To Dream Again (29 page)

"Is he all right?" she asked, dropping to her knees beside him.

"He seems to be," Nathaniel answered and turned his attention back to the boy. "This is Mrs. Elliot. Anything hurt? Your ribs, maybe?"

"Everything hurts," the boy mumbled, his words muffled by the linen.

"I'll have a look, all right?" Nathaniel quickly ran his hand over the child's ribs, noting that the white shirt he wore was ragged and filthy. One sleeve was stained with blood, and Nathaniel realized he must have scraped an elbow. "You're pretty tough," he said. "Nothing broken."

He glanced at Mara. "He has some cuts and they ought to be washed. I have iodine and bandages in my flat. Let's take him there."

She nodded and rose to her feet. "Certainly."

"No!" the boy protested. "I ain't goin' nowhere with you."

Nathaniel stood up and held out his hand, ignoring the boy's protest. "C'mon," he said.

"No." He glared at them over the bloody handkerchief.

Nathaniel placed his hands on his hips. "Young man, you have a lot to learn about fighting. The first rule is don't fight with somebody who's five times your size. You have some cuts and we need to clean them. So, if you don't come with me, I'll just lift you up and carry you."

The boy didn't answer, and he didn't move, but when Nathaniel started to make good his threat, he scrambled to his feet. "All right, all right, I'm comin'," he grumbled, his words muffled by the handkerchief. "I'm comin'."

Nathaniel gripped him firmly by the shoulder and marched him toward Mrs. O'Brien's as Mara followed.

When they reached his flat, Nathaniel grabbed the boy around the waist and lifted him up onto a table. "Let's get you cleaned up," he said.

Mara's gazed traveled up and down the child, and she wished they could do more than wash his cuts. The boy smelled frightful, and she wanted to drag him to the nearest bathhouse.

Nathaniel disappeared into the other room, and returned with a pitcher of water and a basin. "Keep an eye on him," Nathaniel instructed her as he set both pitcher and basin on the table. "I'll find the iodine and bandages."

Mara stepped up to the table and reached for the pitcher as Nathaniel turned away. She cast a dubious glance at the boy as she poured water into the basin, but he sat without moving, his legs dangling over the edge of the table, still holding the bloodstained handkerchief to his nose, staring down at the holes in his ragged knickers.

Helen had been only a bit younger than this boy when she died. Not wanting to think about that, she struggled for something to say. It had been so long since she'd been around children.

"What's your name?" she finally asked him.

"Billy Styles."

"Styles?" she repeated as Nathaniel stepped up beside her and placed a bottle of iodine, a roll of linen bandages, and a couple of clean rags on the table. "Is Calvin Styles your father?" she asked.

He nodded. "That's me dad."

Nathaniel frowned but made no comment. Taking off his jacket, he tossed it aside and began to roll up his sleeves. "All right, Billy. Let's take care of those cuts."

The boy shook his head violently from side to side as Nathaniel reached for the handkerchief. Mara watched as he gently began to pry the bloody scrap of linen from Billy's fingers and spoke to the child.

"You know, when I was a boy, I was beaten all the time. The other boys made fun of me, you see."

Billy lifted his head and loosened his grip as a frown of skepticism knit his brows. "They didn’t."

"Oh, yes they did. I stuttered." Nathaniel set down the handkerchief and reached for the rag. He dipped it in the basin of water, and wrung it out. "St...st...stuttered all the t...time. They used to laugh at me and make fun of me and then I'd become angry, and they would beat me up."

Lifting Billy's chin, he gently began wiping away the dried blood from the boy's face. Mara saw the boy flinch, and she noticed Nathaniel quickly started talking again as he cleaned the cut.

"One time, when I was a few years older than you, I came home with a bloody nose just like yours. It was summertime, and I was staying with my grandfather. My clothes were all torn and bloody, too, just like yours, and I thought sure I would be in trouble for fighting, but that didn’t happen."

Nathaniel dropped the rag in the water and lifted the boy's elbow. Unbuttoning the cuff, he pushed the sleeve up the boy's arm and examined the scrape. "Grandfather didn't shout at me or anything. He just cleaned me up, and he asked me what happened."

