Home for Erring and Outcast Girls

by Julie Kibler

  All is calm; all is bright…

  We sit in the parking lot sipping from cardboard.

  “Don’t you want to find River again?”

  I sigh. I haven’t quite finished my story. I tell her now about seeing River at the concert—and about ignoring Angela’s messages since.

  I will call Angela, but not until spring. Small steps.

  “I don’t know if I can handle that much,” I say. “Who knows what River’s like now. Maybe she’s in a relationship. Maybe she’s married.” I shrug, as if it doesn’t matter.

  Laurel scoffs. “I don’t think she’d say what she did when she sang your song if she was.”

  This girl. She is too perceptive.

  “I’m not telling you what to do, but if it were me…” Her words linger.

  I start the car.

  Christmas Day, I suggest a walk to the cemetery. I stayed up even after we returned from mass, continuing to write, and I’m spent. But fresh air sounds good. And I want to see the headstones again.

  This time, while we’re both in good spirits.

  We tread cautiously through slush created by the snow that melted almost before the sun came up, reading the stones again. A tiny cat—not a kitten—comes out of nowhere, meowing plaintively, as if to say, Hello, it’s about time you got here. She rubs against our legs, putting her nose to Laurel’s when she leans close and pawing at my shoe. She’s collarless and a little ragged, as if she’s been outside a while. Maybe forever. But she doesn’t scratch or nip when we pet her.

  Laurel and I laugh at her funny face, split down the middle with a completely different pattern on each side.

  “I wonder what her name is?” Laurel says.

  “Maybe she’s homeless,” I answer. “Maybe she doesn’t even have a name.”

  At the same time, we look at each other and our faces dawn in recognition. She may be homeless, but she has a story, like anyone or anything else.

  “Dilly,” Laurel says.

  I nod. The first Berachah girl. It’s perfect. Dilly follows us home.

  MATTIE

  Oklahoma City

  1921

  The headline was on the front page of The Oklahoma Leader’s late edition: “SPIRITED CONTEST BETWEEN FOUR BLONDES FOR QUEEN OF LABOR DAY!” Secretary Weyrich claimed the “Irish Princess of the Culinary Alliance” had sold thousands of votes already, and that the other contestants would need more than half a million votes to beat her.

  He’d warned Mattie, but she still flushed from head to toe to see the headline.

  Pat got huffy, just as she’d expected. He shoved away the paper he’d brought in and left her to serve supper alone. Mattie ran out to purchase two extra copies and carefully clipped the article—one to save, and one to send to Lizzie and Docie. They’d get a charge out of seeing it, even if they wouldn’t come.

  The next Saturday, another mention complimented her diligence in getting out to the local businesses. The article was buried on the third page, so Mattie carefully folded the paper and set it aside, hoping Pat wouldn’t go looking. It was bedtime before he remembered, and he merely glanced at the headlines.

  Two weeks before the parade, there was a final push, and then a huge crush at the Trades Council Hall to hear the results. In the last hour before the polls closed, the nominees and their fans canvassed the hall, soliciting last-minute votes. The room crackled.

  By a landslide, Ina Mayfield, a vivacious young woman nominated by the railroad workers, won. Nobody was surprised, least of all Mattie. She didn’t show even a sliver of disappointment. After all, she’d come in fourth and would still ride on the float. As a runner-up, she was expected to give a short thank-you speech, and with Mr. Weyrich’s guidance, she’d written it ahead of time.

  “The contest was for a shared cause,” she said, reading from her notes, “and a successful campaign was all any of us hoped for. We are honored and thrilled with the outcome.”

  She meant it. The newspaper quoted her the next day.

  From the podium, she spied Jim McBride, and he tipped his hat. Her face heated so much the audience laughed as the announcer commented on her bashful beauty. Later, Jim caught her resting against a wall, grateful the hubbub had subsided.

  “What’s this? A princess posing as a wallflower?”

