“No, child. There will be places found for all of you,” said one of the ladies who were bustling around with drinks for the boys.
The following day more of the boys were taken off from the party, until only nine remained. Daniel could count those using his fingers, so he knew how many there were. He looked around at his company, the smallest and the weakest. The supervisor was back with them and rounding them up into a group.
“Off we go then, follow me.”
They followed, all of them looking as defeated as Daniel felt. His heart missed a beat as they arrived back at the train station.
“Are we going to New York, mister?”
The supervisor laughed. “No, boy. I’m taking you as far as Chicago and then you’re to get a train to Iowa, where you’ll be met and housed.”
Daniel had no idea where either Chicago or Iowa were, and from asking around, the others hadn’t either. His only response was from one who thought ‘it was terrible far.’ He sighed deeply and settled in to sleep as much of the journey as he could. He longed for his family, for Molly, even for Tom. Biting his lip, he tried to stem the flow of tears.
Once on the train at Chicago, the supervisor made to leave them. “Now you all stay in the carriage and the guard will call you to alight at Iowa. I must be getting back. I’ve a long journey ahead.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, boy, what is it?”
“Excuse me, sir, but if you’re going back to New York, please tell Molly where I am.” Daniel turned his hopeful face up to the man.
“And who is this Molly?”
“My sister, sir. Molly Reilly. They took her away from me. Tell her I’m thinking of her.”
There was no chance for Daniel to know if the man said anything in return, as the whistle blew and the smoke billowing back across the train as it moved away blocked everything from view.
He was going to Iowa. He didn’t know where that was, but he did know that once again they travelled many days and there was little chance of finding his way back to New York, or even to Tom in Dowagiac. It was time to look out for himself and remember all he’d learned across his nearly nine years of life. It was time to be Daniel Flynn, whatever that was going to mean in this strange world. He’d survived his arrival in New York and he could do it again. Quietly and to himself alone, he started to sing.
Chapter 8
Mellow the moonlight to shine is beginning
Close by the window young Eileen is spinning
Bent o'er the fire her blind grandmother sitting
Crooning and moaning and drowsily knitting.
John Francis Waller, 1809 - 1894
“Ah, here he is.”
Daniel had been at the orphanage only a few weeks when he was led from the windowless, white-painted corridor into the office of the principal of the children’s home.
“I think you’ll find him a good worker.” The principal addressed the man who was standing before his desk.
Daniel looked up briefly at the man he was ushered in front of, but was careful not to meet his eye. The man’s moustache was long and well curled, but the face behind it was weather-beaten and ruddy. He looked down the worn tweed jacket to the trousers held by a heavy belt and to the well-worn and muddy boots. This was a working man, not a gentleman. Daniel kept his eyes cast down.
“Look at me, boy.” The voice was harsh. “He doesn’t look much more than a child.”
“He’s strong for his age.”
As he’d done no hard labour since his arrival, Daniel felt as though the principal were selling him like any other commodity.
“I’m nine, sir,” Daniel said, looking up for the first time.
“I didn’t ask you. You speak when you’re spoken to. Otherwise you keep your mouth shut. Do you understand me, boy?”
Daniel was unsure if he should answer, but gave a swift nod of his head.
The principal was fidgeting awkwardly.
“How did he get this scar? Is he trouble?”
“Er, no. He got that before he came here. An accident, I understand. He’s been no trouble and he’s a good worker.”
There it was again – ‘a good worker’. Daniel had an uneasy feeling. This didn’t sound much like the life everyone had talked of. What about schooling? Was it just about working? At least here in the home he was getting some learning too, and working in the kitchen garden wasn’t a difficult chore. It certainly couldn’t be described as heavy labour. There were too few staff for supervision and he liked the freedom that afforded. He’d been independent of adult direction in New York and would not have welcomed it now.
