VERY LATE SUNDAY NIGHT,
OCTOBER 8, 1871
- Poppy Picks a Pocket! -
Poppy was swept along the wooden sidewalks, not knowing where she would end up. Her throat ached with the heat of the air and wind, which carried the flaming sky.
The people were frightened and shouting. Animals, too, were caught up in the crowds. Panic-stricken horses reared, kicked, and turned in every direction, looking for a way out of the turmoil. Dogs howled and bit anything in their paths.
Poppy soothed the little kitten deep in her pocket, patting her gently. She thought about Ticktock and hoped the little goat was safe and not frightened. She knew Justin would be gentle and loving to his goat, just as surely as she cared for little Mew.
As Poppy moved with the crowds, a sudden explosion burst in the distance. What was that? she wondered. The answer came quickly when the gas streetlights fizzled and went out.
“The gas tanks exploded. That’s what the noise was!” a man yelled.
The boiling, burning sky still lit the streets and the crowds moved on, away from the fire. But the fire continued to follow them.
Now Poppy approached an intersection that was familiar. State Street! On the other side of the street was the Butterworths’ jewelry store. Although the fire was spreading, it seemed that the flames had not yet reached that far.
Her heart skipped when she saw men coming out of the store. Was it Mr. Butterworth and his sons? She realized in the glow of the fiery sky that the front display windows were broken. Thieves had broken into the store and were stealing the Butterworths’ property.
“The courthouse is burning down!” someone yelled. “The prisoners are in the streets!”
“They’re breaking into the stores! They’re like wild animals!”
Poppy wiggled through the crowd and ran across the road, ignoring the sharp pain in her leg. When she approached the jewelry store, she saw men in prison uniforms helping themselves to the watches, brooches, and cuff links in the now-broken glass showcases.
Was there anything that she could save? Someone had kicked the front door open and Poppy slid inside. No one paid any attention to her as thieves pulled clocks and paintings from the walls.
What about the jewels and the safe in the back? she wondered. Have they found them yet?
Three men were fighting over a wall clock.
“Get your filthy hands off this timepiece,” one of the wild-eyed convicts yelled.
“I saw this first, and I’m takin’ it,” another criminal shouted.
The third man, who was not in prison garb, was trying his best to pull the others away from the beautiful mahogany wall clock with its fancy gold numerals and hands. With a powerful blow, he hit one of the others in the face and the clock crashed to the floor. The chimes inside clanged noisily.
Poppy wanted desperately to run and save it, but already the third man had scooped it up and was running for the open door. The other two thieves dived at him and the ruckus continued.
Poppy crept behind the counters and into the office. The safe was there, but the door was broken—apparently forced open with a crowbar that had been dropped beside it.
She groped inside the safe, hoping the velvet bag was still there. But the safe was empty. The jewels were gone.
Poppy glanced around in the darkness. Everything had been taken. As the room lit up with flickers from the approaching fire, she knew she had to leave.
In the showroom, more men had come in, grabbing things from one another, punching, beating. The smell of alcohol was strong, so she knew the thieves had been drinking, which added to their ferociousness. She’d slip out the door and hope they didn’t see her.
Poppy made her way cautiously around the brawling men, moving slowly around the perimeter of the room, and stopped suddenly. A man in the middle of the melee wore jeans and had a large knapsack attached to his back.
Poppy noticed that the man had something sticking out of the sack. In the glimmer of the firelight that flashed through the window, it looked like the drawstring top of the velvet bag of gems. Could it be?
Mew began crying and clawing to get out. Not now, Mew! Poppy stuck her left hand down and wiggled her finger into Mew’s open mouth. Hold on just a little longer, kitty!
Poppy crawled noiselessly in the shadows, getting closer to the drunken men. Could she lift that bundle out of the man’s backpack without his knowing? Every muscle in her body tightened as she watched for the right moment.
Back and forth the men stumbled and kicked. Other rowdies and convicts cheered them on from the door.
Poppy crouched next to a showcase, trembling. She had to stay calm and remember all the things she knew about picking pockets.
One of the convicts pummeled the man in jeans, knocking him against the counter where Poppy was hiding. As the drunken man threw himself back into the fracas, Poppy reached out for the velvet bag. She knew she couldn’t touch him or he would certainly catch her.
Poppy’s nimble and deft fingers lifted the bag from the sack in one easy tug—just as another of the fighters pounced on him.
“Get that bum!” one of the roughs yelled.
Poppy froze. Was he shouting at her?
“Take that, you pig!” came another shout and a loud smack. “That clock goes with me!”
Straightaway, Poppy stuffed the velvet bag into the pocket with Mew. The kitten began to cry again. Hush, Mew! Don’t make a sound!
Poppy moved quickly and quietly. The men were so violent and engrossed in their fight that they didn’t notice Poppy creeping through the darkness to the back of the store. She reached the back room and sneaked to the outside door. It was locked but she felt for the key, fumbling in the dim light.
Her fingers found the key—it was in the lock just as she remembered. Hurry! Hurry! Before he finds out that the bag is missing!
Her hands quivered as she turned the key. The door opened and Poppy ran out into the backyard. Trees and grass were already on fire, and flames twisted in the wind. She dashed around the building and back into the street, hoping that the man inside had not noticed the bag of gems was gone.
Hurry! Mew’s cries seemed louder and louder.
Pushing the ache of her injured leg from her mind, she made a beeline across the street to the surging mass of terrified people. No one noticed little Poppy as she pressed herself into the mob. Soon she was lost in the seething crowd, who thought of nothing else but escaping the fire.
When she felt safe enough, she reached into her pocket and lifted the bag away from Mew, who was clawing and crying.
The bag was heavy and lumpy with the gems inside. Poppy could hardly believe it. In her hands she was holding the sack full of precious jewels.