Fair Play Page 9

  “You needn’t do that,” Billy said.

  “Do what?”

  “Treat me as if I were . . .” She scanned the rooftops. “I don’t know . . .”

  “Female?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She smiled up at him. “Exactly.”

  He rolled his eyes and took her elbow. “How much farther?”

  “I don’t know. The woman said it was a big brick mansion and I couldn’t miss it.”

  The more children he saw frequenting the beer halls, the more his unease grew. He couldn’t possibly leave the babe in this mess. Not when the only places of amusement within walking distance were saloons.

  Billy might not understand the implications, but he did. A boy without a place to play was father to the man headed for jail. So if she was going to refuse to keep the babe, then before he left for Texas, he’d see to it the child had a place to run around in. A place free of filth, vermin, and vice. He’d been the one to find the waif, it was his responsibility to see to the child’s circumstances. Even abandoned babies had a God-given birthright to wholesome play. And Hunter wouldn’t rest without doing something, however little, to make sure this one got at least that much.

  “Are there any pleasure grounds nearby?” he asked. “You know, like the one we passed coming up here. Washington Park, I think it was?”

  Billy swapped the babe to her other shoulder. “Well, let’s see. There are plenty on the north and south sides of town—that’s where all the affluent people live. But the closest one to here would be Garfield Park.”

  “Is it within walking distance?”

  “Oh, no. You’d have to take a cable car.”

  He shook his head. “Well, that won’t do.”

  “Do for what?”

  “The little pitcher here. He won’t be able to afford a ten-cent round-trip fare. It has to be within walking distance.”

  “What has to be within walking distance?”

  “His breathing space. A place for him to spread his wings and run around in without worrying about getting into any trouble.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Well, yeah.” He gestured toward a young boy smoking across the street. “Kids who don’t have anyplace to go loaf around street corners. They get into the saloons and pick up bad habits. They bust out windows or lampposts with their slingshots. They form crowds and bully those who aren’t a part of their group. When some lawman comes to break things up, the boys resent it and end up getting arrested. And that, I’m afraid, is the first step in pushing them into the criminal class. What they need is a park.”

  “You’re certainly assuming a lot. You don’t know the babe here will fall into habits such as those.”

  “And you don’t know he won’t.”

  Sighing, she stepped around some debris. “There’s no room here for a park, Hunter. And even if there was, the taxpayers wouldn’t spend their dimes on beautifying this part of town.”

  “I’m not talking about beautifying it. A park with STAY OFF THE GRASS signs would defeat the purpose. I’m talking about a place they can run in, play games in. Someplace where they can work off all their energy.”

  She bit her lip in thought. “Hull House has a gymnasium. And it’s within walking distance.”

  He shook his head. “No walls. It needs to be outdoors.”

  “Are you talking about a playground, then?”

  He gave her a sharp glance. “I’ve heard of those, but I’ve never seen one. Have you?”

  She nodded. “They have them in Boston. It’s basically just a plot of land with equipment the children play on. They have swings, seesaws, and hammocks. Once I even saw one where they’d stacked up a mound of street pavers the children climbed on.”

  His shoulders settled with relief. “That would be perfect. Do they have one of those around here?”

  “I guess we’re about to find out. Look.”

  And there it was. Just up a ways, a two-story redbrick manor that, by all rights, should be situated on a grand boulevard in an affluent neighborhood. The clatter of horses’ hooves caught his attention. That sound only came from a paved road.

  Reaching the corner of Halsted and Polk, he looked north, then south. Not only paved, but lit with street lamps. A steady stream of wagons and drays rumbled past. A cable car slid to a quiet stop in front of them, then continued on after picking up its passenger.

  He looked at Billy. “Did you have us walk the last leg on purpose, knowing all the while that if we’d stayed on the cable car, it would turn on Halsted and bring us right to the front door of Hull House?”

