Jack

By Shannon LC Cate

Born a girl during the Civil War, Jack has been passing as a boy in the slums of Five Points, Manhattan, since running away from an orphans' home at age eight. He makes his living at petty thievery, surviving pocket watch-to-pocket watch until he discovers a talent for gambling. Lucy is a bright girl trapped in a dreary life with her widowed mother. When she meets Jack on the street, her days are happier than they have ever been. But her heart is broken when mother takes her far from New York, perhaps never to see Jack again. Her new home in a rowdy Arizona mining town is as dismal as ever, but she finds a glimmer of hope in dreams of a career on stage. Now, to find their way to the life they promised each other, Jack and Lucy will have to dodge dangers and take risks they never dreamed of as childhood sweethearts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shannon LC Cate
• Release date: Feb 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310175862

Shannon LC Cate

Shannon LC Cate has been writing about family, parenting, politics and religion since 2000. Her work has appeared on Babble.com, BlogHer.com, Literary Mama.com, VillageQ.com, in Adoptive Families Magazine, Gay Chicago Magazine and elsewhere. Her debut novel, "Jack," earned an Editor's Top Pick designation from Musa Publishing.Shannon, her partner and their two daughters, divide their time between Chicago and Urbana, Illinois.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Juliet

Gold Dust Theatre, Arizona Territory, August 1880

Romeo’s hair oil had stained the collar of his faded velvet coat. Lucy closed her eyes for a moment and put the image out of her mind. The air was thick with the smell of whiskey and sweat emanating from the bodies of the men in the audience. Thankfully, she couldn’t see them past the footlights and she had learned not to let their occasional shouts or misplaced laughter startle her in mid-performance.

Parting is such sweet sorrow… She ran the lines automatically for the next several scenes.

The play rolled on.

In the third act, she pulled a thin brass ring from her left hand and gave it to the nurse. It struck her as absurd, every time she did this, that her right hand still wore a diamond nearly as big as her eye. No thirteen-year old girl would have had such a ring. And if she had, she was certainly slighting Romeo with the brass one.

But Mr. Steel didn’t want her to take the diamond off in public. And Evelyn said they had to please Mr. Steel, so Lucy wore it, even when she played Juliet.

Backstage at the play’s end, she saw Bob slip away to the bar, still in his Friar Laurence costume. She sighed and stepped into her dressing room. It was hardly bigger than a broom closet, but she was the only player with a private one. She removed her costume and put on her real clothes, shoving Juliet’s dress into a hamper in the corner. It had never been a fine one, but after six weeks of playing four nights a week, it was nearly in tatters. No one cared. Everyone came again and again to the playhouse.

They came in part, to see Lucy. When he first had brought the actors to town, Mr. Steel said Lucy was a born actress and a Great Beauty and deserved to be on the biggest stages back East. But so far, she had only played on a splintered stage here in a town that some said was in the Arizona Territory, some said was in Mexico and some said belonged to the Apaches. Parties on all sides occasionally backed their claims with skirmishes that always left a handful of new graves in the yard just outside of town. It wasn’t a churchyard. Gold Dust, Arizona had no church.

Four years ago, Gold Dust, Arizona, didn’t have much of anything. Now it boomed with prospectors and prostitutes and poker. The Gold Dusters liked Shakespeare well enough, but after a few weeks of the same play, the audience had grown boisterous, shouting out lines before the actors could finish them, calling out remarks on Lucy’s body or costume. Rather than an actress or a beauty, she felt like a clown most nights—or a giraffe. She was one of only two girls of sixteen in Gold Dust. The other was Shanna, a half-Irish, half-Indian girl who lived below the saloon with the women who worked for Dan Foley, selling their company by the hour to lonely prospectors. And when Evelyn had caught Lucy playing cards in Shanna’s room, she had forbidden Lucy to go near the cellar again, or to see Shanna at all. Since then, Lucy had guiltily stopped speaking much to the other girl. But she often wished she could ask her to come along on a horseback ride down the riverbed on some cool morning.

Lucy had no other friends.

The players who supported her on stage had tried to befriend her at first, but they quickly grew to resent the favoritism shown her by Mr. Shaw, the old stage manager. The only other two women in the company were over forty. Their age showed all the more unflatteringly when they played beside Lucy, who really was quite pretty, even if she was not a Great Beauty. They had little to say to her when they arrived and her private dressing room did not facilitate the growth of intimacy even after several weeks of playing together. As a result, Lucy had never gotten over being slightly afraid of them.

The theatre itself was really just a big back room in the saloon. Mr. Steel had originally promised Lucy that he would build a grand new one, standing on its own in the chief intersection of the town. But those plans were delayed when a new silver vein was discovered. Mr. Steel had built another mine last year instead.

Silver, gold and diamonds—Mr. Steel had made all his money in mines. The silver and gold he had found here in the West. The diamonds, he said he had found in Africa fifteen years ago. He had spent five years mining them from the earth, laboring with his own hands beside his hired African guides until he had more than he could carry. Then he had returned to the New World and headed west to turn over the earth until he had found every piece of money it was hiding from less ambitious men.

