New York Orphan (Tales of Flynn and Reilly Book 1)

by Rosemary J. Kind

  “Why, yes.” Molly stood up from her chair, her enthusiasm for asking at the school overcoming her initial disappointment. “He must have gone to school. I believe that was required for all of us.” She looked to Miss Ellie for acknowledgement, but Ellie Cochrane gave a small shake of her head.

  “I know you were all supposed to receive some schooling, but don’t put all your hopes on it. I know plenty of farms where the boys have worked year-round without any sight of a schoolhouse. We’ll find him somehow, but it may not be through that.”

  “Sir,” said Molly, “are there many young men here with red hair?” She grinned as she recalled her brother’s most striking feature. “It was a wild red, with curls that covered his head and escaped from any hat.”

  The man scratched his beard once again. “There’s the lawyer’s son, but he gets it from his mother’s side, I believe. There are certainly not many round here. I’ll ask around. It’s all I can do.”

  They left details of where they were staying, as well as a forwarding address in case they had to move on, and walked back out into the day. Molly was quiet. Tom couldn’t just disappear. Of course, he might have died or gone to war, but he’d been here at some point. She walked slowly, thinking as she went.

  Miss Ellie had asked for directions to the schoolhouse and they were on their way when Molly looked up and saw a man ahead of them. Wisps of red hair were escaping from under the brim of his top hat. She quickened her pace. It couldn’t be Tom; he’d be in farm clothes. This man looked well-dressed. Molly had soon left Miss Ellie some paces behind and in a halting voice called, “Excuse me, sir.” The man continued to walk, so Molly went a little faster and called again, this time with a stronger voice. “Sir, excuse me.”

  He turned and looked at her and Molly searched his face for anything familiar. She thought she could see the hint of a scar, but hope could play funny tricks.

  “Ma’am?” He raised his hat to her in greeting.

  Molly faltered – could this be Tom? “Good day, sir. I… I… I’m looking for a gentleman called Thomas Reilly.”

  For a moment she thought she saw a shadow cross his face, but his composure was regained almost as soon as it had been lost. “I thought you might be him. He has red hair. I haven’t seen him for a while.”

  The man’s face was blank. No smile, no nod of recognition. Then, in a strong voice, he said, “I’m sorry, you were mistaken. I know no one of that name in this town.”

  Molly opened her mouth to question him further, but before she had the chance to get another word out he had bidden her good day and set off again with a brisk stride that made it clear he was not expecting her to follow.

  Miss Ellie had hung back waiting for Molly, who now turned to her companion.

  “I thought… in his eyes… it was just…” The tears began to fall down Molly’s cheeks and Miss Ellie put an arm around her shoulder and led her to a place where they could rest a while.

  It was some time before Molly spoke again. She looked into Miss Ellie’s face, searching for answers. “If he knew Tom, why wouldn’t he say so?”

  “Hush, child. You don’t know that for sure. Maybe he really doesn’t know your brother.”

  Molly nodded and sat quietly, gathering herself and offering a silent prayer that she was wrong.

  Eventually, they arrived at the schoolhouse and waited patiently for the children’s next break from lessons, so as not to interrupt. Molly smiled as she watched the children and imagined what it might have been like if she, Tom and Daniel could have stayed together and all played in the little yard outside the schoolhouse. Once the lesson had finished, Molly knocked on the schoolroom door and introduced herself to the teacher, who looked to be in her forties, though Molly found it hard to judge.

  “Miss Simpson, I’m looking for my brother,” she explained. “I believe he would have been a pupil here a few years ago. I’m hoping you may remember him, Thomas Reilly. He came here from New York with the first of the trains.”

  “Reilly, you say.” Miss Simpson drew out a pile of registers from her desk and selected ones for the years that Molly suggested. “I had no boy called Reilly in my classes. Is there anything more you can tell me about him?”

  Molly laughed. “He had the most wonderful and wild red hair. It bounced all over the place and wouldn’t stay under control.”

  “I remember one boy that would fit that description.”

  Molly’s heart leaped.

  “One of my brightest students, William Dixon, son of the local attorney. He’s still in the town and working with his father.”

  Molly’s shoulders slumped. She assumed that was the young man they’d met in the street, but could not be certain. “And there were no others?”

  “Not that I remember, my dear. Of course, it can be hard to remember all of them, but I do pretty well. There were other boys who came in off those trains. One of them might know what became of him.”

  By the time they left, they had the addresses of two outlying farms where they might find young men who had known Tom, but still no definite lead.

  “What if we don’t find him, Miss Ellie?” Molly asked as they made their way back to their lodgings.

  Miss Ellie seemed to ponder the question a while. “I don’t honestly know. I’d like to say ‘of course we’ll find him’, but it’s all very odd. It’s as though… oh, I don’t know. I know his letter said to leave things be, and neither one of us believed that could really be the case, but it does seem as though he doesn’t want to be found.”

  They walked in silence for some time before Molly spoke again. “I guess the people in New York did tell me it was so. I just couldn’t believe it was true. Why wouldn’t Tom want to see me?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that and I just don’t know… unless…” Miss Ellie stopped and turned to face her, taking both of Molly’s hands in hers. “Unless there are things about your life in New York he doesn’t want people to know about.”

