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River With No Bridge

Page 9

by Karen Wills


  Bridget answered Nora’s knock on the manager’s door. Even in her distress, Nora admired her friend for advancing so.

  “What brings you back to the Centennial?” Bridget asked, pulling Nora into the office. “Is it a job you’re needing? As you see, I’m assistant manager at least for now, so in a position to help. I heard about Moriarty disappearing after the missing person notice.” She talked as she helped Nora slip off her old mourning coat.

  “You always get right to the heart of a matter, but you didn’t hear all there is,” Nora said. She stopped, the tears welling up, this time with relief that she could finally share her dilemma with another woman.

  “Sit down here. Tell me what’s wrong.” Bridget sat beside Nora on the office couch.

  Nora burst into the first racking sobs she’d allowed herself, then raised her eyes and said it aloud. “I became one of Bat Moriarty’s conquests. Now I’m going to have a baby.”

  Bridget paused only a moment, one hand raised to her mouth, before she reached out to take Nora into her arms and rock her. “Faith, dear, don’t be hard on yourself. It can’t be good for the little one. A baby is a good thing. Michael and I pray for one every day and try to help it come into being every night. Our sorrow is that we aren’t blessed.”

  “Is this a good thing?” Now that she had someone to talk to, Nora rushed on with downcast eyes. “I even thought for an hour about ridding myself of this one. I know there are those who know the ways. But the church says that’s a mortal sin. I’ll have the child, only not in Butte. I have to take Helen and leave. I was hoping you and Michael might want the house. I’ll let it go for little enough. I’ve a mind to go to Helena until the baby is born.” Nora sniffled into the handkerchief Bridget offered. “I can probably get work in a city that big until the baby comes. I’ll lie about when Tade died and pretend it’s his.”

  “Michael and I’ve been saving to buy a house. I work here all day and then live here all night. Believe me, it grows tiresome. I’d like to quit this job as well. Michael could walk to his mine, the Exile of Erin, from your house. I’ll talk with him.”

  “Thank you, Bridget. You’ll not tell anyone about me, will you?” Nora lowered her eyes, fingering the couch’s leather armrest. “I thought about renting the house and coming back with some story, but people figure such things out sooner or later.”

  “Only Michael, and I’ll swear him to secrecy,” Bridget answered, patting her hand. “But won’t you be seeing Father O’Toole before you go? It might be hard, but you’d feel better after.”

  “I can’t put it off any longer. It will be easier now I’ve told you.”

  “I can help you with the Helena move as well. I’ve an old friend there who owns a boardinghouse. Let me give you her address and I’ll send her a note before you leave. She’s a kind soul. Now as to the babe, don’t be too harsh with yourself. You know you aren’t the first and you won’t be the last to wind up so. Michael would hate me for telling, but he was started sooner than he should have been. It’s made no difference to him now, has it?”

  It remained for Nora to tell Rose. It wouldn’t be right to just leave her dearest friend without telling why. Nora found her removing biscuits from the oven in the Murphy kitchen. Helen and two of the Murphy girls had settled to play with dolls on the floor. Rose brushed a streak of flour from her shiny cheek and scrutinized Nora.

  “Sit down. You look as tired as I am. I wish you didn’t have to work so hard.”

  Nora eyed the children. “I need to speak to you. Alone.”

  Rose’s smile turned wary. Nora hated to visit more trouble on her friend who had endured so much. “Well then. Let’s walk outside. These girls can watch each other for a bit.”

  They wandered by the railroad tracks. Shabbily dressed women and boys scouted near the rails for lumps of coal to take home for fuel, a dismal scene in the October landscape. Nora shivered and began straightaway with just the shameful facts. “I sinned with Bat Moriarty the night of the benefit dance. I’m going to have his baby. Would you believe it, all that time with Tade and only Helen when we wanted more so badly? Now Bat’s gone, and I have to leave, too.”

  “Oh, Nora.” Rose looked ready to weep. “Where will you go? Stay here. Stay in your house with us nearby. Your home . . .”

  “I’m selling to Bridget and Michael, and I’ll buy train tickets to Helena. I’ll find work there for as long as I can, and then I’ll have the house money for right after.” Nora strove to sound strong and certain, no matter that fear and regret had driven her for weeks.