Gold Dust, as a rule, admired and feared him. It was a powerful combination and Mr. Steel relished the position it gave him.

Lucy wiped the rouge from her cheeks without a glance into the hazy mirror over the dressing table. She took her hair down, removing two false pieces, and picked up a comb. She was half-way through weaving her own hair into a long, dark braid when a knock interrupted her.

Come in, she called, and looked up at the mirror to watch the door open behind her. Friar Laurence stepped in.

She turned. Is Evelyn at the—

The man threw back the hood of his cowl. It wasn’t Bob.

CHAPTER TWO

Six of Hearts

Five-Points, New York City, August, 1875

Lucy hurried across Little Water street, dodging the coal wagon as she did. Once on the paving stones, she looked back into the road to check for spilled coals, but none had fallen. Instead, she saw a boy running towards her.

Miss! He was calling her too, and he stopped when he reached her side. You dropped this back there. He nodded over his shoulder and held up a ragged, soiled handkerchief. Lucy was almost ashamed to admit it was hers, but she mumbled her thanks and took it, eyes on the ground.

Can I help you with those packages? the boy asked.

She looked up. He was older than she was—at least twelve—and Mama said she must never speak to big boys, or even small ones if she could help it. But this one had sweet-looking, soft brown eyes under the shadow of his cap. A fringe of dark curls was just peeping out below it in the back, too.

I can manage, she said, but she did not turn away quite yet.

Perhaps you can, but you needn’t, he insisted, taking one greasy, paper-and-string-tied package from her at a time until all she had left was the basket with the eggs.

Lucy held her breath. If a strange boy ran away with the food, what would she tell Mama?

At your service, Mademoiselle, the boy said with a little bow.

That isn’t my name, said Lucy, with a relieved giggle.

"Of course it’s not. It means a lady—in France, it does. Benji Allan told me so and he’s seventeen and been to France twice as a fireman on the Caroline Hawkins. The boy looked Lucy up and down. What is your name, then?"

What’s yours? Lucy asked instead of answering.

Jack, said the boy. I’d tip my hat to you, but my hands are full.

I’m Lucy.

Brats! No loitering! a shout came from behind the children and they glanced back just long enough to discern a lurching figure in police uniform, red in the face and waving a short, fat club.

Lucy looked at Jack.

That one hates me, Jack said under his breath, better get along. He nodded to Lucy and they began walking quickly.

In three blocks they were at Lucy’s apartment house, discernible from its neighbors on either side only by the fact that it was a little lower, stopping at four stories. But like the others, it was made of dirty brown bricks with small, grimy windows, nearly all open to the stifling summer air that barely moved in the narrow spaces behind the buildings and across the hard-packed dirt street. We live at the top, Lucy said, looking up and squinting. But you’d better give me the groceries now. Mama won’t like you.

How do you know she won’t like me? She hasn’t met me, Jack argued.

She doesn’t like boys. Lucy reached insistently for her packages.

She might like me, though. Jack grinned.

I’ll get in trouble.

Well…that’s different. Jack removed his hat, now that his hands were free of groceries. A wealth of black ringlets, damp with oil, spilled out around his face. I’ll be seeing you then, Mademoiselle.

Thanks, Lucy said, but she watched Jack smooth his hair, pull the cap back over his head and disappear around the corner before she walked up the stairs.

Mama was asleep again, her arms stretched along the back of the divan, her chin slumped to her chest. Her fancy sewing job lay abandoned beside her and an empty bottle was on the rag rug, the label half peeled away, making it say Harper’s Fin…WHISK…

Lucy bit her lip and tiptoed to the cupboard to put the packages away. She ought to have let Jack carry them up after all. Mama would never have known.

***

The next morning, Lucy stepped out of the dim building and squinted into the street. It had rained in the night and now the road was muddy and a musky-sour smell with no particular origin clogged the heavy air.

Mademoiselle Lucy!

She turned to her name, and saw Jack jogging to her side. He pulled off his cap, reached into his trousers pocket and presented an apple.

I brought you something.

She eyed the apple for one wary second, then took it. Thanks, she said.

Aren’t you going to eat it?

She took a bite. It was sweet and tangy at the same time. She had not had an apple in several weeks, tempting as it was to sneak one off the cart whenever she passed it on her way to the druggist for Mama’s medicine.

It’s good, she told Jack.

Where are you going today? he asked her.

Mama says I must take these clothes and sell them to the rag man. We have to pay the landlord tomorrow. Well, we had to pay last week, but if we don’t give him something tomorrow, we’ll be out on the street, he says.

Out on the street? Jack looked concerned.

Probably not. He’s said that before. But he likes Mama. That’s what Mama always told Lucy when the landlord got threatening.

