Daniel’s eyes darted over to Mrs Hawksworth as she approached across the yard.
“Oh stop, stop. Lord have mercy, leave the boy.”
“Keep out of this, woman. This is men’s business. Get back up to the house.” Hawksworth turned and whipped the belt in his wife’s direction.
Daniel gasped as she flinched and he realised this wasn’t the first time Hawksworth had taken his belt to her. No wonder she was always on edge when she helped him with his reading. She was as scared as he was.
Despite her obvious fear, Mrs Hawksworth was making to remonstrate with her husband, but Daniel couldn’t let her do that. He stepped forward. “It was my fault, sir.”
“Stand your ground, Liza. Save you going too soft, you can watch what happens to the boy.” Then, as Daniel bent over a bale of hay, Hawksworth struck him, blow after blow with the belt until his flesh was raw.
Daniel balled his fists again and bit hard into the straw to try to stop himself from crying out. He could feel the tears pricking his eyes and prayed for the beating to be over. Eventually it stopped, but he stayed where he was, bent over the bale, waiting to be left in peace. He wasn’t even sure he was capable of moving. He heard heavy boot steps moving away from him in both directions. Even Jed and Rick said nothing at the finish of what they’d watched.
When he was sure he was alone, Daniel curled into a ball and sobbed. His back was burning with pain and he longed for the feeling to subside. He had no idea how long he’d been there. An hour, maybe more, passed before he was aware of a quiet presence beside him.
“Daniel.”
He looked up to see Mrs Hawksworth smiling a weak but gentle smile at him. She held a bowl and a cloth.
“They’s all gone into town. Let me tend your wounds.” She darted little looks around as she spoke.
As she dabbed his back, Daniel flinched. “It wasn’t me, ma’am.”
“I knows it wasn’t, Daniel. Mr Hawksworth knows it wasn’t, too.”
“But why did he beat me?”
“I don’t know, Daniel.” Her voice sounded far away. “Because he can.” Then she carried on quietly with the work of cleaning him up and bringing a little relief to the pain. She gave him a small glass of whiskey to drink. “This’ll help.”
He knew without her saying that he mustn’t say a word about it, but she didn’t need to fear. He’d made a decision. He wasn’t going to stay to find when the next beating would be. He was going to head off to see if he could find a better life somewhere new. In his heart he wanted to go back to New York, but anywhere was better than where he was now.
A little while later, Mrs Hawksworth brought him out pancakes. He didn’t set to and eat them as he would have liked, though he drank the syrup for the energy it would give. Instead, he carefully wrapped the dry pancakes in his spare shirt. Then, pushing his book in his pocket, he started walking away from the farm into the night. He knew not where he was going, or how far it might be, but at least the night was mild and dry. What he did know was that whilst walking was painful, pulling as it did on every last weal across his skin, he had to go while he had the chance. No place was home, but he reckoned that any place would be better than where he was right then.
Chapter 9
“William Dixon.”
There was a long pause. “Yes, ma’am.” It still took Tom a second or two to realise it was his name being called on the register. He wasn’t sorry to lose the name Thomas Reilly; it had brought him nothing but trouble. When he was given the opportunity to change his name, he’d jumped at it. Thomas H. Reilly was consigned to history and, with it, all that Tom had been. His old life had been nothing at all like the life ‘William’ landed himself. There were almost no similarities either to life in Ireland or New York, except for the flame-red hair, and even that was not as unruly as his former mass of shaggy curls. His hair was one of the only indications of his true origin, but there were others with Irish ancestry who hadn’t grown up on the streets and he fitted right in with the auburn hair of his new mother. He sat straight at his desk, listening to the rest of the register.
William took to studying easily and loved his days at school. He was focussed and determined, whatever he turned his mind to.
“Well done, Dixon.” His teacher was walking up and down the aisles of desks, looking at the answers to the sums they were chalking on the tablets.
