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The Promise

By Carolyn Torbett-Johnson

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Chapter 1

Crouched behind the vegetable cart, Jack gritted his teeth. The cramp in his leg intensified. Sucking in his breath, he tried to ignore the pain and stay unnoticed.
“You’d better have your permit to sell in hand the next time I come around. If not, I’ll run you in.”
The old grocer wiped his hands down his grimy, white apron. “I’ll have it for sure, Sergeant Foster. I don’t want trouble with the law.”
Sergeant Foster strode away and Jack shifted his leg to relieve the ache. Sweat trickled down his thick, chocolate-colored hair and he raised a trembling hand to wipe it away.
“Hey, kid!” Jack jumped and banged his elbow on the cart’s wheel. “What are you doing over there? You trying to steal my fruit?”
Jack stood, squaring his shoulders. “No, sir.”
“Then get out of here. Go home.” Turning, the grocer started to pack his wares into boxes.
Jack’s chin rose. “Mister, I don’t have a home. I’m looking for work.”
“I don’t have any work. All I’ve got are problems and I don’t need another.”
Jack’s chin lowered. “I’ll work cheap. I’ll even work for vegetables.”
“Listen, I got no work. I do it all myself. Now I have to get a permit before Foster gets back or I’ll be in jail.” The grocer continued packing his cart. “Just go home.”
Jack rubbed his elbow, turned and walked down the rain soaked road. Trying to avoid the puddles, he wrapped his ragged jacket around himself and shivered in the cold breeze. Just go home. He wished he could follow the grocer’s advice.
Half way down the narrow road, Jack started looking for pennies. Finding a penny was rare but worth the search. Jack kicked at dirty leaves and soggy papers, scouring the road quickly in the dimming light. The last of the light fled as the narrow road opened onto Main Street. Jack abandoned his search and turned right.
Closing his eyes, Jack fought the sick feeling churning in his stomach. How am I going to tell her? Head down, Jack walked the mile down Main Street. Taking a left onto Lovely Lane, his feet dragged. Lovely Lane – a place nothing like its name. In 1908, it was known for being one of the dirtiest places in New York City. It smelled of sewer and rotten eggs. Jack picked his way through the filth and debris. A wooden stockade fence blocked the end.
Jack made his way to the fence. Counting the boards, he came to board number eight. Lifting the board, he slipped through the gap. Behind the fence was a six-foot opening with a pine board crate at one end. Fences of all kinds lined the opening, some wooden and others sheet metal.
Long ago neighbors had fought over the six-foot space, fences went up and soon they forgot the space existed. Jack had discovered it while escaping a gang of older boys. He now claimed the area as his own.
Approaching the pine crate, Jack called out, “Leah, I’m back. You ok? How’s your foot, sis?”
Out of the crate popped a curly auburn head. “Jack, I’m so glad you’re home.” Leah always called the ugly crate home. She’d even begun decorating the inside with colorful fall leaves. Jack wasn’t willing to see it as anything other than what it was, a prickly wooden crate. “My foot’s a lot better. I can’t believe I didn’t see that hole in the sidewalk. Did you get work today? Were you able to get some food?”
Jack paused. As he looked into her hopeful eyes, he uttered the words she had heard too often. “Sorry. I couldn’t find any work. I’m afraid we won’t have anything to eat tonight.” He searched for encouraging words to lessen the blow. “I’m sure I’ll find something tomorrow. Just one more day and we’ll have some food, I promise.”
For a moment, ten-year-old Leah’s chin quivered as she fought to control her tears. She blinked her gray-blue eyes to clear them. “I know you’re doing your best, Jack. It’s going to be all right.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Just one more day and we’ll have food. Just one more day. That’s not such a long time.” He saw her lift her head with resolve. “If we go right to sleep it’ll be here before we know it. I caught some fresh water in the bucket. We’ll fill up on water and wait for tomorrow. We can pretend it’s lemonade. Ice cold and frosty. Lemonade with lots of sugar.”
Jack smiled at his little sister, two years younger than himself. “You’re a good kid, Lee.” He spoke the nickname tenderly. “Mom and Dad would be proud of you. Give me a big cup of lemonade. It’s my favorite.”
Leah laughed softly as she ladled the luke-warm water into two cracked cups. Brother and sister drank several cups before preparing for bed.
The oak tree overhanging the fence had shed its leaves recently and Leah had gathered them into the center of the crate. With one worn blanket spread over the leaves and another for a cover, Jack and Leah had a better bed than most children on the street. Having no change of clothes, they took off their shoes and lay down as they were, pressing their backs together for warmth.