“I’ll take him, but if he’s any trouble…” The sentence was left hanging and Daniel didn’t want to think how it might have ended. He felt his shoulders fall slightly, but tried desperately not to show the disappointment he was feeling.
He collected his belongings: a small bundle which amounted to a copy of Moby-Dick he’d been given on arrival, as part of his lessons, and a second shirt. He was taken out to join the man, who he was now told was Mr Hawksworth. Daniel was directed to the back of the hay wagon, while Hawksworth got up front and took the reins. The man said nothing as he clicked his tongue and flicked the whip against the horses.
Daniel wasn’t alone in the back of the wagon. Two lanky teenagers sneered at him as he climbed up. They were lounging against a couple of bales of hay and made no effort to move for Daniel’s benefit. He was unsure what to say. The way they looked at him, he knew whatever he said was going to be wrong. He kept his mouth shut and tried to climb over their legs so he could find a place to sit, as the cart jolted away onto the dirt road. The older one raised his foot as Daniel passed, causing him to trip and fall face first into some loose hay.
“Well, will you look at that? The boy’s clumsy.”
Daniel righted himself and made no reply.
“What’s your name, boy?” This time it was the younger one. Daniel guessed he was about seventeen, but it was hard to tell. He was kitted out in heavy work trousers, boots and a thick cotton shirt. None of it looked as though it fitted him terribly well and he doubted that this was their first owner.
“Daniel, Daniel Flynn.”
“Well, Danny boy, you’re not from these parts, are you? Round here, people are taught to respect their elders and betters and you need to apologise for kicking my leg.”
Daniel swallowed hard. He knew he’d been tripped, but it was clear that now wasn’t the time for an argument. He bit hard on his lip, then very quietly said, “I’m sorry.”
“Now where are our manners? We ain’t introduced ourselves, have we, Rick? I’m Jed and this is my brother Rick. He’s called that on account of getting hisself stuck at the top of a hay rick when he was a nipper. Of course, when I says stuck, he may have been given a helping hand, but it ain’t done you no harm, has it, Rick? He ain’t the brightest, are you, brother?”
The younger one grinned and shook his head.
Daniel quickly worked out who he thought was the leader, but suspected the brothers were as dangerous as each other at the end of the day.
The farm was some distance out of the town and, without needing to ask, Daniel could see it was likely to be corn they were growing. The fields were tall either side of the dusty road, close on ready for harvesting. It didn’t take much for him to work out why extra labour was being brought in.
They pulled up in the yard of the farm and Daniel clambered down from the wagon, after allowing time for Jed and Rick to leave before him. He hoped he wasn’t going to be seeing so much of them.
Addressing Jed, Mr Hawksworth shouted, “Show this boy the bunkhouse and tell him what needs to be done.”
Daniel realised the pair were not new to the farm, as he’d first thought. He wondered if they came in just for harvesting or stayed for more of the year.
Jed’s grin filled Daniel with terror. “Well, that’ll be my pleasure, Mr Hawksworth, sir.” Then, throwing a bag about half Daniel’s size in his directio
n, he added, “Bring that bag this way, Danny boy.”
The bag was too heavy for Daniel to catch and he toppled in a heap with the bag on top of him. He looked up to find Rick glaring down at him.
“Now that was very clumsy, Danny boy.” Rick’s sentences were slow and drawn out. “That’s no way to go treating my brother’s bag. Now get up.” Rick rather more than prodded Daniel with his heavy boot.
Before any further harm could come to him, Daniel scrambled to his feet and wrestled the bag into his arms, struggling across the yard under its weight.
His bunk consisted of a rough mattress and a small cubby hole in which to put his belongings. The Newsboys’ Home in New York had been more comfortable, but there was little point in thinking back. He’d long since learned that pining for the past was the road to misery. He placed his copy of Moby-Dick on the shelf, together with his shirt, and turned to find once again that Rick was standing over him. He’d been more worried about Jed, but was starting to change his mind.
