“I knows gold when I sees it. I should do by now.” Tom spat in the gutter. “And them was gold. You should ’ave seen the bloke wearing ’em.” He stopped and leaned back against a wooden strut supporting the overhanging awning to a saloon bar, and let out a deep sigh.
A scrawny, flea-ridden dog ran past, sniffing them as it went.
“It’s different if you’re in the gangs. You gets better prices then, but that ain’t for us, we’re no Daybreak Boys. Pickpocketing’s one thing, but I don’t fancy killing no one.” He kicked the toe of his oversized boot in the dirt. “We’ve got each other now. You and me, we’ll be all right.” Tom punched Daniel’s arm. “I’ll race you to the corner.”
Daniel felt the warm thrill of acceptance as he picked up speed to catch Tom, but Tom’s longer legs made it easier for him to get away. Daniel didn’t see Tom stop suddenly in front of him and he went careering into his friend, landing them both in a tangled heap on the dirt.
A small girl carrying a jug came and stood over them. “Now what are you doing down there, Thomas Reilly?”
Daniel couldn’t help but laugh to hear a girl so obviously younger than he was tearing a strip off his new friend.
“Hey, Molly, we’ve got a visitor.”
The girl looked at Daniel for the first time and her face broke into a smile. “So if I know our Thomas, he’ll be blaming you for rolling around in the dirt.”
“It was my fault.” Daniel wanted to hold the gaze of this girl for as long as he could. He smiled back, admiring her long brown curls pinned back under a once-white cloth bonnet.
Tom brushed the dirt off his hands as he got up. “This here’s me kid sister, Molly. She’s all right for a girl.” He laughed and gave her an affectionate jostle.
“Careful, mind. Don’t make me spill the grog. What’ll Mammy say?”
“She’s a chip off the old block, is our Molly.” Tom put a hand down to pull Daniel up from where he was still sitting, gaping at Molly.
They walked another few yards along the road, ducking under the lines of drying rags which criss-crossed the alleyway, until Tom nodded as he approached a tumbledown shed. It was little more than a frame of wood, leaning against the side of a stable. A horse whinnied from the other side of the boarding and then pawed the ground with its hoof. Straw scattered from the stable doorway into the street.
“This is it, then.” Tom stood back with a flourish, allowing Molly to pass through the entrance. A pot was stewing on the fire and the smell of damp filthy rags filled the air.
Daniel blinked as his eyes adjusted from the brightness of the day to the muted grey of the shadowy hut, lacking, as it did, any discernible window. The wooden boarding leaked occasional strands of broken sunlight as surely as it must have failed to exclude the wind and rain. A single candle flickered on the shelf, ineffective in its spluttering attempt to cast light. Embers beneath the pot cast an orange halo around the charred hearth and packed earth floor, while as much smoke escaped into the room as was drawn up the makeshift chimney. Daniel was grateful the wood smoke was more gentle on his nose and throat than the biting of the peat they had burned in the hearth at home.
A rasping cough made him look around at a woman sitting on straw matting in the far corner. In this light, her delicate features, drained of colour, made her look more like a rag doll or a corpse, indistinct from the piles of bones littering the alley.
Molly placed the jug on the floor and rushed over to her mother. “It’s ok, Mammy, I’m here now.” Molly couldn’t have been more than six years old. She pulled the blanket around her mother’s shoulders and sat beside her, taking hold of the woman’s frail hand, which clutched a rosary of rough wooden beads.
“You’ve been praying, Mammy.” Molly’s voice was almost a question.
Her mother tightened her hold on the beads in answer.
“I don’t know why you bother with that thing. Much good it’s done us.” Tom shrugged and scuffed his boot across the dirt floor. “We have a visitor. Can he stay a while? He’s no other place to go and he can be useful to us.”
Tom’s mother beckoned Daniel forward and as she went to speak a retching, rasping, blood-riddled cough overwhelmed her.
“His name’s Daniel, Mammy. Tom says he sings like an angel.”
