“When does it end?” Rose murmured. “Will it ever end?”
“I’d like to make you promises,” Kate said, “but I can’t.”
One of the boys awoke and wailed from the front bedroom, and Rose got to her feet. “You’re busy with your family,” she said. “I didn’t mean to keep you.”
Kate walked with Rose to the front door and hugged her before she opened it. “Don’t think unkindly of Tim,” she said and winked. “There’s no law that says people in love have to agree about everything.”
In anguish Rose stared down at her feet. How terribly much she wanted to be able to confide everything to Kate, who thought that Rose’s unhappiness concerned a lovers’ quarrel that would soon be over! She desperately needed someone to reassure her that Johnny would be safe.
“If you want to meet with people who value peace as much as you do, then come to some of the activities at Hull House,” Kate added.
“All right,” Rose said, trying to sound confident. “I will.” But she returned home feeling every bit as miserable as she had when she left.
During the next three weeks Rose kept Johnny in her mind and in her prayers, asking all the saints in heaven to add their prayers to hers as she begged God to bring her brother home safely. Desperately, she prayed, “And please, grant to all of us Your special peace.”
There was no peace for Rose as troubles were added to troubles. It was late in the day, the second week after Johnny had left, when a police officer arrived at Sweeney’s asking for her.
Terrified, Rose could only stare at him, bracing herself for what he would tell her.
The officer pushed back his tall, rounded helmet and rubbed his forehead while he studied a slip of paper in his hand. “Michael Carney … he’s your brother?”
“Yes! Where is Michael? What’s happened to Michael?” Rose leaned against the counter for support.
“There’s no need to be frightened,” he said kindly. “A load of pipe shifted and fell, hitting your brother’s leg.”
Rose clutched the officer’s arm. “How badly was he hurt? His leg … is it broken?”
“That I don’t know. All I can tell you is that your brother was taken to Augustana Hospital.”
Hospital! No one ever went to a hospital except to die! In panic Rose whirled to one side, then the other, crying out, “Where is this place? I’ll go to him. Right now. My hat … Where did I leave it? It’s somewhere here.”
Suddenly, Rose was enfolded in Mrs. Sweeney’s arms. “Hush, Rose, hush,” she said. “The shop will be closing soon, and we’ll see that you get to Augustana. It’s quite a distance north on Dickens between Cleveland and Lincoln.”
“Shouldn’t I go now?”
Mrs. Sweeney looked up at the policeman. “It’s not an emergency. Is it, officer?”
“Nothing was said about an emergency.”
“Who told you to notify me?” Rose asked.
“Your brother, Michael. That is, he told the nurse who called the station, and the dispatcher told me.”
Rose took a long breath and began to relax. “Thank you,” she remembered to say to the policeman. “I’ll get to the hospital as soon as possible.”
With a tip of his hat the policeman left. Rose, unable to concentrate on her customers’ requests, was thankful when Mr. Sweeney finally walked the last shopper to the door, turned the CLOSED sign to face the street, and locked the doors.
Rose, guided by the Sweeneys, rode the electric cars to the six-story Augustana Hospital, where they were soon directed to the room in which Michael sat propped in a chair, his right leg tightly wrapped. A pair of crutches leaned against the wall.
Rose ran to him, hugging him gently, as though he were a cracked egg. “Oh, Michael,” she said, “are you in much pain?”
“It’s not so terrible,” he told her, but beads of sweat popped up on his forehead. “I feel like I did when I was a lad and Porric Clancy’s mule took a good kick at me.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He smiled. “It’s not a major break, just a crack in the bone. The doctor said it would hurt like fury for a day or two, then begin to settle down. I’ll be on crutches for the next six weeks or more.” His smile shivered from his face as he added, “Rosie, I can’t do that. We can’t afford it.”
“You’ll do what the doctor tells you to do,” Rose said firmly.
Mr. Sweeney bent over to peer at Michael’s leg. “How did the accident happen?” he asked.
