It’ll be warm by the time I get back.”

She left the apartment and ran down to the corner drugstore. When she got back with a brown paper bag in hand, she noticed with satisfaction that the room was starting to get warm. She grabbed a tablespoon from the kitchen drawer, opened the large bottle of medicine she had purchased, and took it into the bedroom. “It’s too cold in here. I’m going to fix you up on that chair near the stove. But first take a dose of this.” When she got him upright, she ordered, “Now swallow it all.”

Phil took the dose and made an awful face. “What is that stuff?”

“Same thing Mom and Dad used to give us when we had stomachaches. The druggist said it’s the best stuff for pain, even for grown-ups.”

“I remember it now. Seems like they could make it taste a little better.”

“You wait here until I get your chair made up.”

Quickly she fixed the chair with pillows and a blanket covering it, then helped him into it. He sat back with a sigh of ease while she fetched another blanket to drape over him. “You soak up some heat while I fix your breakfast.”

Phil relaxed, letting the luxury of the warmer room sink into him. He was comfortable now, and within ten minutes the strong medicine was taking effect. He found himself listening to Amelia hum as she moved around the kitchen making his breakfast. The smell of frying bacon and coffee filled the air, and when she finally brought a tray over, he found he was ravenously hungry. “That smells wonderful,” he said.

“Just scrambled eggs, bacon, and soft toast. Is your mouth sore?”

“Better now, but it still hurts to chew. The inside of my lips was cut pretty bad. You should have seen me. I looked like a baboon with my mouth all pooched out.”

“Don’t talk. Eat.”

Amelia watched him eat, and as he winced in pain from the simple act of chewing, the cold fury in her intensified, greater than any emotion she had ever known. They had been close growing up in their isolated home on a mission station in Africa, where they’d been far from neighbors and white faces were rare. As the older sibling, she had always felt protective toward her brother, and even though it was illogical to feel guilty about his present condition, she somehow blamed herself for allowing this to happen to him.

Phil stopped eating long enough to ask, “So what have you been doing lately, sis?”

At first Amelia was disinclined to talk about her life in America. Phil had found everything about life in the States exciting. When they had first arrived in August 1922, Phil had immediately found work at the Thornton Stables and began saving money for college. He had begun classes this fall and had found his niche there, but Amelia was unhappy, dissatisfied with her life. She had always harbored a rebellious streak, which she had managed to cover up for the most part. Being
the daughter of missionaries, she had learned to play a role and not embarrass her parents too much, but her gnawing frustration at life had grown since coming to the States. The two siblings had at first lived with their grandmother, Lola Winslow. While Phil had worked and saved, Amelia had worried her grandmother by running around late at night with friends of dubious character. She had shown no inclination to find a job, claiming she was having too much fun to work. Within a short time, Amelia had been unable to bear the restraint of her grandmother’s genteel life and had run off without warning to find a place of her own. Phil stayed with his grandmother for several more months, not moving into his own place until he started college. While Phil found a life of hard work and responsibility an exciting challenge, Amelia’s initial excitement at being in the States had turned to misery, now that she had to work so hard just to make ends meet.

“I’ve got a job I hate,” Amelia said. “Could you drink some more milk?”

“No. This is fine. What’s wrong with your job?”

“I’m a cook at a restaurant, Phil! What kind of a life is that?”

“Doesn’t seem so bad to me. I thought you liked helping out in the kitchen at Grandmother’s house.”

“Nope—I hated it then, and I hate it now,” Amelia said flatly. “It’s a rotten job, and what’s worse, the boss can’t keep his hands off me.”

“Why don’t you quit and find another one?”

Amelia reached out and picked up the jar of blackberry jam. She spread it on a piece of buttered toast and handed it to him. “Eat this. You always liked jam. I
am
going to get away. I’m going to quit soon and try to find a job in show business.”

With the toast halfway to his lips, Phil dropped his hand. “Show business?”

“You know I always wanted to do that.”

“Oh, I knew you were interested in movie stars and actors
and actresses. And you’ve always been a great singer, but I didn’t think you’d want to do it for a living.”