  She laughed at his silliness, but her heart raced. His gaze made her insides swoon all over the place. It was wrong, she knew—but her insides didn’t follow orders well at all. During the last-minute push, she’d been flustered at the number of folks who said she had that McBride fellow to thank for their vote. Apparently, he’d been out in force on her behalf.

  “Congratulations,” he said now. “I hope you enjoy the parade.”

  “What are you after?” she said, her confusion no longer manageable.

  He stood straighter, his eyes suddenly wary.

  “I appreciate the nomination. It’s been fun. But everyone says you were out drumming up votes for me. It seems a little…excessive.” She paused. “Over the line.”

  Jim stepped back, his face coloring. He quietly said, “Mrs. Madigan, I sincerely didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was doing my best to help someone who seemed deserving. No offense meant. I’m truly sorry.”

  His words and tone were polite and kind. Not presumptuous at all. Mattie forced a smile. “None taken, then,” she said. “I just wanted to be clear.”

  “You’re clear,” he said. “I know you’re married. I’m not trying to interfere.”

  She was so flustered by then, she could hardly look him in the eye. She nodded.

  But as he turned to walk away, he paused. “If you weren’t married, though, clearly I’d feel differently.” He doffed his hat and went to join the men from the local.

  Walking her and Jeanette home, he maintained more space than usual. At their corner, he said, “Good night, Mrs. Madigan,” the same as always.

  After Mattie sent the clippings she’d collected, Lizzie replied:

  Mat dear,

  Prowd to see you in news paper. Cant come, a coarse!

  Scared to show Docie. Shell be mad.

  Love all ways,

  Lizzie

  Lizzie had carefully penned it herself. Though her childish scrawl had changed little over the years, she could write longer notes now. The sweet mess only made Mattie love Lizzie more.

  She wished her dearest friends could see the parade.

  She wished Pat would stop being a heel.

  * * *

  —

  Labor Day dawned with a slight cloud cover. A surprise—and fortunate—downpour overnight nudged the thermometer down after weeks of intolerable heat, though it was hardly enough to affect the drought. Mattie had dreaded sitting in the blazing sun for the close to two hours it would take to travel the parade route, as much as heat bothered her.

  She’d been awarded fifty dollars for a dress at Kerr’s, and she’d carefully selected one she thought youthful, yet appropriate for a woman nearing forty—and of the lightest, coolest fabric she could find. They’d tailored it and donated a hat, gloves, stockings, and shoes to match.

  She pulled on her hose, careful to keep her toes from snagging the delicate white silk, then dropped her dress over her head. She studied her reflection in the mirror on the bureau, the largest in the apartment, and though she couldn’t see her full reflection, she was pleased. She rarely took the time to look in a mirror.

  The white lawn day dress fell just below her knees, with sleeves cuffed at her elbows. A sheer voile panel with tiny vertical pleats was sewn in at the yoke and neck and hung nearly to the hem. Peplum-style ruffles graced the sides and back of the skirt, and the sash, low on her hips and tied at the back, gathered it all just right. She’d never owned anything so exquisite.

  Under her hat, her hair still shone, an
d though sometimes hard to tame, gentle curls framed her face. Her eyes sparkled and the face cream Lizzie had teased her over had apparently paid off. She glowed.

  Pat would have to do up the last buttons on the back of her dress. She couldn’t reach them herself. It would probably ruin the moment—for once in her life, she felt lovely.

  Without warning, she envisioned Jim McBride at the curb, smiling and tipping his hat as she rode by. She shook herself. She had no reason to be thinking of Jim. He’d be marching, four units back from the queen’s float. Chances were he wouldn’t see her at all.

  “Pat, honey,” she called. “Would you help me? I can’t reach my buttons.”

  He huffed and rose in the living room. He stopped at the door, and for a moment, she thought he might say something nice. He leaned against the door frame. “My fingers ain’t any good on those buttons.”

  “Well, they’re the only ones around, so they’ll have to do.” Mattie flirted with her smile. It did not come easy, but now and then she tried. He managed the buttons but ignored the smile.

