Prologue
1826 – Philadelphia
Sam looked at the two sleeping forms in the small bedroom one last time. He couldn’t resist. They were the only family he had ever known. He felt his chest tighten. His eyes ached from trying to hold back the tears. He frantically rubbed at them, determined not to cry. At fifteen, he knew that boys didn’t cry, no matter what. Plus, he was happy Jack and Annie found a permanent home. He really was. He didn’t want to get in the way of their new life and had previously promised himself that he would only stay until he was certain Annie would survive from the horrific incident at the orphanage.
In a weird turn of events, the people who had abandoned Jack and Annie at the orphanage eight years ago had ultimately been the ones to save them. Jack, for some reason, had believed they would help them. The night of the incident, Jack and Sam carried Annie all the way to the Asters’ home. He shuddered, remembering her screams and cries. No matter how long he lived, he would never forget Annie’s pain or the desperation he felt to save her.
When they finally got to the Asters' house, they pounded on the door until Joseph answered. He didn’t recognize Jack at first but was horrified when Jack explained who he was and what happened to Annie. The Asters immediately made sure she received the medical attention she needed. Over the last few weeks, they had been wonderful to all of them. Still, Sam didn’t want to overstay his welcome. He feared it may somehow damage the chance of Jack and Annie having a better life. It was time to go.
Sam quietly made his way down the stairs, silent as a mouse. He had quiet feet and stealthy fingers but swore to himself he would not steal a single thing tonight. Annie and Jack deserved a fresh start, and he wouldn’t ruin their chances. He glanced around the rowhouse one last time and silently made a wish that Annie and Jack would have the best life ever.
He stepped into the moonlit night and unfolded the paper buried in his front pocket. He looked down, smiling at the portrait of the three of them. Sam had charmed a street artist into sketching it, and he always kept the portrait on his person. A strangled sob escaped his mouth, and he pressed a fist against his lips, trying to prevent any more sobs from escaping. He slung the bag over his shoulder and made his way down the front steps.
“Can I ask where you are going?” Maggie Aster asked, startling him.
She sat on a bench in the small front yard, studying him. He scowled at her. He’d never trusted adults, and he wouldn’t start now. “I didn’t steal nothing so don’t you go accusing me of anything.”
She snorted. “You are too loud to be a thief.”
He glared at her, affronted only the way a street urchin could be. “If I wanted to steal something,
I could,” he insisted.
She shrugged. “Your steps are too heavy. You woke me.”
“Well, like I said, I ain’t steal nothing,” he said angrily.
She patted the bench with her slender hand. “Come sit for a moment, Sam.”
Sam wanted to tell her no. She was the quieter one of the Asters. Always silent, watching everyone. He tried his usual charm on her, and she wouldn’t have any of it, so he’d done his best to avoid her. Joseph Aster was different. He spoke too much and was always ready with a smile.
“Sit,” she said, a little more firmly.
Sam dropped his bag and sat down next to her, sulkily.
“So why are you sneaking off in the middle of the night? I can’t imagine that is how your friends would want you to say goodbye.”
“Time to move on,” he said.
“Will you go back to the orphanage?”
He shivered. He would never go back. Sam only stayed for Jack and Annie. Mrs. Seawald’s was not a place any child should be. Plus, at fifteen, he was almost a grown man.
“It’s time for me to make my way in the world.”
She smiled at him, bemused. “A grown man, huh?”
He blushed but nodded stubbornly.
“You could stay,” Maggie suggested softly.
Sam looked at her, doubtful. This wasn’t his opportunity; it belonged to Jack and Annie. They came from decent people. Even with the limited memories Sam had of his life before the orphanage, he knew he didn’t. His entry into the world had been on the filthy streets of Philadelphia, and he remained living on them until his sick, exhausted mother dropped him off at the orphanage when he was four. By that time, he had seen more than most adults. He shivered. Unlike Annie and Jack, the orphanage had been an improvement for him.
“I’m no good, ma’am,” he mumbled.
She grabbed his chin and made him look at her. “Who says?”
His lower lip trembled, and a single tear slid down his cheek. “I ain’t nothing but a street urchin. I don’t have fancy parents like Jack and Annie. I don’t even have a last name.”
