Olivia Twist(12)

Almost there.

Brom pulled ahead, sensing the proximity of his friends. Olivia glanced behind her one last time to ensure no one paid any mind to a boy and his oversized dog. When they reached the barricaded doorway, Brom sniffed the opening and then hopped through the narrow gap in the boards. Olivia dropped her satchel inside first and squeezed in behind him. Muted light from two glassless windows illuminated the abandoned home as they navigated around piles of filth and broken floorboards to a ruined staircase, the bottom stairs ripped from their moorings. Olivia pulled down her kerchief, pursed her lips, and whistled a short tune into the quiet. A few bangs followed by footfalls racing across the upper floor preceded the appearance of a single candle flame. A small blond head jutted over the edge of the landing.

“Ollie’s ’ere!”

Olivia waved.

“Chip, you’re supposed to ask for the password!” an older voice scolded before Archie’s freckled face appeared beside Chip.

Olivia bit back a grin and nodded her agreement with Archie.

“All right,” little Chip said in an exasperated tone. “Whot’s the password, then?”

“Ichabod Crane,” Olivia pronounced with clarity. A favorite story, “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” spawned an inordinate amount of the boys’ passwords.

“Get the board!” Archie ordered.

With a flurry of bangs and chatter, a slab of wood no wider than Olivia’s shoulders lowered down the broken staircase. The moment the board connected with the floor, Brom scurried up. Olivia passed her knapsack to Archie before making her own ascent.

Moments later, they all gathered around the fireplace, a nice blaze dispelling the chill in the barren room. Moving their pallets, half the children huddled around Brom, lavishing him with affection, while the other half crowded around Olivia. With the exception of Brit, who stood, arms crossed, legs braced wide as if on the deck of a rolling ship. The unofficial leader of the Hill Orphans, as they called themselves, Brit took his responsibility with proper seriousness. Olivia estimated the dark-haired boy at eleven or twelve years of age, but his height and almost regal bearing made him appear much older. His feet and fists were the size of a grown man’s, reminding Olivia of Brom when he was a pup, his huge paws portending his adult size. Tonight, she could see the weight of some unseen burden pushing down Brit’s shoulders, trouble haunting his dark eyes.

Olivia lifted Chip’s warm weight from her lap and began removing food from her bag as the boys continued to chatter about their exploits of the previous week. Archie squatted beside her, took out his knife, and cut the pears into equal portions as Olivia did the same with the bread and cheese. After she’d finished distributing the meager meal, she took a portion to Brit, who now leaned against the window frame, gazing up at the stars.

“What is it, Brit?” Olivia roughened her voice. Even though she suspected some of them guessed her secret, she kept up the pretense. Brit remained silent as she handed him the food, and she noted he’d grown again; the top of his head was even with her eyes.

He finished off the food in two bites, leaned against the sill, and then traced a letter B on the frost-coated glass before wiping it clean and beginning on an R. Olivia’s chest ached as she stared at the brilliant boy’s profile, his jaw tight with anxiety. Leadership followed him, whether he chose it or not. He’d been born with that indescribable quality that drew others to him. Much like someone else she knew.

Brit wiped away the last letter of his name and then looked down at his feet, his long, dark lashes brushing the apples of his cheeks. He worked so hard to hide his own needs, but for all his bravado, he was still a child. She longed to take him and all the others home, clean them up, feed them until they could eat no more, and tuck them into a row of cozy beds, just like Snow White and her tiny men. But her uncle had denied that request long ago. Perhaps he didn’t believe he had the funds, but she would do everything within her power to help these lost little boys.

Olivia cleared her throat and punched Brit on the arm. “Talk, boy. I don’t have all night.”

Brit responded with a wry half grin. “Where ye off to in such a hurry, Ollie? Have a fancy waitin’ for you?”

“That hurts my heart, it does.” Olivia put a fist to her chest in mock outrage. “Do you think I’d put a lady before my dearest friends?”

Brit chuckled at the floor and shook his head.

“How has Chip’s cough been?”

Brit’s mouth set in a grim line before he met her eyes and answered, “Improved. But sometimes when he sleeps, he sounds like he’s got chains rattlin’ in his chest.”

Olivia glanced behind her at the child, his golden curls bouncing as he rode Brom’s back like a jockey on a racehorse. Brom rested his triangular head on his crossed paws and endured the humiliation admirably. Over a year ago, she’d been volunteering at St. Bart’s and met little Chip. Hacking and pale, he’d been crouched on the front steps of the hospital in tears. She’d stopped to speak to him, wishing to help anyway she could, when a tug on her shoulder made her spin around to find Archie nabbing her purse. Instead of calling for the beaks, she’d followed the thief covertly and discovered a group of boys residing by the docks, freezing and half starved. She’d returned that very night disguised as their benefactor; the working class young man, Ollie.

Chip’s energy had returned since last she’d seen him, but he remained a bit pale. “Keep an eye on him, Brit. We may need to get him to a doctor.”