Stories of Hope

By Jeanne A. Moore

Stories of Hope is a collection of six short stories of tenacity, survival and hope set in the late 1800s and early 1900s in America.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeanne A. Moore
• Release date: Aug 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201722630

Jeanne A. Moore

Jeanne A. Moore moved to Honolulu from Los Angeles in 1979. After retiring from government service, she began pursuing her interest in writing.

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IN Stories of Hope, we visit America in the mid to late 1800s and early 1900s. Two of the stories, Nobody’s Child and The Fire, are based on true events.

In Nobody’s Child, we meet orphan Sally Parker. We also meet Alice Ward, the woman who adopts her. Sally is homeless and living on the streets of New York City with a group of other homeless children in 1910 when the story begins.

In 1850, it was estimated that there were 20,000 to 30,000 homeless children in New York City. Financial panics, financial depressions and a large influx of immigrants all combined and led to widespread unemployment and poverty.

In 1853 Charles Loring Brace formed the Children’s Aid Society. He knew there was a need for labor on the farms in the Midwest and that these children on the streets of New York needed homes. Here was an opportunity for these children to be removed from the horrible conditions of abandonment and poverty and adopted by families so they could have the opportunity of a better life in a healthier environment.

This gave rise to what much later became known as The Orphan Train movement. The train companies, philanthropists and other private social welfare organizations partnered with the Children’s Aid Society. From 1854 through 1929, groups of orphans supervised by western agents who worked for the Children’s Aid Society were sent west to be adopted. It is estimated that approximately 200,000 children were taken by train from New York City to adoptive families in the mid-west. Some of the children were taken as far as the west coast.

In The Fire we meet Aurora Lanza, a seamstress who labors in the Triangle Shirtwaist Company’s factory, a garment factory. It was one of the many sweatshops with deplorable working conditions.

The Triangle Shirtwaist Company’s factory was located on the eighth, ninth and tenth floors of the Asch Building in the Greenwich Village neighborhood of New York City. On March 25, 1911, a fire broke out in a scrap bin beneath the fabric cutter’s table; some accounts I read said it was on the eighth floor; some said it was on the ninth floor. Some of the employees were able to get out and take the elevators down before the elevators stopped working. Some were able to get out via the fire escapes before they became too damaged to work. Some escaped through the windows to the roofs of adjacent buildings. But the doors to the stairwells and exits were locked. This was a common practice in those days. The reason they were locked was to prevent the workers from taking unauthorized breaks. It also prevented many of the Triangle Shirtwaist Company’s employees from escaping. Many of those who could not escape jumped from the windows to their death rather than burn to death.

One hundred and forty-six people died in that fire – one hundred and twenty-three woman and twenty-three men. Most of the victims were women and teenage girls, and most were Italian and Jewish immigrants.

In the aftermath of the fire, labor laws and fire prevention laws were enacted. The International Ladies’ Garment Workers’ Union (ILGWU) was a leader in the fight for fire prevention in factories, better working conditions, shorter work hours, regulating child labor, and a higher minimum wage.

Left Holding the Bag

LUCY MAE LOGAN APPROACHED the bank and gasped. Her body jerked.

Oh, there you are, just as we planned. The dark-haired man who had barreled into her exiting the bank touched the brim of his gray Stetson. Her heart pounded under his piercing blue-eyed gaze.

Lucy Mae’s chest tightened. She clutched the handle of her purse in her left hand. What?

The man looked back over his shoulder and then looked at her again. Here, hold this.

He shoved a brown leather satchel toward her. Her jaw dropped and she grasped the handle with her right hand. Her body jerked to the right with the weight of the satchel. He sprinted off the boardwalk, around the hitching post, grabbed the waiting Palomino’s reins and swung into the saddle.

Six shooter drawn, bank president Howard Wallace rushed out onto the boardwalk and fired a shot missing the man on the horse by just a smidge.

The man winked at Lucy Mae. You hold on to that satchel and I’ll be back for it, just like we planned.

Lucy Mae blinked and bit into her bottom lip. The boardwalk seemed to shift under her and Main Street swirled around her. We what?

The man tapped the horse’s sides with his heels. The horse lept into motion and carried its rider west down Oak Meadows’ dusty main street.

"Miss Lucy! Howard hissed, towering over her. His dark, flinty-hard eyes might as well have sent sparks shooting out at her. I never would have expected you to be an accomplice!

An accomplice? she squeaked.

I saw you talking to the robber and now here you are with that bag in your hand. Edna Barlow stepped out of the bank and stood next to Howard, her hands on her ample hips. What do you think you’re doing?

Lucy Mae blinked and looked down at the satchel. The heavy bag’s handle dug painfully into the palm of her hand. Robber? He wasn’t wearing a mask.

