The Dolan Girls

by S. R. Mallery

  Thomas stood firm, his mouth in a flat line, his jaw clenched. “Nothing you can say will convince me, Pete. I’m goin’ to see her.”

  “No, no, you mustn’t do that!”

  “Pete, why do you look so scared?”

  "I’m not. It’s just that…”

  “What? What?”

  Envisioning the already assembled lynching party, the older man gulped. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but she told me she just didn’t want to see you, my boy.”

  “I don’t believe you!”

  “Trust me, she was very emphatic. ‘I don’t ever want to see him or any other Garrett ever again!’ she told me,” he said, the guilt of his lies washing over him. But the boy’s safety was uppermost in his mind.

  Thomas slammed his fist against the tree. “That damned Wes! My whole life, he’s always tried to get me in trouble. Always tried to get our pa to blame me for what he did.”

  Suddenly his face contorted with anguish. “Oh, Pete, what should I do? Where would I go?” A single tear had edged down his right cheek.

  For a long time, they were shrouded in silence. Finally, Pete spoke. “You ask where you should go? Here’s an option. Get away from here. Go fight for your country, my lad, that’s what you should do. Maybe it’ll help to forget Cora. There are recruiters everywhere, you know.”

  Although he slowly nodded, Thomas’ face hardened. “Pete, I’m not leaving ‘til you at least give me some real answers.”

  Pete cocked his head to one side. “Answers?”

  “Yes, it’s time someone told me what happened to Cora when she was a little girl, before I met her. I reckon I deserve that, at least.”

  There was a brief pause. “Yes, I reckon you do, dear boy. I was there as well, of course, but a while ago Minnie told me the details of what happened to them. All I can say is, it was quite something.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Start Of It All––1856 Nebraska

  The settlers had come from all over. Fueled by the 1854 Kansas-Nebraska Act opening up these two territories for new settlements, they didn’t care whether or not they were suddenly allowed to choose between a slavery or free area, they were simply hungry for a fresh start, either away from the choking drudgery of urban cities, or their impoverished homelands.

  Now, as the sun gently headed toward the horizon and the evening breeze kicked in, the hum of homesteaders, farmers, children, pioneer women, cowboys, and immigrants hovered over the Indian-confiscated lands like mosquitoes just itching to land.

  The Dolans had arrived after escaping from potato-famined Ireland and were weighed down by two mule team-drawn prairie schooners. Gillian Dolan drove the first wagon, his ten-year-old daughter Cora sitting by his side. Mattie, his wife, guided the second, nervous yet proud of her first handling of such a heavy load. Minnie, fiercely independent, trailed the pack, defiantly clicking at her horse and relishing her important position in the traveling order. It had been an exhausting two-week journey for the family, but finally here they were, buzzing with exhilaration and high hopes.

  On the outskirts of the race, they were met by several U.S. cavalrymen, demanding the family show their acceptance letter before the official land rush rules could be handed out. Gillian handed his wrinkled, official document over with shaky fingers while Minnie stood back and scoffed. Authority did not sit well with her, even as a fourteen-year-old.

  “Now, Mr. Dolan, you and your family arrived a little later than some of the others, so you’ll just have to find a spot anywhere you can. First come, first served.”

  Two tough soldiers from the 21st Cavalry stood nearby, rigid, unyielding. For all the grandeur of their Colt army pistols, cavalry sabers, cream-colored ‘wrist-breaker’ gloves, and dark blue uniforms laced with shiny brass buttons, no smiles ever crossed their chiseled faces.

  Behind them, the last of the wagons were approaching––jostling, wood shifting, wheels clicking, leather underbelly straps squeaking, and horses snorting as they weathered the terrain, like determined ships swaying over small, endless waves.

  Maneuvering through the crowd, the Dolans managed to snag a space to call home for the night; nowhere near the starting line, but not as far back as all the newcomers would undoubtedly end up. Once there, Gillian insisted on checking all the straps on their side barrels and heavy furniture. Mattie fiddled with her coffee grinder, traveling mirror, kitchen chest, and brass oil lamps. Cora hugged her new gingham-dressed doll, a present for the occasion.

  “Mattie, why you be insisting on bringing this heavy dresser is a puzzle to me. I can make you one as soon as we’re on our new homestead,” Gillian complained, shaking his head.

  “What? Take away me dresser? ‘Tis as much a treasure for me as me mam’s brass lamps, for goodness sake. No, no more sacrifices like back home. In America, I will have whatever things I be wanting around me, I will!”

  Recognizing ‘the look,’ her husband quickly retreated. “All right, Love, all right.”

  Cora grinned, while Minnie watched the exchange with a jaundiced eye. She never got what she wanted, it seemed.

  Once fires were lit and dinner plates unpacked, Minnie could sense the mood of the entire camp changing. Everyone was turning jovial, their ‘great adventure’ within sight, their need to release some energy, palpable.

  After supper, Mam finished cleaning up and rubbed her hands. “Let’s look around together, all right Gillian? I’d like to get to know me new neighbors.”

  Nodding, he cupped Cora’s hand and led Minnie and Mattie through a maze of wagons, carts, horses, mules, and dogs, greeting people cordially, expecting a similar treatment in return. But it was not to be. Stopping by an elegant carriage, where a well-dressed family had actually brought along two servants, they endured a disdainful scowl from the wife before moving on. Minnie was about to turn back around to shoot off one of her infamous ‘evil’ faces toward them, but shrugged instead. Not worth the effort.

  A small group of women quilters were next––buttoned-up gingham dresses, high-topped boots, tight-bunned hair slicked to a sheen––all busily weaving needles in and out of various quilts, as if the next morning might bring an end to the world.

  Mattie approached them. “My, what lovely work you all do,” she exclaimed, eyeing the vibrant coverlets with their intricate stitching.

  The reception was chilly. You’d think Mam had uttered the most foul, inappropriate words ever, like she had not an ounce of gentility at all. As she walked by them, Minnie harrumphed as loudly as she could at the unfriendly ladies.

  A simple black, box-like wagon displaying the words, PETE’S CELEBRATED MEDICINE brought an “Ach, we have a doctor here!” from Mam. From a passerby, Minnie heard, “Oh, no! A snake oil salesman in our midst, a real four-flusher!”

  On one side of the wagon stood Pete, a brocade-vested friendly sort, handing out candies to children stopping by. Then he held up a dark glass bottle.

  “Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, and learn all about my ace-high elixir! Not only for the liver, it also purifies the blood, to help you get through them hard days! None like it!” he announced to anyone who would listen. "To quote the great poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

  Listen, my children, and you shall hear

  Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,

  On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;

  Hardly a man is now alive

  Who remembers that famous day and year…"

  When that fell short, he began reciting Shakespeare, well aware of its effect. More and more people gathered as he deepened his voice: To be or not to be, that is the question…”

  Minnie became an instant fan. She sucked on his candies and nodded knowingly at his theatrical sales pitch, but Gillian heeded the passerby’s warning, and after a few minutes, steered her away as the salesman broke off his soliloquy to call after them, “This ain’t no Kicka-boo medicine like you’re likely to see further down the wagon row. This here medicine is of the first water!�
�

  “But Da, he was so nice and he helps people!” Minnie cried.

  “Ach, Minnie, you’re young still. Trust me, when I say you need to be staying away from the likes of him.”

  “But, Da…”

  “No more But’s, me girl! Come.”

  NEBRASKA HERE WE COME decorated a small cart close by, and as they walked passed it, they noticed a black man and two white companions in the process of tightening up their fiddle strings. Twisting and plucking, they paused to look at the Dolans, then grinned. Minnie smiled. Heaven have mercy, some friendly folk!

  “You fellas fiddle players?” Gillian asked.

  “We surely are, mister. We surely are.” And with that, the black fellow rested his violin on his left shoulder, nestled it close to his ear and played several bars of Turkey In the Straw.

  “Oh, that’s grand, that is!” Mattie exclaimed. “Reminds me of Ireland and our jigs.”

  “Perhaps later, we can swing on by and visit, to play to the gallery,” one of the white musicians said.