Mary Reilly wiped her mouth on the shawl and smiled. The smile gave an echo of Molly; a beauty and gentleness which made Daniel’s heart miss a beat as he thought of his own lost mother. He wondered at the tragedy that had reduced Mary Reilly to this. He wanted to help, wanted to say he’d take care of her, and at the same time longed to be just a child again, wrapped in her arms and mourning for his own dear mammy, for whom there’d been no chance to grieve. He wanted to promise to be good, if only she’d let him stay, but he found no words, only a shyness and a longing.
“We’ve got money for the rent.” Tom nodded to Daniel, who understood he should empty his pockets, relieved to be offering a contribution so soon. Tom took some coins from his own pocket. “I’ll be here to pay when he calls later.”
For a moment Mary Reilly looked younger and less drawn as she leaned back against the boarding and closed her eyes. Molly wrapped the darned and patched blanket across her mother’s chest and moved over to bolster the fire. As she passed Daniel she cast him a coy look. “Sing us a song while I work?”
Daniel felt awkward, but Tom nudged him and he felt obliged to sing.
“As I was a walking one morning in May,
I saw a sweet couple together at play…”
His eyes were closed and in his head he could feel the warmth of late spring sunshine in the fields of Kerry. There were yellow flowers dotted across the landscape and a bird sat in the hedgerow accompanying his song. He didn’t want to open his eyes and see the dim interior of the shack, or breathe in the stench of this New York alley. He longed for the past, a broken, hungry past, but one in which there was hope of better times. A new and better world. A land of opportunity. No one had said the opportunity would mean being orphaned and penniless. No one mentioned survival through gathering rags and bones at best and begging and stealing at worst. This new world felt like fool’s gold at the end of the rainbow, but whatever else, it was his opportunity and the only one he was going to get. If he could sing for his supper, so much the better.
“O, the one was a fair maid so sweet and so fair,
And the other was a soldier and a brave grenadier…”
He opened his eyes to see Molly stirring the pot, her head on one side, smiling, listening to the song. Daniel kept his eyes open and began to sing for her, as though she were the only person there. She reminded him of an angel version of the older sister he’d had, before the hunger separated them forever. He wanted to spend his whole life singing for her, and he would have carried on to the end of the song if Mary Reilly hadn’t coughed so deep the whole shack seemed to vibrate with her.
Molly rushed over to her mother. “Come closer to the fire, Mammy. The stew’s almost ready.”
Tom moved to the other side of his mother and between him and Molly they lifted her and guided her towards the fireside. Tom made her comfortable while Molly ladled a thin broth into a bowl and then, tearing a chunk from a leaden loaf, took it to her mother.
“Yous’ll have to share.” Molly looked apologetic as she spooned broth into a bowl and handed it to Daniel. He held it towards Tom, who shook his head and urged Daniel to eat first. Molly sat by the fireside, humming The Nightingale that Daniel had been singing minutes before. She waited patiently for her mother to eat, before taking the bowl and finishing what was left in the bottom.
Daniel finished his share and passed the dish back to Molly. She ladled out another helping and was about to pass it to Tom when a shadow passed across the doorway and a cane tapped on the ground outside. Tom started to his feet as though a bolt of lightning had shot through him and rushed to the doorway.
“Is your mother still with us, boy?”
“My mother’s well enough, thank you, sir.”
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The man laughed as though Tom had said the funniest thing he’d heard all day. Daniel tensed at the sound.
“It’s all there,” said Tom, handing over a pile of change. “Three shillings.”
“You’ll let me know if circumstances change.”
Daniel could imagine the curl of the lip which accompanied the statement. He balled his fists in ineffectual rage as he listened from inside.
“Good day.” And with that, the shadow moved away and Daniel saw Tom’s shoulders relax.
Molly went over to her brother and put a hand on his arm. “Come and eat your broth.”
In a voice of steel Tom answered, “Give it to Mammy, she needs it more.” Then he went out into the evening. Daniel hesitated, not knowing what to do.
“Go after him, please, Daniel. No good will come of his being out there now.”
Daniel nodded to Molly and left in search of Tom.
