Cara woke up a little later than she would have liked, and washed her face faster than normal so that she could make it to Adam Trenton's on time; he was the only customer she actually liked. He paid well, fed her, and actually talked to her like a decent man. She waited nervously on his doorstep, brushes and brooms on one shoulder, sheets tucked under the other arm. Her cap was a little over her face when a maid answered the door.
"Ah, come right in, I'll let Mister Trenton know you're here," she said cheerfully, waving the young sweep inside.
Cara shrugged as she always did when addressed in such a way. "Really no need for that, ma'am, I'm gonna be up the chimneys most of the time, won't be much use for talkin'," she said briskly, flinging her sheets out with a flick of her wrist. Once Cara stuck her head up the chimney, she wondered why Trenton had even asked her to come; his chimneys barely needed a dusting each, much less an actual cleaning. After about an hour, Cara was on her last chimney and extremely curious, due to the fact that Trenton's guests were due to arrive within minutes, and he hadn't asked her to leave yet. When she was rolling up her sheets, the doorbell rang, and the maid let a group of a half dozen well-dressed, middle-aged businessmen into the foyer. Cara was about to go look for the maid when Adam Trenton himself turned the corner, looking around. He smiled brightly when he saw her.
"Ah, you're done! Come now, there are some men I'd like you to meet," he said, ushering her in front of him. She went reluctantly.
"Men? For what, Mistah Trenton, I mean, I'm finished…"
"Nonsense, what do you think I asked you here for in the first place, dear girl!" he said as they came into the dining room, where the five men sat, talking amiably amongst one another. They stared at Cara.
"Gentlemen, this is Cara O'Conner. She's the girl I've been talking to you about, amongst other things," he said.
Cara immediately turned to stare at Trenton. "Talkin' to them, about me? Now what exactly is this?"
"Trenton, she's hired help," said one of the men, chuckling.
Cara's head whipped about. She scowled at the man. "Beg yeh pahdon?"
"That may be so, but she's a brilliant girl," said Trenton. "As well as one of the best chimney sweeps I've ever had."
"So let her be a sweep, Adam," said an older man, his voice almost kindly. Cara's nose twitched and she raised her chin slightly, looking at the man. He looked back, light blue eyes softening on her.
"While I love bein' talked about, sahs," Cara said cautiously. "Would you mind terribly tellin' me what in the blinkin' hell is goin' on?"
Some of the men laughed, while others looked surprised. Trenton laughed, and Cara took her cap off, still confused.
"My dear, we're from California, we're on a private education board there. Adam here seems to believe you possess quite a brain and that you deserve to be generously schooled," said the blue-eyed man.
Cara straightened slightly, eyes widening. "California? Out west?"
The man nodded.
"Adam tells us that you have an excellent talent for art," said another man. "He says that your works would sell if they only had a public viewing."
Cara felt herself blush and looked at Trenton. He smiled.
"I liked you from the beginning, Cara. I've told you that," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder warmly. "You deserve a better life than this."
"We'd like to see some of your artwork, if you wouldn't mind?" said the blue-eyed man.
"Well, sah, y'see, most of my work is on sidewalks and streets," she replied. "I've got a small portfolio but it ain't here."
"Well then, let's go see these street works, and pick up your portfolio along the way. Maybe you can show us some of you talent as well," said Trenton happily. The other men nodded. Cara was shocked. These were businessmen; given the chance, most kids would try and pick their pockets. And businessmen weren't supposed to care about street kids, much less girls. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe the west was different; maybe it was free.
It was quite a strange group; a scuffed, soot-covered girl with her cap askew leading half a dozen well-dressed, middle-aged men down the street, talking animatedly with the youngest of the men, Adam Trenton. At the girls' home Cara picked up her portfolio and tapped her chin, wondering where her latest drawing might've been. Or what was left of it. Then she remembered.
"Last night, at the park by the theatre," she said suddenly. "I drew the sky. Might not be the best, but it's somethin'. And yous can sit'n stare at my stuff."
Trenton smiled and patted her shoulder. "Sounds good. Should we get a trolley?"
"Sure, but it might be a bit hard fer alla you to hop a train," she said, grinning lopsidedly.
"Oh, don't worry," said Trenton, laughing. "I'll pay."
So they took a trolley, and for the first time in her life, Cara didn't have to ride on the back to avoid being caught. It felt strange, nestled betwixt these rich men. She was surprised at how nonchalant they all were behaving, even though she was leading them around New York City by the nose. The arrived at the park and Cara was pleased to discover that her drawing was mostly intact. The men gathered around it, some holding her other pieces and others nodding or not doing much at all. Cara couldn't stand around, and she knew she couldn't fidget, so she walked around the park, meandering on the grass and ignoring the signs.
Trenton watched her go, noting her wayward footsteps and her hands stuffed deep in her worn pockets. He looked at the bearded man beside him. "She deserves better than this, Roger," he said, frowning.
"Everyone in her position deserves better, Adam," he said kindly. "Had I the power I'd whisk every child off the street. I could never imagine my own child having to fend for themselves. That's what so tragic about this situation."
"She's good, Adam, but she's no prodigy," said a thin man with glasses. His name was Timothy Morris.
"Enough for a scholarship for her art alone?" Trenton asked hopefully.
Morris frowned. "There are other more worthy candidates."
"With money to pay their own way, Timothy," said Roger reproachfully. "Why not give her a chance? She's got nothing here. The school could really be good for her."
"She's not my daughter," said Morris. "She's not yours either. How could you know what is good for her?"
Trenton frowned a little. Morris had a point. He glanced back at where Cara was now sitting, holding her cap in her hands. He looked at Roger, who was gazing at the chalked night sky.
"She gave me something to learn about here," he said quietly. "She's given me a friend. I don't have friends here, I have associates. She's the only one who is honest about things, Roger. It is a crime to want to help her?"
"No, Adam," said Roger. "But let her decide."