Mara stood beside him and watched his hands, noticing the gentleness in them as he cleaned the boy's scraped elbow even as she recalled the force with which he'd rammed a fist into the belly of the boy's father.

"Well, I told him how they always made fun of me and how they were always trying to fight with me. I always ended up losing the fights and being beaten up because I wasn't as big as they were. I was stuttering so badly, I'm surprised Grandfather understood what I was saying, but he did. And he didn't laugh at me either. Do you know what he did?"

Billy shook his head, staring up at Nathaniel and listening intently. Mara picked up the bottle of iodine and a clean rag. She saturated a corner of the rag with the orange liquid, enjoying the sound of Nathaniel's voice as he told the story.

"Grandfather took me down to see Mr. Donovan, the blacksmith." Finished wiping away the blood, he dropped the used rag in the basin of water, and Mara handed him the one soaked with iodine. "Now, I only went to Grandfather's in the summertime, but even I

knew Mr. Donovan was the best boxer around. He could beat anybody. He was tough. Do you know how tough he was?"

Again Billy shook his head.

"He was so tough..." Nathaniel pressed the iodine-stained rag to Billy's elbow and the boy was so entranced by his story, he hardly reacted to the sting. "He was so tough," Nathaniel went on, "that five years later, when he died, the shoemaker used his hide to make boots."

Billy burst out laughing, and Mara smiled. She reached for the roll of bandages and cut off a length to wrap around his elbow, listening as Billy asked, "How come yer grandfather took you to see 'im?"

"So Mr. Donovan could teach me how to fight," Nathaniel replied and began to apply iodine to the cut on Billy's forehead. "When I went back to school that autumn, one of the other boys tried to beat me up, but I won the fight. I was never beaten again."

"Really?"

"Really."

"I wish I knew 'ow t'fight."

The boy's wistful words impelled Mara to speak. "Fighting isn't always the answer," she said, giving Nathaniel a frown. "Usually it's best just to walk away."

"What if ye can't?"

Mara wrapped the bandage around the boy's elbow and did not reply. She opened her mouth to ask for Nathaniel's help, but he was already cutting several narrow strips of linen from the roll. He leaned closer to assist her. She held the bandage in place, and he began securing it with the linen strips.

They were silent, but it was a companionable silence, and Mara realized it was one of those rare moments when they were not arguing about something. They were working together, their own interests set aside for those of a small boy, and there was an incredible feeling of rightness about it.

But the moment was brief. Mara felt the pang of regret when Nathaniel tied the last strip to secure the bandage in place and stepped back.

She rolled down Billy's sleeve and buttoned the cuff. "You'd better have your mother wash that shirt tonight," she told the boy, "so the blood will come out."

"Don't 'ave a mum," Billy said. "Just me dad."

She looked into Billy's face for a moment, then she glanced at Nathaniel. She could see her own concern for the boy reflected in his eyes, but both of them knew there was nothing they could do.

Nathaniel put his hands on the boy's waist. "C'mon," he said, "we'd better take you home. It's growing dark."

Billy's face fell. "I don't want t'go 'ome."

Nathaniel hesitated for a second, then he swung the child down from the table and took his hand. "It's late. Your father will be worried about you."

Billy's blue eyes turned suddenly cynical and much older than his eight years, "'e's in the pub by now. Probably won't be 'ome until midnight."

Mara saw the muscle tighten in Nathaniel's jaw and the flash of anger in his eyes. But he said nothing about Billy's father. Instead, he asked, "Are you hungry?"

He led the boy out of the flat and Mara followed. A few moments later, they were downstairs in Mrs. O'Brien's kitchen.

"Mr. Chase," the landlady greeted, beaming at him. "A pleasure to see ye." She bobbed her head perfunctorily in Mara's direction. "Mrs. Elliot."

Her coolness where Mara was concerned did not escape Nathaniel. He shot her a teasing grin. Mara knew perfectly well that it was her refusal to pay the landlady's exorbitant prices for tea and sandwiches that caused the cool greeting, and she was not amused.

Nathaniel turned back to Mrs. O'Brien. Gesturing to the boy, he said, "Billy here needs a bite of dinner, and we were hoping you might be willing to make one of your delicious meals for us."

