by BJ Hoff
Why, then, was he so foolish as to think she would marry him?
Perhaps because he wanted it so—wanted it selfishly, to fill his emptiness, ease his loneliness. But he could help her and her boys, after all. The flat might not be much, but it had to be better than what she was used to in Killala. He knew the cottages in the village well enough: even the best of them boasted only dirt floors, patched windows, and turf fires. Besides, now that he had the promise of a promotion, he might soon afford a better place in a nicer neighborhood. Just because he worked Sixth Ward didn’t mean he had to live here forever, especially with a wife and a family.
Until this moment he had not admitted to himself how very much he wanted her to come, how greatly he was anticipating it. And it was not an anticipation he would have felt for just any woman. No, it was Nora he could not get out of his mind, shy Nora from Killala whom he longed to see.
Oh, Lord, if she is on that ship, bring her safely to me. It’s a terrible journey at best, and to a shy lass like Nora it will be a torment. Give her the courage to leave, Lord, and then give her the stamina to survive the crossing. I’ll be good to her, I promise I will…I’ll do all that I can to make her glad she came—
“Da?”
The bedroom door came flying open as Tierney charged into the room. Michael sighed. The boy never walked, it seemed, could only run or leap or trot; indeed, sometimes he seemed to fly.
“I thought we recently had us a talk about knocking before bursting into someone’s room,” Michael said. He had to force a frown, for this morning his spirits were too high for more than a token sternness.
His son grinned at him, as if sensing his good humor. “Don’t fret yourself, Da. Once your Nora arrives, I promise I’ll knock before I come crashing into the bedroom.”
Now Michael did frown. “That’ll do, Tierney! Don’t be fresh. And she is not ‘my Nora’!”
“Not yet,” Tierney shot back, still grinning as he plopped down onto the bed. “So, then, d’you think they are coming?”
“There’s no way to know that.”
“But if they do come, you think Nora will marry you, right?”
Uncomfortable with the boy’s scrutiny, Michael turned back to the mirror and pretended to straighten his collar. “And how would I know the answer to such a foolish question? No man can say what a woman will do.”
“Mmm. Well, I hope they come. And I hope she marries you. But then, I’m sure she will, since she already knows what a fine fellow you are.”
Pleased, Michael exchanged grins with him in the mirror, then turned. “You really mean that, don’t you, Tierney? You do want them to come?”
“Sure I do, Da, I’ve already told you so. It’ll be grand! You’ll have a wife, and I’ll have myself a brother. Well, perhaps not a brother,” he said, folding his arms over his chest, “but at least a friend from Ireland. I can’t wait to ask him all sorts of questions!”
“Nora has two sons, Tierney,” Michael reminded him.
“Oh, I know,” the boy put in quickly. “It’s too bad about the older one. He must be very ill.”
Michael shook his head. “Aye, it sounds so. But we can continue to pray for the lad, you know.”
“Sure, Da. Listen, I’ve got news!” He stood, and Michael saw now that his face was flushed with excitement. “I’m to have a raise in pay, starting next week. That’ll be a help if we’re to take on a new family, won’t it?”
“Why, that’s fine, son, just fine,” Michael said, crossing the room to make up the bed. “Help me with this, won’t you? And before you tell me more about that raise, I’ll hear your reason for coming home so late last night.”
Tierney talked as he worked. “Mr. Walsh stopped by and asked me to stay over a bit—that’s when I found out about the raise.”
“Walsh himself talked to you? Isn’t that a bit unusual?”
Tierney flung the coverlet up on his side, then smoothed the pillows. Walking over to the bureau, he picked up the previous day’s newspaper and, rolling it into a tube, began to tap it against the palm of his hand. “He told me he’s pleased with my work—greatly pleased, he said. So, starting next week, I’m to handle the desk until eleven.”