“A load of pipe hadn’t been secured properly. It shifted and came pouring down. Luckily, no one was killed, and no one else was hurt.”
Eager to get her brother out of this stark, bare place, Rose asked, “When will they let you go home?”
“Whenever you sign me out,” Michael answered. He put a hand on Rose’s arm and lowered his voice, obviously embarrassed to have the Sweeneys overhear. “There’ll be the hospital costs to pay—I think they’ll let us pay some each week until it’s covered—and the ambulance. I’ll need an ambulance to take me home, Rosie. I’d never make it on the cars.”
“It’s all right, Michael,” Rose answered, although her heart sank at this extra expense. How would she ever pay these bills? To make things worse, Michael’s income would stop until his leg healed and he was well enough to look for another job. She’d be the only one in the family bringing home a paycheck.
Leaving Michael with the Sweeneys, Rose went to the hospital’s office and made the arrangements Michael had suggested. She rode home with him in the horse-drawn ambulance, wincing at every jolt and bounce that caused her brother to suffer as she fought back a resentment of his employers, who were the ones responsible for the accident, not Michael.
“Why can’t the construction company you worked for pay your medical expenses?” she asked Michael.
“Because that’s not the way things are done,” he answered.
“At Hull House I’ve heard some talk about unions.”
“So far it’s just talk,” he said and groaned loudly as a wheel of the ambulance dropped into a rut.
By the time the ambulance attendants helped Michael up the stairs and into his bedroom, Michael’s face was the color of bleached cotton, and his shirt was soaked with sweat.
“Lie down and rest,” Rose said. “Did the doctor give you anything to help with the pain?”
Michael pulled a paper twist from the pocket of his overalls. “Here’s a powder,” he said. “Half in a glass of water now, the other half later, if I think I need it.”
Rose mixed the potion, watched him drink it, then helped him pull off his overalls. It took only a few minutes for Michael to fall into an exhausted sleep.
Rose ran downstairs to the Horbowys’ flat and enlisted Mrs. Horbowy’s aid. Sympathetically, the woman gathered up the heaping armful of afghan she was crocheting and carried it up the stairs, where she lowered herself into a chair, the afghan settling around her, and resumed her work.
The next stop for Rose was Casey’s pub. The room was dim and so thick with tobacco smoke she could barely see through the haze. But she recognized her father’s tall back and broad shoulders and made her way to the table where he sat with friends.
“Da,” she said, resting a hand on his shoulder, “you’re needed at home.”
He started, staring up at her in surprise. “Rosie! You shouldn’t be here!” he said, and his face flushed with embarrassment.
“Please, Da,” Rosie said. “Come home with me. Now.”
After a quick glance at Rose, the gaze of the other men at the table shifted away in deference to their friend. Da’s voice grew rough as he said, “I’ll not have a daughter be telling me what I can and cannot do. Go home, Rosie. I’ll deal with this later.”
“Da!” Rose insisted. “Listen to me! Michael was hurt on the job. It’s his leg—a crack in one of the bones. They took him to the hospital, but now he’s home, and I need you.”
“Michael’s hurt? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Da attempted
to rise, the first time falling back in his chair and upsetting what was left of his drink. Rose stood quietly, fighting back the impulse to hold his arm and help him to his feet.
As he finally succeeded, he stumbled into Rose and grasped her arm for support. None of Da’s friends offered to help, so Rose led her father out of the pub and down the street to their house.
After Rose had thanked Mrs. Horbowy, who enfolded herself in the large afghan and left for her own flat, Rose took Da’s hat and coat and hung them on the rack.
“While you were talking to Mrs. Horbowy, I took a look at Michael,” Da said. “It couldn’t be too bad, because he’s sleeping like a baby.”
“The doctor gave him something to help him sleep,” Rose said. “Sit down, Da. We have to talk.”
Da dropped into the nearest chair, which shuddered under him. Rose sat across from him, leaning toward him, and tried to soften the urgency she felt. “I know how much you miss Ma. We all miss her. Each day I see things that remind me of Ma—the way a woman walks, a flower Ma used to love—and knowing I won’t be seeing her again hurts something terrible. I know it must be even harder on you, Da.”