  She tightened her mouth. “How was I supposed to know it was going to turn on Halsted? Are you trying to pick a fight?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this area is full of dissipation and refuse and disease,” he said. “And, like it or not, you’re a female and he’s a babe. The cable car provides protection and the both of you should stay on it for as long as possible.”

  Tightening her hold on the infant, she stepped into the street and wove between traffic. “Ah, but we have with us a big Texas Ranger and his ominous-looking gun.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Are you baiting me?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, like it or not, you’re an overbearing male who thinks I’m made out of porcelain.” Reaching the boardwalk on the other side, she squared up to him. “Well, I’m not made of porcelain or crystal or any other fragile material.”

  She had no idea how vulnerable she was. Things weren’t like they used to be when they were kids. Tycoons were losing their businesses. Farmers were losing their land. Laborers were losing their jobs.

  And desperate times gave birth to desperate men who preyed upon the weak. It made no difference whether a woman considered herself to be tough or fragile. If she was of the fair sex, she was susceptible. Perhaps it was time she was reminded of just how female she was.

  He leaned in toward her, not stopping until they shared the shade of his Stetson. “Never fear, Dr. Tate. Fragile or not, there’s one thing I’m clear on. You are made of very real, very soft, very delectable womanly flesh. And you can be assured, I’m not likely to forget about it anytime soon.”

  Lips parting, she stumbled back a step. If she wasn’t holding the baby, he’d have let her fall on that pretty little backside of hers. That would also accomplish his purpose and she’d see he was right.

  But he didn’t let her fall. This time. Once he’d steadied her, she regained her footing and headed toward the front landing of Hull House. Right before she reached it, she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “What’s your middle name?”

  He blinked. Had she not been listening at all? How in all that was holy did that brain of hers go from womanly flesh to middle names? “Joseph. What’s yours?”

  She lifted a brow. “Jack.”

  Ah, yes. How could he have forgotten? The woman who was named after both her grandpas and who was determined to live up to those namesakes.

  JANE ADDAMS12

  “A young woman in a high-collared, big-sleeved burgundy dress with delicate lace trim entered the room, her step sedate, her bearing straight.”

  CHAPTER

  14

  Don’t show any emotion. Don’t show any weakness. Don’t show your softer side.

  Billy had repeated her mantra over and over in order to conceal her horror at the intensely pungent odors of rotting food, animal carcasses, spilled beer, and human waste they’d passed. With each step deeper into the Nineteenth Ward, her dismay had escalated.

  But had she shown any of her alarm, Hunter would have turned them around and then what?

  As she stood in front of the fine old redbrick mansion, a spark of hope flickered within her. It was as if an orchid had taken bloom amidst a field of thistles. She strode beneath a broad piazza supported by white Corinthian pillars, stepped up to the door, then lifted the knocker. Hunter raked the soles of his boots again
st a boot scraper.

  A tiny young woman with a demure collar answered, her smile broad, her eyes lit from within. She invited them inside even before Billy had explained their purpose.

  “Thank you for having us. I’m Dr. Billy Jack Tate. I work as a physician at the Columbian Exposition, and Mr. Scott here is a Columbian Guard.”

  “How delightful.” She waved them past a lush mahogany staircase and into an oversized drawing room. “I’m Miss Frances Weibel. I live here at Hull House. And who might this be?” She indicated the child.

  “This is Joseph,” Billy said. “But we call him Joey.”

  Removing his hat, Hunter gave her a sharp glance.

  “He’s why we’re here,” she continued. “Mr. Scott found him abandoned at the Woman’s Building while he was making his rounds. We’ve made every attempt to locate the mother, but haven’t had any luck.”

  “Oh, no. The poor thing.” Delicate brows furrowed as she glanced again at the babe. “Please have a seat here in the reception room and I’ll go collect Miss Addams. She’s the owner of Hull House and will be better able to advise you.”

  The young woman retraced her steps, swept past the staircase, then disappeared into an adjacent parlor.

