by Lynn Austin
Rory Quinn seemed to cheer up a bit by the time dinner was cooked and he’d eaten his fill. Fiona hoped he would change his mind after thinking things through and allow her to marry Kevin, after all. When he’d drunk the last of his tea, he leaned back on the rear legs of his chair and drew a deep breath, as if about to make an important announcement.
“I’ve been thinking about America,” he began. “Do you know the difference between Ireland and America, Fiona?”
She shook her head. Which road had her father’s mind wandered down this time? How had he traveled from Kevin’s marriage proposal to thoughts of America?
“In Ireland you can never be anything other than what your parents were. If your father’s a boot boy, you’re a boot boy. If your mum’s a scullery maid, you’re a scullery maid. But in America—aye, things are different in America. You can be born to a humble working family like ours and still grow up to be a blooming rich man and live in a grand big house like Wickham Hall.” He brought his chair forward with a thump as if to emphasize his words. “That’s why we’re leaving here, Fiona. We’re going to start all over again in America.”
For a moment, she was too stunned to reply. “But I don’t want to leave Kevin,” she said.
Her mother was much more practical. She slid her chair back and stood, clearing away the plates and cutlery, saying, “And tell me, Rory Quinn, just how will you be affording to take all of us to America on a shepherd’s pay?”
“Not all of us, dearie. It will just be Fiona and me, at first. Her lovely face will get us through all the right doors. And once we’ve made our way inside them, we’ll send for the lot of you.”
“Dad, no…” Fiona moaned. Mam rested her hand on Fiona’s arm to quiet her.
“Isn’t your cousin Darby Quinn in America?” Mam asked. “Isn’t he just as poor as he ever was in Ireland, working in that foundry day and night?
What’s the difference, do you mind telling me, if we’re poor over there or poor over here?”
“Ah, but Cousin Darby doesn’t have a daughter as beautiful as Fiona— that’s the difference.” He reached for Fiona’s five-year-old sister and pulled her onto his lap. “Come up with you, girl, and give your dad a kiss.” Rory could be gentle and affectionate with his daughters, especially on payday or early into his pints. But they all knew to keep away when he started ranting about the English or after he’d spent a long evening at O’Connor’s Pub.
“Are we really going to America, Dad?” Fiona’s sister asked.
“Aye, that we are, my girl. Your sister Fiona and I will go first, then send for the lot of you. Mark my words, we’re going to live in a blooming mansion someday.”
At dusk, Rory walked Fiona back to Wickham Hall. Her half-day was over and she’d spent a mere ten minutes of it with Kevin. She wouldn’t get another one for two long weeks. She glanced around at the bushes as they neared Wickham’s gates, hoping to see Kevin waiting for her, but he was nowhere in sight.
“I mean it, Fiona,” her father said. “We’re off to America, just you and me.”
Fiona felt her afternoon’s worth of frustration and disappointment boiling over. “But I don’t want to go to America, Dad. I love Kevin.”
“I’ll hear no more about that boy! You deserve better than the likes of him.”
“There is no one better than him,” she said stubbornly. Rory didn’t seem to hear her.
“You’re the key to my plan, girl. You’ll make it possible for all of us to live like lords.” He gestured toWickham Hall, its stately windows glowing with light and warmth in the evening twilight. “You’re my oldest—aye, and the prettiest, too. I knew you were special from the day you were born, arriving on St. Brigid’s Day and coming out backwards the way you did. Why do you suppose it is that you’re working here in the manor house when none of the other village girls are? I’ll tell you why. It’s because you’re the loveliest one.”
“I scrub for a living, Dad. That’s hardly an honor.”
“Isn’t that what I’m trying to tell you? It doesn’t have to be this way for you, scrubbing all your life. Not in America. Now, listen to me, girl. There’s something I need you to be doing in the weeks before we leave. Watch your masters, carefully. Pay close attention to how they walk and talk and act. Someday you’re going to be the mistress of a grand big house like this one, so you’ll be needing to know how to do it proper-like.”
