The Bailey family from down the street left for America two weeks ago along with the Dooleys. They wanted me to give them your address so they could look you up, but your Da told them what a fine family you work for and that they wouldn’t want the likes of them hanging about for a handout. Your Da does not want anyone to spoil things for you.
We are getting ready for Christmas, and there seems too much to do and too little time to do it. Hallie helps me about the house, and we are scrubbing from top to bottom. Our landlord, Mr. Halloran, sent for Moonshine Eddie to come by and clean out the privy house out back. Our own Granda gave the poor man that name years and years ago because of the moon-shaped hole cut out in privy doors. All of Dublin calls him by that horrid name, and I think the man has all but forgotten what his Baptism name was. It cost half a quid for Moonshine Eddie’s services, and your Da says it’s cheap at twice the price. I honestly don’t know how Mrs. Moonshine lets that man in the house after a day’s work digging out privies.
Little Joseph is crying for his supper. I will write again. Say hello and Merry Christmas to your little Mary. We all feel as though she is part of our family. We all love you, Callie, especially your mother.
For days Callie walked about with Peggy’s letter stuffed in her apron pocket. Whenever she felt homesick for the holiday season at home, she would touch her apron and hear the crackle of the paper, and it was almost as good as hearing Peggy’s voice. She’d hung the pictures Billy and Bridget sent on the wall in her attic room, and they were the first thing she would see upon rising and the last before she went to bed.
Shortly after she received that letter, another came, this time from Georgie and Hallie. Georgie sent along a little Christmas poem he and Hallie had composed and printed in red ink borrowed from Father Brisard. Although she was half a world away from them, Callie never ceased to feel a part of the spirit and the daily lives of those she had left behind. Ireland, Dublin, and the Jameses were always in her thoughts. How easy life could be for some and how hard for others, Callie thought, comparing her family to the Powerses.
Miss Anne had spent the entire summer past with cousins in Boston and had chosen to abandon Miss Rose Northrup’s School for a more prestigious one in Lowell, Massachusetts, coming home only occasionally for holidays. It was expected that the Powers’s eldest daughter would make a good match for the son of a socially prominent Boston family.
Rossiter, who had been expected home for the summer, had instead joined a school friend on a tour of Italy and France, writing home of his fascination with the art galleries and museums. Rossiter had always been interested in the arts, and had even been judged to have talent himself. This was something Mrs. Powers bridled against. Her son would not spend his life as a penniless artist living in a loft, praying for the northern light. She had her sights set much higher for her beloved son and had decided upon the world of finance for him.
During Callie’s first summer with the Powerses she had moved with them from the house on Todt Hill to the farmhouse in Kreischerville at the southern tip of the island. This was an idyllic time for her as her duties were few and she was able to spend her time reading and playing with Mary in the meadows surrounding the house. Mr. and Mrs. Powers had traveled to Boston for the month of August, and she had been left behind with Mary, Lena, and Hugh MacDuff. Like a small family, the four spent a great deal of time together. Sunshine, exercise, and a healthy diet had worked their magic for Callie, and she no longer felt like an ugly duckling. Now, when she looked into her mirror, she saw a girl on the brink of womanhood. Her rail-thin body had filled out in all the right places, and although she was still diminutive, she’d grown nearly three inches and had to discard her jumper for the two uniforms Mrs. Powers had given her along with several castoffs from Anne.
While the women in the household took Callie’s growing up for granted, it was Hugh MacDuff and Jasper who were amazed and approving of the change in her. The girl was a delight to both eye and ear. The bloom of the rose was on her cheeks, which had lost their girlish roundness. Her hair had grown, and the glossy chestnut curls captured the gold of the sun, twining in heavy burnished coils at the nape of her neck. There was a long, graceful sweep of back from shoulder to hip, and her eyes seemed to be always filled with laughter, their clear blue brilliance shining with an undeniable zest for life. But it was her laugh, low and throaty with the barest hint of something sensual in it, that fell in such pleasing notes upon the ear. Hugh MacDuff particularly found his ear tuned for that merry sound, thinking to himself more than once that it held the same magic as the gurgling of a Scottish brook in the highlands of his homeland.
