The Red Coat

by Dolley Carlson

  Three of the Connors boys were standing nearby, and the oldest one, who they called young Mac after his father, said, “It’s a white dress. That’s all ya’s need to get hitched.”

  His brother chimed in. “Yeah, it’s white, ain’t it?

  While the youngest of the lively bunch told Kay, “I’d marry ya.”

  Fiona shooed them away “And who asked for your pitiful opinions? Go on, get out of here.”

  The King girls gave the Connors boys drop-dead looks, and one wisecracking brother got the last word. “Stuck up.”

  Kay held each side of the organza-wedding gown out the way little girls do. “Mrs. Connors, thank you for thinking of me. And please, be completely honest. Would you be insulted if I took the ruffles off the sleeves?”

  “Kay King, you do whatever you want with that dress, and if you ask me, I’d do the same. It’ll look much classier that way.” Fiona Connors adjusted the colorful scarf wrapped around her pin curls and smoothed her apron-covered lap.

  “Thank you. I’ll take it!” Kay confirmed, as if she were in a bridal shop.

  Rosemary quipped, in her stiffest imitation of a would-be Brahmin sales clerk, “Would madam prefer cash and carry, or shall we put it on account and have the gown delivered to your home?”

  The room filled with glee.

  “You’re gorgeous.”

  “She’s a princess.”

  “It’s perfectly perfect.”

  As Kay slowly turned, she treasured what her Steve kept saying all along. Everything’s going to be okay. Mark my words, sweetheart. A-Okay.

  “Will you try the veil on too, Kay?” Norah held the cathedral length tulle in her hands and recalled what she’d heard as a girl. The longer the veil, the purer the bride.

  “No, thank you, Mum. I want to save that part for the big day.”

  “You’re right. We’ll put it aside for the weddin’.” Norah got a knot in her stomach at the thought of how she’d manage to be there.

  John Joseph had forbidden Norah to attend, and for the first time in their married life she was going to defy him. Didn’t I get married without the presence of me parents? It’s not right, goin’ through the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony and your own mother not bein’ there to see it take place. I’ll not let it happen to any of my children, let alone a daughter. Norah still felt a twinge of sadness at the memory, but took comfort that her parents had at least met John Joseph in the old country. For that I’ll always be grateful.

  John Joseph King and Norah Catherine Foley were an unlikely match. He chased after skirts and pints, and his good looks and wily ways brought an abundance of both. Norah knitted caps and sweaters to bring in a few extra coins as a side to her family’s farming and fishing dealings, never missed Mass or Holy Days of Obligation, taught young girls the art of knitting and the only lace pattern she knew. Móraí Audley, her mother’s mother fondly bragged, “With her sprightly step and graceful carriage, our Norah’s the finest dancer of all.”

  Known for the beauty of its moss green-gray bogs and rocky shores, Inisherk is a small island among several others in Galway Bay.

  They met on market day, in Clifden, County Galway, on the west coast of Ireland, at his family’s lean-to vegetable and fish stall. Both were reaching for the same cabbage—John, to fetch it for another buyer; Norah, helping herself. The youngest King boy was instantly attracted to the dark auburn-haired, bright-eyed girl, and he pretended to accidentally brush her hand, which she instantly pulled back. “So tell me, are you sellin’ this cabbage or keepin’ it for yourself?”

  “It’s yours if you’ll do me the honor of sayin’ your name,” he said with a smirk.

  “I’ll take this one.” Norah picked up another and blushed. Sure and he’s the deepest dimples, and with that devil of a smile, he’ll steal me heart before I know it.

  The old woman waiting for the cabbage in question scolded, “I’ve no time for your dilly-dallying or silly flirtations.” And she walked away.

  John Joseph crossed his sinewy arms. “Now look what you’ve done, and all because of your pretty face distractin’ me from the work. So is it the two cabbages you’ll be buyin’ then?”

  “I only need the one, and this is taking too long. My father will be lookin’ for me.”

  “You’ll get two just the same. One is a gift from the owners of this establishment, who are pleased you happened by.”

