Chapter Twenty Five

"Jack? Jack, wake up!"

Jack groaned and rolled over her in narrow bed, pulling a frayed quilt over her ears. It couldn't be time to wake up; she didn't want to return to a life that offered only dismal desperation.

Something pounded on her door. "Jacqueline Marie Harrison, don't make me come in there!"

Jack recognized the voice and she rolled out of bed at once, rushing for the door. "Hold your horses, Minnie, I'm coming!"

In her haste to open the door, she stubbed her toe against the crooked leg of a kitchen chair and winced in pain, hopping the rest of the distance on one foot. By the way the sun filtered through her window, Jack knew she would be late to work if she dawdled any longer. Work. There was something to look forward to.

"Jack!"

"I'm here, I'm here!" Jack cried, throwing the door open with one hand while massaging her injured toe with the other. "Sweet mercy, Minnie, calm down."

Minnie stood on her sagging front porch with both hands on her hips. "In case you've forgotten, you left your bicycle at the Hunt house last night, so we have to walk. We're going to be late if you don't get yourself into some clean clothes."

Jack winced as the sun shone in through the open door and blocked its rays with one hand. "Drat." She'd forgotten about the lost bicycle--that would make her trips to town and work much more laborious, but she had nothing to blame but her own stupidity. "I need to change."

After she and Donovan fought last night, Jack threw herself into bed in her dirtied dress, removing only her boots. Now her sheets were soiled and she needed to change. Stripping to her slip, Jack quickly selected one of her only other dresses and pulled it on while Minnie gathered her lunch and tossed her an apple for breakfast.

The wind had a nip in the air; October had arrived and with it the leaves had started to fall and the weather grew cold in the evening. She pulled a shawl over her shoulders and followed Minnie silently out the door.

Jack and Minnie walked along the path to the factory as a flock of birds passed overhead, heading south for the winter. "So, do you want to tell me what happened?" Minnie finally asked.

"Not really."

"Donovan said you nearly got shot." Minnie glanced at Jack but she refused to meet her gaze.

"I think I should avoid the Hunt house from now on. Every time I go there, someone pulls a gun on me." Jack tried to laugh, but the sound died in her throat.

"He was up half the night, pacing. I thought he was going to show up at your front door."

Jack wished he had. She wished he would come to her and tell her he wasn't leaving, but he hadn't and he hadn't made her any promises.

"He's still here?" she murmured, looking to Minnie.

The woman's dark eyes were knowing. "I don't think he's going anywhere, Jack."

If only Jack had the same certainty. She had seen the look of desperation in his near-black eyes when he reached the decision that leaving was the only way to protect her. Would he at least stop to say goodbye or had she lost that privilege when she told Donovan that he would lose her if he left? Nausea broiled in her stomach and Jack swallowed it back. There was no time for such love-addled weakness, not when the Slate brothers still roamed Irvington.

"So Margaret works here now?"

Minnie glanced at Jack again but let the topic of conversation change. "Yes, as of last week. All she does is try to suck up to Cartwright. It's downright revolting."

"And he puts up with that? He's as tough as month-old horse jerky," Jack said with a grimace. She'd tried to get on Cartwright's good side, but she was convinced he didn't have one.

"Well enough. He's been listening to her, Jack. You could lose your position as floor supervisor."

Jack considered the change and realized it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. She still had her job at the post office though it offered meager pay and few expenses, but Minnie couldn't afford to lose the position. She and Julius barely managed to support themselves and their daughter Esther whose husband had enlisted in the Army and was fighting in France.

"I'll be fine, but Minnie, you can't get caught up in this," Jack said. "Don't you try to defend me or do anything stupid."

Minnie chuckled. "Acting stupid is your job, Jack. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

A few minutes later, they arrived at the women's barracks and they found their jumpsuits. Jack exchanged greetings with a few of the girls as she slipped into the suit, ignoring the pointed glares of Margaret Hunt from the corner. Jack tied her hair up in a bandana to make sure none would fly loose and be caught in any of the heavy machinery on the factory floor, tucking a stray strand of blonde beneath it.

"Five minutes!" one of the girls called and Jack glanced at the clock on the wall as she laced her boots and prepared to go in to work.

"Ready, Jack?" Minnie asked from the doorway.

Jack glanced around the room and found that only she and Margaret remained; the rest of the girls had already entered the factory to clock in on time. Margaret was watching her with venomous eyes and Jack felt an unfamiliar stab of pity for the girl. She'd lost her family and now somehow become mixed up with the Slate brothers and Jack couldn't help but feel responsible. If it weren't for Roy's death and Margaret's hatred of Jack, she wouldn't have talked to the Slate brothers in the first place. Now she was embroiled with two of the deadliest men Jack had ever met.

"Go on, Minnie. I'll catch up."

Minnie glanced between the women but retreated, knowing her position would be imperiled if she clocked in late.

"Did you see my new bicycle?" Margaret said, walking up to Jack with her hands on her hips.

Jack's sympathy for the girl evaporated at once. "You didn't. That's mine!"