  Billy and Hunter settled onto a claw-footed, mauve brocade sofa. If the home’s exterior had been stately, its interior was all that and more. White and gold trim complemented floral wallpaper gracing the long room that ran the entire length of the home’s north side. Tall, elegant windows welcomed in sunshine from its north and east ends. Two marble fireplaces offered yet another source of warmth.

  Retrieving a bottle from her bag, Billy shook it, then began to feed Joey.

  Joey. She was glad he had a name now. On the stoop outside, she’d realized it would be one of the first questions asked. She couldn’t bear to say she didn’t know. He was such a good baby. He ate heartily, slept soundly, and never fussed. She’d heard of babies like that, but in all of her practice, she’d never run across one. Of course, babies coming to see her were either sick or injured.

  Still, he was a fine boy and deserved a name. A name that meant something.

  A woman in a high-collared, big-sleeved burgundy dress with delicate lace trim entered the room, her step sedate, her bearing straight. “Good afternoon. I’m Miss Jane Addams. Miss Weibel tells me you’ve a foundling from the fair.”

  Hunter rose. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Hunter Scott, the one who discovered him. And this is Dr. Tate.”

  Billy had been expecting a dowdy spinster, but Miss Addams couldn’t be any older than she was herself. The woman’s skin was clear and smooth, her figure youthful. Her eyes, however, were not those of a sparkly, idealistic maiden like Miss Weibel. They were old before their time, as if they’d seen much, experienced much, and lost much.

  “So tell me about this young man. Joey, I believe Miss Weibel said?” Smoothing her skirt, she nodded at Billy in greeting, then sat in a Windsor chair at a right angle to them.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Hunter resumed his seat. “I was making my rounds in the northwest corner of the Woman’s Building when I heard a baby crying somewhere around the dressmakers’ exhibit. I made a search with my lantern and discovered this little pitcher wrapped in a fancy feather cloak.”

  While he talked, Billy looked around the room. The arched doorways, Turkish rugs, glass-enclosed bookcases, potted ferns, plaster busts, and beautiful paintings were every bit as fine as any which might be found on Boston’s Commonwealth Avenue. How in the world did Miss Addams help her neighbors when they couldn’t come inside without dragging in all the filth and odors with them? Where would they sit without soiling the furniture? Where would they walk without ruining the floors?

  Yet even as she had the thought, a ragamuffin of about ten skipped through the drawing room, her hands and face clean, her dress and boots still quite dirty. “I’m all finished, Miss Addams. Now I get to go to the Butler Building!”

  “Excuse me for a moment,” Miss Addams said to them, then she rose from her chair and crossed the foyer to open massive pocket doors on the opposite side of the stairs. “And what are you reading today, Miss Hilda?”

  “A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Puck has just spread a love potion on Lysander, who has woken up to see Helena. I don’t know what Hermia’s going to do when she finds out.” The girl gave Miss Addams a rather panicked look, then slipped through the pocket doors.

  Smiling, Miss Addams returned to the drawing room, her eyes filled with warmth and animation. “Forgive me. I believe you were telling me about Joey?”

  “That’s about all there is to it.” Hunter said.

  Billy nodded. “I’m afraid neither I nor Mr. Scott can take care of the child, what with our work and all. I was hoping you might know of a wet nurse or someone who could take him in?”

  “Of course. How old is he?” Miss Addams asked.

  “Only a couple of weeks.”

  The woman tut-tutted, the matronly gesture highlighting the timeworn soul within her youthful body. “The poor little tot. We have a nursery right here at Hull House. Ordinarily we only keep the children during the day while their mothers are at work, but we do, upon occasion, take in foundlings.”

  Billy pictured the hundreds of unsupervised children on the streets outside. “Is there room in your crèche? With as many families as we passed on our way here, I can’t imagine how you’d have an extra crib.”

  “We have to charge the mothers five cents per day to cover our expenses. That keeps several of them from participating.” She shook her head. “I wish we could do it for free, but we simply can’t afford it. Still, between our nursery and kindergarten, we average about fifty children per day.”