  Norah handed him a coin. “Sure and this is what you do with all the girls.” She took one cabbage only, walked away, looked back over her shoulder, and said to his lingering gaze, “Norah Foley from Inisherk.”

  Two days later, John Joseph rowed out to the tiny island in his father’s canoe-like curragh, built light to glide over rough seas and sturdy to hold a day’s catch, and asked her father’s permission to begin courting. He caught an abundance of fish on the way home and saw the catch as a good omen and second best luck of the day, the first being Mr. Foley’s yes.

  Love landed hard on Norah’s tender heart, and John Joseph was determined to make a life with this decent, sensible, lovely young woman who caught his attention and—unlike all the others—kept it, despite her commitment to chastity. “You’re worth the wait and then some, Norah Foley,” he’d say. “But it’ll be a while ’til we can wed. The farm goes to me older brother Ian, the fair-haired one, and there’s no fairness in it. Da says I’ll always have a place to lay me head and the work, but there’s not enough land to support another family. So I’m left to figure it all out now, aren’t I, a way of makin’ a livin’ apart from Ian’s promised land. There’s always America, but I’m fiercely opposed to livin’ in a foreign country. We’ll just wait a while now. Somethin’ will come up.”

  Allan Line Royal Mail Steamer

  Numidian

  The courtship went too long, and problems that could be contained in a marriage, but not in a “someday” promise began to tear them apart. Norah wanted to immigrate to America; John resisted. She spent two years of trying to convince her sweetheart. “There’s nothing for us here but struggle, persecution, and the horrific British rule.”

  He stalled over and again. “If we go to America, we can’t be sure of what we’re gettin’ ourselves into. And what if we can’t find work right away? What’ll we do then, Norah Foley? Regret ever leavin’ Ireland! That’s what we’d do!”

  She gave the same response every time. “We’re young and strong John, I’m not afraid to go.” And so did he, one time too many. “We’ll wait a while now and see what happens.”

  Parker House Hotel

  60 SCHOOL STREET

  BOSTON, MASS.

  Nineteen-year-old Norah Catherine Foley sailed for America alone on the Allan Line Royal Mail Steamer, Numidian in the spring of 1910, with one valise, a large satchel, and a few favorite books. Safely tucked away in two hidden pockets her mother had skillfully sewn in Norah’s camisole, were five American dollars, the equivalent of one-hundred-ten dollars today, a passport, and other important papers, including her sponsor’s name and address: Miss Maggie Flaherty, Parker House Hotel, Boston, Massachusetts. Maggie was a girl from home who’d secured a steady chambermaid job “for a good wage in one of the finer establishments in the city.”

  After nine days at sea, the ship docked in Charlestown, and upon disembarking—all her worldly goods in tow—Norah was blessedly relieved to see a jubilant Mary Flaherty waiting by the gangplank, flowers in hand. “Welcome to America, Norah Foley.”

  One week after arriving in Boston, Norah found work as a live-in domestic for a wealthy Irish American couple, Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Collins of Brookline, an affluent town just outside of Boston. She enjoyed a kind, but as was to be expected, stringent, formal relationship with the family.

  “If you please, Missus.”

  “Today’s mail, sir.”

  “Young Master Collins, you’d best …”

  And she endured an ache for her own family.

  In the beginning, overwhelming homesickness would som
etimes cause Norah to cry into a pillow at night, especially when she thought of her mother.

  Norah was grateful to have every Sunday afternoon off. However, Sunday mornings held continued responsibilities: helping their cook to prepare a full breakfast for the family, the serving and clearing, assisting with “getting the whole lot out the door in good time for Mass” (Norah herself having already worshipped at the earliest), making beds and putting their things in order, setting the table for a midday meal, helping the cook to prepare it, serving, clearing, a last look around, and a respectful “Is there anything else, Mrs. Collins?” to which there was an equally respectful “No, thank you, Norah. That will be all for today.” And up, up two flights Norah would quietly rush to her dormer room, quickly change into her Sunday best, including a recently purchased good-sized hat “with a grand ribbon bow and band,” and take the trolley to South Boston, where she would visit with friends from home and stroll by the ocean—two of her favorite, life-long pastimes.