Fiona looked up at Wickham Hall. You could fit a dozen cottages like her father’s inside the huge, two-story, gray-stone house—and that wasn’t even counting the attic where Fiona and the other servants slept. The manor house had twelve-paned windows made of real glass to let in sunlight and air. The floors were polished wood, not dirt—Fiona had scrubbed them—and were covered with colorful Turkish rugs. She had also scrubbed the linens and coverlets from all the beds, unable to imagine the luxury of sleeping beneath such sheets. But even more than a home and fine furnishings, Fiona envied a life with servants, having others do all the menial tasks that she hated doing.
The idea of living in a mansion like Wickham Hall appealed to Fiona, and as she climbed the back stairs to her dormitory on the third floor, she was no longer content to live a life like her mother’s in a tiny, smoky cottage. But as she dreamed that night of owning a mansion like this one, she saw herself and Kevin both living there in luxury.
Kevin called to Fiona from behind the blackthorn hedge a few days later as she stood on the rear stoop, shaking crumbs out of the dining room tablecloth. “Psst… Fiona… come here a minute…” She ducked out of sight and into his arms.
“Any chance your father will change his mind?” he asked after he’d kissed her thoroughly. She loved Kevin. But she shook her head, remembering the determination in her father’s eyes.
“No. Just the opposite, in fact. Dad has other plans for me now. He says we’re moving to America so we can have a grand house like this one.”
Kevin stared at her blankly. “I’ve been doing some thinking about it myself,” she continued, “and our only hope is for you to come, too. You can get rich in America, and then Dad would let us get married.” Fiona knew by Kevin’s expression that she might as well have suggested that they move to the moon.
“I can’t imagine living any other place but here,” he said after a moment. “Ireland’s so beautiful with the green hills and rich earth…”
“I’m sure they have green hills in America, too,” she said impatiently. “But this is our home, Fiona. Why would your father want to be leaving here and going to a place where we don’t belong?” His unwillingness to imagine a better life for them frustrated her.
“Dad wants a better life than what we have. Don’t you?”
He bent to kiss her neck, murmuring, “If I had you, Fiona, I would have everything I could dream of.”
She saw the difference then between Kevin and her father, and she felt a small stab of disappointment. She knew there was a lot of Rory Quinn in her, and now that he had opened the door to the possibility of having more in life, she wanted all of it.
“You can have me and America,” she told him. “You need to save all your money so you can come, too. We can be rich together.”
“You’re really going, then?”
“Dad says we are.”
“And you want to go with him?”
She paused, biting her lip, and realized how very much she did want to go. “Yes. I really want to.”
He looked down at his feet for a moment, then back up at her. “In that case, I’ll have to move to America, too, because I can’t live without you, Fiona.”
Chapter
22
F iona waited in the dormitory on the third floor until the other servants fell asleep, then slipped on her shoes and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. She would ruin her reputation if she got caught sneaking out after bedtime—and maybe even lose her job—but she needed to feel Kevin’s strong arms around her.
Her father had made Fiona come home with him
on every half-day since Kevin had proposed three months ago. She’d scarcely seen Kevin since then, and they’d had few chances to kiss. But Kevin had come to her this afternoon as she stood outside beating the rugs on the clothesline and he’d begged her to sneak out tonight and meet him near the hedge.
All the lights in the house had been turned off for the night and the backyard was very dark and unfamiliar-looking. She took small steps, unsure of her footing, and nearly cried out when Kevin suddenly emerged from the shadows.
“Shh…” he whispered, his finger to his lips. “This way…” He took her hand and led her to where he’d spread a blanket and lit a candle for them on a pile of hay in the barn. She savored his kisses for a while, then gently pushed him away.
“Stop that for a minute, Kevin. We need to talk.”
“What about?”
“My father is serious about moving to America. He’s been saving all his money in an old tea box. I’ve watched him counting and recounting it every week. Mam says he’s even skipping his pints down at the pub, so I know he’s serious. Have you been saving your money?”