Rose reached out and took his hands in hers. “It’s hard to keep going, day by day, but we have to. There’s you and Johnny and Michael and me … and the girls. We have to help one another. Especially now.”
Da raised his head and looked at Rose through red-rimmed eyes. “You’re telling me to stop drinking. Don’t scold me, Rosie. A pint or two … it’s not much.”
“You can’t be at Casey’s and here taking care of Michael.”
“Mrs. Horbowy …”
Impatiently, Rose shook her head. “Mrs. Horbowy has her own work to do, her own family to care for. And I have a job to go to.”
Da’s smile was coaxing. “Michael needs a woman’s care, Rosie girl. Something will turn up for me soon. I’m there where they’re hiring each morning. I have an application in …”
“No, Da. We can’t count on it. At least for now we can count on my job at Sweeney’s. I need you to stay home and take care of Michael.”
Still coaxing, his smile dimming only a little, Da said, “Now, Rosie, an occasional visit with the boys at Casey’s can’t hurt.”
“No, Da. No more Casey’s.”
He leaned back in his chair with a great shuddering sigh and closed his eyes. Just as Rose was beginning to wonder if he had fallen asleep he suddenly opened his eyes and said, “Ah, Rosie, this tragedy of Michael’s has clouded our brains. There’s no point in trying to decide anything tonight. We’ll think much more clearly in the morning.”
Rose watched him struggle to his feet and leave the room. For a long while she sat, staring at her hands, wondering why her world of love and happiness had suddenly cracked and fallen apart, leaving her alone to pick up the pieces.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IN the morning Da, filled with remorse, vowed to stay at home, caring for Michael, and not set foot outside the house.
Michael, who reported later that Da was true to his word, improved rapidly and claimed he’d be off his crutches and on the job again even before the six weeks were up. Ellen was eager to spend Sunday afternoons with Michael, happily catering to his every whim and trying to convince him that being a policeman would be far safer than going back to a low-paying, unsafe construction job.
Da quickly disappeared during these times—visiting with the boys at Casey’s—and Rose spent her free hours at Hull House with Kate, strangely comforted in the presence of other people who not only believed in world peace but who actively did something to achieve it.
On the third Sunday a professor came from a large university on the East Coast to speak about Abraham Lincoln. If only the Irish had someone like Abraham Lincoln to lead them, Rose thought, how different their lot might be.
After the lecture Rose strolled to the car stop with Kate.
“How did things work out between you and Tim?” Kate asked. “Did you settle your argument?”
“I haven’t seen Tim,” Rose answered, the sudden pain of remembering causing her to stumble.
Kate took her arm, steadying her, and peered into Rose’s face in amazement. “You haven’t seen him at all? But that was three weeks ago!”
“I know.”
Kate sighed in exasperation. “What’s the matter with the lad? I’ve never known him to be stubborn or hold a grudge.”
“Don’t blame Tim,” Rose said quickly. “I—I said some unkind things to him.”
“That’s a surprise. I thought the two of you were getting along so well.”
“I thought so, too.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I can’t,” she said.
Her answer had been so abrupt Rose worried that Kate might be hurt, but Kate just smiled and squeezed Rose’s arm. “You’re right,” she said. “Whatever has come between you and Tim is a matter of privacy. Just remember that I’m here if you need me, and I think I’ll tell that brother of mine that he’s making a big mistake.”
The cable car rattled to a stop, and the two of them climbed aboard. “No, don’t tell him!” Rose said. She smoothed her skirt around her legs, embarrassed at her outburst of panic. “I told you, I’m the one who said the unkind things. What happened was no one’s fault but mine, and maybe it’s better that it happened, because Tim and I will never agree on the best way for Ireland to gain independence.”
A chuckle escaped as Kate said, “There’s much more to love and happiness than agreeing on the means to Ireland’s independence! Did your parents agree on everything?”
