The Roswell Legacy Frances Statham (mini ebook reader .txt) 📖

CHAPTER

10

Along the shore of Lake Michigan, where the waters lapped against the seawall, a summer breeze finally took form and swept inland. Coming from the northeast, it held no hint of the stockyard odors that choked the city farther south.

To many, the smell of the Chicago stockyards was the smell of money. But the men who stood to gain the most from this pervasive odor could escape from the business district by late afternoon and enjoy the more sweetly scented air along the lake where their great mansions stood.

Others were not so fortunate. Crowded into multilevel tenements, the poor breathed the unhealthy air twenty-four hours a day. And little thought was given to alleviating their discomfort or to eradicating the disease that resulted from their overcrowded conditions.

But on this July afternoon of 1893, one of the more civic-minded young matrons left her brownstone mansion by the lake and began her weekly visit to the tenements. On her arm was a food basket filled with staples for the Andretti family.

The young woman was Allison’s daughter Morrow, the wife of Andrew Lachlan, a talented young architect whose firm had been hired by the Pullman Railway Company. Accompanying her on her journey was her maid, Allie.

For two months, the Columbian Exposition had attracted visitors from all over the country, some even mortgaging their farms or selling their cookstoves to raise enough money to get to Chicago. With an eye to taking some of this money, opportunists had set up shop all the way to the entrance of Jackson Park, located five miles south of the business district. Prostitutes vied with the saloons and the chuck-a-luck gambling halls for their share, and the police merely turned their heads since they could do little about this sorry state of affairs.

It was into this melee of humanity that Morrow and Allie were forced to go, traveling by horse and carriage over rough roads paved with wooden blocks. The closer to the tenements they came, the more rude and boisterous the crowd grew.

“Hello, my lovely,” a man’s voice called out. “Come join me in a game of chance. I’ll make it worth your while.”

Morrow ignored the man. She kept her attention on the horse while Allie tightened her hold on the food basket.

A few blocks farther down the street, several brightly painted women lolled on a sidewalk in front of a bordello while a parrot in the window screeched, “Come in, gentlemen. Come in.”

Seeing a few toughs blocking the end of the street, Allie said, “Miss Morrow, you think we ought to give up and go back home? That crowd doesn’t look any too friendly today.”

Morrow shook her head. “We’ll be all right, Allie. I’m sure they won’t harm us. And we’re almost there, anyway.”

“I hope the Andrettis appreciate what you’re doin’ for them. Right now they’d starve to death if it wasn’t for you.”

As they approached, the hostile men made no effort to move out of the way until a street urchin’s voice suddenly cried out, “That’s Mrs. Lachlan. Let her through. She’s come to see my brother Tony.”

As if by magic, the crowd parted. The child climbed onto the step of the carriage, and acting much like a gripman on a cable car, he directed the carriage down the street. “I knew you’d come today. I told Tony you’d get here. What have you brought us?”

Morrow smiled. “Something to eat. And a toy that you and your brother can play with.”

As they drew up to the shabby tenement building where the Andrettis lived, sharing their kitchen with four other families, Allie remained outside with the horse and carriage. Attention diverted for even a moment could result in the sudden disappearance of the carriage. Allie was a large, strapping young woman and could look intimidating when she needed to. Today was one of those days when she felt it was necessary.

“I won’t stay inside long,” Morrow said, stepping down from the carriage. She held out her arms for the basket and then followed the small urchin inside the tenement.

In a dark corner of the room, a ten-year-old boy lay on a cot. He was sallow and thin, with a bandage wrapped around the entire length of his right leg.

Morrow walked over to the cot. “Hello, Tony. How are you feeling today?”

He lifted his head and smiled at Morrow. “All right.”

“He’s much better, Mrs. Lachlan,” his mother assured Morrow as she wiped her hands on her apron. “The doctor says he might be well enough to go back to work in several weeks.”

Morrow merely nodded. All of the volunteers at the settlement house knew how she felt about child labor. But the families involved were more difficult to convince, for they needed the money that a child working ten hours a day could bring home to the family.

“I brought some fresh fruit for the children, Mrs. Andretti. Along with an extra supply of staples.”

“You’re a kind woman, Mrs. Lachlan. And we’re grateful to you. With Mario out of work and Tony hurt, it’s been a hard month.”

As the woman emptied the contents of the basket onto the crude table, Morrow said, “I haven’t seen Andrea at the settlement house lately, Mrs. Andretti.”

“No, the little bambina has been selling flowers at the fair. The man she works for lets her keep a few pennies at the end of each day. She should be coming home by dark.”

Morrow thought of her own son, David, the same age as the six-year-old Andrea. But he was safe and secure at home with his Irish nanny, not fighting his way through the crowds with a few pennies clutched tightly in his fist.

Determined not to show her distress at the injustice of life, Morrow took a small book and a miniature wooden wagon with red wheels out of her bag. She leaned over the cot and said, “Share the toy with your brother, Tony. But the book is for you. You