Mirielle placed an open invitation to a tea in the local society column. "Thank you." She left the newspaper office with a lighter step. They hadn't found Joseph last night. But with permission from the school board this morning, she planned a sponsorship meeting focused on finding funding. With one confirmed sponsor already, she managed to get another week added to the deadline for the newsies.The tea would take place in her music room so attendees could tour the school, see the dorm area, and make pledges. Church, school, and town leaders would all attend just four days from now… she hoped. That would leave three days to avoid the newsies being rounded up and shipped off.
Frankie swung off the back of a passing trolley and trotted up the sidewalk to Mirielle.
"Afternoon, Frankie. Did Joey enjoy his food yesterday?"
"Oh yes, ma'am. He woofed it down faster than a dog catchin' a stick."
Mirielle giggled at the colorful description. "And did he practice reading?"
"Yep, sure did. He said his alphabet and even got his numbers up to one hunerd. He said I was to be sure to tell ya he only messed up once on his numbers. I gave him his cookie, anyway."
"He definitely earned it then." She ruffled his hair. "Frankie, maybe you should become a teacher one day."
"Naw, I kinda like the idea of bein' a soldier like Mr. Russell was tellin'."
Mirielle wrinkled her brow. "A soldier?"
"I like leadin'. Miss Calista says I'm a natural leader. If'n I could help people be free like yer doin' fer me and the guys, I could be a good captain or a general." He puffed out his chest and saluted.
"A captain or a general." She repeated, then tucked that away in her heart. Surely he was playing an imagination game like all boys do. He had to try on various professions through pretense. "Well, let's get you an excellent education so you have a choice on what you become, shall we?" The largest battle would be improving Frankie's command of English, not of men.
"Yes, ma'am." He grinned at her. "Ain't none of us that don't want three squares a day even if we have to get learned up to have 'em."
Learned up, you will be, young man. Mirielle held out a packet of addressed envelopes. "Would you see how many boys can deliver these?" Evan took half the invitation list to Calista first thing this morning. "Then Miss Calista may have another set that should be ready to go out as well."
"She said to tell you they'd be out by tomorrow." A quick whistle followed by three short ones brought all the newsies in earshot right to her, courtesy of Frankie's talent. A few minutes later, an organized delivery system worked out between them and the decorative personalized invitations, written in her finest calligraphy over many cups of coffee to keep her eyes open, took off to the wives of the most influential men in Helena. Falling asleep on a stack of envelopes almost derailed the project. Skipping breakfast caught up the lost time before classes started. The hunger reminded Mirielle exactly why the sacrifice of a little sleep and a missed meal made a difference. She'd felt them before—and the newsies dealt with hunger every day. Who knew if they felt safe enough to sleep through the night? No more! Not if she could change it.
She waved the boys off after instructing them to come to her classroom when finished. Frankie's gang wove through the downtown crowd before fanning out to make sure the ladies received their invitations. They'd wait and bring back the RSVP cards, if at all possible. Little worry bugs niggled their way into her thoughts like weevils in flour. What if no one came? Could she get more time if not enough people showed up? She mentally swatted the doubts away.
Mirielle pushed herself to remember someone much greater than she cared for the newsies. God had it all under control, whether her idea worked or not. She set her mind on the next phase. Each boy needed a portfolio for the potential sponsors. Calista, Albert, Evan, and all the boys would help create the portfolios as both introductions for the newsies and to highlight each boy's unique personality and talents. This time next week, the funding would be secure for all eleven boys.
Mirielle focused so intently on the vision of the strategy to keep the boys safe in school, learning music, eating three meals a day, that the trolleys could crash right on top of her and she wouldn't know what happened. Until… she stopped short at bumping into someone.
"I apologize, Miss Sheehan." Mrs. Broadwater looked at her askance. "I'm sure I didn't mean to walk in your path. But those boys had me all turned around. Have you ever seen such a commotion?"
"No, I'm sorry. I was not watching where I was going. My fault, Mrs. Broadwater." Mirielle took a step to the side.
"Didn't I hear your name mentioned with a new gentleman caller?" She tapped a gloved finger against her chin. "Yes, I believe that's what I heard. Quite tall and handsome is how I heard it. Are we losing our new school teacher so quickly?"
"Ma'am?" Mirielle wrinkled her brow. "I haven't been—"
"Now don't pretend with me, young lady. I can see it written all over your face. Why you're perfectly moony-eyed."
"No, ma'am, I'm not—"
"Ladies," Evan tipped his top hat. "Miss Mirielle, I'm here to assist today. I hoped we'd hear some news as well."
"My, my. And you tried to pretend with me. Tsk, tsk." She waggled a finger. "You shouldn't be ashamed of stepping out together. You make a lovely couple."
Flames shot into Mirielle's cheeks. "No! I mean, Mr. Russell and I aren't—"
"No?" Mrs. Broadwater's confusion halted her for only a moment. "Ah, I see. The two of you are as yet undeclared. Don't mind me. I won't tell a soul."
Mirielle tried again to clear the error, but despite her ability to speak up for the boys, not one word could squeak through her tight throat defending herself.
Evan's eyes twinkled one second too long in Mirielle's mind before he answered. "Good afternoon, ma'am. I don't think we've been introduced." He held out a hand to greet the woman.
"Pardon my lack of manners, Mrs. Broadwater. This is Mr. Evan Russell, he's… uh… well he's…"
"Helping with the newsies reading lessons while they're helping me search for my son." His voice lowered. "You may have heard about the fire and the Russell family home last year."
"How tragic," she fluttered a hand in front of her mouth. "What a kind man you are, Mr. Russell, to give of yourself during your time of grief. I did hear of a new search for the little boy at my ladies' suffrage association this morning." Her eyes melted into motherly sympathy. "I so hope he's found."