The landlady's smile widened. "Why, certainly." She glanced at the child, who stepped back, his cheek pressed to Nathaniel's hip, hiding his birthmark. "Why ye be the Styles boy," she said in surprise.

The boy's nervousness was plain, and Nathaniel spoke again. "What about some of your shepherd's pie?"

Thirty minutes later, Billy was seated in Mrs. O'Brien's tiny dining room, devouring his third helping of shepherd's pie. Hunger had overcome his wariness after only a few bites. Mara watched him with an aching heart, knowing from her own childhood what it was like to go hungry.

Billy Finally pushed back his plate with a sigh of contentment.

"All finished?" Nathaniel asked. The boy nodded and slid down from the chair. "Thank ye, ma'am," he said to Mrs. O'Brien as she took his plate away.

Mara led him toward the door as Nathaniel paid the landlady and followed. The three of them left the lodging house. It was dark, but by the light of the street lamp, she could see the downcast expression on the boy's face. She sighed, feeling helpless and frustrated, wishing there was something more they could do for him. "Where do you live?"

Billy pressed his lips together, refusing to answer. He looked so miserable, her heart ached with pity. The thought of this boy having to go home to a father like Calvin Styles made her sick. She knelt beside him and pointed to the top floor of Elliot's. "See that? That's where we work."

"Me dad used t'work there."

Mara glanced at Nathaniel again, then back down at the boy. "It's a toy factory. Come by tomorrow and we'll show you some of the toys, all right?"

He nodded and sniffed. "All right."

"But," she went on, "if you're to come visit, you have to have some sleep first. Where do you live?"

Billy lowered his chin to his chest. "Old Castle Street," he mumbled.

She rose and met Nathaniel's eyes over the boy's head. He was smiling at her. "I had to say something," she murmured as the three of them began walking the two blocks to Old Castle Street.

His smile widened. "Of course."

"We have a fire escape now," she added, knowing she was rationalizing the breaking of her own rule. "It's much safer."

"Yes, it is."

"Tomorrow, I want you to examine all the equipment."

"I already did, two weeks ago. But, it wouldn't hurt to do it again."

Satisfied, she took Billy's hand, and she was grateful that Nathaniel didn't comment on her change of heart.

"You're certain your father won't be home?" she asked Billy as they turned down Old Castle Street.

"Not until the pubs close. Sometimes, 'e don't come 'ome at all."

Shocked, Mara looked at Nathaniel. She saw his lips tighten slightly, but he said nothing.

The tenement where Billy lived was filthy. By the moonlight shining through a window by the door, Mara saw the shadowy form of a rat scurry along the wall. Her grip on the boy's hand tightened as she pressed her other hand to her nose, but the smell of dried grease, urine, and filth was impossible to escape.

"This way," Billy said and started up the dark stairs, pulling her with him. Nathaniel followed them up the stairs to the third level, where Billy entered a room at the end of a dark corridor.

They followed him inside. She heard the flare of a match, and glanced over at Nathaniel as he held the lighted match high. Seeing a candle on the table, she handed it to him and soon the tiny room was lit by the feeble flame. The room contained only a table and two cots and was as filthy as the rest of the lodging house. Mara's stomach wrenched with nausea and dismay.

She pulled back the blanket from the cot and noted sadly that there were no sheets beneath. Billy crawled into the cot, and she pulled the blanket up to his chin. "There," she said, "tucked in all safe and sound."

It was a lie, and in the dim candlelight, Billy's eyes told her so.

"You come and see us tomorrow," she whispered, her voice clogged with compassion. "Promise?"

"Yes, ma'am." He swallowed and a tear slipped from his eye.

He hastily brushed it away, but not before Mara saw it. She pressed her lips to the mark on his cheek. "Good night, Billy."

"'Night, ma'am. 'Night, Nathaniel."

"Sleep tight," Nathaniel said, giving the boy's shoulder a squeeze before turning away.

She and Nathaniel left the building and started home. Neither of them spoke. The rank smell of the tannery pervaded the neighborhood, but both of them breathed deeply of the night air just the same, trying to escape the stench of the lodging house on Old Castle Street.