“What are you doing with one of those darn books, Danny boy? Are you one of those children as learned them words?”
In truth, there were not many words in the book that Daniel could read, but he looked at the letters now and then so at least he didn’t forget the ones he did know. He suspected that any at all were more than Rick might understand. He hadn’t answered Rick’s question when Rick grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him from the bunk.
“There’s work to do now, boy, so you’d best be running along.” Rick threw him in the direction of the door and Daniel pulled himself together as quickly as he could.
The work was hard, stripping the cobs from the stems. Struggling along the tightly grown lines of plants left his face and arms scratched and cut from the razor-sharp edges of the leaves. The corn was taller than he was by some way and no part of him escaped the savagery of the leaf edges. He needed a stick to pull some of the cobs down to his level, and God help him if Mr Hawksworth found he’d missed any as he went.
He started at first light and continued pretty near until dusk, eating the crust he was given for lunch as he worked. By the time he reached his bed, despite his discomfort, he was too exhausted not to fall asleep. It wasn’t just the farm work, it was being called away from the field to do the fetching and carrying for Jed and Rick that took its toll. On the bright side, there was little time to be lonely or to feel sorry for himself. There were just the three of them in the bunkhouse. Mr Hawksworth said he was trying to bring in more men to share the work, but they never seemed to appear and, despite the words, Daniel doubted that much attempt had been made. He was under no illusion as to what was expected of him.
There was just the one night of the week that Daniel looked forward to and that was Saturday. Jed and Rick were paid on a Saturday and usually went into town to find something to spend it on. At one point, he’d found the courage to ask Mr Hawksworth if he too was being paid and had received a beating to his bare flesh with Mr Hawksworth’s belt for this enquiry. He supposed that was answer enough, though not the one he had hoped for. It certainly made Daniel think twice about making any further enquiries of any sort.
One Saturday night, quite early in his stay, Daniel was sitting alone outside the bunkhouse in the early evening. His thoughts drifted to his dearest Molly and, trying desperately to picture her face, he began to sing.
Daniel was lost in a world which had held hope and warmth and, despite his resolution not to look back, the tears streamed down his face. He was aware of nothing and no one; just the song and the people he loved.
It was not until he reached the end of the song that a cough brought him back from his reverie. A woman was standing nearby holding a tray. He’d seen her before and knew she was Hawksworth’s wife and that she kept house for the owner – not that the owner ever seemed to be there.
“I thought you might like this,” she said in a gentle tone, handing him a plate of pancakes with syrup. “The menfolk are out and I thought you might be lonesome out here.”
He got to his feet and quickly wiped the tears from his face. “Why, thank you, ma’am.” He took the plate gratefully.
“You can leave it by yonder trough when you’re done. I’ll collect it from there.” She said no more, but turned and walked back to the house.
Daniel stared after her, wondering what Mr Hawksworth would say if he knew of his wife’s kindness, and wishing she could stay a while.
Daniel didn’t realise how hungry he was until he’d eaten his fill of pancakes and felt warmed and content, at least with regard to food, for the first time in as long as he could remember. Suddenly his thoughts turned to his life in Ireland, so long ago now. He remembered the struggle for food that plagued all his family and neighbours and the way they had never given up. He thought of his da and the fighting spirit which led him to search for a new life for his family, and Daniel made a decision. It was time to stand up for himself. Except for Mrs Hawksworth’s act of kindness, no one else was going to help him, so he’d have to help himself. He wanted to learn to read and write. Not just know the shapes of the letters, but be able to put them together as Tom was able to do. There was no schooling for him and all he had was Moby-Dick. He knew its name because he’d been told when it was given to him, and many times he’d traced the letters on the cover with his finger.
He wondered how he could learn with no one to teach him. He was sure that neither Jed nor Rick could read and he could not have asked them if they could. He needed a plan.