“No,” Rose said. “Ma was the peacemaker, while Da took the opposite side, with the boys.”
“There. You see?” Kate said decisively, but Rose remained silent. The situation in which Tim had involved Johnny had gone far beyond a mere discussion of political action, and she could see no way to make things right between them ever again.
Rose arrived home late, hoping that Ellen would have begun making the supper. Cooking was ever and always a woman’s lot in life, but sometimes Rose got awfully tired of the whole routine of planning meals, shopping, haggling over prices, washing and storing the food, cooking it, saving the leftovers, then cleaning the dishes and the kitchen … over and over and over again.
She was so intent on her thoughts that it took a moment for her to absorb the scene in the parlor as she opened the front door. The people within stood without moving, like a group of statues, each of them staring at her: Michael in his chair, his leg propped up on a hassock … Ellen beside him … Da peering up at Rose, his shoulders bent as though he’d been struck … and Tim. What was Tim doing here?
Tim was the first to recover. He strode to Rose’s side and grasped her hand, as he closed the door behind her. “We’ve had bad news,” he told her.
“It’s about Johnny, isn’t it?” Rose whispered, fear making her light-headed. She whirled to face Tim and clutched his arms. “What have you done to Johnny now?”
Tim winced, but his voice was steady. “Johnny was caught with the money at the dock and arrested by the British police.”
Rose felt her knees give way, but she staggered back, dropping into the nearest chair. Never taking her eyes from Tim’s face she whispered, “What will they do to him?”
“He’ll have a trial,” he said.
Rose felt the heat of despair and anger rising through her chest and neck to the top of her head. “You and your plan!” she snapped at Tim. “Now you’ll have your hero!”
Da had missed the tone in Rose’s voice. “Yes, a hero,” he said, the pride in his voice barely overriding the pain. “Our Johnny’s a hero, doing what any fine young Irish lad would do for his country.”
“This is his country, Da,” Rosie said. “Johnny chose to come to the United States to live.”
Her father raised his head and blinked with surprise. “But Rosie girl,” he said, “wherever he may be, an Irishman is always an Irishman and loyal to his country
from the day he was born.”
As Michael interrupted, Rose was shocked to see the pallor of his skin and the deep worry lines carved into his face.
“It’s not fair of you, Rosie, to put the blame on Tim,” he said. “Johnny has a mind of his own, and he was eager to go.”
“Smuggling the money to the insurgents was Tim’s idea.”
“Listen to me, Rosie. Johnny will undoubtedly spend a few years in prison. How many years will depend on how much support the Irish press can muster for him among the people. It’s in Johnny’s favor that he wasn’t armed.”
“Armed!” Rose looked from Michael to Tim and back to Michael. “Thank the good Lord he wasn’t armed! No one would …”
“Listen, Rosie! Two of the Irish lads were armed, and both were killed. One was a close friend of Tim’s since boyhood.”
“Oh, no,” Rose whispered. She glanced up at Tim. “I’m so terribly sorry.”
Tears glimmered in Tim’s eyes, and Rose wanted to jump up and hold him and comfort him, but her legs would not respond, and she couldn’t say the words of comfort.
Instead, she clapped her hands over her face and bent double, her head resting on her knees, and began to cry, all the tension and worry of the past three weeks dissolving into loud, aching sobs.
Rose would have loved to have an arm around her shoulders, a comforting hand in hers, but no one came near her. No one even spoke.
The force of the torrent had passed when suddenly Rose had such a frightening thought she threw herself upright and cried out, “Good heavens! What are we going to do about getting the girls?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DA and Michael stared at each other before they looked back to Rose.
“Bridget and Meggie … Yes, we must think of Bridget and Meggie,” Da said. “With our worry about Johnny …” The sentence faded away.
Rose struggled to her feet and turned to where Tim had been standing, but he was nowhere in sight.
“Tim left while you were in tears,” Ellen said. “He feels terrible about what happened, Rosie. Before you got here he kept telling us over and over that it should have been him, not Johnny.”
Ellis Island: Three Novels Page 24