The banker yanked the satchel out of Lucy Mae’s hand. She stumbled to the side and he grabbed her upper arm with his free hand and said, "I hear tell he never does. You just come right along with me. We’re going to see David Garrett."

Heart racing, she jerked her arm, but Howard didn’t relinquish his grip. Ouch, you’re hurting me. Why are we going to see Sheriff Garrett?

"You were standing there so innocent-like waiting for him to make a getaway, weren’t you? Well, you’ve been caught red-handed with the satchel full of stolen money."

"Mister Wallace, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Him who?" Her pulse thudded in her temples and she wobbled on shaky legs.

"Shame on you, pretending like you don’t know. You know who he is. Gentleman Jim Callahan. I never would have guessed you of all people would have fallen under the spell of a handsome, no-good low life. And yet there you were waiting for him and now here you are with the evidence. Half the women in California are just dying to help James Callahan, each one hoping she’ll be the one he spirits away with him to wherever his enclave is. Come on, quit resisting."

Howard Wallace marched down the boardwalk, still firmly gripping Lucy Mae’s arm.

Chills ran down her spine even though it was a warm summer afternoon. "How dare you make assumptions about me?"

She stumbled; once again, she tried to pull away from Howard, but the tall, portly man’s grip was so firm that her arm was becoming numb.

Miss Logan, you are not morally fit to be teaching the children of Oak Meadows, Edna Barlow hissed as she scurried along next to the banker. Her mud-brown skirt swished around her.

Lucy Mae trembled; her knees buckled and she stumbled again. Surely, if Howard Wallace weren’t holding on to her arm so firmly, she’d collapse right there in the middle of the boardwalk. The banker dragged her into Dave Garrett’s office and plunked the satchel on the sheriff’s desk.

"This woman is an accomplice of Gentleman Jim Callahan," Howard announced, flinging her forward and releasing her.

She pitched forward and braced herself on the sheriff’s desk.

Seated behind the desk, Dave stared at the man standing beside Lucy Mae. James Callahan’s in town?

"Was in town, Howard retorted. I shot at him. Where were you? Didn’t you hear the shot? He robbed my bank and gave our esteemed school teacher this satchel full of the stolen money – the bank’s money, the town folks’ money – to hold while he mounted his fancy horse. She was standing on the boardwalk outside the bank waiting for him."

Lucy Mae scowled, straightened up and stamped her foot. "I was not. I was fixing to come in the bank to deposit my pay for the last two weeks and the man carrying this bag came out of the bank and ran into me."

You were waiting for him, Howard retorted. Dave, Gentleman Jim spoke to her; he said, ‘Oh, there you are, just as we planned.’ Then he handed her the satchel and she took it. Then he got on his horse and I took a shot at him. Barely missed his shoulder. I coulda plugged him if I’d wanted to, but I hate the sight of blood. Then the thieving scoundrel said ‘You hold on to that satchel and I’ll be back for it, just like we planned,’ and that golden Palomino of his charged off down the street carrying the bandit with it.

The room spun around Lucy Mae. She leaned forward and rested her hands on the sheriff’s desk to steady herself. I’ve never seen that man before in my life.

Dave Garrett leaned against the back of his wooden chair. I find it hard to believe that Lucy Mae Logan is in cahoots with James Callahan.

Howard glared at the man seated behind the desk. Well, I don’t. I saw the whole thing with my own eyes and heard every word they said to each other. Arrest her.

I saw and heard the whole thing from just inside the bank’s door, Edna said with a decisive nod. Howard’s telling the truth."

Dave shook his head. No, I’m not gonna arrest her or put her in jail. If she were his accomplice, why didn’t she have a horse saddled and ready at the hitchin’ post and ride off with James Callahan? What’s she still doin’ here holdin’ the bag?

Lucy Mae took a deep breath, exhaled and blinked back tears. Thank you. I had nothing to do with the robbery.

Howard clanged his jaw and his face hardened.

Well, I know she had something to do with it, Edna retorted. Miss Logan, I will see that the Education Committee relieves you of your teaching duties and revokes the lease on the home you’ve been living in.

Dazed and trembling, Lucy Mae’s knees wobbled and gave way. She sank to the floor, put her face in her hands and wept.

LUCY MAE’S PULSE POUNDED in her temples. The words on the yellow paper swam before her eyes. "Are you sure this is what the Crystal Falls School Board wrote?"

Yep, that’s the reply that came in over the wire. Tall, lanky telegraph operator Kendrick Tanner regarded her from behind the counter with his serous basset-hound eyes. The sunlight that filtered in through the glass window in front of the office and through his green visor cast a green tinge on his face.

Her spine stiffened. They want a teacher whose qualifications are beyond reproach? That’s really the message they sent?