  He’d grudgingly agreed to accompany her to the starting point, though he wouldn’t march with his local. She’d wondered if it was a show of loyalty, considering Ina Mayfield was from the railroaders. But he wasn’t one for gestures and never even attended the meetings.

  He’d turned down a seat in a section reserved for the families of the court. She’d been embarrassed to tell the committee she hadn’t needed any tickets. Pat said he’d watch the parade begin, and then get back home—he didn’t want to spend his rare weekday off in a crowd.

  Downtown, Mattie drew on her white gloves, and Pat handed her up onto the float. The parade committee had festooned the platform with ribbons and flowers and outfitted it with a throne and smaller chairs made of painted wood. Twelve white horses waited under the shafts to pull the float. She’d never seen anything so elaborate—that it was partly for her seemed absurd.

  A committeewoman pinned Mattie’s sash, emblazoned with Hotel and Restaurant Employees, settled her into her chair at the foot of the queen’s throne, and then demonstrated how to rest her bouquet in the crook of one arm, leaving the other hand free to wave.

  Pat stood awkwardly at the side of the float until the woman moved on to the next attendant. “Guess I’ll see you back at the house.”

  “You could come out to the lake after. It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  He shook his head. “Not for old men like me,” he said. “You watch yourself. Some fellow might get the wrong idea with you all gussied up like that. Don’t stay late.”

  Mattie’s face flushed hot, and she almost wished he hadn’t come at all. Since she’d confronted him about his age, he’d taken to trying to shame her. It made her feel as if she were, once again, the girl disowned by her family all those years ago, though she’d never shared her whole history—and she wasn’t even the one with former lovers tracking her down.

  “I’ll be home when I’m home,” she said. “Don’t bother waiting up.” He turned away and stalked back toward the opening in the barricades, hands crammed in his pockets and his shoulders hunched to the front. He seemed half-embarrassed to be seen with her.

  While the grand marshal waited for the signal to move, Mattie scanned the growing crowd for familiar faces. Suddenly, though, she noticed the committeewoman who’d arranged them whispering with another, who glanced at Mattie with a frown. Mattie supposed they were gossiping about her age—likely fifteen years more than the most mature girl on the float. She felt an odd twinge of sympathy for Pat to suddenly imagine that her maturity made her stand out. She straightened her shoulders and smiled at them both.

  She’d won fair and square. She belonged as much as anyone else there.

  But then the older woman waved down one of the representatives from the joint unions office and spoke close to his ear. He looked at Mattie too. Suddenly sweat trickled down the back of her neck and tickled the spot just between her shoulders. What were they saying?

  They approached the side of the float where she sat close to the edge. The man cleared his throat. “Excuse me, ladies. We’ll be starting a few moments late while we clear up a small matter. Sorry for the delay. Mrs. Madigan, may we have a word?”

  She stared at him helplessly. She’d done nothing wrong.

  The man leaned to speak privately, but she supposed the other girls were straining to hear. She shrugged and sat up straight again. “What’s the problem, sir?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s been a last-minute inquiry into your suitability for representing the unions on the float. We just want to clarify something.”

  Were there rules for eligibility beyond active membership and current dues in each union represented? She hadn’t seen anything. But the man showed her a small printed pamphlet—the rules of the parade. She supposed it outlined the costume and float contest rules. She glanced down at her dress. It was as modest as anything she’d worn in recent years—more so than any dress the younger women on the float wore today. Was it her age?

  He pointed to the tiny print under the section about the queen and her attendants. She’d never noticed it. “See here, ma’am, it says the winners must be women of good character, with no known reasons for disqualification, thus.”

  She was unable to form a coherent response. To her knowledge, no soul in Oklahoma City knew anything of her past beyond the testimony she’d given more than a decade earlier at the mission. She’d told few details—mostly that she’d been desperate until she found a home at the Berachah.

  “What’s the holdup here, Mr. Hewitt?” a familiar voice asked from behind her. She knew it well enough, despite his usual quiet presence and their brief interactions.