  “Have you spoken to Father?” Rose gripped Nora’s arm.

  “I went to confession this morning. He hardly had to tell me not to do this sort of business again, now did he?”

  Rose dabbed at her eyes with roughened fingers as they walked, trying to convince Nora to stay in Butte. Nora’s decision stood. The town had given her its best and its worst, and she didn’t want the shame of staying on.

  “How we’ll miss you and Helen,” Rose said, engulfing Nora in a tight embrace.

  Nora held Rose tightly. “We’ll miss you more. Promise not to tell why we left.”

  “I promise.” Rose used the end of her shawl to wipe her eyes. “We’ll say you had a family emergency.”

  “Good,” Nora said with a wry smile. “In a way it’s even true, isn’t it?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  October 1888

  Six years after her journey west from Boston a much-altered Nora Larkin boarded a passenger car of the Helena, Boulder, and Butte Railway line. This time her inquisitive daughter bounced on the seat beside her, the child’s every question beginning with why, what, when. Nora had packed the same round-topped trunk, wore the same black coat, but it now signified deceit. Others would believe she wore it for mourning Tade, none aware that Bat Moriarty’s baby grew under the heavy wool.

  No, she was not the same naive girl. Her astute instincts had failed. She’d given herself to a tawdry gambler just to taste the sweet fruit of desire again. Tade had ignited passion in her and she’d missed it enough to give herself to Bat Moriarty. The price of sin was death according to St. Paul. The girl she’d been hadn’t just changed, Nora thought. She’d died.

  Helen cried a little as they waved good-bye to the Murphy brood as the train pulled away. She eyed Nora with a flicker of hope. “I don’t want to go anymore, Mama. Let’s stay.”

  When she repeated it louder, a couple across the aisle peered over, annoyed. What would those judgmental strangers think if they knew my whole story, Nora wondered. Yes, she’d taken a man’s hand and led him to her bed, she’d removed her clothes with slow pleasure, she’d pressed his hands against her breasts. That night planted a child in her womb. As Butte vanished and the air outside cleared, she forced aside another truth, that she wished this unborn baby gone.

  Helen tugged at her sleeve. “I’m Helen going to Helena.” Helen had seen her sadness and tried to be cheerful now for the adventure ahead. Nora put her arm around Helen’s shoulders, so delicate they reminded her of a little bird’s bones. To engage Helen she pointed out deer feeding on tender grass near the rails. Helen would soon be hungry, and the old fear of want crept into Nora’s heart. Food cost money, and since Tade’s death money melted like ice blocks in summer. She wondered if her well-dressed fellow passengers ever noticed the silent poor who struggled against hunger and sought any decent means to shelter their children.

  Nora patted the inside pocket where she’d buttoned the cash left from Bridget’s down payment. Somehow I’ll get us through, she mentally chanted with the wheels below. Somehow I’ll get us through.

  They reached Helena at dusk. Homesickness struck Nora as passengers stepped down and embraced friends and families. No one greeted her and her tired daughter. The station bustled with confident strangers. Clutching Helen’s hand, Nora arranged to have their luggage delivered to Mrs. Leary’s boardinghouse.

  She paid the ten-cent fare to ride in a gaily painted horse-dra
wn trolley. Helen revived and pointed as they passed raucous saloons, silent lumberyards, heaped boulders and gravel, abandoned mine shafts, and ditches. Helena lacked Butte’s ruthless ugliness, but Nora wondered if she were destined to live in scarred mining towns forever. Perhaps it would be less dreary in daylight.

  The trolley descended to the end of the line in downtown Helena. After asking directions of the conductor, Nora and Helen stepped off and walked past buildings of varied architectural designs. Nora’s feet hurt. The inside of her left shoe pinched in at the ankle. The blister would be troublesome.

  The air chilled. She pulled Helen up a steep street with the hand not gripping her satchel. Helen reacted by going limp. “Carry me, Mama.” Nora sympathized with her exhausted child. Helen had looked at books, watched out the window, chattered with her, but it was time for a little girl with dark circles under bewildered eyes to be in bed.