While Hugh appreciated the physical changes in Callie, it was Jasper who took pleasure in the development of her mind. Byrch Kenyon always sent her copies of the Clarion-Observer, and often he would underscore a column, article, or advertisement that he thought would be of special interest to his little protégé. Jasper had opened the doors of his library to her, encouraging her in her selections, and began subscribing to various periodicals of the day as well as the Criterion, which was sent to him from Dublin. Over the breakfast table Jasper would elicit Callie’s sometimes startling opinions concerning topical events.
Just after the turn of the New Year 1849, Jasper received a letter from Byrch Kenyon, who had been in Ireland for the past six months, writing and sending his articles across the ocean to the Clarion. In the letter Byrch asked Jasper to take Callie to Tompkinsville for the laying of the cornerstone for the Bailey Hospital. This had been a very important day for Callie. As she stood at the top of the bluff looking across at the city of New York, she could appreciate the changes that had taken place. The area had been cleaned and tended, additional shelters had been built, and for the most part, people were processed through quarantine in a quicker and more orderly way. Out in the bay, on Wade’s Island, a hospice had been established for those immigrants who were not sick. While all wasn’t heaven, it was far from the hell it had been when she arrived on these shores.
After the ceremonies Callie had visited the graves of Beth and Paddy. She still grieved for Beth and the little boy who lay in her arms beneath the soapstone rock. As she placed her bouquet of holly leaves and berries on the frozen earth, Callie had a recollection of herself and her mother in the quiet kitchen back home. She had vowed that her head would never be turned by a handsome face and a strong back. It was her head that would rule her life, she had vowed, not her heart.
Even as she remembered her resolution, a chill seized her in its grip, and she felt as though a goose had stepped on her grave.
“Papá,” Mary said brightly, climbing onto Jasper’s lap as he sat reading in his library. She settled herself against his plump, soft belly and looked into his face. Jasper felt his heart squeeze for this loving child of his. He loved the way she watched him through round, sherry-colored eyes with what he believed was adoring attention, little realizing that Mary was ever watchful of his lips, and that she nestled close to him in order to hear him better.
“What is it, dear? You look like the cat that swallowed the canary,” he said fondly.
“I have a secret, Papá, and I need your help. Say you’ll help me!”
“First, I must know your secret.” Jasper’s hand found the sausage curls hanging long on Mary’s shoulders, feeling the crisp red locks beneath his fingers.
“It’s about Callie,” Mary confided seriously. “Did you know it will be her birthday and she will be eighteen years old? She was born on April eleventh at four-thirty in the morning, 1831.”
“You seem to know quite a bit about it. Were you there by any chance?” Jasper laughed, teasing this beloved daughter.
“No-oo, Papá, but I’ll be here for this one, and I want to do something very special for her.”
“I see. And did you have something in mind?”
“Yes. I want to have a party for Callie, and I want all her friends to come! Imagine how surprised she’ll be! She’s never had a party, did yo
u know that, Papá? Do you think we can invite Mr. Kenyon? Callie thinks he’s a fine man, Papá, almost as fine as you are!”
Jasper smiled indulgently, considering whether this was Callie’s opinion or his daughter’s. “I see no harm in it. Have you spoken to your mother?”
Mary’s head bent, and she played with the ribbons on the front of her dress. “No, Papá. I thought you would do it for me,” she said meekly. “Mamán never listens to anything I say. She thinks I’m still a baby, and I’m not. I’m a grown girl now, and I want to have a grown-up party for Callie.”
Anne Powers’s mouth formed a round O. “What! It’s unthinkable!” she complained. Jasper was always one for wild schemes, and she disapproved of his familiarity and fondness for an employee. “Absolutely not! Why, it goes against the grain! Wherever did you come up with such a fool idea, Jasper? A birthday party for a housemaid.”