"Thank you."
"How are the newsies able to help you, Mr. Russell?"
"We have an agreement. The boys are searching for any word of Joseph while I'm assisting Miss Mirielle in procuring educational sponsors for the newsies. I promised to be a sponsor for one myself."
"Sponsors?" If Mrs. Broadwater had been a cat, the hair on her scruff would be standing on end. "What would these sponsors do? No, the better question is, what can one do with those little hooligans?"
Mirielle rushed to the battle line with words she'd been rehearsing for the tea. Better she use them with this woman of influence or the tea might never happen. If she could turn this one negative woman around, the others were sure to follow. "Mrs. Broadwater, I'm pleased you recognize the need to help the newsies." She gave the brightest smile she could muster. "Maybe you could help us, too."
"Me?" She flattened her gloved hand across her heart. "You know one of those ruffians nearly gave me a heart attack landing on me in the trolley last week? I tell you, they have no discipline whatsoever." She shook her head and rolled her lips inward in distaste. "What in the world could I do for those uncouth youths?"
Mirielle pulled another idea from her recent read of Twain's book. This time she tried Huck Finn's charm. "I suppose I am asking too much. Perhaps another lady would better suit the situation." Before giving Mrs. Broadwater a chance to cut in again, she added while shaking her head in a slow, oh-so-sorrowful-a-manner. "It'd be too much of a bother to ask you to help entertain a society function. Don't I know how busy you are? Of course, I do. How could I even ask you to take the leadership role with the ladies of this city?" She paused for a moment and caught the twinkle in Evan's eyes.
As soon as Mrs. Broadwater opened her mouth, Mirielle continued to take away the opportunity she hadn't yet offered. "So inconsiderate of me for assuming you'd want to be the lady to lead the way. No, you're right, Mrs. Broadwater. Thank you." She moved a tad, as if to turn away. "It was good to see you —"
"You wait just a moment, Miss Sheehan. Just a moment now." Mrs. Broadwater laid fingertips on Mirielle's forearm.
"Yes, ma'am?" Mirielle blinked in innocence and glanced at Evan, as if confused.
A smile played around his mouth.
"If you need a society function led to get those boys off the street, then look no further. As the president of the ladies’ auxiliary, it falls to me to provide opportunities to the cream of our society."
"You want to lead the tea to get sponsors for the newsies?"
"A simple tea? Why didn't you say so in the first place?"
"Well, I certainly don't want to impose on your good nature."
"What imposition? Anything to help get those children off the streets and into safe positions."
"Wonderful!" She clapped her gloves in muffled applause. "I'll just go let the newspaper know you will be our patron leading the charge." Mirielle leaned in toward Mrs. Broadwater. "You'll be touted as the woman who gave Helena its new model citizens. Goodness, you'll be considered a hero right up there with Lewis and Clark, who put Montana on the map."
Mrs. Broadwater giggled. "Well, dear, I don't think they'll go that far. Tell me what exactly we must raise."
"We only need ten more sponsors, so each boy will have full tuition, clothing, and school books until graduation. At graduation, our young men will have the education needed to find gainful employment right here in Helena."
"Here?" Mrs. Broadwater's face blanched. "In Helena? But I thought we were raising funds to send them away to training."
"Oh no, Mrs. Broadwater. Why send away such talented young men? They're so ambitious and studious. What would we do ten or fifteen years from now if some other town were so lucky as to get such driven, industrialists as those future leaders?"
"Well, I… I…" she stammered.
"We may not have gold and silver mines forever here in Helena, but we sure can mine the gold of our intelligent children for our future good." She took Mrs. Broadwater's elbow and walked with her toward the newspaper office. "Isn't it grand we see eye-to-eye? Those boys will be safely off the streets in no time with leaders like you at the helm."
Change a word or two and Mrs. Broadwater would be the patron matron over the project. The other women would drag their husbands to the tea just to rub shoulders with such a lady. Mirielle smiled at her. "Let's get your announcement into the paper right away. I see your patronage being so successful we might even be turning sponsors away."
"Then I suppose Mr. Broadwater and I ought to sponsor one of these future leaders before they're all gone?" Her voice squeaked at the end as she asked herself the question.
"What a good idea!" Mirielle nodded. "Can you imagine what it'll feel like to see a boy you sponsored grow up and graduate school? Won't you be proud that day!"
Mrs. Broadwater glowed. "Oh, won't that be a special occasion? Yes, I'm sure several of my friends will want to join in the effort." She tilted her head as if a thought grew into a tall tree. "Then what if my boy could lead other boys into a bright future?" The leaves on that tree burst forth. "Why, we could simply have built the next business generation!"
"So true, Mrs. Broadwater, so true." The lady had flipped from an antagonist to a passionate soldier of the mission to save the newsies. She needed only someone to plant the idea and then help her envision the fruit on that tree. Exactly the person at exactly the right time.
Mirielle sent a silent thank you to heaven. Then she tossed a glance over her shoulder, through Mrs. Broadwater's many-feathered hat, to see what had come of her new friend.
"I see another party in your future, Mrs. Broadwater. You may want to throw a huge graduation gala for all these boys. One the likes Helena has never seen before."
She almost laughed at Evan's bemused expression, but didn't want to spoil the possibilities buzzing around Mrs. Broadwater's head like bees swarming blossoms in the warm sunshine.
Evan picked up his pace, held the door, and followed the women inside the newspaper office.
Mirielle tucked his support inside her heart. There'd be time to examine it later. Right now, she'd turned a disgruntled lady into the second avid sponsor for her boys. Oh, that Mr. Twain knew how to handle people! But the bigger question remained—could eleven unruly boys really become future community leaders? Yes, and she intended to prove it one way or another.