  She felt a rush of blood that signified anxiety striking her on this unfamiliar street. The bad thoughts came. What if I can’t care for us? What if this Mrs. Leary isn’t as Bridget said? What if I can’t find work? What if one of us gets sick? With an effort, she reined in approaching panic. She had to be strong for Helen. Helen meant everything.

  “Carry me, Mama.”

  “No, my treasure,” Nora repeated in a soothing sing-song. “Take a few more steps. It can’t be far.” Exchanging that litany, they moved on to a street where Nora made out pleasant homes, grassy yards, poplar trees, and shrubbery. She checked addresses posted on gates, stopping at a tall white house with a broad front porch. They limped up the steps and Nora rang the bell. A slender, handsome woman with graying blonde hair twisted in a knot on her head answered.

  “I’m Mrs. Larkin,” Nora said. “My daughter and I are to rent a room here.” She nodded at Helen, who rubbed her eyes.

  “Yes, my dear, come in, come in. Why, this child looks half sick.” The woman glanced at Nora’s green skirt inside the open coat. “I expected to see you in full mourning. I’m Mrs. Leary.”

  “Oh, I felt it best to save my money for when the baby arrives. Tade would understand if I couldn’t buy black clothes. Your house is so lovely.” She meant it. Flowered wallpaper covered the high-ceilinged hall, which led into a parlor on one side and a dining room on the other. Oak stairs rose to the second story.

  “You must be worn to a frazzle,” Mrs. Leary said. “Let me show you your room.” Their landlady picked Helen up as the child swayed on her feet. “What a sweet little girl. She must miss her father.”

  “We both miss him,” Nora said, grasping the rounded top of the newel post, feeling suddenly light-headed. She inhaled to clear her thoughts. One had to appear healthy to make the right impression, no matter how hunger attacked. She followed Mrs. Leary up the steep staircase.

  The high-ceilinged room held a big four-poster bed next to tall windows draped in blue brocade overlooking the quiet street below. A cot sat next to the bed, made up with a blue crocheted coverlet for Helen.

  Nora sank into a willow rocker in the corner. “It’s lovely. Just lovely.” An evening breeze ruffled white lace curtains, and Nora drew in a breath of the crisp fall air. Perhaps by some miracle of providence, they would be all right. She shuddered at the thought of the strange streets she’d just navigated. Little divided the three in this room from those with no place to sleep but alleys. Once more, she felt grateful for the money from her house sale. Yet how money flew from her grasp.

  “Come down for lamb stew. It’s still on the stove,” Mrs. Leary said as she pulled off Helen’s coat and scuffed shoes. “We’ll just put this little one down. She’s asleep as it is. We’ll feed her when she wakes.”

  “Sure and I’m almost asleep myself,” Nora murmured.

  “You need the nourishment to be strong, dear.”

  Nora gratefully surrendered to her landlady’s maternal attentions. In the course of their conversation Mrs. Leary agreed to take care of Helen for a small sum while Nora worked. Nora explained that she would hide the fact of expecting Tade’s second child as long as she could to keep working. Mrs. Leary summoned a cautious smile, but accepted the plan.

  As Nora nestled later into her soft bed in that airy room, she felt an almost forgotten sense of hope and fell asleep feeling better than she had in weeks.

  Next morning, standing before the hawk-nosed manager of the Mineral Springs Hotel as he perused her references, Nora knew this would be a different kettle of fish from the Centennial. This four-story hotel had no dark and dingy corridors. Brass gleamed and windows admitted shafts of late fall light. But none of the staff smiled. She’d watched this man stride through the lobby, stopping to bestow effusive greetings on well-dressed guests. Now she saw that his warmth only extended to those whose money benefited him. She mustn’t invite his ready disdain. She stood straight, pulling her stomach in, although her condition hadn’t become obvious yet.

  “Are you in good health? You look peaky.” He peered over his glasses.

  “I am in good health. I suffered a recent loss. I—”

  “No need for explanations. We’ll try you in housekeeping. We’re strict with you Irish maids. Be here by 6:30 a.m. You work until 5:00 p.m. with a twenty-minute lunch break. If late once or caught shirking, you’ll be fired. Is that clear?”

  “Altogether clear, sir.” Nora’s heart stretched between relief at being hired and sorrow at the hours away from Helen.

