me for wanting to share in your dream of going west? That hardly seems fair.”
Her shadow reappeared on the pavement just outside the dull, yellowing light of a gas lamppost. She paused and glanced back at him, dropping the folds of her skirts. “Your family is waitin’ for you, Brit. Try to remember that. Someone is out there sheddin’ tears for you, worryin’ themselves into a grave whilst you foolishly talk of chasin’ a dream that isn’t even yours to chase.”
Why did he feel as if she was wrong? Why did he feel as if there was no one waiting for him? Not a mother. Not a wife. No one. “’Tis very difficult for me to care about people I can’t even remember, be they shedding tears for me or not.”
Though he couldn’t see her face against the wavering shadows, he could see the softening of her rigid stance. She blew out a breath. “I suppose I understand.” She waved him over. “Come. We shouldn’t linger. Trouble brews in the dark around these parts.”
Drawing in the sharpness of the dank evening air, he crossed the dirt road toward her, the lone gas lamp flickering as it unevenly lit the mired path before him.
He scanned the stretching width of the dank street. Cramped wooden buildings loomed in the surrounding darkness, murky-yellow lamps lighting broken windows stuffed with rags and heaven knows what else. Silhouettes of men and women lurked on the streets and hovered in doorways. Others casually lounged on the curb of the pavement in small groups, chuckling and having muted conversations as if respectably sitting around a table to dine.
An old man holding a dented tankard staggered past on an angle, bellowing in an off-key tone, “The devil and me, together we pee, yessiree, the devil and me.”
Robinson swallowed against the knot lodged in his throat. Is this where she lived? All of this felt wrong. She didn’t belong here amongst these grimy shadows and broken windows stuffed with rags. No wonder she dreamed of apple trees and open fields.
A headache pinched his skull, making him squint in an attempt to fight against his sudden discomfort. He quickened his stride until he paused before her and a doorstep leading into a large two-story building.
Something snorted and darted past his legs, making him jump aside in heart-pounding astonishment. A round, furless creature wobbled down the pavement and into the inky shadows of the night.
He pointed at it. “What the hell was that?”
“A pig,” she remarked, lowering her gaze and moving around him. “They’re always wanderin’ the street lookin’ for food. Much like everyone else ’round these parts.”
He eyed her. “A pig? In the city?”
She set her chin. “I hate to disappoint you, Brit, but in this ward, pigs are considered highly respectable citizens.”
Sensing she was still irked with him, he edged toward her. “If I had known that I would upset you like this, I would have never kissed you. Know that.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “It wasn’t your fault. I willingly gave in to it. I just…I don’t want this turnin’ into a mess, is all. I’ve got plans for a better life and I don’t want those plans to fall aside, see? I’m not gettin’ any younger and the Five Points is agin’ me fast.”
He dragged in a breath and let it out. It chafed knowing that he was nothing but an inconvenience to her, especially after that kiss. Did she kiss all men like that? “I have no intention to impose upon your plans,” he managed.
“Good. It means we’ll get along.” She gestured toward the doorstep leading into a small building whose sparse windows were lit by warm light peering out from behind lopsided curtains. “Follow me and mind the step.”
He lingered as she withdrew a key from a stitched pocket within her gown and opened the entrance door. Waving him into the blurring abyss of a narrow stairwell, she closed the main entrance door behind them.
Grabbing his hand firmly, she guided him into the darkness. “Don’t let go.”
“I won’t.” He tightened his hold, fingering her small, callus-roughened hand. It was odd to feel as though he was under her protection and mercy.
She gently shook his hand. “Use your other hand to balance yourself against the wall as we go up. There are sixteen stairs. The first always trips everyone up, even me. So mind it.”
He bit back a smile, touched by her mothering. After a few blind pats, he found the wall she was referring to and lifted his booted foot, placing it on the first step. He caught the edge and carefully slid into place. “You do this every night?”
“I have to sleep sometime, don’t I?”
“Are there no lamps to make use of?”
“There are, but they’re usually dashed out by nine-thirty. We’ve had too many fires down the street.” She tightened her fingers around his hand and tugged him upward. “Can’t you go any faster? Raymond was three and fifty the day his heart stopped and he managed to run these stairs up and down in the dark as if he were twenty.”
It wasn’t much of a compliment having that pointed out. Robinson released her hand and hurried up the remaining stairs, boldly taking two at a time in the darkness. Angling past her warmth, he jumped onto the landing with an impressive thud. “There. Did Raymond ever skip stairs in the darkness the way I just did?”
“Never mock a dead man who doesn’t deserve it.” Her hand caught his arm. She tugged him toward the end of what appeared to be a blackened corridor. “There are two floors and four tenements on each floor. Most of the people livin’ here are men. Don’t know how that came to be, but don’t think the worst of me. It’s just how it is. Unlike them, I’m fortunate enough to afford my own tenement. Raymond knew the landlord, so I only pay three dollars a month for what could easily be six.”
She released his hand and patted his arm. “Stay where you are.” There was a chink of a key being pushed into a lock and then a click and the door creaked open.
Her heels echoed against the floorboards and he could hear the flint being struck. A glass oil lamp sputtered to life, brilliantly illuminating not only her pale face but a small yellow-wallpapered kitchen one could easily cross in but three strides. The heavy scent of starch, lye and soap drifted toward him.
“You’ll get used to the smell,” she offered conversationally. “It’s better than the one outside, to be sure. I do all of my work in the front room as opposed to the yard outside, see. That way nothin’ gets stolen.”
She set the glass lamp onto a wooden table set across from a brick hearth bearing a cauldron. She loosened the tie beneath her chin, the blue ribbons cascading in a flutter to her slim shoulders. She stripped the oval bonnet from her head with a sigh and glanced down, neatly retying the ribbon into a perfect bow. Bustling toward the wall, she leaned over a coal bin and hung her bonnet gently from a nail positioned next to another nail that held a faded wooden rosary.
Her thick bundled hair appeared almost brown in the dim light, with only hints of bright red as she turned back to the chair and swept up a plaid apron. She affixed it around her waist with three quick movements.
His eyes dropped from her slim shoulders to her aproned waist. It was like being her husband and peering into a very intimate routine. He rather liked it. It made him feel as if he
