almost stopped in his tracks. Angus kept on walking, forcing Sterling to take a skipping step to keep up. “Does your mother know about this?”
“Of course. It was her idea.”
“Of course. Do you know where this…Mary lives?”
“Second Avenue, I think.”
“That’s right. Angus, before we go any further, you’d better tell me what you’re doing and why you need a police escort to do it.”
They turned the corner, and Mary picked up her pace. She scurried through the street with her head down, looking at nothing but the ground in front of her feet. This part of Second Avenue was popularly known as Paradise Alley, for obvious reasons. Although Sterling’s father, a stern, strict preacher who ruled his flock, and his family, like an old testament prophet expecting judgement any moment, would have had more than a few strong words to say about such blasphemy. The street was narrow, full of mud and debris, lined with two neat rows of nearly identical narrow wooden dwellings. These were the cribs, where women plied their trade, peak-roofed, wide enough for only one long thin window beside the door, their frontage not much more than a few feet wide. A few sported an awning over the door, presumably to keep the customers dry while they waited their turn. In the early evening there weren’t many men around. A few women, with worn faces and tired bodies, tattered dresses and cheap jewellery, stood in their doorways or gathered together on the strip of boardwalk, exchanging gossip and watching the passing traffic. No one spoke to Mary as she marched down the middle of the street, mindless of several inches of her ill-fitting dress dragging through the mud and ignoring the men and boy following her.
She stopped in front of one of the shacks. “Here,” she said. It was no better, and no worse, than any of the others.
Angus stepped forward, ready to go inside with her. She lifted a hand. “Please wait.”
Sterling stood in the street with a scowling Mr. Mann and a red-faced Angus, feeling conspicuous in his red tunic, broad-brimmed hat, and high black boots. The women watched with expressionless eyes. The few customers on the street stayed well clear.
He could see them coming from a long way away. Two toughs with many-times broken noses, calloused hands, good clothes and a practiced swagger. As they approached, the women disappeared into their homes, slamming doors behind them as if a skunk were coming down the road with tail raised. A small woman in an unadorned brown housedress stood alone on the far side of the street, watching.
One of the men stopped several yards short of Sterling, and the other approached with a friendly smile that didn’t touch the steel in his eyes. Sterling doubted the man had given anyone an honest smile since he ceased to be a toddler. “Help you, Constable?”
“No.” Mary came out of her home, clutching a cloth-wrapped
bundle to her chest. Mr. Mann took the package then handed it to Angus. His arms hung loosely at his sides, but his body was as tense as wire on a range fence, and Sterling was glad the German would be on his side if worse came to worse.
“We’re in no hurry. Get the rest of it, Mary,” Angus said. “There is no more.” “This is all you have?” He sounded as if he couldn’t
quite believe it. Considering he was the son of Fiona MacGillivray, Sterling had no doubt the boy truly didn’t believe a woman could get by with so little.
Then Mary saw the two men. Her colour didn’t change and her expression didn’t waver, but Sterling saw the tension crawl into her neck and shoulders.
“Leaving?” the man asked in a voice as polite as his false smile.
“Yes,” Sterling said.
The man took one step to stand in front of Mary. She stared at her feet. “Mrs. LeBlanc would like you to stay.” Mary’s eyes flicked towards the woman in the brown dress watching the exchange. “Go back inside, and there’ll be no hard feelings.”
“Mary doesn’t want to stay,” Angus said.
“Angus,” Sterling said, “be quiet. Shall we go, Mary?”
The big man was solidly in her path. She took a tentative step to one side. Without appearing to move, he shifted slightly and blocked her. “Mrs. LeBlanc says you owe a month’s rent on your cabin, Mary.”
She looked up. Her eyes were dry and clear. “I don’t have so much money.”
“Then you can’t leave.”
“If there’s a dispute about monies owning, tell Mrs. LeBlanc to take it to the magistrate,” Sterling said. “Judge’ll hear her case in due course. Angus, why don’t you take Mary’s arm. Mr. Mann can carry her things.”
Mr. Mann grabbed the bundle, and Angus slipped his arm through Mary’s with a shy smile. The little party started to move away, Sterling leading, followed by Angus and Mary, Mr. Mann and the bundle of meagre possessions bringing up the rear. The second tough slapped his fist rhythmically into the palm of his meaty hand. A small crowd had gathered at the end of the street. Curtains twitched in the windows of the nearby cribs.
“You got something you want to say?” Sterling asked. The slapping stopped. The tough looked at his partner.
“Mrs. LeBlanc believes that ladies can sort out their problems without going to court. She’s asking you not to leave, Mary, until she’s had a chance to talk to you. All nice and lady-like. Proper. If you still want to go, Mrs. LeBlanc’ll probably let you out of paying what you owe her, and off you can go. Now don’t that sound better than dealing with the redcoats and the white man’s courts?”
Mary hesitated and looked up the street at the unsmiling woman standing alone. Sterling feared she was about to give in, to take her bundle from Mr. Mann, mumble goodbye to Angus, and return to her miserable dwelling and whatever despair had resulted in her wearing Fiona MacGillivray’s cast-offs.
“I’d like to go with Angus,” Mary said. Her voice was soft, but it didn’t waver. She lifted her head and looked the man in the face. “Please, get out of our way, Mr. Black.”
“You think your word will stand up in court against a white woman’s, Mary? You’re a fool.”
“You’re full of nonsense,” Angus shouted. The boy had remained silent as long as he could. “Mary’s word’s as good as anyone’s in a proper Canadian court. Isn’t that right, Constable Sterling? And anyway,” he continued without waiting for an answer (the honesty of which Sterling would have been reluctant to affirm), “if Mary owes Mrs. Leblanc some money, she can pay it out of her wages without living here.”
“I don’t want any trouble,” Mary said. “You’re free to come and go as you like without worrying if it causes some folks trouble or not,” Sterling said. “The North-West Mounted Police will see to that. Shall we go?”
“Yes, sir,” she said. She lifted her head high and patted Angus’s hand.
“You’ll regret it, stupid squaw,” Mr. Black said. His partner spat into the street, barely missing Mary’s feet.
“Take Mary and Angus to the Savoy, Mr. Mann,” Sterling said. “I want a word with Mrs. Leblanc. I’ll make sure those two don’t follow you.”
Joey LeBlanc remained on the other side of the street as she watched Angus, Mary, and Mr. Mann disappear around the corner. A flicker of anger moved behind her small black eyes before she recovered her composure and extinguished it. Her face returned to its customary empty expression. It was rumoured in this town of a thousand rumours that there had once been a Mr. Leblanc, but Joey had knifed him in St. Louis for doing irreparable damage to a piece of merchandise belonging to the family business, so to speak. Sterling questioned the veracity of the story but not that Joey was perfectly capable of it. He crossed the street while keeping one eye on the two toughs, although neither of them seemed inclined to follow Mary or indeed to have any idea of what to do now, without their boss issuing an order.
“Lovely evening,