  Beach and Boulevard, City Point

  SOUTH BOSTON, MASS.

  Norah Catherine still loved John Joseph but she wasn’t averse to meeting someone who could take his place. Time was moving on. Norah was a country girl, and the practical lessons of her rural youth met the hard-earned dollars she saved week by week, building a modest nest egg for her fondest dream: marriage and a family of her own.

  CHAPTER 12

  The water is wide—I can’t cross o’er

  And neither have I wings to fly

  Give me a boat that can carry two

  And we shall row, my love and I.

  “THE WATER IS WIDE”

  TRADITIONAL IRISH SONG

  KAY AND STEVE’S WEDDING PLANS were progressing nicely, despite John Joseph’s objection. Norah altered the sleeves on “that beautiful dress,” and she saved the leftover ruffled fabric, just in case. The family was ecstatic that both Joe and John Michael would be home on leave in time for the wedding. Norah and Kay’s prayers had been answered.

  As the oldest son, Joe was asked to walk Kay down the aisle, and Rita would be a bridesmaid. Rosemary’s pride was slightly stung when Kay got engaged first, but she was truly happy for her sister. Besides, she knew Tony was the one and he’d said the same of her, but it was too soon for an engagement ring. Nonetheless, she was the older sister and would be standing next to Kay as maid of honor for all the world to see.

  Timmy and Tommy were too young to be groomsmen, but glad to know they’d be sitting in the first pew. The mother of the bride would be seated right next to them but for now Norah had to keep it a secret, and she reassured Kay countless times. “You’re not to worry, darlin’. I’ll be there, but keep it under your hat. That way I’ll only have to deal with himself after the fact.”

  “Himself,” John Joseph, ignored anything said about the wedding and gave Kay the silent treatment except for an occasional dig. “Who needs ya?” he said. “You’d better prepare yourself. Those Polskis expect a lot of the bed, and I don’t mean clean sheets.”

  Out of the blue, and for the first time anyone could remember the steel mill doing such a thing, John Joseph and five other laborers, described by the foreman as “the best damned workers you’ll ever see,” were going to be sent to Rhode Island “for a G job we gotta get out yesterday.”

  John Joseph’s crew was scheduled to be gone the week of the wedding, and he smugly told Norah, “If ever there were a sign Kay’s doin’ the wrong thing, this is it. Don’t you think the Almighty would have me here if I was supposed to stand up for her?”

  The men took the train and were then transported in a company truck to an old lodge where half the rooms were closed due to disrepair. They doubled up, and when handed keys one man was heard to say, “First time I ever stayed in a hotel. How about you blokes?”

  Breakfast was in a back corner of the slightly shabby dining room where other guests stared at the men’s work clothes with disdain. A bag lunch was provided on the work site, and each man was given a small allowance for supper, with the fear of God put in him by the project foreman. “If I catch any one of you spending your stipend at a, and just so it’s perfectly clear, bar-pub-saloon-lounge-tavern, you’re fired, and you’ll have to walk back to Boston.”

  At night, the laborers, who’d never experienced a vacation and thought this must be close to the real thing, played cards in one of the bedrooms and pooled their money for refreshments, purchased at a close-by package goods store. A venue the foreman had failed to mention.

  Everything for the wedding was going as intended except for Norah’s health. Rita was the first one to be aware all was not well. The King girls’ personal items for “that time of the month” were stored beneath a skirted table in the back hall, and for weeks now Rita had seen her mother go to it often.

  One afternoon Norah was hanging laundry on the back porch and a puddle of blood suddenly appeared at her feet. “Oh my God,” she said to Rita who’d been handing her the wet clothes one by one. “I’m sorry you had to see this. Finish up here will you please? I’ll be right back to clean up.” Norah grabbed a damp towel from the laundry basket and modestly pressed it against her housedress.

  “That’s all right, Mum. I can do it.”

  “Don’t touch it,” Norah said closing the screen door gently behind her. When she didn’t return to the porch in good time, Rita went to find her and did, passed out in a pool of blood on the bathroom floor. Apparently the hemorrhaging had been ongoing for weeks, and Norah’s body couldn’t sustain her any longer. The wedding was only three days away.

