WEDNESDAY MORNING,
OCTOBER 4, 1871

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

- The Key … or Else! -

Sheila opened the door to the underground room that had been Poppy’s home for many years. Poppy cringed at the foul, musty stench. How could she stand going back after seeing shiny clean floors, lavender-smelling pillows, and sparkling dinnerware? Even Ticktock smelled like sweet hay.

“Here she is,” Sheila announced to Ma, who was counting out coins on the table.

“Oh, it’s our Poppy, who’s come home again. We missed you, dearie.” Ma’s gaze shifted down over the dress Poppy wore. “Oh, you’re wearing that dress that caused all the trouble. Hmm. I thought I gave it to Renee.” Ma got up and strode toward Poppy. She smiled, but her eyes were dark slits.

Poppy knew that look and froze with fear. Her knees felt weak. Would Ma slap her around? Poppy vowed not to argue or make a scene. She’d be Poppy the pickpocket and pretend to do everything Ma wanted.

And then she’d run away from Chicago. She’d always wanted to stow away on a big steamer and go somewhere else. But what would happen to Ticktock?

“Noreen, go upstairs to the tavern and get Mr. Plant down here,” Ma ordered. “He wants to talk to Poppy.”

Noreen, who was sprawled on one of the mattresses, got up quickly and went out the door, but not before she sent a warning look to Poppy and mouthed the words Watch out!

Mr. Plant! He owned the place and allowed all sorts of mobsters, thieves, runaway criminals, and gamblers to live there and do jobs for him. Why does he want to talk with me? Poppy wondered. She took a deep breath and tried to still her shaking hands.

Already she could hear the clomp of footsteps, and then Mr. Plant himself entered Ma’s room, a big smile on his round face. He was much shorter than Noreen and looked like a jolly gnome. However, everyone at the Willow knew how powerful and important he was in Conley’s Patch.

“Well, well, Poppy,” he said in his highfalutin British accent. “I hear you are friends with the Butterworth jewelry family. Moving up in the world, eh?”

Poppy just stood there, not knowing how to reply. Ma Brennan, who was next to Poppy, nudged her sharply with her elbow. “Where are your manners? Answer Mr. Plant,” she snapped.

“Yes, I know the Butterworths a little.”

“A little!” Ma jeered. “You’re practically livin’ with them! Sheila watched you through the window last night, setting the table with real silver.”

“Sure, now, you took a spoon or fork.” Mr. Plant winked at Poppy and held out his hand. “Hand it over, child.”

“No!” Poppy answered angrily. “I didn’t take anything.”

Moans came from Sheila and Noreen. “You ain’t got the brains you were born with,” Noreen taunted.

“Just wait until Julia and Renee come back from the streets,” Sheila put in. “They’ll never believe you had a chance like that and didn’t take it.”

“All that expert training I gave you is wasted.” Ma looked at Mr. Plant apologetically. “Ain’t it a shame? You bring up children, teach ’em all you know, and they turn around and fail ya.”

Mr. Plant shook his head sadly. “Your mother here brought you up like her own flesh and blood—ever since you was a little one. She sacrificed a lot to take you in.”

“I treated her like my very own child,” Ma whined. “Now all I ask of her is to get us a key to the jewelry store, and she won’t even do that for me.”

“But, Ma,” Poppy said, “once you get into the jewelry store, you still have to open the safe.”

“Oh, we can take care of a safe easy enough,” Mr. Plant said.

“After all I’ve done for you, Poppy, the least you can do—,” Ma began.

“Hush, Mary.” Mr. Plant used Ma’s first name as if they were related. “Poppy will help us, won’t you, dear?”

“What will you do if I get the key?” Poppy asked.

“We’ll go in and take a few pieces of the fine jewelry,” Mr. Plant said. “You’ll make it easy for us so no one will get hurt.”

“It’s only right to do this job for us. You owe it to me.” Ma pushed her face close to Poppy’s. “Understand?”

Mr. Plant put his arm around Poppy’s shoulder. “Poppy, look at it this way. You’re not being disloyal to the Butterworths. If you don’t help us, you’ll be disloyal to us—those who’ve taken care of you all these years. We’re not bad people. We’re hardworking, and we use our skills and brains to get what should rightly belong to us.”

“‘Us’?” Ma scowled. “This is my show! Robbing the Butterworths is all my idea.”

“You can’t do this by yourself, Mary,” Mr. Plant said kindly. “And since we’ll be working with some of my best safecrackers, we’ll all benefit from Poppy’s help by splitting the profits.” He turned once again to Poppy. “Now, I understand that your friend, that Butterworth boy, has a little goat. I’m sure it’s a charming little thing.”

Poppy stood as still as a soldier. She knew what was coming now. They knew she loved Ticktock and they’d use the little goat as a means to get the key.

Mr. Plant spoke in a quiet, ominous voice. “You do not want anything to happen to that sweet little nanny, do you? Of course not. We promise you that she’s going to be just fine—as long as you do this one little simple thing for us. That’s fair enough. Right?”

Poppy nodded.

“All right, child,” he said with a leering smile. “I want you to bring the key to us by Friday. That gives you two more days. You’re a clever girl who will have no trouble getting a simple thing like a key.”

“Off you go,” Ma said. “By Friday at suppertime. No later, or that little goat will be served up in a pot of stew.”

Poppy ran out the door and up the steps to the dusty street. The wind was blowing hard and dirt slapped against her face.

If only there was a way out of this! No matter what I do, the Butterworths will be hurt.