Mission of Hope. Allie Pleiter
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that is. Bandages, iodine, salt, a few tins of meat, needles and thread and half a dozen other various supplies. Major Simon went up a few notches in Quinn’s book, to be sure. More than a few.
“Where’d you get all that?”
“No need for you to know,” Simon said slyly.
“You stole it. Why else would you answer like that?”
“Would you take it no matter where it came from?”
“I’m smarter than that. I don’t know you, even if Reverend Bauers does.”
“They were ‘procured,’ perhaps, or more precisely, ‘diverted,’ but ready for you to put to good use.” Simon pulled the string shut, placing the sack into a crate that sat under the table. “And no, you don’t know me. Yet.”
“The major has arranged a discreet drop-off point,” Bauers said, clearly enjoying the adventure of it all. With that look in his eye, Quinn could easily imagine the days when Reverend Bauers had been the Black Bandit’s trusted accomplice. He seemed delighted to step into those shoes again. “You’re to return tonight and get it back to camp by…well…whatever means you find necessary.”
His first mission. It hummed through Quinn’s veins. Suddenly, he couldn’t get the Bandit’s old gray shirt on fast enough. He longed to strap on the sword and take the world by storm. Now.
“You have a fire in your eye, Freeman,” Major Simon said to him. “I’ve found our friend the reverend is rarely wrong on such things. But you’ll need far more than good intentions if you really want to do what you say. You’ll need training and cunning and several very particular skills. Skills I’ve offered to teach you. But you’ll have to be both patient and discreet.”
“I am.”
“You don’t strike me as patient in the least.”
“Would you be patient if your family didn’t have enough to eat or a real roof over their heads?”
Simon chuckled and clapped Quinn hard on the back. “Bold as brass. You’re right, Bauers, he’s just the man for the job. If he doesn’t get himself killed first.”
“You’ve no idea where all this came from?” Nora asked as she peered at the supplies that had appeared overnight at the Freeman shack.
Mrs. Freeman squinted at the cut on Sam’s foot, paused, and then dabbed it with a bit more iodine. “None at all,” she said over the resulting protests from Sam. “Quinn said he’d put the list up on a fence post across the street last night, asking for help. That’s all we know.” She turned to the boy. “Hush, lad, it’ll hurt far more than that if it don’t heal properly.” Her words were harsh, but her eyes were kind.
“It is amazing, isn’t it?” Nora examined the items again, grateful her father had allowed her to come over to Dolores Park to inspect this surprise package—provided, of course, that she was properly escorted, which wasn’t at all an unpleasant requirement. Nora turned over the tins of meats, looking for any clue. She’d shown the list to several people, and obviously someone else had now seen the list, but still no one seemed to know who’d found the rare items and delivered them to camp. It was a feat. As common as the items were, Nora could only manage to scare up two needles and three spools of thread. Before the earthquake, it might have taken her all of fifteen minutes to secure the entire list. How scarce life’s necessities had become.
“You’d best listen to my ma,” Quinn said, planting himself down on the chest next to a squirming Sam, whose bottom lip threatened tears at any moment. “You strike me as a smart lad. And a brave one. We’ll need you fit and strong to help out. You’ll be no use to me limping around like a goat, now will you?”
“I’ll need you to escort me,” Nora whispered to Sam, grinning. “I shouldn’t trouble Mr. Freeman much longer. He’s a busy man and he’s likely to tire of leading me to and fro.”
Quinn applied a mock frown, but his eyes told a far different story. While he’d refused her any details, she knew he’d gone to great lengths to meet the two o’clock mail run yesterday. When they were late because one of the cart’s finicky wheels had jammed, she’d found him practically pacing the street in a state she could only describe as panic. And while he’d walked calmly—perhaps it wasn’t too much of an exaggeration to say he swaggered slightly—back to the edge of the camp, she’d noticed he broke into a flat-out run once he turned the corner. Yes, sir, Quinn Freeman was very late for something yesterday, and she could not deny what his tarrying had done to that sparkling spot just above her stomach. He looked at her as if she were the best part of his day, and she was not at all certain she hid her own pleasure at seeing him.
“She’s far too much work, this one,” Quinn said. The sour notes in his voice were no match at all for the spark in his eyes. “Take her off my hands as fast as you can, man.” He ruffled Sam’s moppish hair.
Mrs. Freeman gave the quickest of glances back and forth between her son and Nora. “When the foot’s ready, and not a moment before. Iodine and bandages are too rare to go wasting with foolishness. Put that sock back on, young man, and mind you stay out of the dust as best you can. Come back tomorrow and I’ll have a look at it again.”
“Yep,” said Sam, sliding off the trunk.
Quinn snagged the boy’s elbow as he went to leave. “Yes, ma’am, and say thank you.”
“Thanks, ma’am.” Sam punctuated his attempt at manners by wiping his nose on his sleeve.
Mrs. Freeman moaned. “I’m climbin’ uphill both ways to keep anything clean here.” She rubbed the back of her neck with her hand and sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for a true sink and a clean set of sheets.”
Quinn gave his mother a quick peck on the cheek. “You’ve worked wonders as it is, Ma.” He pointed to the stock of supplies. “And somebody’s taken notice.”
“And wouldn’t I like to know who?” his mother said, smiling. “And what else they’ve got. Father Christmas coming in July. Who’d have thought?” She wiped her hands on her apron and began loading the supplies back into the trunk. “Get her back now, Quinn, before her father starts to worrying about where she is.”
Quinn shrugged his coat back on as they walked. “So your father’s office didn’t deliver that package? I thought surely you’d done it. You had the list, after all.”
“So did you,” Nora replied. “And you posted it. Someone with the things must have seen the one you tacked up. Still, what showed up didn’t really match up to the list we’d made.”
“It’s a mystery, to be sure.” He went to do the button on his coat, found no button to do, and gave out a little hrrmph as he was forced to let it hang open. “I may have to beg Ma for a little of that thread, won’t I?” They walked on, and Nora made a note to dig through her father’s coats for a spare button tonight. “Everyone needs everything, it seems,” Quinn sighed. “Reverend Bauers at Grace House can be a resourceful man, but he needs all of those things as much as we do, if not more.”
“I’ve heard stories about Grace House. Is it still standing?
“It is,” Quinn replied. “The building next door fell to the ground, but Grace House is mostly fine.”
Nora let out a long sigh. “It’s hard not to wonder how He’s let all this happen and why. I can’t get my mind around anything that makes sense, no matter how many prayers I say.”
“No sense to be made, if you ask me. Some things just are. You could stand around all day trying to figure out why, and it still won’t find you dinner or get your house rebuilt. It’s not the whys we need to worry about now, Miss Longstreet, it’s the hows that matter most.”
“How, then, do you think those things found their way to your mother?”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders.