Irish Above All

by Mary Pat Kelly

  “Ed?”

  “Right next to you, Michael.” I turned toward the door and called out, “Sister, Sister.” The nun came in with Henrietta right behind her and they stood at the foot of the bed.

  “Nonie,” Michael said. “The kids? Where are my kids?”

  “Oh, Michael,” I started, but Henrietta interrupted me.

  “For heaven’s sake, Michael,” she said. “Would you want your children’s last memory of you to be of a corpse laid out in a hospital bed? I decided that they’d be better off at home.”

  “Shut up, Henrietta,” I said. “Please just shut up.” I leaned next to Michael and said into his ear, “The kids are fine. They’re on their way to see you. And you’re going to get better, Michael. You are. You’re awake.”

  “But I’m so tired, Nonie. So tired.”

  “Rest then, Michael, rest. Take a little nap. We’ll wake you when the children come.”

  He was going to see his children if I had to wrestle Henrietta to the ground. Michael was not going to die. Michael was going to live. But he never regained consciousness. Afterward the sister told us patients often rallied for a few minutes before they died.

  So the Kelly kids never got to say goodbye to their father.

  Goddamn, Henrietta … but I had to be civil to her at least until the funeral was over.

  I remembered all Agnella had said.

  Henrietta has had a hard life. I kept repeating the words to myself. She’d been widowed with three children at twenty-two. Her daughter had left for the convent at twenty. One son lived far away and the other was useless. She can’t help being insensitive and she has looked after Michael’s kids for ten years.

  Well the kids were almost grown now. The older three steady enough. In shock I’d say, but holding up. But the younger girls were bewildered—Marguerite was fourteen and Frances only twelve. They had no real memory of their mother and now their father was gone too. Weeping, holding on to each other as we waited together in the vestibule of St. Blase’s Church in Argo for the coffin to be carried in. Henrietta said to them, “No crying. Don’t disgrace your father’s memory.”

  Ed and Mike, along with our cousins George and Evan and Bill Kelly, were the pallbearers. Great Uncle Mike, the only one of Granny Honora’s sons still living, shouldered the casket, though the others made sure no real weight rested on him. The men walked in step into the church, moving in a slow cadence. Sad that the Kelly men are so practiced in the funeral march. In the last years Mame, Ed Junior, John Larney, and now Michael had gone.

  The Knights of Columbus followed the coffin. Must have been thirty fellows in their plumed hats, capes, and swords—very theatrical all together. Michael held some high rank in the organization and it was good of them to come all the way to Argo, especially since we were burying him from a Polish church. It was his parish after all, Henrietta had said, and the funeral home is nearby. She had argued against the expense of bringing him home to Bridgeport, which is what I think he would have preferred. My brother Mart and sister Ann came after the Knights.

  “Now,” Henrietta said to the girls, “start walking.” Marguerite took Frances’s hand but Henrietta reached down and pulled them apart. “Fold your hands in a prayerful position,” she said to them. Geeze Louise.

  Toots offered Henrietta his arm and they moved behind the girls. Henrietta smiled at people she recognized in the congregation. Rose and I came after them. Some bother about having Rose in the procession. “She’s not immediate family,” Henrietta had said. “If she walks with us all the cousins will be offended. They’ll wonder why they weren’t invited.” It took Ed to calm her down. Margaret had come back from Eagle River, but had stayed home with their children. No need to upset them.

  The young priest saying the funeral Mass had not a notion of who Michael Kelly was but then he was Polish and it was hard to understand him anyway. When he said “He’s joining his dear wife in Heaven,” all four girls started weeping until Henrietta elbowed Rosemary, who shushed the others.

  A long line of cars followed the hearse out to Mount Carmel Cemetery where Mame did wait. My name was on the family tombstone too because of when I’d been reported dead. No point in chipping it off the stone. I’d end up here sooner or later, I supposed.

  We had managed to overrule Henrietta and went back to Bridgeport for the funeral repast at the Polo Inn on Morgan Street. Dave Samber, the owner, had hosted many K of C banquets in his Old Eagle function room and he pushed out the boat for Michael. He’d made a big floral display with white Irish bells, orange lilies, and lots of green, the colors of the Irish flag. Dave was serving a full dinner for all comers.