Kevin looked down at her hand as he caressed it gently between both of his. “It’s hard to save much, Fiona. A man likes his pints after a long day.”
“Ach! Don’t you love me more than your stupid pints?”
“Of course I do! Let me show you how much…”
She allowed him to kiss her awhile longer, but as she felt them both being swept away, she suddenly grew frightened and drew back. “Stop, Kevin. We can’t go any further.”
“But I love you, Fiona.”
“And I love you, too. But the sisters at the convent said it’s a sin to go any further unless we’re husband and wife.”
“If we had a baby, your father would have to let us get married.” Kevin tried to pull her close again, but she pushed him away.
“No, he’d send me to live with the nuns, and they’d take the baby away from me as soon as it’s born. I’ve seen it happen to other girls.” And as hard as it was for Fiona to leave him, she stood and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders again. “I need to go back inside now.”
“Fiona, please stay. I love you.” His eyes looked soft and pleading in the candlelight.
“If you really loved me you would save your money for America.”
The following Sunday when Fiona’s father came to fetch her, he seemed unusually chipper, even without his pints. She asked Mam about it when they were alone.
“It seems you and your father will be leaving for America soon,” Mam said. “He has enough money now, but he didn’t want to tell you for fear you’d run off with that lad of yours.”
“Where on earth did he get the money?” Fiona asked. Her mother replied with a shrug.
Fiona’s heart speeded up. She was going to America! She was really going! She gave a little dance of delight, twirling in a circle, then sank down on a chair. Fiona loved Kevin; she was sure she did. But in the months since her father had come up with his plan, she’d grown to love the idea of being rich even more. She wanted a home like Wickham Hall, and if Kevin didn’t love her enough to follow her to America, then he didn’t love her enough.
Fiona watched her mother wipe the crumbs from the table with a damp cloth and suddenly wondered how she felt about Rory’s plan. “Mam, do you mind that Dad’s taking me to America first and leaving you and the girls behind?”
“No, child, I don’t mind.” She rinsed the cloth in the pan of gray dishwater, then lifted the pan to toss the water out the back door. “It’ll give me a break from birthing babies—and heaven knows I need the rest. Let the man chase his fancies and I’ll chase mine.”
Fiona looked at her mother curiously. Until her father began talking about being rich in America, Fiona had fancied nothing more than marrying Kevin Malloy and living in a little house like this one and raising Kevin’s sweet babies. It certainly had never occurred to her to dream of more—let alone wonder if her mother had dreams.
“If you could have anything you wanted, Mam, what would you fancy?”
“Peace and quiet,” she said with a sigh. “A chance to sit with my feet up once in a while and drink a cup of tea without anyone bothering me. I was never one to chase pipe dreams the way your father does.”
“Is that all it is, Mam—a pipe dream? Will I never have that grand mansion he talks about?”
Her mother looked into Fiona’s eyes, cupping her cheek in her rough hand. “I believe that you will, Fiona. Your dad believes in you—and so do I.”
Later that evening, Rory walked back with Fiona to Wickham Hall as he did on all of her half-days. But as soon as he was out of sight, Kevin sprang from behind the blackthorn hedge where he’d been waiting. “Fiona…”
“Oh! You scared me half to death!”
“Sorry, love. I didn’t think you’d ever come!” He bent to kiss her, but she pushed him away.
“Stop that for a minute, and listen to me. Dad finally has enough money for our passage. I hope you’ve been saving, too.” She knew by his expression that he hadn’t, and it made her angry. “Good-bye, Kevin Malloy.” She strode toward the back steps.
“Fiona, wait! How soon is he leaving?”
“Any day now.”
“I can’t let you go!” He grabbed her arm, turning her around. “Please run away with me! Now—tonight!” She saw tears in his eyes and felt sorry for him.
“Ah, Kevin… I can’t run away with you,” she said, brushing his dark hair off his forehead.