Michael straightened, frowning. “That’s too late for you to be out, Tierney. Too late entirely. You have your schoolwork to do, and you must get your sleep as well. Besides, what’s the man thinking of, giving a boy your age such a responsible job?”
“He knows I can do it,” Tierney said, color rising to his cheeks as he slapped the paper harder against his hand. “He trusts me, you know.”
Michael could not argue with that, not in good conscience. Tierney was responsible, at least when it came to his job.
The lad had always seemed older than his years; at times his maturity worried Michael, for he wanted a normal childhood for his son. More than likely Walsh had seen that same maturity, and he could hardly fault the man for that. It would not do to have the boy think he was criticizing him for being dependable.
“Tierney, understand, son, I am glad Mr. Walsh thinks so highly of you, but—”
“Come on, Da,” the boy interrupted, tossing the newspaper back onto the bureau. “You know I don’t have to put in all that many hours to get my grades. Even if I did, that’s just another advantage to the job: I can mind the desk and study at the same time. Mr. Walsh said so, said I can do whatever I please just so long as I don’t neglect the desk.”
“Tierney—” Michael stopped, uncertain as to how to phrase his reservations. “Mind, now, I think it’s grand that you’ve done so well, and I’m proud to hear that you’re appreciated. It’s only that I don’t want you getting too tight with Patrick Walsh. There is plenty of talk about the man, and not all of it good; I’ve told you that already. I’ve heard questions raised all too often about the nature of his businesses—and the legitimacy of them.”
Tierney scowled. “You’ve also told me I should never mind gossip,” he bit out. “And I won’t listen to it about Mr. Walsh! It’s jealousy talking, that’s all. He’s smart and ambitious, and he’s good to those who work for him, which is more than you can say about most of the other swells in this city.”
“That may be true,” Michael countered, “but you must admit, it’s a rare thing entirely for an Irishman to make his mark in New York at all, much less in only a few years, as Walsh has. I’m only saying that you should have a care, Tierney, that’s all.”
The boy’s casual nod told Michael he would remember his caution no longer than it took to repeat it. “Sure, Da, I’ll be careful. But I’m telling you, you’ve nothing to worry about with Mr. Walsh. Anyway, guess what else? I told him about Thomas Fitzgerald, how he’d be needing a job and a place to stay, and he said if he’s any good at all at gardening, he just might have a place for him. His present man is going west next month, so he’ll be needing somebody to replace him. There’s even a gardener’s cottage on the grounds—he has a grand estate on Staten Island, you know. And that’s not all,” the boy went on, his words spilling out in a breathless rush. “He also told me he has some extra work for me some Saturdays if I want it, up at his house. Odd jobs, he said, but he’ll pay me well.”
Michael regarded his son with troubled eyes. Something about Patrick Walsh’s easy generosity bothered him. Irishmen in New York City nearly always fell into one of two categories: Either they remained unemployed, or they worked at low-paying, undesirable jobs that “respectable” citizens refused to touch. Yet Patrick Walsh had managed to become a wealthy, successful businessman in only a few years. He owned at least half a dozen boardinghouses near the docks and in other low-rent districts, plus a couple of nicer hotels farther uptown. There was no telling how many saloons belonged to the man, no figuring how he had wangled his way into the political establishment at Tammany Hall. The fact that Walsh seemed to enjoy wealth, influence, and respectability—all uncommon to the Irish in New York City—made him immediately suspect in Michael’s mind.
Still, he
hated to spoil the lad’s news. “Just remember what I’ve told you, Tierney—have a care. Things—and people—are not always as they seem. Now, then,” he said, shoving his hands down deep into his pockets, “I’ve some news for you. It seems that I am up for assistant captain.”
Tierney crossed the room in three broad strides to grab Michael by the shoulder. “But that’s grand, Da! Is it definite, d’you know?”
“Well, nothing is certain until it’s announced, but I was told by Captain Hart I should expect it.”
“And you deserve it! You’re one of the best they have, and it’s time they were knowing it!”