  “We don’t need all this food,” Henrietta had said when we arrived and she saw the loaded buffet table. Three hams, four turkeys, bowls of mashed potatoes. Loaves and loaves of soda bread. “The word will go out and every freeloader in the neighborhood will show up. The estate can’t afford…”

  Thank God Ed took her to the side. “Don’t worry, Henrietta, Dave and I discussed the cost. Very reasonable. He’s always been good to the Kellys, and Michael deserves a fitting send-off,” Ed told her.

  Many of our old Bridgeport neighbors came. All the McKennas, who still operated the tavern that had opened when Bridgeport was Hardscrabble, were there. Of course Pat Nash attended with a whole slew of aldermen and precinct captains, including that young fellow Dick Daley who Ed said was a comer. Rick Garvey was there. He’d been our family lawyer since forever, and I saw Henrietta pull him over to the corner. Asking him when she could get her hands on Michael’s money, I supposed.

  The afternoon turned into a bit of a hooley with plenty of drink taken. Catherine O’Connell, who’d sung “Ave Maria” so beautifully at the funeral, did her “Danny Boy” and I heard sobs throughout the place. But then one of the fellows called out to her “Do ‘The Old Maid in the Garret,’ Catherine.” This was her party piece and a favorite of K of C banquets.

  “No, no,” she said. “Not appropriate.”

  “Michael Kelly loved a good laugh,” one fellow said.

  “Alright,” Catherine said, and began the story of a woman who could not find a husband. Except the tune was upbeat—at war with the sentiment, as if the old maid might secretly embrace her single state. By the last verse the whole place was singing along. Except for Michael’s kids who sat silent with me. How to explain to them that for our people singing and laughing was a way to face down despair? Often the only weapons we had to fight back, but I was glad when the last of the guests left.

  “Rose and I can stay with you tonight,” I said to Henrietta.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said.

  “We’ll be fine,” Toots said. To think of those two swanning around Michael’s house in charge of the whole place and all Mame’s lovely things.…

  Rick Garvey seemed to have waited for the crowd to leave, because he was standing talking to Ed, who then said, “Rick thinks that since we’re all together he’d like to talk to you about Michael’s estate.”

  “I’m the executrix,” Henrietta said. “I’ve signed that paper.”

  “You and I both,” Ed said. “I think it’s best if we all sit down.”

  Dave, ever helpful, cleared a big round table, brought out cups of tea and slices of his homemade soda bread. The children sat side by side flanked by Toots and Henrietta. I was across from them, between Ed and Rose. Rick stayed standing.

  “Now as you know, Michael had amassed a good bit of money from his plumbing business and his salary as president of the First Bank of Argo.” Henrietta couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “Of course he intended that there would be plenty to provide for his children so they would be well taken care of,” he said.

  “Which they will be, I can assure you,” Henrietta said.

  Rick nodded.

  “I don’t believe Michael told the family that he had invested quite a bit of money in Insull Bonds.” Uh-oh, I thought, Insull. Only the boys in the know had been allowe
d to buy into the fund established by the genius financier Samuel Insull, all congratulating each other on the great returns until Insull ran off to London with all the money.

  “But,” Henrietta started, “Michael always had plenty of cash. Very generous with the household money for me.”

  “Yes,” Rick said. “He was, but he had borrowed heavily against the house. He has no liquid assets.”

  “What do you mean?” Toots asked. “Just tell us how much cash.”

  “There’s no actual money in the estate,” Rick said. “I’m sorry.”

  Henrietta stood up.

  “That’s impossible,” she said. “You’re lying to us.”

  “Remember, Henrietta,” Rick said, “the Depression—”

  “I’m tired of hearing about the old Depression!” she said.

  “Sit down, Mother,” Toots said. “The house is worth a good bit. We can sell it and—”

  “I’m afraid, that’s not on,” Rick said. “Michael had taken two mortgages on the house. He’d made a special arrangement with the bank but the man in charge now is not sympathetic. No payments have been made for over a year. The bank has notified me they are beginning foreclosure proceedings.”