“Anne, you know Callie is much more than a housemaid. Think of what she’s done for our Mary. And it was Mary’s idea, you know. Not my own.”
“What would my friends think if it got out? It’s absolutely unheard of!”
“Why should your friends know? It’s only a simple party to celebrate the girl’s eighteenth birthday. You needn’t even attend, although it would disappoint Mary sorely. You know she idolizes you.” This last seemed to smooth Anne’s ruffled feathers. “We could have a very informal affair on the back porch. Mary has asked me to invite Byrch Kenyon. Think of his esteem when he sees the miracle your example has accomplished in the little waif he brought to us.”
Anne studied her husband’s face and saw nothing there to alarm her. “Do you really think so, Jasper?”
“Yes. And I should think that your garden club and church group would envy you your poise and charm and your wisdom and, of course, kindness to bend a little to an employee for services well-given. Did you know that it was once the fashion, and still is in many places, for the master and mistress to mingle with tenants and domestics during a harvest celebration? It was once quite the rage. Why, you could be responsible for bringing back the fashion.”
Once in a while Jasper did come up with a good idea, Anne thought. Particularly the time when he prodded her to take Callie into their employ. “Perhaps you’re right, Jasper. I have an idea,” she said, becoming caught up in the plans. “You will invite Byrch Kenyon for tea in the afternoon for Callie, and then afterwards we can have a dinner party for some friends of mine. This way I can casually mention that we had this little affair and possibly introduce her to them. I must say you’re right, that girl certainly has come a long way.”
Jasper smiled, listening to Anne plan the day. It had been a stroke of genius to flatter her into believing that she alone was responsible for Callie’s maturity and poise. “It’s perfect, Anne. I could never have thought of it myself.”
“You never were a thinker, Jasper,” Anne said haughtily. “It’s my side of the family who think. Your side only pretends.”
Jasper continued to smile. “Is it to remain a surprise as Mary wants?”
“But of course. With a present,” Anne said absentmindedly.
“Not a present. Lots of presents. One from everyone.”
“You’re right, Jasper. We must be generous. Several presents. Callie will be so happy. How lucky for her that I took her in.”
“I’m certain she’s eternally grateful,” Jasper answered in a snide tone that was lost on his wife.
When the door closed behind Anne, Jasper went to his cellarette and poured himself a healthy shot of whiskey. That should keep Anne busy for the next two weeks. Now what to give Callie for her birthday? He must get her something special, something to show his appreciation for the wonderful care she gave his favorite daughter. In the end, he decided on a locket with her name engraved on the back. Anne was going to have plenty to say about if later, but once the engraving was done, there would be nothing she could do. His daughter was certainly worth a gold locket.
Byrch Kenyon whistled in surprise when he received the handwritten invitation to celebrate Callie’s eighteenth birthday. He penned his acceptance and gave it to Jimmy Riley at the front desk to post for him.
Leaning back in his swivel chair, he propped his long legs up on his desk. Byrch wondered how Callie had fared these past months. In the beginning, he’d somewhat kept in touch with her by speaking with Jasper and by sending her a subscription to the Clarion-Observer in her own name. A few notes had passed between them, but none since he left for Ireland and had returned, and all of them had been polite little missives concerning articles or editorials in the newspaper.
The first series of stories Byrch had written and published about. the plight of the immigrants were told very personally from Callie’s point of view. Then he had launched his crusade against the unscrupulous charities that preyed upon the poor. At present, he was investigating labor unions and the opposition they were facing. In his own circles he was known either as a troublemaker or a social reformer, and he didn’t know which label pleased or suited him best. In any case, the increased circulation of the Clarion, as well as his own burgeoning reputation, was influenced by Callie James. She had told him during, that emotional ride on the St. George Ferry that the power was in his hands, and the challenge in her eyes had demanded he use that power to the best of his ability.