  Fifty? Fifty? How on earth would Joey receive any attention when there would be fifty others to watch, feed, and diaper? And how would he sleep amidst all that commotion?

  Kicking his legs, the babe loosened his swaddling, causing it to cut across his neck. Hunter immediately placed an arm behind her on the sofa back, and reached over to tuck the blanket back out of the way.

  “Fifty,” she breathed. “That’s quite a handful.”

  Setting the bottle down, she lifted the babe to her shoulder and patted his back.

  Hunter straightened, a smile hovering as he made eye contact with Joey.

  “They’re no trouble,” Miss Addams said, her face softening. “And we have an experienced kindergarten teacher in charge who has the constant assistance of two women.”

  Joey belched, a bit of milk dribbling from his mouth.

  Pulling his handkerchief free, Hunter wiped the babe’s lips and grinned as if he were the one responsible for such a hearty burp.

  “Would you like to see the nursery?” Miss Addams asked.

  “I would,” Billy replied. “But, if it’s all right, may I finish feeding Joey?”

  “Certainly.”

  Billy switched arms and again gave Joey his bottle.

  “While we’re waiting,” Hunter said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Can you tell me if there are any playgrounds in the area?”

  Miss Addams’s shoulders wilted a bit. “I’m afraid there aren’t.”

  “But all these children,” he said. “They’re everywhere. Are you saying they have no place to play at all?”

  “We provide what entertainment we can here. We have a Fairy Story Club, a Jolly Boys’ Club, the Pansy Club, the Young Heroes Club, and the Story Telling Club.”

  As Miss Addams continued to list the astounding number of activities and centers they’d made available to the neighborhood, Billy’s pleasure grew. She knew they had a gymnasium, a coffeehouse, and a reading room, but she had no idea they’d organized so many literary, cultural, and social clubs.

  Hunter, she could see, was not impressed. Over the last few weeks of massages, she’d come to know him quite well. He was an outdoorsman. A man who’d rather hunt and fish than read a book, study a painting, or attend a concert. When they’d discussed the sp
ecial programs and performances held at the fair, he’d conceded there was some inherent value in the arts, but he didn’t consider them a necessity. Not like fresh air and the bounty provided by God’s green earth.

  Still, her conscience eased considerably. If they left Joey here, he’d have a place to go to kindergarten and to learn about the arts and life outside the Nineteenth Ward. He’d have a community of friends who’d share the use of this house with him. She’d be able to visit him as often as she liked. Perhaps she could even offer her services once a week. Heaven knew, these people needed a physician in their midst.

  Joey finished his bottle.

  Miss Addams stood. “Shall we head to the nursery?”

  “Of course.” Billy propped Joey against her shoulder and accepted Hunter’s assistance to her feet. Their eyes connected, hers filled with relief, his filled with misgivings.

  HULL HOUSE NURSERY13

  “Brass cribs lined the walls. Some of the tots slept, others stood at the railings. Some cried, and yet others crawled along the floor.”

  CHAPTER

  15

  They passed beneath an arched doorway, then through a kitchen full of light. Its yeasty fragrance filled the back part of the house. Three girls with miniature aprons stood on stools, flour up to their elbows as they kneaded bread. With an expressive voice, Miss Weibel read a book about a happy-go-lucky dog of an uncertain breed.

  Hunter held the back door. Following Miss Addams, they left the little cooks behind, then crossed an alley free of filth, walked down another, passed a water pump, and arrived at a tiny brick cottage.

  Sounds of children laughing and chattering poured from its windows. Inside, the kindergarten gathered in a main drawing room. Miniature Italians, Hebrews, French, Irish, Africans, and Germans filled every available space. One little girl with bright red braids stood on the seat of a chair, talking to a baby figure in a painting. As Billy and Hunter wove past, the girl leaned over and kissed her newly found friend.