  “What,” Henrietta said. “They’re trying to take the house? They can’t do that.”

  “I’m afraid they can.”

  Ructions. Only for Ed, Henrietta would have completely disgraced us all. I said to him, “Ed, quick, she’ll start bellowing in a minute,” and the two of us moved toward her.

  We got her out of Old Eagle with Toots coming up behind us.

  Ed’s official car, the black Packard limousine with the Chicago policeman driver, was waiting in front on Morgan. His bodyguard had been leaning against the car and now he opened the door and we pushed Henrietta into the backseat.

  “Take your mother home, Toots,” Ed said. And then he turned to the driver. “Make sure Mrs. Kelly is comfortable.”

  Henrietta shouted at us.

  “I’m owed. Michael owed me. How dare he squander…” But Toots got in the back seat beside her, shut the door and they were off.

  “Dear God,” I said to Ed. “I think she’s really unbalanced. Isn’t there some doctor that can help her? Some place she can go? What about that new hospital, Manteno? A week there and—”

  “Maybe,” he said.

  “I’ll take the Kelly kids to my place,” I said. “It’ll be crowded and they’ll have to sleep on the floor, but there will be peace.”

  “The older girls and Mike can come to us,” Ed said. “We can all go home in the car. I’ll call Margaret to expect us.”

  Rose asked to join us. “The more the kids can feel they’re part of the family the better,” she said.

  We were all ready to go and had said goodbye to the last of the neighbors, but Ed’s car still hadn’t returned.

  “What do you think happened?” I asked Ed. “I hope he wasn’t in an accident or anything.”

  “I would have heard.”

  Finally Ed made a call and two squad cars arrived to take both of us back to 209 East Lake Shore.

  “Would you like to spend the night with Steve and Joey?” I asked Mike. He and Ed Junior had been very close but he hadn’t really gotten to know the younger boys. He agreed and, of course, they were thrilled to have this grown-up sixteen-year-old cousin staying over. Margaret put Rosemary and Ann in her guestroom, both of them quiet, tired, happy to get in bed. The younger girls came with Rose and me into my apartment.

  Some of my clothes were still in the suitcase, and I pulled out two nightgowns for them.

  “You can share my bed,” I said. Rose would sleep on the couch and I would put cushions on the floor for myself. They followed me like mechanical dolls into my little kitchen where I made them hot chocolate.

  “Would you girls like to spend a few days with me?” I asked them.

  “Oh, Aunt Henrietta would not allow that,” Marguerite said. “She says you’re…” and then Marguerite stopped herself.

  “Said I’m what?”

  But Marguerite just shook her head. Rose looked over at me. “Let’s get these girls in bed.”

  We tucked them in and Rose sang softly to them “Siúil, siúil, siúil a rún.”

  “I remember that song,” Marguerite said. “Mama sang it to us.”

  “Yes she did. And our mother sang it to us,” Rose said.

  “As my mother, your grandmother, did to me,” I said.

  “Are we orphans now, Aunt Nonie?” Frances asked me. “Aunt Henrietta said that if we weren’t good she’d put us in Angel Guardian Orphanage.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I said. “You have family all over the place. More aunts and uncles and cousins than you could ever count. We’ll take care of you. I promise. Your aunt Henrietta says some very foolish things, but she does love you.”

  Hard to even say these words, but Michael had made Henrietta his children’s guardian and it would be just like her to cut us off from them if we made trouble. Rose started singing softly again, “Siúil, siúil,” and the girls closed their eyes.

  Rose and I moved over to the couch and sat in the dark, looking down on the lights on the Outer Drive.

  “How dare Henrietta threaten to put those kids into an orphanage,” I said.

  “I think of the poor little ones in Angel Guardian who never even knew who their parents were,” said Rose.

  “I wonder if Margaret and Ed’s children will ever be curious about their natural parents,” I said.

  “They won’t, Nonie. They have a family.”

  “Do you mourn the children you didn’t have, Rose?” I asked.

  Now she and I didn’t talk about our own barrenness. I only knew about her miscarriages from Mame, and I had never told her how I’d prayed that I was carrying Peter Keeley’s child.