“Thank you, Miss.”
He might have started his schooling rather later than the others, but he was catching up fast and his new family, as well as Miss Simpson, were proud of his achievements. He would never have imagined he could do so well at studying. He’d always been quick enough to know when he was being given a good deal on the goods he’d sold, but he hadn’t linked that to any wider skills. There’d been little chance to see his own ability before coming to Dowagiac. Of course, there had been the village school in the days before New York, but he was too young then to make any real progress and it was hard to learn when he was hungry all the time. Now he was making up for lost time and had found a thirst for knowledge that would have surprised everyone he’d known. It was his meal ticket to a better life and nothing and no one was going to stand in his way – of that he was quite definite. Nothing!
The early days had been hard, with so many of the boys staying in the town. It was difficult to break out of the mould of being ‘one of them’, but after his experience with Patrick Mahoney and the Roach Guard he was going to be nobody’s whipping boy again, not if there was anything he could do about it. One ‘incident’ in the playground was all it had taken for the others to know that William Dixon was not to be messed with. After that he was free to work hard without taunt or provocation.
His new father was a local lawyer and William set his heart on following the same profession. He wanted the wealth and the lifestyle that went with it, and he’d never shied away from hard work, whether it was picking pockets, shining shoes or studying.
“How did you get that scar, Will?” Jude McCaulay asked one day as they walked back from school together.
Jude was a local boy, born and bred, and associating with him had helped William not to be labelled with the other New Yorkers. It was another thing that set Will apart, although that was not the sole reason for him cultivating the friendship. The more Will built a new story of his life, the more even he believed it.
“That?” He’d rolled his sleeves up due to the warmth of the summer day, forgetting the scar on his forearm. He flinched as he looked at it; a momentary recollection of Daniel and Molly going through his mind before he pushed the thoughts away. “It’s nothing. Just an accident a while back.” That’s what he told himself and, thankfully, Jude was happy with the answer.
He left Jude at the end of the road and went on to the house he shared with his new parents and the staff who worked for them. He couldn’t help but smile as he walked up the driveway to the wood-boarded, colonial style house. Ma was sitting on the porch embroidering a tablecloth. Will put his bag on the decking, knelt down and kissed her cheek. He’d won the Dixons’ hearts and was unafraid to turn on the charm.
“It’s a beautiful day, Will. Your father thought you might like to take Bounty out for a ride.”
“May I?” This was an unexpected surprise and he was almost breathless with excitement.
Bounty was a fine horse and he’d longed to take her out since he’d started learning to ride six months ago. In the past his father had said, ‘Not until I’m happy she’s safe in your hands.’ Until now he’d only been allowed to ride Matilda. She was a good horse, but more steady than Bounty and without the glamour and spirit of the grey mare.
“Don’t take her too far. Get Briggs to saddle her up.” The woman rested her hand on his arm. “And be careful. It took us long enough to get a son; I’ve no wish to lose you now you’re here. Thank the Lord the scarlet fever didn’t take you and I’ll be glad for no riding accident to do so either.”
Will smiled. “No, ma’am.”
&nbs
p; A number of the children he’d been at school with had died in the scarlet fever epidemic and it had been a worrying time for everyone, but that had passed and Will felt invincible. Almost skipping with excitement, he took his bag into the house and went to change into his riding breeches.
He certainly was one of the lucky ones. There was no farm work to keep him from year-round schooling and few chores were expected of him around the home. He’d been legally adopted as ‘the son the family had never had’ within six months of his arrival and treated that way from the first day. He was a chameleon with an ear for language and accent. With a fine set of clothes and having learned to speak as his American family spoke, he effectively erased the whole of his beginnings. From time to time, there were still tortured nights, with sleep punctuated by pictures of Mammy in the barrow as they wheeled her to the Potter’s Field. On those nights, as he cried out, Mrs Dixon would sit with him until he was calm. She never asked him to tell her of his former life and he never volunteered the information. He just strove to be the son they wanted and to enjoy for himself the privileges that brought. He liked acting a part and the longer he acted the more natural the part became. There were days he could almost believe he had been born to the life he now lived.
