“I suppose we all have.” A sigh leaked out of her as she pivoted back to scanning her side of the street. Moments passed, as did the steadyclip-clopof several horses trotting by with carriages in tow.
“Do you ever think about what life might be like with nothing more serious than a paper cut to fret over?” Her question floated on the air like an unmoored ghost.
“Sometimes,” he murmured. “It gets old, this waiting around for bad things to happen, but then I remind myself we’re fighting for something bigger than ourselves. We’re keeping our loved ones safe, making the streets a better place for all. I believe that is what God has called me to do.”
“Would that I were as certain that I am where I’m supposed to be.” Longing strained her voice.
This time he cut a glance at her. “You were the one who was so adamant to be here tonight.”
“No, I mean in a larger sense.”
“Oh.” He turned back, mulling on her confession. “You have regrets, then?” he asked at length.
“Don’t we all?”
“Yes, but…” He narrowed his eyes across the road as a man in a grey suit exited the Palace. The fellow paused on the stoop, scanning the row of coaches, gaze landing on Jackson. Was this the infamous Mr. Child? Charles tensed.
The man strolled down the steps, then immediately hung left, nodded at the driver of the carriage preceding Jackson’s, and disappeared inside that coach. False alarm.
The muscles in his shoulders loosened, and Charles returned to the conversation at hand. “Surely you are not unhappy with Jackson and little Bella?”
“Actually, Mr. Baggett,” Kit’s voice drifted low and even, “those are the two things in my life that I never question.”
“Then what are you questioning?”
“Everything else, seems like.” Her tone dropped even lower, and he strained to hear. “Am I doing enough or too much? Should I be at home more or the office more? Do I owe my allegiance to family first or to justice? Flit! I am being pulled in so many directions I don’t know if anything I do anywhere makes a difference. It’s just so hard to see the big picture and where I fit in exactly, you know?”
Pah! She could have no idea how many times he’d wrestled with that same brutal truth. He inhaled deeply, the weight of the conversation draping heavy on his shoulders. He’d been down the road Kit now traveled—several times—questioning his purpose, his impact, his very existence. It was a dark place to be, one he’d no doubt struggle with until his last breath…a burden he’d learned was far too cumbersome to carry alone.
“Take it from someone who’s been at this awhile.” He turned to her then, closing the distance between them. “It’s easy to lose your way in this world, which is why it always comes back to trusting in God’s plan. Rest assured that no matter what you do or don’t do, you will not thwart whatever our mighty Creator is up to. The best we can accomplish is to hold tight to our faith and keep walking towards eternity a step at a time.”
The streetlamp cast shadows on her jaw as she worked it. “Wise words, Mr. Baggett.”
A small smile twitched his lips. “Words that were hard earned, I assure you.”
Just then the deep bong of Big Ben chimed out the hour.Gong. Gong.Charles tensed.Gong.
“And so it begins,” Kit whispered.
In unison, they faced the Palace. The doors opened. Men poured out, many at first, dribbling eventually to ones and twos. How long it would take to purge the place of all the guests was anyone’s guess, but they needn’t wait for the club to completely empty. Just one man in particular.
So, they waited.
And waited.
But none of the stragglers emerging matched Frankie’s description or approached Jackson’s carriage.
Charles flipped open his watch. Half past the hour.
“Perhaps he won’t show,” Kit murmured.
His thoughts exactly.
A skinny man passed through the door next, garbed in a bodacious red coat and a black mask. Clearly the club was about to lock its doors if the entertainment was now leaving. Perhaps Child had gotten wind of their little plan and decided to keep away.
“Oh no,” Kit drawled.
Charles squinted, straining to see what may have drawn such a reaction. But the only man in sight was the red-coated stick figure who jogged down the stairs, staring at Jackson.