“Well, I do. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, Phil. I’m going to do it too.”

Phil took a bite of the toast and chewed it slowly. “That’s a pretty hard life, I hear. Hard to get into too, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. But as soon as I get enough cash saved, maybe another two months, I’ll have a stake.” Amelia leaned forward, her eyes glowing with her desire for a different kind of life. “I can do it, Phil. You wait and see.”

“Mom and Dad will have a fit.”

“I expect they will, and I hate to hurt them. But it’s what I want to do.” She did not want to talk anymore about her plans, for she knew Phil disagreed, although he didn’t say so. She said only, “I tried it Mom and Dad’s way, and now I’ve got to do this thing for myself. Now tell me about school. Are you falling behind being in the hospital and all?”

“I’ve had to miss some classes, but I can catch up on the reading over Thanksgiving vacation.”

“What exactly happened to you, Phil? You’ve got to tell me.”

“It was just a fight. I got the worst of it.”

Amelia tried to get the story out of him, but he adamantly refused to tell her any more than he already had. He’d always been like this, she remembered, taking his lumps without whining. It was one of the things she admired about him. She took the tray to the sink and began to clean up the kitchen, all the while talking about Africa, old friends there, and family.

A knock on the door interrupted her monologue. “Are you expecting somebody, Phil?”

“No. I can’t think who it might be.”

“I’ll see.” Amelia took off her apron and crossed the room to open the door. She quickly took in the big man and dark-haired young woman standing in the hallway, thinking they made a strange pair. “Yes? What is it?”

“I-I’d like to see Mr. Winslow if he’s here.”

The girl was a beauty, Amelia saw, and she stepped back and glanced over at her brother. “Company, Phil.” Turning back to the couple, she said, “Come on in. I’m Phil’s sister, Amelia.”

“I’m glad to know you, Miss Winslow. My name’s Rosa Morino. This is Dom Costello.”

Amelia murmured the appropriate phrases and then looked over at Phil again. “Are you up to company, Phil?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Amelia sized up the young woman as she stepped over close to Phil’s chair. Her well-tailored clothing had to be expensive. She wore a cloche hat over her curly black hair, a woolen plaid jacket and pleated skirt, cashmere sweater, and a decorative silk scarf draped around her neck. Amelia also noted a gold necklace with a diamond as large as the sapphire on the girl’s finger.
She comes from money,
Amelia thought, trying to guess her age. No more than sixteen, she reckoned, and then her eyes went to the big man. He stood out of the way with his back almost against the wall. He had a battered countenance with hands as large as hams. Her eyes narrowed as she drew his gaze. They studied each other for a moment. Then Amelia turned as she heard the girl say, “Mr. Winslow, I came to tell you how sorry I am that . . . that all this happened.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Phil said. “Pull up a seat. Sis, will you find some chairs for our guests?”

But Amelia did not move. Addressing the young woman directly, she demanded, “You’re sorry that
what
happened?”

“That . . . that he got hurt.”

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t beat him up, did you?”

“Didn’t he tell you what happened?”

“No. He won’t say a word about it.”

At the harsh tone in Amelia’s voice, Rosa licked her lips and lowered her eyes. In a faltering voice she explained the incident and then pleaded, “I’m so sorry. I never intended for anybody to get hurt.”

Amelia seemed not to have heard her. She turned around and faced Dom, studying him carefully. Then, without a word, she walked over to pick up her purse. Dom’s eyes grew alert as she approached him.

“You beat up my brother?”

“I thought he was hurtin’ Miss Rosa.”

“How much do you weigh?”

“About two-twenty, I guess.”

“My brother only weighs about one-sixty! You look like a pug. Am I right?”

Dom shifted his feet and glanced at Rosa, then back to the woman, who held him with her gaze. “Used to be,” he muttered.

“You pretty proud of yourself for beating up somebody who didn’t do anything?”

“I thought—” He cut off his words, and shock showed in his eyes. “Hey, be careful!”

Amelia had pulled a thirty-eight pistol from her purse. She held it steadily in front of Dominic Costello’s face, aimed right between his eyes. “You’re quite a man for beating up on people smaller than you. I think I’ll shoot your nose off.”