Outside, the autumn sunlight filtered through the dust-speckled air. Pigs foraged for scraps in the open street. The sound of their snorting and snuffling was comforting. Daniel had no idea where Tom would head amongst the debris-strewn alleys or saloons spilling their drunken life into the street. He passed a basket of calves’ heads, with portions of jowl in every stage of putrefaction, the air around them thick with flies. He walked a little way, jostled first by the drinking crowd and then pushed aside by a youth swaggering down the street as though, despite his rags, he owned the place.
At the end of the block, the buildings clambered over the tentacle-like roots of a massive tree, its shape and leaves quite different to the ones he knew back home. Leaning against the trunk, with his knees pulled up to his body, sat Tom. Daniel felt awkward approaching him. He didn’t know what to say. He went and sat beside him and began stripping the bark from a twig he found lying on the ground.
“We’ll be thrown out when she dies.” Tom drew the back of his sleeve across his face.
“She’ll get better.” Daniel spoke more in hope than certainty.
“You’ve lived in Ireland all your life and you’re still an optimist? Welcome to reality. Folks don’t get better, they die. Or they leave you. Don’t you want to know where me da is? That drunken eejit. He works the railroads some place. Said he’d send money back for us. Said he’d send for us to join him. He’s out there drinking hisself silly, while Mammy lies here dying.”
Daniel felt a flood of anger, not at Tom’s absent father but at his self-pity. “You don’t think I knows what it’s like? I’d lost everything.” His nostrils flared as he spoke. “I found you and Molly, that’s my hope. I ain’t got no one but yous.” Feeling the overwhelming urge to cry, but desperate not to show his weakness, he instead punched Tom’s arm.
Tom punched him back and before long they were sprawling in the dust, each trying to pummel their frustration out on the other, until they eventually fell laughing in a heap. They were hardly more filthy and tattered than when they began.
“You an’ me, we ain’t got much, but we got each other,” said Tom, slapping Daniel’s back.
Daniel watched a cloud of dust rise from the rough material. They’d barely caught their breath when the youth Daniel had seen earlier walked towards them. He stopped some distance in front of Tom. “Who’s your friend?”
“What’s it to you, Patrick Mahoney?” Tiny dots of perspiration formed on Tom’s forehead and he held his body very still. Daniel could feel the tension and, without understanding the danger, his breathing became shallower.
“Come now, little Tommy.” Patrick’s voice hung heavy with sarcasm. Taking a knife from his pocket he picked at his nails with the blade and said, “You don’t want to be talking like that to one of the Roach Guard, now do you?”
Tom stared unblinking back at Patrick, and Daniel admired his courage.
“From what I heard, you’ll be begging us to join you before long,” said Tom, swallowing hard.
“And what would we be wanting with you?” Patrick stepped nearer, the blade of the knife angled towards Tom.
Tom got up from where he was sitting and walked towards Patrick, clenching his small fists as he did. “I’ll tell me ma Patrick Mahoney senior sends his regards.”
Daniel watched as the colour drained from Patrick’s face and his knife hand sank down towards his side.
“I’m watching you, Tommy Reilly,” he said, with none of the bravado left in his voice. Then he sloped off towards the other side of the street.
“What was that about his da?” Daniel asked as Tom sat down again and let out a deep breath.
“Just business,” said Tom, picking up a long stick off the ground. “What you needs to know is this whole city is split up between the gangs. If we want to work on a patch, we either has to join them or pay them. We pays them. The Roach Guard’s Irish, but that don’t make ’em all right. It means they’ll take our money so as we can work on their patch.” He began to draw with the stick in the dust. “We’s here.” He marked a cross. “These roads here, they belongs to the Roach Guard. Here…” he moved the stick further across the ground, “this belongs to the Bowery Boys and here…” he drew a big circle, “don’t go near here.”
“Why?” asked Daniel, trying to remember the map as best he could.
“They’re the Daybreak Boys. Rumour has it they’ll kill you soon as look at you.”
Daniel’s mouth fell open. He was silent a moment, then said, “Do you make all your money by thieving?”