  Norah King lay in her bed at City Hospital thinking there was something “unnatural about havin’ your insides taken out,” but Doctor Petrukonis said she had no other choice. “Hysterectomy or bleed to death.”

  The recovery pain was almost more than she could bear, but Norah wanted nothing to do with the morphine nurses brought to her. She didn’t drink alcohol, never had, and was not going to let “that kind of medicine” come anywhere near her. “The ether was bad enough.”

  On the morning of the wedding, Norah was still in the hospital but she woke up in high spirits knowing this is what Kay wanted, to marry Steve Chalpin. At the same time, she was sad she would not be there for her daughter. The mother of the bride chased her doldrums away with the solace of prayer. Her cherished rosary beads brought a familiar comfort as each one passed through her fingertips. She was on the Fourth Sorrowful Mystery: Jesus Carries His Cross—praying for the undaunted courage of Jesus in carrying her own—when she and the women in her ward looked up and at each other, curious about all the commotion they heard coming from the hallway: raised voices, clapping, and scurrying steps. Mrs. Angelina Mirabella, who occupied the next bed over was concerned. “Oh my God! Whatta ya think is goin’ on outta there?”

  When Kay woke on her wedding day, she made a last-minute decision to go to City Hospital so Norah could see her in her wedding gown. And she would go before the ceremony. Rosemary and Rita tried to talk her out of it, but the brothers offered to pay for a taxi and go along.

  Joe, John Michael, and Patrick all looked dapper in the black tuxedos Steve Chalpin had rented for them, and fifteen-year-old Patrick was grateful to be included with his older brothers, rather than lumped in with the little boys.

  Rita and Rosemary stood before Kay in stocking feet and identical pale green bridesmaids’ dresses with matching floral headbands that crowned their heads like halos. The bride gazed at her sisters from head to toe. “You two look like movie stars. Kathryn Hepburn and Judy Garland, how do you do?”

  Rita took both of Kay’s hands. “You’re absolutely, positively dazzling, Kay! Steve won’t believe his eyes when he sees you walking down that aisle.”

  Rosemary agreed. “I’ll say!” She added, “Rita and I aren’t quite ready yet. We’ll meet you at the church.”

  Rita handed Joe an umbrella and looked toward Kay. “April showers bring May flowers. Just in case.”

  A car horn sounded. “Oh, t
here’s the taxi now,” Kay said. “Don’t be late,” she told her sisters, “and put your shoes on or you’ll run those stockings.” She rushed toward the door where her brothers were lined up, eager to escort “the queen of Southie.”

  Boston City Hospital

  818 HARRISON AVENUE

  Rosemary suddenly remembered something. “Kay, wait just one sec.” She dashed down the hall and came back with her red coat. “Wear this or you’ll catch your death. It’s chilly out there.”

  When the yellow cab stopped in front of City Hospital, Joe asked the driver if he’d wait for them. “We’ve got to follow orders and get our sister back to the church on time.”

  The cabbie barked, “Don’t worry. I’ll be here.” And following a hunch he looked over his shoulder. “Hey, any of you fellas in the service?”

  “Yes, sir,” John Michael answered. “We’re both home on short leave from the Navy. I’ve been in the Pacific, and my brother’s been stateside in New York but he’s headed overseas. This one’s too young.” John Michael reached over the front seat where Pat was sitting and mussed his hair.

  “Well just so ya’s know, your money’s no good with me.” The taxi driver turned off his meter. “Service men don’t pay when they’re ridin’ with Nick Madeiros. Take your time.”

  All three brothers hopped out, tenderly helped the bride exit, and tried to protect her wedding gown from being soiled. Joe told Pat to carry Kay’s train and Pat balked. “How come I always have to do the dumb stuff?”

  But he picked it up anyway and did a good job, which was no easy task because Kay moved quickly once she put her white-satin-shoed foot on the curb, her brothers practically running behind her to keep up. John Michael took the red coat from her shoulders as soon as they entered the building. He was proud of his sister and didn’t want her bridal beauty covered up.