Surprised at this rare affirmation from his son, Michael beamed at him. “So, then, it would seem that we will both be getting a raise in pay. Perhaps this is a sign from the Lord that we are indeed about to expand our family.”
“Could be, Da, could be,” Tierney said negligently, reverting now to his usual noncommittal manner as he moved to check his own appearance in the mirror. “You’d know more about that sort of thing than I would.” He started for the door. “I must be off, or I’ll be late. Are you leaving now?”
“Not yet, but soon. I have to go in a bit early today. Price and I are to escort some ladies from one of those benevolent societies into Five Points later this morning.”
Tierney made a face, and Michael nodded in agreement. The thought was enough to dampen his cheerful spirits. Like every other policeman on the force, he dreaded the notorious Five Points slum with a vengeance.
“Why in the world would a bunch of rich old ladies want to venture into that place?” Tierney asked, starting for the door.
“Well, with some, of course, it’s little more than curiosity,” Michael answered, following him out of the bedroom. “Others, I suppose, truly want to help, but mean to see where their money will be spent before making any sort of commitment.”
Tierney gave a small grunt of disgust. “I doubt they’ll much like what they see.”
“Their intentions are more than likely the best,” Michael replied with a sigh, going to the stove to put some water on for tea. “But they’ve no idea—none at all—what they’re letting themselves in for.”
“I’ll wager they won’t be staying very long once they get a close look at the place. I’m going now, Da.”
Michael turned around, watching him shrug into his jacket. “Mind, don’t be late again tonight. I’ll pick up some pork on the way home and we’ll have us a meal together for a change.”
“Right.” Halfway through the open door, Tierney stopped and turned back. “Say, Da, I’ve been wondering, have you given any thought to where you’re going to put all those people once they get here? There’s quite a bunch of them, after all.”
Michael stared at him, then gave a brief shrug and a lame smile. “Aye, I have given a great deal of thought to it, but so far I’ve not come up with any answer.”
“Ah, well, we’ll work it out. The lads can bunk with me, and of course you and Nora will share a room—” He stopped, shot Michael a rakish grin. “Once you’re married, that is.” Before Michael could add a word, he went on, his expression all innocence. “We’d better hope that Thomas Fitzgerald and his family get a situation soon—otherwise it could get a bit crowded around here.”
He waved, then bolted out the door, leaving Michael staring after him.
Michael carried his tea to the kitchen table and sank down onto a chair, looking around the room. The boy had a point, one that had already given him a sleepless night or two.
Where was he going to put all those people if they came? Especially Thomas and his little boy and lassies?
Tierney seemed willing enough to have Nora’s lads share his room, though they’d be severely crowded in that wee hidey-hole. And Nora…
He found himself reluctant to think about Nora at the moment. More than likely she would not even consider marriage for some time. She had been widowed for only a few months, after all. And, even if they should happen to wed right away, for the sake of propriety if nothing else, he mustn’t think she’d be ready for marital intimacy right off. Why, they didn’t even know each other anymore. Anything more than a marriage in name only was highly unlikely for a long, long time. He did not know quite how he felt about that, nor was he willing to examine his feelings.
Meanwhile, he was still faced with the problem of providing housing for as many as seven additional lodgers in a three-room flat. The Irish in New York were used to bundling up together—Michael had seen as many as six or seven families in one room many a time. But he’d like to be able to give them all a bit more than just a roof over their heads and a place to eat and sleep.
His heart began to race again, a common occurence these days. Worry, he supposed. Worry and nervousness and perhaps even a bit of fear. His life might well be about to change in a most significant way.
He raked both hands down his face, then propped his elbows on the table and rested his head atop his folded hands.
All I can do is trust You, Lord—trust and make the little I have available to the rest of them. I know You’ll work it out for us, Lord, and work it out for the best, so help me to stop worrying and show a bit more faith in Your providence.