  “Why, hello, Mr. McBride. Pleasure to see you. Just private business between the committee and Mrs. Madigan. I’m sure we’ll have it cleared up momentarily.”

  Mattie wanted nothing more than to slide off the cheap, painted chair and off the float and then to run for any dark doorway she could duck into until the parade was well on its way.

  But Jim smiled up at her. “Can’t imagine there’d be anything to clear up about our Irish Princess. She’s an upstanding member of the Hotel and Restaurant Employees. Why, she doesn’t even drink.” He winked at her with his head turned just enough that Mr. Hewitt couldn’t see.

  “Well, Mr. McBride, we had a report that Mrs. Madigan has questionable history. That she may have been, for lack of a genteel way to put it, a lady of the evening before she came to Oklahoma.”

  Mattie gasped. Jim turned his head to study her but swiftly turned back to Mr. Hewitt. “That’s impossible, sir. I’ve known her for…well, longer than I remember. Her reputation is as spotless as any young lady’s on this float.”

  The other girls were staring at Mattie blatantly by now, but as Jim scanned them, along with Mr. Hewitt, several blushed.

  “Mrs. Madigan, can you give us an honor oath that there’s no reason you should be disqualified?”

  Mattie kept her eyes steadily on Jim’s as thoughts whirled in her mind. Cap’s conception, even if out of wedlock, would not give her the shameful label, so was it possible her single and lowest moment had somehow been discovered? She couldn’t imagine how. She’d never confessed to anyone but Lizzie how her second childbirth came to be—Brother JT had found it in his heart not even to ask. Lizzie would never tell.

  Even so, would that singular act for money label her as a “lady of the evening” for all eternity? It had been one time, and technically, it had been broad daylight. “Sir, I have no idea why someone would say that,” she said. “Of course I’m not…”

  She couldn’t even finish it out loud.

  The crowd was restless. Teenage boys began to ball up programs and toss them into the street, jeering at the master of ceremonies, who shrugged helplessly on the podium.

  “Mr. He
witt, surely you should let the parade begin,” Jim said. “Hasn’t this caused enough stir—not to mention embarrassment for Mrs. Madigan?”

  Mr. Hewitt nodded and stepped back with the committeewoman, who continued to look suspiciously at Mattie. Mattie felt a soft touch on her sleeve. She turned and Jim said quietly, “Put your smile back on and show them what you’re made of.” He began to move away from the float but then stepped close again. “Hold up a moment—turn slightly to your right.”

  Mattie had turned sideways in her seat to speak with Mr. Hewitt and had leaned so far forward in her embarrassment she was hardly balanced in her chair. She nodded to Jim. “Thank you.”

  “Not yet,” he said, and carefully reached toward her back. “No worries, ladies,” he called a little louder, “just a little spider. You won’t want it riding along with you.”

  Mattie felt him pinch the fabric at the back of her dress with both hands, and then he straightened. “Just a few undone buttons,” he said under his breath, and tipped his cap and walked away, leaving her with her mouth hanging open. He rushed toward the hotel and restaurant employees’ unit without looking back again.

  The parade began with an apology and a speech from the mayor. Mattie didn’t take in a word, still reeling. She couldn’t imagine who would make such an accusation—or why. She’d worked hard to get on the float—though perhaps not as hard as Jim McBride—and she tried to put it out of her mind once the other girls stopped gawking and turned their attention to the crowds.

  After the master of ceremonies announced the court, their float followed the grand marshal and the police down Grand Avenue, accompanied by the first band. Waving to the crowd felt pretentious at first, but the spectators were so enthusiastic, it soon became easy—especially once the float was out of sight of the grandstand, where people had continued to gape curiously at Mattie.

  Little girls jumped up and down, squealing, or perched on their daddies’ shoulders to see the float. Mattie couldn’t contain her smile to see how dazzled they were by the queen and her maids of honor. Nora had promised to attend, though her stepfather had refused to let her march. It was unbecoming, he’d said, and besides, she no longer worked for a hotel. Mattie scanned the crowd, and a thousand brown-haired girls in hats…