Two weeks passed before he next saw Mrs Hawksworth. Again, it was a Saturday night and a calm stillness had settled on the house with the absence of the men. Whilst Daniel was delighted to see Mrs Hawksworth bringing pancakes and syrup, he could feel his palms clammy to the touch and as he went to speak his throat felt dry and voiceless.
“Ma’am,” he stuttered, once he’d coughed and croaked his thanks for the food, “would you help me learn to read?” He let out the breath he’d been holding and drew out his copy of Moby-Dick from under his shirt. He looked up at her, pleading.
“Well, I’ll be.” Her eyes darted around the farmyard. “What’ll the master say if he finds me teaching you, boy?”
He’d got past the most difficult part and his courage started to return to him. “Much the same as he’d say if he knew you were bringing me pancakes, ma’am. You’ve already showed how kind you are.”
Mrs Hawksworth smiled. Her eyes darted around once more and then settled back on Daniel. “I dare say those boys won’t be back a while yet. I’ll bring a light down to the barn and help you for a little time. But youns mustn’t say a word about it.”
Daniel broke into a broad smile. “Yes, ma’am.” His heart lifted as it hadn’t done for many a day and he resolved to work as hard as any student could.
Daniel’s lessons were not long or frequent, but he did work hard and Mrs Hawksworth was a good and willing teacher. Before long he was starting to read parts of the book on his own when she wasn’t there, marking the difficult words that he needed help with by rubbing a little leaf juice on the page. There were not many hours with light enough to see the letters and no work to do, but at every chance he got, Daniel took out his book and made a little progress, even if only a sentence or two.
The harvesting was done now and the work should have been a little lighter for the winter. Jed and Rick worked less, but they set to making Daniel do more of their share and went into town more often. Daniel didn’t really mind the work, but he dreaded their beatings when they were not happy with what he’d done, and the worst of those were the times they came back drunk. It was a high price to pay for more time on his own, but he took it as best he could.
The chores he did most willingly were the fetching and carrying for Mrs Hawksworth. Those he did with a light and cheerful heart and would sing quietly to himself as he worked.
“What have you got to sing about, Danny boy?” Jed pushed his shoulder hard as he passed, causing the milk in the pail to slop over the s
ide. Daniel put the pail down quickly, to stop it losing more before he got it to the back door.
“Now look what you’ve done, you clumsy oaf. The boss ain’t going to be too happy when he hears you’ve been spilling the milk.” Rick kicked the pail with his boot, causing still more to slop out.
Daniel closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could stand and fight or he could run, but how could a child fight against two grown men? He searched for inspiration and could think of none. He grabbed at the pail and tried to run from the barn to the back door before they could catch him, but as he did, he tripped and the rest of the milk was lost.
“Now will you just look at that?” Jed walked to stand over him. “The boy really is clumsy, tut tut tut. What’s going to happen to poor Danny boy now?”
Daniel could hear the sneer in his voice and hated him. He hated him with a fury and passion he’d not felt about anyone before. Not even about the landlord who’d turned them over to the whim of Patrick Mahoney. Not even to Patrick for throwing them out on the streets. Hate was not a feeling Daniel normally bore, but it rose up in him now, and he felt the ineffectual rage of a child wronged once again by an adult.
“What’s all this noise?”
Daniel scrambled to his feet as Mr Hawksworth approached. He looked at the empty pail lying in the dirt and at the slick of milk seeping into the ground. He looked round at Jed and Rick glaring at him, with just a hint of a smile playing across both their faces.
Daniel silently fumed. Then he looked up to Mr Hawksworth once again, but despite his balled fists, his courage failed him. “I… er… tripped, sir.”
Hawksworth kicked the pail in Daniel’s direction. “And who’s going to pay for this?” He hissed the words at Daniel as he started removing his belt. “Who…” He took a step forward. “… Is going to…” He took another step toward Daniel. “… Pay?” He boomed the last word.
New York Orphan (Tales of Flynn and Reilly Book 1) Page 8