Wings of a Dove (49 page)

    Drawing her closer, James swallowed against the voicing of a fear he had been determined to suppress. Still refusing to allow it credence, James forced a smile. "He will, Allie, you'll see. When you bring Margaret home, she'll be well and perfect again."

    Holding Allie until her quaking subsided, James did not speak again. Further words were beyond him.

Chapter Eighteen

    ''You're a damned fool, Marsh!" Pete Mulrooney's bellow echoed within the confines of his office.

    From the corner of his eye, Delaney saw several heads pop up in the city room and turn in their direction. Pushing the door closed behind him, he shook his head. "Mulrooney, you'll never change."

    "I don't expect to change. I'm the boss here, so if there's any changing to be done, it's going to be on your part. And I'll tell you again, you're making a mistake the way you're handling Otis Davidson. You're underestimating his influence in this city."

    Delaney paused, his light eyes surveying the massive proportions of the man standing in front of him. He had been right when he had said Peter Mulrooney would never change, and he supposed he was glad he wouldn't. Almost eight years had passed since he had first met this veteran journalist and editor. Mulrooney was now grayer, a little more stooped, and incalculable pounds heavier than he had been, but the changes were all superficial. Inside, Mulrooney was still a fair, keenly intelligent, surprisingly sensitive man despite his deceiving appearance and his current state of agitation. Delaney was only too aware that    Mulrooney's sensitivity was responsible for allowing him to develop to his present level of journalistic ability. But Mulrooney was still committed to his convictions and willing to defend them to the death.

    He was also a damned good friend.

    "Calm down, Mulrooney. You know it never works to pull rank with me."

    Mulrooney shook his large, untidy head. "You're right, I should know better. I keep forgetting who I'm talking to. After all, you're Delaney Marsh, veteran war correspondent, entrepreneur, and spiffy man-about-town. But you still work for me, dammit!"

    Delaney could not suppress a laugh, which drew a startled expression to Mulrooney's face. "Well, that's the final damned straw!" the editor bellowed.

    Realizing he was doing little to lessen his friend's agitation, Delaney sat down in the nearest chair and looked up into Mulrooney's angry face. "All right, talk."

    Suspicious, Mulrooney squinted in Delaney's direction for a few silent moments before lowering himself into his chair. When he spoke again his voice was more subdued. "You're asking for trouble, Marsh."

    "I'm only following through on the assignment you gave me."

    "No, you aren't and you know it. In the event you've forgotten, I'll reiterate the editorial policies of the
Tribune
. We're the enemy of monopolies and tax thieves in national and state politics, and we're the champion of the people. We do not support woman suffrage"

    "A mistake in policy"

    "We speak for tariff and revenue reforms on the national level, and we support the reappointment of David Wells as special revenue commissioner. On a local level, especially now that we've moved into one of Chicago's largest fireproof buildings, we have embarked on a project to awaken the people of this city to the fact that the Queen of the Prairie is in reality a sprawling tinderbox awaiting a spark! This is an important project, Marsh! The wooden construction used in this city puts thousands of lives at risk every summer when the dry season is upon us. The prairie winds make every brushfire a threat."

    Pausing, Mulrooney drew back his head, tucking his neck into     his rounded shoulders, and Delaney was reminded of a watchful turtle pulling cautiously back into its shell. He was tempted again to laugh, but he did not.

    "All this does have a familiar ring to it, doesn't it, Marsh?" the editor continued. "It should, because it's the same speech I gave you several weeks ago when I handed you this project. Fireproofing! That was the reason you were to interview Otis Davidson! A man of his stature could lend considerable credence to the cause. If he will agree to begin fireproofing his properties, the lambs of this city will soon follow behind him. We want to make Chicago impervious to fire! We want to make this city safer for its inhabitants. You were supposed to court the man, dammit, not alienate him!"

    Delaney shook his head, his temper starting to rise. "I never had any intention of courting Otis Davidson, Mulrooney. That man doesn't care about the inhabitants of this city except for those few who are on his social level, and he's not about to spend a single cent that won't benefit him directly. But he's too slick to come right out and say that. In order to get the truth out of him, you have to get past his condescension and platitudes, and the only way to do that is to make him angry."

    "Well, you've accomplished that, all right. We've received a warning from his lawyers."

    "Is that right? So I've succeeded in getting him to take me seriously."

    Mulrooney's eyes narrowing. "You may be an arrogant bastard, Delaney Marsh, but I know you too well to accept this whole thing at face value. You're up to something."

    "I'm just following your orders."

    "Marsh…"

    "I'm trying to make Chicago safer for some of its inhabitants namely a particular group of immigrants who are being taken advantage of and whose lives are in danger."

    Mulrooney's attention was immediately riveted. "You're talking about those murders in Healy Slough and Conley's Patch."

    "That's right."

    "What information do you have on them? The police appear to be stymied."

    "By the power of money."

    "Whose money?"

    "That's what I intend to find out."

    "You're not implying that this money is Otis Davidson's"

    Delaney shook his head. "No, I'm not. Davidson is a lot of things, but he's not involved in prostitution."

    "Prostitution!" Mulrooney shook his shaggy head. "But if Davidson's not involved, why"

    "Most of my articles so far have been concerned with fire hazards in Conley's Patch and Healy Slough. Everybody knows that Davidson owns most of the property there. Certain people will be less suspicious about my spending so much time in that vicinity if I keep writing about Davidson's neglect of his holdings, and if I keep demanding that he make improvements. It will also be easier for me to get the people down there to talk to me if they believe I'm on their side, especially if I'm willing to buck Davidson's big money for them. So I'm killing two birds with one stone taking care of the assignment you gave me while I investigate the murders."