Better pay him anyway, just in case. I’ll escort you. Jack offered Lucy a thin arm clad in patched linen. He wore no coat or tie. His brown cotton gabardine waistcoat was too big, but already shiny along the edges, and he had no collar or cuffs. Nevertheless, he seemed a gentleman to Lucy and she took his arm.

It’s a fine day, Jack said, looking up. After we sell your clothes, we should go to the docks and see which ships are in.

A grey dog with more bare skin than fur watched them from an alley.

Shoo! Jack said as they passed. The dog took a step back and cringed. Lucy felt her step lift a little, in spite of last year’s shoes that had been pinching her feet all summer.

When they reached the rag shop, Mr. Bauman was standing outside at a table of wares. He took one look at Lucy’s basket and pronounced, I’ll give you two bits for all of it.

Mama said not to take less than a half dollar for them. Lucy frowned.

I’m sorry child, I can’t do that.

Jack reached into the basket and spread everything out on the table. Look at all this, he said, worth a dollar easily!

Most of the clothes had been Lucy’s when she was smaller. They had been mended and let out over and over.

Now Mr. Bauman frowned. You’re mad, son. I’ll give you four bits. Now take your sister, and get along.

She isn’t my sister, Jack said. She’s my girl, and she and her mother will be on the street if they don’t give a dollar to the landlord tomorrow.

Your girl, eh? said Mr. Bauman. He looked at Lucy. She bit her lip. She knew she was too young to be anyone’s girl, even if she had known Jack for more than a day.

Mr. Bauman didn’t smile. Rather, he stroked his chin thoughtfully and examined the clothes again. Six bits, and not a penny more, he said at last.

Lucy looked at Jack, who seemed about to speak again. Thank you Mr. Bauman, she said hastily, reaching up to take the coins he offered. She picked up her basket, took Jack’s arm again and hastened him across the street, passing Mrs. Bauman as she did and nodding a greeting.

I could have got you a dollar, Jack insisted once they were out of the Baumans’ hearing.

Lucy doubted the clothes were worth even the six bits she had gotten for them, but she didn’t argue with Jack. You got me more than Mama wanted, she said.

Let’s buy penny buns and walk down to the docks.

I can’t, Lucy said. Mama was so worried this morning. I’ve got to take this money home. And though Mama had never said so, Lucy knew instinctively that she wouldn’t want Lucy around all the sailors at the harbor.

She pulled on Jack’s arm and he obliged her by turning back towards Little Water street. But when they got to her doorway, he wouldn’t let her say goodbye.

Stay for a few minutes. There’s something I have to tell you.

Lucy glanced up and down the street for the policeman who had shouted at them the day before, then sat on the wooden stoop, her empty basket in her lap. Jack stood before her, one foot on the step where she sat, one on the ground. He put his hands in his pockets and frowned.

I stole your handkerchief yesterday.

But I dropped it. You found it…

Jack looked at Lucy’s feet. The shadow of his cap’s brim fell across his face. You didn’t really drop it. I saw you at the grocer’s and I saw the edge of the handkerchief in your dress pocket and I pulled it out when you weren’t looking. Then I pretended to find it so I would have a reason to meet you.

Why did you want a reason to meet me? Lucy was really curious. Usually the boys on the street ignored her. Sometimes they shouted at her rudely. But no strange boy—or girl, for that matter—had ever been kind to her, like Jack had been.

How old are you? Jack asked in a serious-sounding tone.

Lucy said nothing, but wrapped her arms a bit tighter around her empty basket.

I’ll bet you aren’t ten years old—

I am! Lucy protested. I am eleven years old and eight months.

You see? Jack said. I am fourteen years old,—he smiled a little condescendingly—and four months. And you are too young to be going around this neighborhood alone. I’ve seen you out before now, you know. I can protect you.

Lucy was suspicious. Protect me from what?

From boys, from dogs, from police—from getting cheated, like today at Mr. Bauman’s.

The police never spoke to me before yesterday. And Mr. Bauman would never cheat me, Lucy said. Sometimes, he gives me a penny for nothing when I walk by, and Mrs. Bauman gave me tea and a bun once with her own children in the back of the shop.

Nevertheless, a girl like you shouldn’t be wandering around this neighborhood alone. Now you’ve got me. I can watch out for you.

What if I don’t want you to? Lucy asked, with an eyebrow precociously arched.

Don’t you?

Lucy thought for a moment. Mama said if boys spoke to her, she was to pretend not to hear and keep walking. But she liked Jack, and Jack had been good to her so far, even if he had stolen her handkerchief. He had given it back. And he brought her an apple. And Mr. Bauman did give her more for the clothes when Jack insisted. Maybe Jack was not the same kind of boy as the ones Mama didn’t like.

I guess I do, Lucy said. But maybe I’ll change my mind.

It is a lady’s prerogative to change her mind, Jack said.

I don’t think I have a…‘per…ah-gatif…’ Lucy frowned.

Now you do, Jack said.