"And you left it on my property when you skedaddled off with the Indian last night," Margaret taunted her, a grin displaying her crooked teeth.

Jack swallowed back her anger. It had only gotten her into trouble last night, and she didn't want to fight with Margaret. She wanted the girl to see reason. She took a step closer until Margaret had to look her in the eye.

"They're not who you think they are," Jack whispered. "They're murderers, thieves, criminals. If you keep associating with them, they're only going to drag you down with them."

Margaret's eyes widened and she took a step back. For a moment, Jack thought she'd gotten through to her. Maybe the girl would listen and save herself before it was too late. But then she threw her head back and laughed.

"You think you know so much, don't you, Jack? You thought you were better than Roy, and now you think you're better than Max and Clyde." Margaret took a step towards her, lifting her finger in Jack's face. "You don't know anything, Jack. Nothing. You don't know what Donovan did to them, to their brother. You say they're murderers, but they didn't shoot a man in cold blood."

Ice washed over Jack; she wanted to deny the accusation, but she couldn't. Donovan had shot the eldest Slate brother, but it was in self-defense. He was innocent. He was no murderer.

"In self-defense!" Jack cried. "They were attacking him and his sister-in-law."

"Sure, Jack," Margaret sneered. "Whatever you have to tell yourself."

Margaret turned away to walk to the factory, but Jack called her back. "Do you think you're in love with him? Max Slate?"

The woman stopped in her tracks, her body bristling. "I ain't in love with him."

Jack stepped closer to the girl's rigid body, wanting to offer her a way out. "He's not who he says he is, Margaret. He's no good."

"Well, I ain't either," Margaret said, her shoulders slouching suddenly. She turned to look at Jack, a crooked smile on her face and her eyes glazed over. "Maybe we deserve each other. Did you ever think about that? I'm a no-good Hunt. What's the difference?"

"Look, I know you tried to shoot me once, but you don't deserve that. No one deserves a criminal, a killer like Max Slate. He would have killed me last night if Donovan hadn't shown up just because I knew something he didn't want me to know."

"You were in his way," Margaret said though her voice wavered. "Don't expect any pity from me, Jack Harrison. I know you're the reason my brother's dead. I'm not listening to a word you say."

"Well, you should," Jack said, finally exhausted by the girl's indefatigable hatred.

Margaret turned completely, staring Jack in the eye. "You think you're so much better than I am, but you're in love with a murdering Indian. He's the reason you almost died last night. Try blaming him instead of Max."

I wouldn't have been in danger if Donovan had left. The thought crossed Jack's mind and brought instant regret. Was she really blaming Donovan for the bullets the Slate brothers had fired? No, she couldn't care more about her own safety than about his. She was better than that. She had to be better than that.

Jack sighed and looked to the munitions factory. She was certainly late, and her confrontation of Margaret had been as fruitful as her attempted confrontation of the Slate brothers though slightly less dangerous.

"Don't think that you're any safer than I am, Margaret," Jack said. "Just because you're on their side now doesn't mean that they won't get rid of you just as quick as me because you're the one who knows too much." Margaret straightened her back, her eyes gleaming. "Get out now while you can."

Jack walked the rest of the way to the factory, zipping her jumpsuit to her chin. She didn't know what else she could do for the girl, and while she bore her no love, she didn't want to see her life ruined by the Slate brothers. But just like Donovan's decision to stay or go, Margaret's fate was out of her hands.

With Margaret trailing behind her, Jack opened the door to the factory and her ears were assaulted with the familiar sounds of work--trucks loading ammunition, machines filling the shells with mortar, hurried chatter between workloads. Jack needed to get Donovan, the Slate brothers, and Margaret out of her head so she could actually do her job.

Jack turned to go to the office and fetch her clipboard so she could do the morning safety rounds, but she was stopped by Mr. Cartwright's wrinkled, leathery face.

"About time you got here, Harrison," he growled, shoving her clipboard into her arms.

Jack caught the board and stumbled backwards. "Good morning, sir. Sorry I was late. I was, uh, speaking with one of the girls."

Cartwright craned his neck to look behind her, his frown deepening. "Don't bother Margaret Hunt. I know you two have history, and I won't have any fighting in my factory. Leave her be."

"It wasn't about--"

"I said leave her be, Harrison, and that's final," he growled and Jack bowed her head in defeat, chewing on her lip to keep a retort quiet.

"Yes, sir."

"You're also ten minutes late after not working on Friday. Do you still want this position, Harrison? Because there are plenty of other girls who need work and will actually do it. One heroic gesture doesn't give you leeway to do whatever you want."

"Yes, sir. It won't happen again, sir." Jack resisted the urge to give him a mock salute.

"See that it doesn't. You can return to being a line worker with a flick of my wrist, Harrison."

Cartwright stalked away and Jack heaved a sigh as she turned to start her work for the day, her eye catching on Margaret Hunt, still staring at her with a wicked grin on her face.

Jack wasn't worried about her job, but she did have to wonder--who else was listening to Margaret Hunt and the Slate brothers? And what would be the consequences of the lies they spread?