  “Ah well, God’s will I suppose. He’s given us Michael’s children to care for and really, Nonie, I always think if everyone stood in a circle and put their troubles in the middle you’d pick up your own.”

  Frances and Marguerite were asleep now. Not little girls anymore at twelve and fourteen. Rosemary and Ann were grown-up women, nineteen and twenty-one. And Michael, sixteen. But they still needed a family. I shuddered to think of turning them over to Henrietta, but Michael had chosen her as their guardian. Nothing I could do. Though I’d not be heading off to Ireland just yet.

  10

  The sun was pushing out of Lake Michigan when I woke up. Frances and Marguerite sound asleep and Rose too. Coffee, I thought. Coffee. And I was in my kitchen when the back door opened.

  “Come downstairs, Nonie,” Ed said.

  “As soon as I make my coffee and get dressed.” I was standing there in my flannel nightgown.

  “No, put on a robe,” Ed said. “There’s coffee downstairs.”

  In fact there was a whole breakfast laid out on the kitchen table. Bacon and eggs, with Ed’s driver eating away. He looked up at me. I was well covered up in my plaid bathrobe. I tied the sash a little tighter and nodded at him.

  “Jerry just arrived with the car a little while ago,” Ed said. “He’d been driving all night. Tell her.”

  The driver took a swallow of coffee, which made me pour myself a cup. What was going on? Why did I have to hear Ed’s driver’s story?

  “As you know,” the driver began, “I left with Mrs. Kelly and her son from 3322 South Morgan. The mayor told me to drive them home to Argo, which I did. I took Archer Avenue. There are those that think Garfield Boulevard is faster and object to diagonals, but I always find Archer is a straight shot—”

  “Jerry,” Ed said, “get to the point.”

  “Well we got to Argo and Mrs. Kelly told me to wait. She said she had someplace else to go, so I thought that she probably needed milk or bread, or whatever, so I said okay. I figured I could take care of whatever she wanted and still be back in time to pick you up. I know you like to take your time saying goodbye, Mr. Mayor, especially when some of the boys are
there and a lot of voters—”

  Now it was I who said, “Jerry, please.”

  He took another slug of coffee. “But it turned out that the young fellow, her son, said that he needed my help inside, so I got out of the car. I thought he wanted me to do something like move a table, or get a box off a high shelf. Instead…” And now he stopped, took another drink of coffee, and said, “They were stripping the joint.”

  “What?” I said.

  “You won’t believe the rest,” Ed said. “Go on, Jerry.”

  “That woman, Mrs. Kelly, was going from room to room pointing to things. She had me carry out all the silverware, the cutlery, a teapot, a coffeepot, an entire set of dishes, lamps. Even made me roll up the carpets. That guy, Toots, had brought up big boxes from the cellar and he used blankets to wrap everything up. Took tablecloths, nice ones too, linen I’d say. My wife got some like them from her relatives in Ireland for our wedding. See, they’re from Donegal and—”

  “Mame’s wedding presents,” I said to Ed. “Her silver and china. All meant to be passed on to her girls. Why would Henrietta do that?”

  “I can tell you why,” the driver said. “We loaded everything into the car and it’s a good thing I’m an experienced packer because there wasn’t an inch to spare, even in a car as big as yours, Mr. Mayor.”

  “But where are they? What did they do?” I asked.

  “She had me drive them all the way down to Kewanee to a farmhouse. Didn’t get there until three this morning. Took another hour to unload all the stuff and then she said to me, ‘That’s all. You can go.’ She never even offered me a cup of tea.”

  * * *

  Margaret gave the kids breakfast in her kitchen, but Ed and I said nothing to them about Henrietta’s bizarre behavior. Maybe there was some explanation. Maybe she’d telephone. Maybe …

  But no word as the day went on. Rose and all four of the Kelly girls were with Ed’s daughter, Pat, in her room, while his sons Steve and Joe had gone outside with Mike to play on the stretch of green grass between East Lake Shore and the Drive. Ed and I watched from the window as Mike passed the football to each of the little boys in turn. Joe clutched the ball and begin running toward two trees on the edge of the sidewalk, which served as goalposts. Margaret came over and stood with us.