“Jack, where do you think Momma and Daddy are? Do you think they’re in heaven?”
“Yea, I guess Mom and Dad are in heaven.” Jack took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
“Do you think it’s warm in heaven? Do they have a house there? Do you think they have enough to eat?”
“I guess it’s warm in heaven, and I’m sure they have enough to eat. They probably have a real nice house, too. Let’s go to sleep now, Leah. I’m tired.” Jack shifted the arm under his head, trying to get comfortable.
“I hope they have a room for us. I’d like to have a room again. It wouldn’t have to be big. We could even share a room. Like we do here.”
“Shh. Go to sleep.”
“A room in a real house with a real bed. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
“Sleep.”
“Oh, all right.” With a small sigh, Leah drifted off dreaming of a room.
Jack lay still with his back to his sister. He didn’t want to think of the parents they had loved and lost. He didn’t want to think of a warm home and a safe room. This was his life now. This cold, hungry existence. Their only hope was for him to find a job. Jack’s head hurt as he tried to think of ways to make money. He lay awake long into the night.
***
Morning brought a chill to the air. Jack sat up and stretched. Looking back at Leah, the desire to crawl back under the cover was strong, but he knew they needed food. As Jack reached for his shoes, Leah opened her eyes.
“Jack, I was going with you to help look for work.”
“Not this morning, it’s too cold. You rest your ankle and I’ll come get you early afternoon, if I’m not working.”
“Jack, you know I’m old enough to help work, too. There are kids at the woolen mill, younger than me. They make thirty cents a day.”
“Yea, there are kids younger than you and kids get hurt there every week. The only time there’s a job opening is when someone gets hurt and they have to carry them out. Even then, kids are lined up for the job. Don’t worry, I’ll find something.”
Jack quickly made his way through the fence and down Lovely Lane. Determination wrinkled his brow. He and Leah had not eaten for two days. Jack turned onto Main Street and stopped at the first shop.
“Would you like me to sweep your sidewalk or carry boxes?”
“No kid, I already have a boy, works here for a quarter a day.”
A quarter didn’t sound like much, but Jack knew it would have bought a loaf of bread and butter. Jack heard the same disappointing news as he stopped at each place of business along the street.
“Sorry, kid.”
“I don’t have enough money to buy my own kids’ food.”
“I’ve already have help.”
“No extra work.”
“My kids do the work.”
On and on Jack walked. The sun rose higher in the sky. It was noon when Jack spotted a man struggling to load heavy boxes into a wagon.
“Can I load those boxes for you, sir? I’ll load them for five cents.”
“Get away from me, street rat.”
“I’d be glad to load the boxes, sir. Just give me a chance.”
“I don’t need a street rat loading my boxes. You might try to steal something.”
“I wouldn’t steal anything. I need work to buy food.”
A thick callous hand grabbed Jack’s arm, lifting him up on his toes. Jack felt spittle on the side of his face as Sergeant Foster shook him and shouted. “This kid bothering you? Say the word and I’ll run him in.”
The man with the wagon looked into Jack’s terror-widened eyes. “No, I guess not. He was looking for work.”
“Well, look for work someplace else.” Sergeant Foster growled, releasing Jack with a shove.
Stumbling forward, Jack took off at a run. He ran as if Sergeant Foster were following on his heels. Slowing when the pain in his side became unbearable, he eased his exhausted body down on nearby steps. His breath burned in his lungs. Jack rested his head against the side of a wooden building as he waited for his breathing to return to normal. As he waited, Jack thought of Leah, hungry and alone back at the crate.
“Oh God, if you’re up there, you gotta help me. My sister needs food. I need food. Please help.”
Jack’s head dropped down on his arms. He didn’t cry. He was too tired to cry. He was too tired to think. He just sat, arms folded, head down. The door behind him opened with a creak. Warm air spilled out wrapping him in a hug. Two well-dressed men ambled down the steps.
“That stupid waitress put mayonnaise on my roast beef sandwich. I wanted mustard. Now it’s ruined.”
“Come on, Harry, don’t be so fussy. Just eat it.”
“I’m not eating mayonnaise. I’ll get my secretary to run out and buy another when I get back to the office.”
The businessman dropped the sandwich in a trashcan not three feet away from Jack. As the men moved toward their waiting carriage, Jack flung himself toward the trashcan. The sandwich was really there, most of it wrapped in wax paper. Jack gently lifted it out. The aroma of roast beef wafted into his nostrils. Jack’s mouth watered. Tucking in his shirt, Jack slipped the sandwich in next to his ribs. After it was safely placed, he headed for home and Leah.

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