“Mostly,” said Tom, rubbing the stick across the ground to erase the drawing. “We collect rags and bones too, but picking pockets is easier. I leave Molly to look for rags. Ma stays home and boils them up. When she was well, Ma used to…” Tom left the sentence unfinished. “We’ll be getting back,” he said, coughing to clear his throat and scrambling to his feet. “We needs you in good voice for the morning. We’ll have dues to pay if we don’t want to see Patrick’s knife any closer than that.”
Chapter 2
“The first Nowell the Angel did say
Was to three poor Shepherds in fields as they lay;
In fields where they lay keeping their sheep,
In a cold winter’s night that was so deep.
Nowell, Nowell, Nowell, Nowell,
Born is the King of Israel.”
Traditional
“And what are you doing there, young Daniel Flynn?”
Daniel threw his head back and laughed, caught unawares by Molly. “Well, I was seeing if I could cover your snowy footsteps with some of my own, before they disappear, don’t you know?”
“Well if you’d been any longer, you’d have not seen mine at all. Get yourself in here out of the cold and show us what you’ve got.” Molly was standing hands on hips in the doorway, looking for all the world twenty years older than she was.
“How’s Mammy?” He shook snow off his hat before going through the doorway. It was more a matter of respect than practicality, with the leaky nature of the shack, but the snow was providing a layer of insulation and, for all the cold, it was drier and less breezy than normal.
“Mammy’s fine,” came the reply as the gaunt figure of Mammy peered out into the gloomy day.
“Now, you be getting yourself back to the fireside, Mammy,” Molly chided, drawing a grin from Daniel. “And where’s that brother of mine?”
On cue, Tom came tearing around the corner and straight into the shack ahead of Daniel.
“It’s rich picking this Christmas, to be sure it is.” He dropped a pile of coins by the hearth. “Daniel sang like a real cherub.” Tom made a comical beatific smile making them all laugh.
Daniel felt his cheeks colour as Mammy laid a hand on his arm and mouthed, “Thank you.”
“And tomorrow, for our grand finale, we’re going Uptown for Daniel to sing to all those rich folks with more money than everyone round here put together.” They laughed again as Tom walked a few mincing steps the length of the shack, twirling an imaginary cane, then held his arm out for Molly to join hi
m.
Joining in the fun, Daniel began to sing and Molly and Tom began to dance a reel, round the small interior, while Mammy clapped them on.
Eventually, Mammy stopped laughing to cough and clear her throat. While her coughing fits had subsided, it was still an effort to do much more than sit, but that didn’t prevent odd moments of lightness among them.
“Going Uptown… you boys be careful, I can’t afford to lose either of you.”
“Och, don’t you be worrying yourself, Mammy. We’s fine. The luck o’ the Irish, don’t you know?” Tom slapped Daniel on the back and gave his ragged grin.
“Sing for us a carol now, Daniel,” Mammy said.
When Mammy spoke to him, Daniel’s heart melted. He was proud that his contributions helped pay the keep. As each day passed, Mammy seemed a little stronger and Daniel poured his heart into his singing, clinging to his hope of a brighter tomorrow.
“God rest you merry, gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay,
For Jesus Christ our Saviour
Was born upon this day…”
As he sang, Daniel watched Mammy sit gently down by the fire, her face so like a seraph’s in the firelight that Daniel almost wondered if she were really there.
“I says we goes direct. It’s too far to go the long way.”
Daniel swallowed hard. “But yous said not to mess with the gangs, and that way…”
“Ah, chicken. We’ll be right. You see. We’re no Roach Guard or nothing.”
“But you said Bowery weren’t safe.”
“Nah, but we’re just gentlemen, out for a stroll up Mulberry Street.” Tom put on a swagger as he walked north, leaving Daniel trailing behind, dragging what was left of his heels as he walked.
Tom turned back to him, grinning as ever. “C’mon you – we’ve got miles to go.”
Daniel picked up speed and, despite or probably because of his nerves, started singing as he walked. It took them over an hour in the snow to trudge their way to Madison.
“The stage is yours, sir.” Tom swept a low bow. “And if you sees a bobbie, hope you can run faster. I’ll see you back at the corner of Union Square, unless they catch you first.” He ducked into an alley and was soon lost to sight.
New York Orphan (Tales of Flynn and Reilly Book 1) Page 2