Riding Bounty had been Will’s goal. He had taken riding seriously. He wanted to be the best at everything. He’d been the best pickpocket in New York, at least in his own mind. Now he was going to be the best rider, the best scholar, the best lawyer and, if necessary to get the things he wanted, the best son. Will held Bounty’s head as Briggs saddled her for the ride.
His heart beat with excited apprehension as he climbed onto her back.
“Where shall we go, girl?” he whispered in her ear. She shook her head and snorted in answer. He could feel the power of her readiness ripple back through her flanks as he took the reins.
His was a moot question. He’d been rehearsing this moment in his mind for weeks. He longed to ride along the ridge, with the wind blowing through Bounty’s mane as they galloped. He started a gentle walk away from the stable, concentrating hard until he had the measure of her. It felt good to be up so high. Bounty stood probably two hands taller than Matilda. She whinnied and tossed her head gently with pleasure as he asked her to go faster. It wasn’t long before Will and Bounty were streaking along in sheer pleasure. He couldn’t remember feeling a rush like this since the times of danger on the streets of New York, and much as he tried to forget those days existed, he missed the excitement and the feeling of alertness they had brought. It was about life on the edge, the balance between safety and tragedy and never quite knowing which side of the line you’d come down on.
He threw his head back and laughed into the wind, fuelled by adrenalin and filled with as much pleasure as he had ever experienced. Not for him scrabbling around in the dirt for rags, or digging fields. He was free and, as the wind whipped around him, he felt all-powerful.
He brought Bounty to a halt on the ridge. They were both out of breath. He looked down over the surrounding farmland and laughed as he thought of the other boys. Who would suspect him of sharing their background now, with his fine clothes and manners? Even his hair colour just made him seem like part of the family. It had been one of the reasons they’d picked him out of the line. That and the fact he already knew his letters and was so hungry for learning.
He could feel the sweat on Bounty’s flank as they started to trot back along the path towards the house. Yes, sir, this was the life he wanted to live. Maybe one day he could be mayor of this place he called home. Will Dixon was going to be someone.
He left Bounty with Briggs to be washed down and made comfortable and went back to the house.
Pa was waiting for him. “By the look of that grin you’ve been out on Bounty.”
“Yes, sir,” said Will, grinning even more broadly. “Thank you, sir, she’s a wonderful horse.”
“She sure is, son. She sure is.”
“Well, look at you with all that colour in your face. You look the picture of health,” Ma said as she passed through the hall where they were standing. “Now get yourself cleaned up for dinner and come and tell us all about it.”
Will went to his room to wash and change. A pitcher of warm water was waiting for him on the stand and his clothes had been laid out ready.
The table was set for dinner when he came down and he was just in time to take his place. He’d learnt very early that lateness was not tolerated and had made sure he was on time unless there was an unavoidable reason. He spoke little through dinner. He was hungry from his ride and was happy to listen to Pa relating the day’s events. Occasionally he’d be asked what he thought on some weighty matter. He would consider carefully and reply with what he thought Pa wanted to hear.
It was towards the end of dinner when Ma spoke directly to him. Having asked for an account of the ride, she said, “We received a letter today, Will, from the Children’s Aid Society. They want to know how you’re doing. Pa will write back this evening and he’d like you to write a letter to be sent with it…” She hesitated. “Someone called Molly has contacted them to ask how you are.”
Will flinched. Ma didn’t ask who Molly was, but the question hung there.
Will let it hang. “I’ll write a note for Pa to send. Will you excuse me so I can go to do it now, please?”
Pa waved him away from the table and Will went to his room to find pen and paper.