  Molly could feel her face flushing. “We only did what we had to do.” She looked down at the ground. “Life was hard… Mammy was dying…” What more could she say to justify the life they had led?

  “I know, child. I wasn’t saying anything about it. It’s just that there may be people that Thomas doesn’t want to know about those times.”

  Molly nodded slowly, the idea making sense to her. She thought of the Roach Guard and the Bowery Boys, of Patrick Mahoney and of Tom picking pockets. None of it would seem real to someone who’d lived out here all their life.

  “Maybe we should just look for men with red hair. That is much harder to change,” Molly said, her eyes following the patterns on the sidewalk where she was staring.

  “Even hair can be shaved, but it’s harder to hide.” Miss Ellie put her arm through Molly’s and started to guide her along the road once again. “There’s still time to find at least one of those farms. Maybe that will give us a clue.”

  The afternoon was warm and the farm only a couple of miles out of town. Whilst they could have borrowed a gig, they were both missing their outdoor life and it was a pleasant walk.

  “Perhaps we should have sent word on ahead,” Ellie said. “Two women turning up unexpected might look awful strange to them.”

  Molly laughed for what felt like the first time in ages. “I guess it’s not so strange, with so many of the men away at war. They’ll think we’re looking for work.”

  Miss Ellie looked Molly up and down and broke into a broad grin. “Do you normally go looking for dairy work wearing your Sunday best?”

  “I think it might be easier to ask for work than explain why we’re really there.” Molly sighed and fell to thinking about what to say when they arrived.

  As things turned out, they were greeted warmly, with the sort of hospitality only an experienced farmer’s wife offers. Molly found herself telling the whole story and receiving a sympathetic hearing. They had brought one of the New York children into the farm and he’d been a good worker
. He wasn’t close to the other boys, as far as the farmer’s wife remembered, but had spent the winter times in the schoolhouse and set to studying pretty well. He’d gone off to war now, of his own choosing, but, God permitting, planned to return to the farm as soon as the war was over.

  Molly would have come away disappointed, but the farmer’s wife sent them on their way, saying, “I have to go into town tomorrow and will see quite a number of people. I’ll see if I can find anything out and send word if I do.”

  Molly believed that she meant it and it gave her more hope than anything had done so far.

  Chapter 19

  There was just one farm left to visit, but despite the good reception they had received earlier, Molly and Miss Ellie decided to send a note in advance of their arrival. The note said they would call the following morning at around 11 a.m., which they thought would give them ample time for the walk.

  At breakfast the next day, Molly received a short note in reply. Mrs Franklin was coming into town for the morning to meet with some of the other women and would be very happy to call on them when she finished. She thought that would be around noon. It gave Molly and Miss Ellie a morning with no commitments, so they settled in the drawing room reserved for guests of the lodging house and waited. Molly tried to read her book, but fidgeted with the jacket and read the same paragraph several times without taking in any of its meaning.

  The morning passed slowly and she was painfully aware of the ticking of the grandmother clock sitting in the corner of the room, chiming each quarter and counting off the seconds in between. The house bell rang at 11.45 a.m. and Molly jumped from her chair. “Do you think…?”

  There was no need for her to finish the question, as within a very short space of time a woman she assumed to be Mrs Franklin was ushered into the drawing room to join them. Miss Ellie got up from her chair as Molly was introduced to the woman and very soon they were all seated around a small occasional table in the brightly lit room.

  “It’s so good of you to come,” Molly said, wondering where to start.

  “My dear,” the homely woman said in an affectionate tone, “Mrs Crowther has already explained to me and, well, we might have some information that could help.”

  Molly drew a sharp intake of breath and opened her mouth to speak, but Mrs Franklin raised a gentle hand for her to wait.

  “It’s our understanding,” she said, sitting a little straighter, “that Mr Dixon, the lawyer, that is… anyway, that his son was one of the ones that came in on the trains.” She almost whispered as she said, “We don’t think William is his real son, even though he looks quite like his mother, or so they say. I’ve not actually seen him myself.”

  Molly’s head was spinning. The lawyer’s son, the one with red hair, might have come from New York. Was it possible? Her heart raced. She could hear Mrs Franklin babbling on to Miss Ellie about her cousin having worked at the house some years ago, but the sound was washing over her. Surely, the man they’d seen in the street in a top hat, he must have been William Dixon. Was that really recognition she’d seen in his face? How could it have been? Thomas wouldn’t pretend not to know her. Would he? She thought of the message that she should not make contact and came back to reality with a jolt. She tuned back into the conversation and found it had moved on to farm matters and that Miss Ellie was talking about her own farm and comparing their approaches.

  Molly was thinking of all sorts of questions, but it was unlikely that Mrs Franklin was going to be able to answer them, so instead she tried to be polite and join in the conversation about the farms and in doing so realised how, in a strange way, she really missed her daily work. She wondered how Miss Ellie must be feeling after a lifetime of the farm.

  They passed a very enjoyable hour with Mrs Franklin and were invited to go out to the farm for lunch the following day so they might look around.