29
A Visit to Five Points
They shall carry to the distant land
A teardrop in the eye,
And some shall go uncomforted—
Their days an endless sigh.
ETHNA CARBERY (1866–1902)
The ladies under the protection of Michael Burke and Denny Price had made a good show up till now of containing their horror and controlling their shock. Michael knew from past experience, however, that their hard-won composure would not survive the next stop on their tour. He could only hope that one of them had brought along some smelling salts.
This was at least the fifth group of society women he had escorted through the gutters and garrets of Five Points. He supposed it had never occurred to a one of them that New York’s finest might have a few other things to do besides conducting private tours through the most infamous slum in the city. Apparently, the thought had eluded Chief Matsell and Mayor Brady as well. Otherwise, this foolishness would have been stopped long ago.
The results of these silly excursions were always the same, never amounting to anything more than a few offended sensibilities. At least two would faint, and a fresh sense of hopelessness would convince the well-intentioned ladies that, indeed, they could do little for the poor wretches trapped in Five Points—unless, of course, they happened to be willing to invest the rest of their lives and a considerable chunk of their wealth into providing a whole new way of life for the entire populace. Those who knew the district best—its inhabitants, the police, and a few priests—would be quick to agree that only a dedicated team of strong hearts and even stronger backs could ever hope to make the slightest difference in this place.
Today’s half dozen ladies had thus far seen only the fringes of the notorious slums, but already they had to stop and collect their nerves before going on. Watching them, Michael had to admit that this group seemed a bit different than most—more observant, less frivolous, and, he thought, genuinely devastated by the misery they encountered.
At the moment they stood clustered about Denny Price, who was doing his best to brace them a bit with some Irish charm and futile reassurances. Denny was a charmer, all right, handsome enough that the women could not resist him, and as clever as he was good-looking. This was one of those times, however, when Michael found his partner’s charm somewhat thin and the women’s smiling response to it a bit grating. Five Points never failed to have a negative effect on his disposition.
Leaning against a wooden fence, his grim gaze left the women long enough to scan the area where so many of his countrymen lived in unrelieved misery. Although the district was inhabited by refugees from other countries, the Irish comprised the bulk of its population. Indeed, it seemed the only place in New York City—other than the police force—whe
re the Irish were entirely welcome.
The brightness of the morning did nothing to disguise the gloom of the slum. In fact, it seemed strange to Michael that the sun did actually shine on Five Points. Its deceptive, cheerful warmth could almost tempt the unaware into believing this was just another neighborhood, housing its share of good and bad residents going about the normal business of living.
Michael knew better. Five Points was an abomination, possibly the habitat of more vice and wretchedness than any other one place on earth. Even the sun’s cleansing, nourishing rays must surely die the very moment they touched its contaminated soul.
It had not always been so. Standing on the site of a low, swampy pond, the area had been a fairly decent residential community until about 1820. But the landfill hadn’t been properly packed, and gradually the buildings began to sink into the swamp, their doors tearing free of their hinges, their facades crumbling. The more respectable families moved on to better parts of the city, and the destitute Irish moved in. The entire district had long ago degenerated to a breeding ground of drunkenness, crime, and depravity.
Five Points was so named because of the five streets that emptied themselves into the center. The slum lay only a short walk from Broadway’s center of wealth and elegance, another moment from City Hall. From where Michael now stood, he could look directly onto the small, triangular courtyard at the center of the point where the streets converged, a parklike place dubiously named “Paradise Square.” This was where the ladies in his party had congregated, casting uncertain glances at their surroundings.
There was not a redeeming feature to Five Points, not one. A maze of dilapidated, rotting buildings with patched and broken windows, its commerce consisted of grog shops and brothels in abundance. The neighborhood was populated by brutal men with vicious eyes, squalid, dispirited women, and filthy, neglected children in rags whose mothers were often drunk right along with the fathers—though in many cases, of course, there were no fathers.
