Street Of Dreams

Copyright Therese A. Kraemer 2014

Published by Spangaloo Publishing

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Spangaloo Edition

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This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, incidents, and places are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, people, or events is purely coincidental

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Editors Note:

Many characters in this book have accents and or different speech patterns. The author has attempted to illustrate this phonically. These are not spelling errors.

ONE

Sister Francesca, come quick! cried Red Feather.

Child, what has your tail in a spin? asked Sister Francesca. She ran behind the eight year old, Indian boy as fast as her feeble, skinny legs would let her. When she reached the Iron Gate, she huffed and puffed, wiping her sweaty brow on her sleeve. The habit she wore only caused her to perspire more than necessary. Arizona’s heat was too much to be dressed in so much black material. But she loved running the orphanage in Winslow and taking care of little souls, like Red Feather who was left at the gate only weeks old. He’s the oldest of six children and the only Indian child ever left abandoned.

The year was 1858 and she remembered it well and she believed he might have white blood in his veins because his eyes were dark blue, not brown as expected.

Clutched in his tiny fist was a small red feather.

Look sister! Red Feather pointed, Someone left a basket of food.

He stared blankly with his mouth open, and she was certain the little wicker basket didn’t contain food. As if on cue, a tiny cry emitted from under the lid. Red Feather looked surprised as she unlocked the gate. The boy kept a curious, watchful eye, looking quit disappointed that the basket held no food, only another mouth to feed.

I should have known it would be another baby, but I was hopeful, he mumbled and with a sad shrug he followed her out of the gate. When the lid was lifted, Sister Francesca blessed herself, murmuring, Oh, my, what a beautiful little angel!

Red Feather’s expression stilled and grew serious, and then his eyes grew wide with admiration as he looked up at her. The baby’s skin is as white as a cloud. His voice rose in surprise and he asked, Do you think she’s an angel? He touched the pink cheek with his tan finger noting the difference. What should we call her?

How about Angelica? she suggested and they shared a smile.

Red Feather proclaimed, That’s a very lovely and appropriate name, sister.

She nodded and anticipated his frown because she knew how the boy hated the goat. Go milk Nanny. I’m sure the baby is hungry.

Red Feather winced, and the sister smiled again making fine wrinkles crisscrossed her old face. He hated milking that gruff, head butting critter. She was always trying to bite him when he squeezed her utter. But, he knew starting today that he’d do anything for Angelica. A few days later, he discovered that doing anything did not include dirty diapers.

Red Feather could believe that four years had passed as he little Angelica stood in an open space, barely lit by candles along the tall walls. A wide set of stairs stood at one side of the room and large oak doors that led to a small chapel on the other side. The place was cool and damp, compared to the warm outdoors.

No! Angelica wailed her lower lip stuck out further than her upper one. Despair began to spread over her face as tears fell down her flushed cheeks; she’d been crying for quite a while.

Red Feather’s own heart was breaking for the child he called Angel. He didn’t want her to go either; his throat ached with sadness, but... she was one of the lucky ones, she had been adopted. He wiped a tear away with his finger and hugged her. He loved Angel ever since that day she had been dropped off at the convent; he took it upon himself to watch over her all these years. He knew Angelica adored him also and didn’t want to leave.

She wiped her runny nose on her sleeve. I don’t want to go with those people, she cried anew, her voice gruff from tears.

Red Feather sighed but he had to put up a brave front, he must not show signs of relenting; he was now a man, he lived through twelve winters.

Angel, he sighed and wiped away another tear with a trembling finger. These people will give you a new and decent home and life. Now that I am grown, I’ll probably leave soon. I cannot stay here much longer myself. So you see, its best you go with these nice people. He tried to maintain his curtness, but he knew Angelica was too smart for her age. The little imp folded her arms across her small chest, glaring at him teary eyed. One way or another that stubborn girl showed him her decision was finale.

I can go with you, Red Feather, she stated glaring at him with her most stubborn look and stance.

He rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. You are so mule headed, as stubborn as Nanny. You know you cannot. Here, he removed a beaded necklace he had made for himself and placed it around her small neck and said, To remember me always. A stab of guilt lay buried in his breast. More tears splashed down her face and by her expression, he could see she was defeated but still Angelica threatened. I’ll run away! So there! Her little pink tongue followed that declaration.

Red Feather gazed at her in despair thinking that this called for more drastic actions, for the girl’s sake. Giving her a light push, he snarled, Go! You’re becoming a pest, always hanging around me! He knew the insults were hurtful seeing the pain in her light blue eyes; that look nearly tore his heart from his chest. I’m too old to have a baby clinging to me all the time. So go! he ordered sharply.

Angelica flinched at the tone of his voice and looked up. I’m not a baby or a nuisance! she wailed. Why are you being so mean to me? I thought we were friends! The teary-eyed child hiccupped and again she wiped her nose, this time on the hem of her oversized, tattered dress.

Terrible regrets assailed him. He had no answer for his little friend, at least one that wouldn’t hurt her more, so he turned and ran past the vast entry hall, down a long corridor, with closed doors lining each side. He sped away before he weakened and pulled her into his arms, beginning for forgiveness. Or, before he acted like a baby himself and cried. As he ran away, he knew he’d never forget her pleas that echoed down the cold hall making his heart ice over with pain. Her cries followed him as he fled.

Red Feather, pleeeease! she sobbed.

In the morning, Red Feather looked out the window and watched as a young couple carried his little Angel into a plush coach. Although he thought this was for the best, he was utterly miserable. She was taking his heart with her. When he could watch no more, he fell onto his cot and became a little boy until his eyes burned, his nose became too stuffy to breathe, his teeth chattered, and his body trembled. I will love you forever, my Angel.

Angelica looked up at the window on the second floor seeing the faded curtains fall back into place, but not before dark blue eyes glimmered with specks of light. Was her dear friend watching her? She looked up until the window vanished from sight, hoping for any sign of his face reappearing. Nothing. Smothering a sob, she rubbed her teary eyes feeling as if she would never again be happy. Her new parents, Rosa and Raymond St. James were smiling and trying to make her feel loved. They hugged and promised to make her happy. She doubted it. When the coach rolled her away, she knew she had left her heart back there.

I will love you forever, Red Feather.

TWO

Angelica, said Rose, her stepsister, you can’t go traipsing out west by yourself.