  Nora watched for mail from Bridget, but when it arrived it brought catastrophy. Mr. Flynn had departed to start another business and the new manager disapproved of a woman as his assistant. He fired Bridget. Michael, in turn, had suffered a broken leg in a partial cave-in. It would be months before they could send money. Nora gripped the letter and forced herself to breathe. She finally set it down and wrote back that, of course, they must stay in the house. She would manage. Wasn’t it always the poor, she thought, most apt to help other desperate souls? Her father had taught her that.

  Thanksgiving arrived. Nora and Helen spent it with Mrs. Leary. After a turkey dinner, they decorated a small tree in the parlor. Helen was delighted to set out Mrs. Leary’s creche. She handled each piece with delicate reverence while the women drank cider and talked of Ireland. Mrs. Leary had never been there and reveled in Nora’s stories and descriptions. Nora avoided speaking of oppression and violence. Battles and arson made poor holiday fare. Reality too often crushed romantics and their ideals. She’d learned that lesson well.

  That peaceful, gracious day would remain in Nora’s memory as a green island of peace in a gray sea of despair. Neither woman knew that a financial calamity would force Mrs. Leary to give up her home and worse would be visited on the young mother seated across from her.

  Four weeks later the strangling angel of children came swooping over the mountains to descend on the city. The angel whom some called diphtheria did not discriminate, but visited homes great and small that sheltered little sons and daughters. Eventually the angel entered the haven of Mrs. Leary’s boardinghouse and seized all that was left of what Nora cherished. The angel grasped without mercy until Helen’s breath ceased.

  Helen’s burial plot in the unkempt paupers’ section of the cemetery lay between two other little mounds. Their twisted, faded headboards bore inscriptions weathered to unreadable. A local priest spoke rote words above the gaping hole that received Helen’s casket, paid for by the county for those with nothing. Driving snow mixed with freezing rain, but Nora didn’t feel it pelt her. She’d given up trying to hide her condition. Her rounded stomach thrust open the unbuttoned mourning coat flapping at her sides. After the somber priest departed, she stood, head bowed, staring at the lowered casket. She closed her eyes and listened to the silent gravedigger shovel hard clods back into the grave. She opened her eyes when she heard the ragged fellow’s voice. “I’m sorry for the loss of your child, missus, but you best get home before you catch a fatal chill.”

  For the first time she looked at the older man, his patched clothes a
nd cracked boots. Like her, forgotten by all, another of the wretched poor.

  “God reward you for your kindness,” Nora replied. “But I need more time alone with her.”

  She didn’t add that if God existed at all He was probably indifferent at best, vengeful and punitive at worst.

  The man doffed his cap and moved off. After he departed she bowed her head, staring at the lumpy mound of earth that covered Helen.

  After a quarter of an hour, sifting through memories that included Helen and Tade, heads together learning to read and write words that would lift them up in America, Nora raised her head and clenched her fists. “No, not like this. Never like this,” she declared to her desolate surroundings and the driving snow. “Not for Helen. No unmarked grave for Tade Larkin’s daughter. We didn’t come for this.”

  Nora marched with clumsy steps out of the cemetery and down the rutted road. She’d stupidly dreamed that Helen might one day take her first communion at a church she’d noticed under construction. Slabs of white building stone waited on the snowpacked site’s ground for spring.

  Well, she intended to put one to good use.

  Becoming canny, she noted surrounding weather turning to true storm. Increasing whiteouts might hide her. She entered the church grounds and bent over several flat building stones, some small and useless, some too big to move. One, about a foot and a half by one foot, she could budge by forcing it over on its corners. Lifting and shoving, Nora pushed the stone inches at a time. Sweat dampened her unwashed hair even in the cold. Her hands reddened. She grunted as she turned the rough block over, then over again. A pair of coarsely dressed men walked past, holding their caps against the wind. She heard their sneering laughter before the blinding snow swept their images away. Did they laugh at her? Small matter as long as they asked no questions.

  She noticed with dismay that another, more attentive man stood across the street watching. She stopped her clumsy struggling and straightened to face whatever accusation awaited her. The figure stood tall and straight in a black frock coat and wide-brimmed hat. But when he turned in profile for a moment, Nora discerned the telltale queue.

 

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