CHAPTER ONE

The subway car hissed to a stop, and Callum found himself jostled to and fro by those hurrying to exit while others hurried to board. Such a crushing mass of people. More crowded, even, than the shift change at the factory because the subway tunnel was a narrower space. For a moment, he worried he'd be pushed back inside for another ride, but he took a sideways step and stayed on the platform. The doors closed, a bell clanged, and the car clattered into motion.

He blew out a breath of relief and joined the throng milling in the direction of the staircase that led to the city sidewalk above. He didn't use the underground railway much. No need to most days. But today wasn't like most days. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he let it grow. Today was special— the start of being a family again.

A chill wind whooshed down the cement-walled staircase, carrying the mingled odors of garbage and fish. "'Tis the perfume of the Bronx," his Freida used to say with a laugh. He was so used to the smell he didn't even crinkle his nose. But the well-dressed lady moving along beside him, her heels click-clicking against the painted concrete floor, muttered something about a vile stench and wrapped a flowered scarf around the bottom half of her face. Her elbow bumped his shoulder, and she shot him a glare. He was tempted to glare back. After all, he wasn't the one at fault. But no snooty lady could take the shine off this day. He offered a polite "Excuse me," then bounded up the remaining steps two at a time and entered the flow of foot traffic on the wide sidewalk.

A shiver rattled through him, and he pulled up the collar of his tattered jacket. Not for the first time, he wished he owned a slicker to wear on damp spring days. Wool was fine for warmth, but it sucked up moisture— even misty drizzle— like a sponge. By the time he reached the block with the three story, brown brick structure, the wet wool stank like a creek dunked dog. Not that the jacket smelled any worse than he did after a week of work.

His feet slowed as he took in the Mission Church Home for Orphaned and Destitute Children, standing like a proud giant between humble single-family dwellings. Maybe he should've waited until he'd had his Saturday bath before coming to see his girls. Thirteen months had slipped by since his last visit to the orphan asylum. Would one more day matter? Then he shook his head. No, he'd made the trek across the city to give Evvie and Winnie his good news today. He opened the creaky iron gate and strode up the short pathway dividing two patches of sparse still brown grass. He leaped onto the cracked concrete stoop outside the pair of tall wood paneled doors and reached for the doorbell key. But something brought to mind the subway woman's sour look, and he paused and glanced down his length.

Tiny metal pieces scattered by the grinder peppered his clothes. Those little bits were sharper than glass shards. His hands bore tiny recent cuts and dozens of old scars from the flying fragments that wiggled their way under the leather gloves he always wore when he worked. The bits could get into a child's socks or shoes just as easily. He wouldn't risk the children being hurt. Even though eagerness to see his girls tugged at him, he stopped to yank off his newsboy cap and smack away as many of the shiny flecks of steel clinging to his work trousers as possible.

Satisfied the remaining shavings were too embedded in the rough fabric to fall free on the floor, he tucked his cap under his elbow, finger combed his hair into place, and finally rang the bell. Several seconds ticked by before the right-hand door swung wide.

A young woman wearing a plain brown dress and carrying a feather duster stood framed in the doorway. "Yes, sir? Are you here to see the property?"

See the property? She must've been expecting someone else. Callum cleared his throat. "No. I've come to see my girls."

A frown marred her narrow face. "Your girls?"

He remembered the woman. One of the asylum's housekeepers. But he didn't recall her name, and she didn't remember him at all. Shame hunched his shoulders. He'd gone too long between visits. "I'm Callum Holbrook. My girls are Evelyn and Edwina Holbrook." He leaned sideways slightly and peered beyond her into the shadowy foyer. By this hour of the day, the children would have finished their supper. They should be playing in the hallways or out here in the yard, but those areas were empty. The whole place was quiet. Too quiet.