Callie was a remarkable child; he had known it from the first. She had invaded his thoughts time and again during this past year, and always afterward he found that he was cross and irritable. He could never explain it to himself, this dissatisfaction, as though he’d left something undone, let a precious opportunity slip through his fingers. He also felt guilty that he hadn’t found the time to go out to Todt Hill to see her and offer her some encouragement.
Dammit! Callie hadn’t needed any encouragement, not if the Powerses were having a birthday celebration for her. She must have charmed her way into their lives the way she had into his. Byrch bristled irrationally at the fact that the girl hadn’t come to him for anything since the last time he’d seen her and that she’d managed to do well enough on her own without any further help from him.
That was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? To pass her off on someone else, ridding himself of the responsibility? Why then, Byrch asked himself, did he think so often of that day when he’d spirited her away from the button factory? He remembered sitting before the fire in the bed-sitting room, waiting for Edward to return with the doctor. She had nestled her shivering body close to him as he’d held her on his lap. She was so tiny, so defenseless, such a light burden in his arms. He could still feel the damp of her curls against his cheek as she’d nestled her head against his shoulder.
Byrch slammed his feet down on the floor, leaning over his desk to face his work. He must be insane! The girl was hardly more than a child. He had a newspaper to manage and work to do.
It was three days before Callie’s surprise birthday party, and Mary was brimming over with excitement. When Callie questioned the child, all she would say was that Callie was going to receive a wonderful, simply wonderful, present. Papá had picked it out himself, and no one has one like it in the entire world! Try as she might, she could get no further information.
Callie never ceased to be amazed at Jasper Powers’s kindness and generosity. Just the other day he had told her she was growing into a beautiful young woman. Mary had been close enough to hear. When they were alone in the nursery, Mary motioned for Callie to stand back so she could observe her. “Papá is right. You are beautiful. You’re even prettier than Anne. I think that’s why she doesn’t like you. She doesn’t want anyone to be prettier than she is. Even Hugh MacDuff says you’re a bonnie lass!” Mary giggled. “And we all know Mr. MacDuff doesn’t pass off compliments easily, does he? Wait till Rossiter sees you. He likes pretty girls. And wait till you meet him, Callie! You’ll love him, I know you will. Everyone loves Rossiter!”
“Stop talking nonsense,” Callie scolded. “You seem to forget I am not the fairy pr
incess waiting for Prince Charming to awaken me with a kiss.” She would never admit it, but Mary’s words pleased her. She had gazed so often at the portrait in the parlor that she was beginning to imagine she knew Rossiter Powers. And if ever there was a Prince Charming, it certainly must be he. Or perhaps he was like one of those Greek or Roman gods Mr. Harrison Reader was always telling them about. Adonis was said to have golden hair and a smile that could charm the angels.
Callie caught a glimpse of herself in Mary’s dresser mirror. Sometimes even she was startled by the change in herself. She’d grown, filled out, and her hair, which had been so cruelly cropped, now curled in soft waves below her shoulders. There was color in her cheeks, and she had nice clothes to wear. She was happy here, happy with Mary and Lena and Hugh MacDuff, who had turned over a patch of garden for Callie to cultivate. She sent most of her wages home to Ireland, but she always had a bit left over for herself. Each night before she fell asleep she said her God-blesses and thanked Him and Byrch Kenyon for giving her the opportunity to come to the Powers’s house. Then she asked God to forgive her for the deception about Mary’s hearing.
She tried to learn as much as she could about Mary’s problem. Jasper himself had given her the most information, telling her that surgery was something they were just beginning to experiment with in Europe, and most of the time it was unsuccessful. He brought out a book from his library that depicted the intricacies of the ear and then asked why she wanted to know. She gave him a vague answer about one of her cousins suffering from such an affliction following a fever. Jasper read through the text and shook his head, saying in a solemn voice that the best one could do was to live with it and develop other senses, and that there was a school in Switzerland that taught the deaf.
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