"I’m sorry. They must have contacted Edna as the president of the Oak Meadows Education Committee."

She gulped. For a reference, you mean.

He drew his mouth into a thin line. I hear tell...nah, you wouldn’t be interested, not a lady such as yourself.

Lucy Mae forced herself to breathe. Interested in what?

Kendrick arched his right eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

Her hands itched to take him by his boney shoulders and shake him. Hard. What? A teaching position?

He nodded. And I don’t think they’re going to be as picky as Crystal Falls.

She shifted her weight from side to side. Where is it? Look, the Committee revoked the house I was living in and I’m almost out of money. I can’t pay for a room at the hotel past the day after tomorrow.

He clamped his mouth shut, regarded her for a moment and then said, Last Chance Crossing.

"Oh, God. She slumped and leaned on the counter. Not there."

I hear they’ve been workin’ on cleanin’ the place up, Kendrick replied.

Who’s ‘they’ and what are they doing to clean up that lawless pit?

"Talk is the womenfolk in the area got together and formed a group they’re callin’ the Women’s League. They pestered the ranchers, farmers and businessmen for money to build a new schoolhouse. They fired the town’s sheriff and hired a tough buzzard who maintains he can’t be bought by saloon and bordello owners. Oh, and the new tax commissioner instigated a special tax on bordellos. I understand that’s how they got rid of the bordello. Once that tax was in place, she raised the amount of that establishment's taxes. The nefarious business went elsewhere so it wouldn’t be taxed—"

Lucy Mae drew her eyebrows together. "Wait. The tax commissioner’s a she?"

Kendrick grinned. Yep.

How’d she get that position?  

He shrugged. I don’t rightly know. But I do know they’re still tryin’ to get rid of the saloon.

Lucy Mae’s mouth dropped open. How’d you find out all this?

His face flushed pink. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Hazel.

Hazel?

Hazel Denton. Kendrick’s pink face turned red.

Who’s Hazel Denton?

Telegraph operator and postmistress in Last Chance Crossing.

Oh. Lucy Mae grinned at his obvious affection for this woman. It was the first time she’d had anything to smile about in two weeks.

"I can send a telegram givin’ you a recommendation and tell Hazel to pass it on to the Women’s League. Kendrick looked over her shoulder and the color drained from his face. Hello, Sheriff Garrett. How long you been standin’ there?"

Long enough, Dave Garrett replied and entered the telegraph and post office. Lucy Mae, I know you’ve been having trouble finding another job.

Tears flooded her eyes. "Yes. Seems everyplace I apply to wants a reference. And Edna and the Education Committee—"

I’m not surprised. You know, you could have asked me for a recommendation.

Lucy Mae sucked in a sharp breath and coughed. I could have?

The sheriff nodded. I hear tell you’re a fine teacher and I know you’re innocent. If you had been guilty, you wouldn’t a been standing there holding the evidence. You’d a been high tailing it outa town with James Callahan.

Her insides quivered. May I still ask for a recommendation?

Dave nodded again. Of course. I kinda hate sending you off to Last Chance Crossing. It’s been a rough town for a long time. But there’s no telling what Bradley Stone and that gaggle of determined women can do.

Lucy Mae’s stomach fluttered. Who’s Bradley Stone?

That’s the buzzard I was tellin’ you about that they hired as sheriff, Kendrick said.

Let’s do it, Kendrick, Dave said. Find out from Hazel who we need to contact to get Lucy Mae into that teaching position.

The telegraph operator sat down at his desk and sent the key into a flurry of clicks and taps.

Lucy Mae trembled; her legs grew weak and the room grew dim.

Dave Garrett’s voice drifted through the darkness. Well if she hasn’t gone and fainted on us.

THE STAGECOACH SLOWED to a stop. Lucy Mae’s stomach fluttered; she peered out the window. The sign over the door of the weathered wooden building read Last Chance Crossing Telegraph and Post Office. A petite woman in a dark-blue dress with a white collar stood on the boardwalk, her hands clasped in front of her. Her brown hair was scraped back into a bun. She stepped forward and opened the stage’s door.

Lucy Mae Logan? she asked in a low, soothing melodious voice that did not match her plain appearance.

Lucy Mae pressed her hand against her stomach. Yes.

I’m Hazel Denton. Kendrick Tanner and Sheriff Garrett recommended you very highly.

Lucy Mae took a deep breath, but it did little to help her relax. She scrambled out of the coach. Kendrick spoke highly of you, too. He told me you’re the telegraph operator and the postmistress.

A smile lurked in Lucy Mae’s heart for the tiny woman standing on the hard-packed dirt street. She must be all of five feet tall and Kendrick Tanner had to be over six feet tall. At least there