  “The gallery?” Mattie looked puzzled.

  “Audience, Missus, an audience!” The lead musician dipped his head in a short salute. “By the way, my name is Everett, and these here two deadbeats are Charlie and William.

  “Deadbeat?” Minnie asked this time.

  “Everett’s just joshin’, he meant no harm. It’s just his way,” Charlie laughed, carefully putting his instrument away in its case.

  “I’m Gillian Dolan, and this here is me family––me wife, Mattie, me daughters, Minnie and Cora.”

  “Proud to know you all. Perhaps we will pay you a visit later on,” Everett tossed out as the family moved on.

  Mattie swiveled around and nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes, that’d be lovely. And be sure to bring your fiddles!”

  Watching her da looking down at his wife with such love, Minnie melted. What a pleasure it was to finally see her mam happy. What a rarity these days. Perhaps things would work out after all, in this new, wide-open territory.

  Next they came across a strange looking family, all dressed in solid black. Each member more subdued than the next, they nodded cordially, and one of them even managed a “Good evening to thee.”

  Minnie suddenly noticed a young man standing off to one side holding a camera and tripod. He stepped toward them.

  “They’re Amish,” he explained softly. “From Pennsylvania.” He stretched out his hand. “My name’s Bradford Jones, photographer for The Cincinnati Daily Gazette.”

  “Ach, a newspaper man,” Gillian sounded impressed. “Why are you here, might I ask?”

  “You might, indeed! I’ve been sent here to help record the Land Rush tomorrow. After all, this is big news!”

  “It certainly is for us!” Gillian beamed, flashing a smile as broad as all of Ireland, as Mattie looked on.

  All of a sudden, Bradford waxed philosophical. “As Alexander Pope said, Hope springs eternal in the human breast!” When the family showed signs of shuffling away, he added, “Remember, folks, tomorrow brings new beginnings. I tell you what. I’ll come on by and take a photograph of your family for posterity!”

  Mam nodded. “That’d be a grand honor. Thank you kindly, Mr. Jones.”

  “Bradford, dear lady. Bradford,” rung out clear as a bell, but his “See you tomorrow,” faded fast as the Dolans continued on their way.

  At least eight wagons over, they learned some good news from a settler. “Did you know that the Land Committee is offering extra canteens of water for tomorrow? Now, ain’t that fine as cream gravy!” an older man commented, puffing on his pipe and discharging a fast wink.

  Minnie had no idea what cream gravy was, but she sure could follow the man’s finger pointed in a southeasterly direction. Nodding their heads and chorusing more “Thank you, kindly,” they made a quick detour over to the right spot, then waited in the long line to load up.

  They stood behind a cluster of female foreigners, and as time passed, listened to their unintelligible chatter. Finally, one of the women turned to Mattie. “We are from Norway. Where you from?”

  “We be coming from Ireland,” Mam said, smiling. Hugging her skirt was Cora and just behind her, stood Minnie. Gillian produced a smile as well.

  It was as if a curtain had suddenly dropped down over the woman’s face. “Ah…” was all she uttered before turning back to her companions. Bewildered, the Dolans looked at each other, searching for some kind of answer. How much of Nebraska was going to be like this?

  “Why would they say that, Da? We were just tryin’ to be friendly.” Minnie always asked the questions that nobody wanted to answer.

  Mattie glanced over at Gillian, before studying her shoes. “Later, Minnie. I’ll tell you later,” Gillian answered.

  Minnie produced the thunderous look she always did when she was stifled.

  “Now, Papa! Tell me now!” she yelled, but it fell on deaf ears until later in their wagon, with the flaps down and the sun fully set.

  “Minnie, this is something that happens in America, don’t you know,” her da started. “We’re not as welcomed here as I had hoped,” he continued, telling her about the No Irish Need Apply Here signs he saw posted in shops when they first landed in New York. “But that’s in the past. Tomorrow we be getting our land and creating a new life for us all, eh?”

  Outside the wagon, Minnie could hear her mam talking to some men and actually laughing. Curious, they went out to find Everett, Charlie, and Will holding fiddles up to their chins.