    Mulrooney shook his head. "You're a crafty bastard, Marsh."

    "I thought you said I was an arrogant bastard."

    "You're that, too. But if you're not careful, you're going to find yourself up against someone who will give you a little more trouble than you can handle."

    A smiled played over Delaney's lips. "Does that mean I have your approval for this investigation boss?"

    Mulrooney's eyes narrowed. "Damned arrogant, too." After a moment, he slowly nodded. "Yes, you have my approval, if it means anything to you. I'll run interference between Davidson and you for a while, but be careful. I'm not about to lose the investment I have in you."

    An unaccustomed warmth touched Delaney as he drew himself to his feet. Mulrooney's concern wasn't all professional, and he knew it. "Don't worry, you won't."

    "And keep me informed."

    "I will."

    Delaney covered the distance between himself and the doorway without another word. He stepped out of the office and pulled the door closed behind him, not bothering to look back. He didn't have to turn around to know Mulrooney's eyes followed him through the glass panel, that he was shaking his head and mumbling.

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    The sun beat warmly upon her shoulders, but Allie was immune to its tranquilizing rays. She glanced to her side, noting the manner in which Margaret's head turned from left to right, her bonnet bobbing as she followed the morning activities at the train station.

    Allie turned toward James as he emerged onto the platform where she and Margaret waited. He held two tickets in his clenched fist, and Allie's heart leaped.

    After sending a reassuring glance into her tense face, James leaned toward his daughter. "I have the tickets right in my hand, Margaret. You and Mama are almost on your way to Chicago. Are you excited?"

    Her heart constricting in her chest, Allie watched Margaret's fair brow tighten. "II don't think I want to go, Papa."

    Allie saw the pain in James's eyes as he raised Margaret's small chin with the tip of his finger. "Oh, yes, you do, honey. Mama and I already explained to you that this doctor Mama is taking you to is a very famous man. He's helped a lot of people who have problems like yours, or worse. Because of him, most of those people can walk normally again, and he's going to do the same for you."

    Margaret flashed Allie a quick plea for understanding. "But I want you to come with us, Papa."

    "I can't, Margaret. You know I have to finish putting in the crops. And I can't leave old Bessie and Jack, Whiskers and the kittens, and all the rest of the animals with no one to take care of them. But I'll be thinking about you and Mama while you're gone, and I'll be waiting for you to come walking off that train, good as new."

    Unable to bear James's reassurances any longer, Allie shook her head. "James, I think it's best if Margaret realizes that Dr. Lindstrom might not be able to"

    "There is no such possibility." His fair skin coloring, James kept the vehemence of his statement carefully controlled. "The doctor will help Margaret and she'll walk perfectly again."

    Allie watched in silence as James crouched down and took Margaret into his arms. He held her close, and Allie heard his hoarse whisper. "Papa will miss you, darling both you and   Mama, so you must be good and listen to the doctor and Mama so you can come home all the faster. Do you promise?"

    Margaret's response was a muffled "I promise," and Allie saw tears marking her daughter's pale cheeks as James released her.

    Hearing the whistle of a train in the distance, they turned in the direction of the dark cloud of smoke drawing ever closer along the tracks. James straightened up and turned to Allie. Without speaking, he took her into his arms, and she leaned full and hard into his strength and goodness. She gave him her mouth, allowing him full possession, realizing with a startling stab of fear that the time had truly come for parting. She did not want to leave him.

    The ground-shaking thunder of the train's engine was deafening as it drew into the station. James released her with reluctance, reaching down to grip the hand Margaret raised to his. A few minutes later they were inside the railway car seeking their seats, and Allie fought the assault of memory as the familiar smell of old leather, mildew, and ash met her nostrils. She closed her eyes briefly, seeking to cast aside memories she had thought long buried.

    "Mama, over here!"

    Fixing a smile on her lips, Allie closed the distance between Margaret and herself as James carefully stored their suitcase. The conductor's warning call from the platform outside the car reached them over the sounds of the wheezing engine and the whistle's screech, and Allie gave James a look filled with apprehension. His response was to take her in his arms once more. The love and concern in his eyes was almost more than she could bear.

    "I asked Dr. Peters to guarantee the clinic the money for an operation."

    "But how? You know we can't"

    "Margaret is all that matters right now, Allie. Let me know when the doctor decides to operate."

    "But, James"

    The conductor's appearance inside the car and the lurch of the train as it started into motion raised a sudden panic inside Allie. She clutched James more tightly, breathing in the soft whisper of his words against her lips.

    "I love you, Allie. Come home to me soon, both of you."

    Tearing himself abruptly from her arms, James was gone. His fair hair glinting in the bright sunlight where he stood on the platform a few moments later, he raised his hand in farewell as the train pulled out of the station.

    Seating herself beside Margaret, Allie leaned toward the window, her eyes unmoving from James's gradually diminishing figure. All too soon it slipped from sight, and Allie was suddenly aware of the small tear-streaked face looking up to hers. She forced a smile and held Margaret's hand.

    "No more tears, Margaret. This is going to be a great adventure for us. You're going to meet a wonderful doctor, and he's going to fix your hip so you'll never limp again. We're going to do it together, you and I, and we'll take care of each other. Now, let me see you smile, darling."

    Hours later, Allie stared unseeingly into the darkened landscape flashing past the window, her mind far from the rail car in which she and her daughter traveled. The rhythmic clicking of the tracks beneath her, the car's jolting sway, the screeching whistle, and the conductor's droning calls returned her to the child she had once been. She recalled her fear of the uncertain future as she had traveled in a darkened car similar to this. She remembered that she had been lost and alone, and without hope until Delaney.