Dear Sirs,
Thank you for your concern about my progress. I am very well and settled here. I now go under the family name of Dixon and have been fully adopted. I would prefer you not to write to me further. Please tell Molly that I am well, but not to contact me. I have left my old life behind.
Your humble servant
William Dixon
He read it over and blotted the ink. Then he placed the letter in an envelope and decided to take it down to Pa at breakfast, to make it less likely that Ma would read it and ask him about Molly. It had been helpful that, on their arrival, the guardian said many of the children had known a lot of pain and preferred not to talk about the past. He was certainly able to use that to keep away anyone who thought of prying. The fact that Daniel had moved on to another place helped too. At the hall, when they were first paraded from the train, his new parents had asked if he was alone or whether they should be bringing any of the other children along with him. He could see Daniel out of the corner of his eye, further down the line, but he assured the Dixons he was quite alone and it had always been that way.
As they had left the hall, William hadn’t looked back and it was only later he learned to his relief that Daniel had been taken away elsewhere by train and was now likely to be a very long way away. Distance suited his purposes very well. He felt no guilt in the matter. It was just a question of being practical. He told himself that both Molly and Daniel would want this better life for him and therefore he was justified in whatever actions were needed. He tried not to think what Mammy might have said. She always was too soft and where had that got her? No, Will was just fine on his own, with no past to look back to.
Chapter 10
Molly worked her way around the rosary beads in the darkness of her bunk. She’d prayed for Tommy and for Daniel. Then she’d prayed for Mammy’s soul and everyone else she could think of, including both Ol’ Tinker and Patrick Mahoney senior, and junior come to that. She’d even prayed for the women who ran the children’s home she was now in. Somehow, she felt that if she kept praying she would put off the awful inevitability of morning coming and leaving New York.
When she heard she was now considered old enough, and would be taken to find a new family, she had felt a glimmer of hope. “Please, will it be to the same place my brothers have gone?”
“I’m sorry, child, I don’t suppose it will.” At least the matron had seemed to care, as she’d answered the question.
“Is there word from Tommy, in answer to my note?”
It was then Matron had sat her down an
d looked grim in reply. “There is, child.”
“Is he ill? Can I see him?”
Matron put her hand on Molly’s and said, “He’s well and happy.”
Molly breathed a sigh of relief. “Then I can see him?”
“No, child. He’s in a family a long way from here…” She hesitated. “… And he asks that you don’t write again.”
Molly was confused. How could Tom not want to hear from her? She was his sister. She was family. “And Daniel?” she asked quietly.
Matron shook her head sadly. “We’ve heard nothing about your other brother.”
“But if I leave here, how will I find them?”
“You can write, child. I’m sure the Children’s Aid Society will tell you when they have news.”
Molly hung her head. She didn’t want to leave New York. Here she felt closer to all she loved; to Mammy, to Daniel and Tommy, even to Ireland itself. Besides which, she’d made friends in the home, though, thank God, at least some of them would be travelling with her.
The months had passed slowly at first. There were chores to do and lessons, but Molly was unused to having time on her hands. Before, all her time was working or taking care of the others, finding rags, making food, from morning to night. Now there was time to think, and the thoughts were dark and frightening. She’d felt more alone in those months, surrounded by people, than she ever had on the streets with Tommy and Daniel. Now she had time to realise she was unhappy. She tried to remember the songs that Daniel had sung to her, but with not hearing them for so long, even they seemed to be drifting away and she was afraid everything else dear to her would float away with them. She clung to the rosary. The wooden beads had taken on such significance to her. It was all that was left of her old life, of her family. She hadn’t even been allowed to visit where Mammy was laid. She’d almost laughed when Matron, in all seriousness, answered that it wasn’t safe for a young girl to walk the streets of New York alone. Whatever did Matron think she’d been doing before? Even when Mammy was alive, it had been a long time since any adult watched over her.
New York Orphan (Tales of Flynn and Reilly Book 1) Page 9