  “The Irish songs are the best, don’t you know!” Everett declared with a mock Irish brogue, starting to count out a beat. “One, two, three, and––” Instantly, he and his little band began fiddling away at an Irish jig, as Mattie grinned from ear to ear.

  More than that, her right foot had developed a mind of its own. Tapping slightly at first, it soon bounced up and down, encouraging her hands to clap out a good rhythm while three other men joined the tight, musical group, carrying a fife, a washboard, and a bodrán drum.

  Mattie had transformed––her upper torso straight as an arrow, her legs and feet moving up and down, her face flushed with joy as the growing crowd started to follow her lead and join in.

  “Me, too, Mam! Me, too!” called out Cora, rushing over to her mother’s side.

  The crowd gave them a wide berth as the two female Dolans synchronized their dance steps and head tosses, fixing on each other as if they were the only people in the world. Whooping, clapping, and stomping went the crowd, trying to catch up with the mother-daughter team, as the music grew faster and faster. Clamoring for the night never to end, people seemed riveted with Mattie in particular. Her red face flushed, she mimicked a gleeful, mad woman blocking out everything, even her long painful journey from Ireland to this strange new land.

  Laughing, Gillian turned to Minnie. “Cora sure loves her mam, no?”

  Minnie smiled. “Yes, that’s for sure.”

  “Ach, Minnie,” Gillian continued, having seen her half-hearted claps spaced only here and there during the dancing. “Why can’t you be as happy as your mam or your sister? Would it kill you to enjoy the moment?”

  She looked up at his glowing face. “You’re right, Da. ‘Tis a good thing we’re here. I do believe that, I do.”

  He patted her on her shoulder. “Grand. Now, would you be wanting to take a walk with me? Stretch our legs?”

  “Indeed I would. And Da?” she murmured as they began to stroll away from the festivities.

  “Yes, me love?”

  “Thanks.”

  He chuckled and placed her arm through his, as the music and shouts grew softer, then almost disappeared.

  They sauntered by the rest of the campers going about their business: dinner dishes were being washed and put aside, bed rolls laid out, lamps extinguishing by increments, prayers murmured. Soldiers nearby were conversing in low, gruff tones, their cigar smoke swirling up in wispy puffs.

  “Let’s ask the soldiers the schedu
le for tomorrow morning, shall we, Minnie?” Da asked.

  “All right, Da. That’d be a good idea.” She kept her arm locked up snug against his as they approached the cavalrymen. The night air had shifted, bringing on a heavier breeze than before, and as Minnie wrapped her shawl even tighter around her, just being next to her Da, she could feel her mood lifting.

  The soldiers’ voices were growing louder, competing less and less against the owls and rolling tumbleweeds. Coming up to a lone bush, Gillian and Minnie could actually hear the men’s words as clear as if they were in the same room.

  “Those poor buffoons! They have no idea how bad it’ll be come tomorrow,” one of them commented gruffly.

  “Yep, those poor folks, indeed. Only one third of ‘em will get themselves some land. Bound to be some accidents as well. It’s a damn shame, that’s for sure!” another one chimed in.

  In the dark, Minnie and Gillian turned to each other, her eyes wide, his wary eyes scaring her even more.

  “Da?”

  “Husssshhhh!” he hissed, placing his index finger across her lips. “That won’t be us, it surely won’t! We’re going to make it, we will!”

  They were about to move forward toward the soldiers to ask about time, when a third one piped up and gave them their answer. “So, we’re all set for nine o’clock, right?”

  “Yes, we are,” the second soldier said. “No later. We’ve got to make sure there’s order first, then we’ll be up on the ridge ready to shoot our rifles.”

  The walk back to the Dolan wagon was slow, the two of them cloaked in their own thoughts. By the time they arrived, the music was already winding down, the fiddlers and dancers tired, and with the soldiers encouraging everyone to get some sleep, the crowd was drifting off to their own wagons.

  Mattie, still flushed from the evening, called out to the fiddlers, “Thank you so much! Now I feel as if I’m a real Irish pioneer woman!”