“Why not?”
She didn’t reply. Instead, she let him take her in his arms and hold her close, inhaling the scent of his shirt beneath her cheek. She loved him— but in her heart she knew that her father was right. If they ran away and got married, she’d end up just like her mother in a few years, longing for nothing more than a cup of tea and a few minutes’peace. She felt sad.
“You can write to me, Kevin,” she said after a moment. “We’re staying with Dad’s cousin, Darby Quinn, in New York until we get settled. Here, I copied the address for you when Dad wasn’t looking.”
She pulled the crumpled paper from her apron pocket and handed it to him. Kevin unfolded it, staring at it as if it spelled his doom—but he was looking at it upside down. She turned the paper around for him and saw his cheeks flush, even in the darkness.
“I never learned to read and write, Fiona. I always had to work for a living. My family couldn’t afford to send me to school at the Christian Brothers.”
She felt a rush of love for sweet Kevin. Her eyes filled with tears as he held her in his arms. “I promise I’ll follow you to America,” he said. “Wait for me, Fiona. Please wait for me.”
“I will.” But Fiona knew that he’d never come. She would never see Kevin Malloy again. She wondered if anyone would ever love her as much as he did—and if she could ever learn to love someone else.
A few days later, Rory Quinn walked into Wickham Hall’s scullery in the middle of the working day, towing Fiona’s fourteen-year-old sister, Sheila, by the hand. “Come, girl. Get your things,” he told Fiona. “We’re leaving tomorrow. I’ve arranged for Sheila, here, to take over your job.”
Excitement and sorrow tugged Fiona in opposite directions. She was leaving—right now—and never coming back. “I need to say good-bye to Kevin and—”
Rory shook his head. “Put him behind you, Fiona. You deserve a man ten times better than he is.”
But Fiona didn’t know how there could ever be a man as sweet and loving and dear as Kevin. She began to cry.
“Stop that, now,” Rory said. “You’ll make a mess of your face.”
She wiped her eyes on her apron, then slipped it over her head and handed it to Sheila. “Come on, I’ll get my belongings and show you where to put yours.”
Sheila followed her upstairs to the third floor, gazing around at everything in awe on the way. “It’s a grand big house, then, isn’t it?” she murmured. “Do you really think we’ll have one like it so
meday?”
“Aye, Dad says we will.” Fiona dumped her sister’s things out of the sack, then stuffed her own meager belongings inside in their place. “You’ll do fine here,” Fiona said as she hugged her sister good-bye. “And we’ll be sending for you girls and Mam before you know it.”
She gazed all around the grounds of Wickham Hall as she left with her father, searching for one last glimpse of Kevin. But the motorcar was gone, and Kevin was nowhere to be seen.
Fiona and her father left early the next morning in a misty rain. She heard the bells of St. Brigid’s church tolling for the early Mass, but thick fog erased all the familiar sights of home from view. Even massive Wickham Hall had vanished in the clouds.
Fiona clung to her mother as they hugged for the last time, finding it harder to leave home than she’d imagined.
“We’ll see you again, won’t we, Mam?”
“Of course, child. Your father says you’ll be sending for us in no time at all.”
“And you can sit with your feet up and drink tea every day in America. We’ll even have servants to fetch it for you.”
“Aye…” Mam said, smiling faintly. “God go with you, Fiona.” The words were meant to comfort her, but instead they made Fiona feel as if she was disappearing into a void with a God she couldn’t see or feel.
A friend of Fiona’s father took them to the nearest town in his jaunting cart, toting what little baggage they owned. From there they took the train to Dublin. Fiona had never seen the city before, and it looked enormous and overcrowded to her, with brick buildings several stories tall stuffed against each other. The narrow, cobbled streets were jammed with people, carriages, and motorcars, their wheels rumbling as they crossed the bridges over the Liffey River. Fiona saw British police everywhere—the Black and Tans, as they were called because of their mismatched uniforms. Barricades blocked many of the streets.