  “We can bide here another day quite happily,” Miss Ellie said in accepting, and Molly nodded her agreement. She hoped that they would have found Tom and it would be time spent with him, but if not, then in all likelihood they would still be looking.

  They set off in the afternoon to the lawyer’s office. Even if Mr Dixon couldn’t help them directly, Molly wondered if he might be able to check any other public records on their behalf. Molly was shaking slightly as she reached to open the door of the building.

  In the outer office they met the same young man they had approached a couple of days previously. “Good day, ladies. How may we be of service?” Despite his words, the man looked distracted and Molly had an uneasy feeling.

  She searched his face again, looking for the boy she’d known. Without the curls that had hidden so much of his face, it was impossible to be certain, but she thought, just for a moment, that she saw a look she knew of old.

  “Good afternoon, sir. We’d like to see Mr Dixon, if we may.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’re seeing him right now. How can I help?”

  Molly felt a shockwave go through her. Was she right? Was this really Tom? Her Tom? Why was he behaving like this? She had been only eight when she last saw him. More than a decade of change had occurred since then. Were those Tom’s eyes? She searched his face. She looked for scars gained on the streets, but in the dimly lit office she could see nothing.

  Miss Ellie interrupted. “Mr Dixon Senior, if you please.”

  The young man smiled. “Then I’m afraid I can’t help you. My father…”

  Molly thought he placed undue emphasis on the word.

  “… Is out of the office this afternoon and won’t be back. Can I take a message for him?”

  Miss Ellie looked at Molly.

  She hesitated. “No, thank you.” Then she flashed a look at Miss Ellie before turning back to the younger Mr Dixon. “Perhaps we could make an appointment to see him tomorrow morning?”

  Mr Dixon Junior ran a finger around his collar. “I’m… I’m not sure what his diary is for tomorrow. Shall I leave him a message and ask him to contact you?”

  Even upside down and despite the flowing handwriting, Molly could see that a book open on the desk appeared to be a diary, but said nothing. She was becoming sure that this man in front of her was indeed her brother and that for reasons she could not hope to fully understand he was intent on covering up that fact. She wondered if she should give up or confront him now. What had she to lose, except perhaps her dignity? They could still see his father the following day if need be.

  She looked up at him from under her dark lashes. “Thomas, Thomas Reilly, don’t you know? It’s me, Molly?”

  Molly could see his hand shaking as he stared at her. His mouth was opening and closing, but without words. She longed to fill the silence but waited patiently, as she would for a frightened animal, hoping desperately that he might come out into the open and trust her.

  Then he stood a little taller and in a clear voice said, “I’m sorry, ma’am, my name is William Dixon. I know no one of the name Reilly. I very much think you are sadly mistaken. Good day to you.” Then he walked across to the outer office door and opened it for them to leave.

  Molly could feel the tears coming before she had even set foot outside the door. These were not silent tears which trickled down her cheeks, but the beginning of heaving sobs that made her reach out to Miss Ellie for support.

  Miss Ellie put her hand out and stayed the door. In a voice as commanding as any she had used in dealing with Jacob Reese or Cal Turner, she said, “It appears my companion has been taken unwell. Please bring me a chair, right away.”

  Molly was vaguely aware that Miss Ellie left no room for William to dissent and he let go of the door and went for the chair, which Miss Ellie gently guided her into.

  Leaving Molly for a moment, Miss Ellie marched up to William and, standing directly in front of him, said, “Now young man, you will stop your nonsense and arrange an appointment for us to see your father.” She almost spat the last word at him.

  From where Molly was and through the
tears she heard the words but could not see how William reacted. She heard him clear his throat and as he did so the door to the inner office opened and they all stopped in their tracks.

  “Ma’am, who is it who wishes to speak with me?” Mr Dixon shot a sharp look at his son and approached Ellie Cochrane, his hand outstretched to shake hers. He beamed a smile towards her, in complete contrast to the reception they had received from his son. It was then he noticed Molly and a look of surprise crossed his face. He looked first to Will and then back to Molly, his eyes screwed up in question.

  Ellie coughed slightly. “Sir, perhaps I may take a moment of your time to explain?” She came over to Molly, gave her a supportive arm and guided her towards the inner office.

  Molly responded in bewilderment to the situation unfolding around her and was more than happy for Miss Ellie to take charge. She heard the office door close behind them, leaving William at his desk, and was guided toward a leather sofa to the side of the room.

  Mr Dixon pressed a glass of water into her hands and then turned back to Miss Ellie. “Ma’am?” He indicated that she should sit and then did likewise.

  “Sir…”

  Molly focussed as best she could on what Miss Ellie was about to say, although it all felt as though it was happening far away and not in the room in which she was sitting.

  Miss Ellie appeared to be choosing each word with infinite care. “My companion and I have travelled from Pierceton in search of a young gentleman that she knew many years ago when she lived in New York.”

  Molly saw Mr Dixon blink at the mention of New York.

  “We had reason to believe that your… son… may have himself come from that great city and may be the very gentleman.”

  Mr Dixon nodded, but did not interrupt the flow. Molly’s heart leaped at his not immediately denying that his son had come from New York.