“Hey, lady, watch it with that gun!”

Dominic was a tough fellow, but he did not know this woman. Her green eyes were glittering with a ferocity he had never seen in a woman before. He held up his hand as if to ward off the bullet and said, “That thing could go off.”

“It
will
go off if I pull the trigger.” Her eyes dropped to his waist, and she said, “You’re wearing a gun. Why don’t you pull it?”

Rosa cried out, “Please don’t shoot him! Please!”

Amelia was smiling as if she were enjoying this, but anger was crisp in her voice. She lowered the gun until it pointed at the floor and said, “Now we’re even. See if you can get that gun out before I can put a bullet in your brain.”

“Hey, sis, take it easy!” Phil cried out. “It’s not that big of a thing.”

Rosa flew over to put herself in front of Costello. “He was afraid for me. He just made a mistake.”

Costello lifted the girl off to the side, out of harm’s way, and said to Amelia, “C’mon, now, lady—you don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Yeah, c’mon, sis,” Phil pleaded as well, “put that gun away.”

Slowly Amelia obeyed. She dropped the gun back into her purse and then stood looking at the big man.

Dom tried to appear nonchalant. “Were you really going to shoot me?” he demanded.

“I shot a leopard once back in Africa. I didn’t feel bad about that, and I wouldn’t feel bad about shooting a beast like you!”

Dom did not answer, but he relaxed somewhat now that the gun was out of sight. “I have to be careful,” he mumbled. “There are people that would like to hurt my boss and his family.”

Relief washed through Rosa’s face, and she ran across the room to stand beside Phil. “How do you feel, Mr. Winslow?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said.

“I don’t believe you. I know you’re hurting, and I’m so sorry.”

“Well, you don’t have to think about that.”

“I have to think about this, though. I asked about you at the stables. They said you’re in college and that you work there to help pay your bills. But you won’t be able to work for a while, so won’t you please take the money my daddy offered you?”

“What money’s that?” Amelia asked, crossing the room to stand beside Rosa.

“My daddy wanted to pay Mr. Winslow. He did pay his hospital bill, but your brother wouldn’t take any money.”

“Well,
I’ll
take it,” Amelia said coldly.

Eagerly Rosa’s hand darted into her purse, and she drew out some bills. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for your brother
to be hurt. Please take the money. If it’s not enough, I can get more.”

“I’ll let you know,” Amelia said coolly. She stuffed the money into her purse and smiled. “My brother’s not very wise about money, but I am.”

Rosa stood there helplessly, then said quickly, “I guess we’d better go.” She turned to Phil. “Mr. Winslow—”

“Hey, you can call me Phil.”

“Well, okay . . . Phil, if you need anything, please ask.”

“Sure. Good to see you again, Rosa. How’s the mare?”

“Oh, she’s wonderful! She’s so beautiful.”

“She’s a handful, though,” Phil warned. “Be careful.”

“That’s what Daddy says.” She started to say something more when she caught the expression on Amelia’s face. “Well,” she added hurriedly, “we’d better go. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Rosa. Thanks for your help.”

Rosa left at once, but Dom turned before leaving and stared at Amelia. “You wouldn’t have shot me. You don’t have the nerve for it.”

“You’ll never know, will you, Costello?”

He laughed a little and shook his head. He turned and faced Phil. For a moment he stood still, and then he came over and put out his meaty hand. Surprised, Phil took it. The big man searched for words but could only say, “Sorry . . . like . . .” He dropped Phil’s hand, then whirled and left the room.

****

Amelia Winslow had always had difficulty controlling her temper, whereas Phil had always been mild mannered and easygoing. It was not uncommon for Amelia to flare out and let people know exactly how she felt. It had been several weeks since she had found Phil in an almost helpless condition, and every day she’d had to struggle with the anger that rose in her at the sight of his battered features. She had a strong maternal instinct where her brother was concerned. She had been back every day to help him, except when her work schedule
did not allow it. Phil had returned to his classes now, limping and still somewhat bruised.