“That was a fine thing you did standing up to those bullies,” she said. “I saw how you rushed to help that other boy.”
“I didn’t neither,” he growled. “I just like to fight.”
“I think you’re a brave boy all the same. Your mama must be real proud of you.”
“Not my mother!”
“Nonsense. All mothers are proud of their sons.” She patted his cheek, but he jerked away from her.
“That shows all you know, lady. My mother thought I was garbage. When I was a baby, she dumped me in the trash bin behind the orphanage.”
Sadie’s eyes went real bright at that. She looked away for a minute, dragging the cuff of her sleeve across her face. She sniffed like a person catching a cold, and when she turned back, her smile was even more gentle.
“What’s your name, child?”
“John Doe!” he said. That’s what he told most everyone since running away from the orphanage. The matron there, being of a Biblical turn between bouts of drinking, had named him Ezekiel. But Zeke only shared his real name with his most trusted companions. And at that juncture, he had hardly known what to make of Sadie Marceone, let alone trust her.
If she smiled at the clumsiness of his lie, she managed to hide it from him. “John. That’s a good strong name,” was all she said.
When she had done patching his hurts, she gave him something to eat. But the extent of his trust had been stretched to the limit for that day. He snatched away the chunk of bread and meat and bolted with it, out of the soup kitchen,disappearing down one of the alleyways as he already knew so well how to do.
But after that, he had taken to hanging about the settlement house on the days when he knew she would be there. Sometimes he only drew near long enough to wrench the food from her outstretched hands. Other times he lingered long enough to talk, even let her brush the hair back from his eyes, although he always groused, “Quit that, lady.” Pretending to be so tough, all the while he had been secretly pleased by the small gesture.
It couldn’t have been more than a few weeks that passed in this fashion before she confessed to him, “Johnnie, I went to visit that orphanage you told me about.”
He glared up at her, his whole body trembling with the pain of imagined betrayal. “You snitched on me. You told them where I am.”
“No, Johnnie, of course I didn’t. I only needed to find out some things about you.” A troubled look came into her eyes, which quickly cleared as she beamed down at him. “You see, I want to adopt you, Johnnie. I want to bring you home with me, to be my own boy.”
He did not believe her at first. But she meant it. Things seemed to happen quickly after that. His memory contained only fragmented images of standing up before a judge and being told his name was now John Marceone.
Far clearer was the day he had been taken home to the cozy warmth of an apartment, garbed in the first new clothes he had ever owned—knickers and a sailor middy. The cloth was cheap, but the stitching impeccable, set in by Sadie’s own clever hands. He had barely had time to take in his new surroundings when he was confronted by three girls in calico dresses, all with long, dark braids. They rose like stair steps, the youngest about his own size and age, the eldest, Caddie, at that time seeming totower over him. All three regarded him with solemn, critical eyes.
“Girls.” Sadie placed her hand on his shoulder. “This is Johnnie. He’s come to live with us, the brother I promised you.”
Caddie softened enough to give him a shy smile, while Agnes, the little one, let out a delighted whoop and planted a kiss on Zeke’s cheek. She didn’t even seem to mind when he scrubbed it away. But Tessa, the one nearest his own age, glowered with resentment, muttering low enough so that Sadie couldn’t hear, “We don’t need any boys around here.”
If the little girl with the dark, scornful eyes had been a boy, Zeke would have socked her for making it so plain that he didn’t belong here anymore than he had ever belonged anywhere else in his short life. Instead he assured himself it didn’t matter. He didn’t want to live in a houseful of silly girls either. First chance he found, he would get the hell out of there.
His moment came after supper when Sadie shooed the girls off to clear the table. Settled into her rocker, she appeared absorbed with darning a pair of Tessa’s stockings. Zeke backed toward the door.
Without glancing up from her work, Sadie said softly, “You can run away again if you want to, Johnnie. But I hope you won’t.”
Somehow her giving him permission to flee dulled his desire to do so. He squared up to her, saying, “Well, I might hang out here—for a day or two. But I don’t want any more mushing over me, see? And don’t expect me to start calling you Mama.”
Her eyes were sad, but filled with understanding. “You don’t have to, Johnnie. But if the day ever comes when you want to, that’d be just fine with me.”
Even after all these years, those patient words still echoed through Zeke’s mind, more bitter than any reproach that Tessa could have heaped upon him. He tried to shake off all thesetroubling memories and snap himself back to the reality of tossing upon the sofa in Rory’s tiny parlor.
But with Rory asleep in the next room, there was little distraction, only the lonely ticking of the clock upon the mantel. Remembrance of Sadie’s wistful expression continued to haunt him.
What had she seen in him anyway that had impelled her to such a rash step, taking in a half-wild street kid to be her son? It wasn’t as though she were some wealthy woman given to philanthropic impulses. A poor widow, she had labored long and hard, plying her needle, already burdened with the care of three young daughters. She still had found time to do charity work, at the settlement house and for her church.
Had he been just another of her charities? She had never made Zeke feel that way. More like the son she had always wanted, but never had. But in the end, he had proved a disappointment to her.
True, with time, he had mellowed somewhat from the young savage he had been, learned to wash once a day, not to get into fights more than twice, to bow his head when grace was said, even if he was too stubborn to pray along. But the one thing he had never learned was how to show her his love. Long after he had come to think of her in his heart as his mother, he had continued to call her Lady. After all, tough fellows didn’t show their feelings, didn’t do anything as embarrassing as go around bleating, “Mama.”
And when he was finally old enough to know better, it had been too late. With a heavy sigh, Zeke struggled against the sofa pillows, levering himself into a sitting position. He would never get to sleep this way. The stillness in the flat seemed to reproach him like the silence of Sadie’s grave.
