by Al Lacy
The girl was still out of earshot.
“Oh, sure,” said Ross. “That’s what I need. Take a religious fanatic to the party. Hennie’s a nice girl and all that, but she’d be telling everybody at the party they need to be saved, and she’d be talking about Jesus and all that holy stuff.”
Eoin chuckled. “Well, it was just a suggestion.”
Ross drove an elbow into his friend’s rib cage. “Yeah? Well, that’s for making the suggestion.”
Hennie Killanin was a pretty girl of seventeen. As she approached the boys, she greeted them with a smile.
“Hi,” said Eoin.
“Hi,” echoed Ross.
Hennie walked past them to enter the store, then hesitated as she put her hand on the doorknob. She looked back as if she wanted to ask them something, but all she said was, “See you at school tomorrow.”
Ross and Eoin nodded.
Kathleen was smiling at her customer and listening to a comment about the woman’s grandchildren when she saw Hennie enter the store. As soon as the customer picked up her package and moved away, Kathleen greeted her schoolmate.
“Hi, back,” said Hennie, then made her way among the shelves.
For a brief moment, Kathleen watched Hennie’s progress through the store. The girl had bright red hair worn in a long braid down her back. Today she had it tied with a large ribbon. Her pert nose and glowing rosy cheeks were covered with a dusting of tiny freckles, and she had a winning smile.
Though Kathleen was a bit on edge in Hennie’s presence, she respected her sincere faith and counted her as a good friend. It was just that Kathleen had her own religion and was content with it and with her life.
Hennie often spoke to the young people at school of their need to know Jesus but was never overbearing or obnoxious about it. She had a sweet way about her, and it bothered Kathleen when students at school called Hennie a fanatic behind her back.
Moments later Hennie moved up to the counter, then glanced to her right and said, “Hello, Mrs. O’Malley.”
Maureen, who was just thanking her last customer, turned toward the girl. “Hello, Hennie. Everything all right at your house?”
“Sure is, ma’am, thank you.”
Kathleen totaled up Hennie’s bill. “Comes to five dollars and thirty-six cents.”
While Hennie was taking the money from her small purse, Kathleen placed the items into two paper bags, then pulled open the cash drawer and took out some coins. “There you are, Hennie. Your change is sixty-four cents.”
Hennie dropped the money into her purse and said, “You’re still planning on going to church with us Sunday, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Both morning and evening?”
“Yes. Mother and Dad said that even though we are of a different faith, its all right with them if I go this Sunday with you and hear D. L. Moody.”
Hennie looked at Kathleen’s mother and said, “Thank you for giving Kathleen permission, Mrs. O’Malley.”
Maureen smiled. “Kathleen thinks so much of you, dear. Shaemus and I don’t mind her going with you for a Sunday. I was reading last Sunday’s religious section in the Chicago Tribune. It told all about Mr. Moody’s engagement at your church, and it mentioned he has a singer coming with him.”
“Yes. Ira Sankey. He’s a great gospel soloist, ma’am. They just started working together. I’d love for the entire O’Malley family to come and hear both men. Mr. Moody is a wonderful preacher.”
“Thank you,” Maureen said, “but we won’t be coming. However, I am glad Kathleen can spend the day with you and your family.”
The door opened and the tiny bell above it jingled.
“Patrick O’Leary!” Maureen said as the tall, slender man entered the store. “What can we do for you?”
“Well, Maureen, I don’t believe we’ll be needing any milk!” He ran his gaze around the store. “Shaemus here?”
“No, he and Donald have been gone most of the day. They’re at the railroad yards, picking up a load of potatoes from our supplier in Idaho Territory.”
Patrick pulled the grocery list from his shirt pocket and chuckled. “Too bad you can’t get your potatoes from Ireland.”
“I’d love to, but I’m afraid the shipping cost across the Atlantic would be a mite prohibitive.”
“Just a mite.”
Kathleen spoke up. “You were on duty today, weren’t you, Mr. O’Leary?”
“Yes.”
“At school we heard about the fire over on Sampson Street. Was it bad?”
“Well, at least it was a vacant lot and not someone’s home.”
“Yes, but did it spread and burn any buildings?”
“No, for which everyone was thankful. We were able to bring it under control before it spread to the homes on either side of it. The neighbors helped soak yards, houses, and outbuildings while we worked at extinguishing the fire in the lot.” He looked at the grocery list. “Well, guess I’d better pick up the things Katie wants and get on home.”
“Let me see that list, Patrick; we’ll help you,” Maureen said.
Hennie picked up her groceries. “I’ll be going now, Kathleen…Mrs. O’Malley. Nice to see you, Mr. O’Leary.”
“You too, Hennie.”
As mother and daughter and Patrick took items from the shelves, Patrick said, “You graduate next May, don’t you, Kathleen?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What are you planning to do after that?”
“Well, I’m really not sure at this point.”
“So you haven’t made up your mind whether to further your education and be a career girl, or get married and be a homemaker, eh?”
“Truth is, Patrick,” spoke up Maureen, “I think Kathleen would like to be a wife and mother rather than take up a career.”
“That’s right, Mother,” Kathleen said. “If I could choose, I would be a wife, mother, and homemaker just like Katie O’Leary. I admire her so much.”
Patrick grinned. “Katie’s the best, I’ll tell you that. And I’m sure it would please her, Kathleen, if she knew how you felt about her.”
“You can tell her what I said if you want.”
“I’ll just do that.”
When they had all the grocery items piled on the counter, Maureen started tallying the bill.
Patrick turned to the pretty auburn-haired girl and said, “Is there a young man in your life, Kathleen? You know, some prospective husband?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, then, all you have to do to fulfill your dream is meet the right young man. The two of you will fall in love, and before you know it, you’ll be at the altar.”
“Sounds good, but I might end up an old maid while waiting for the right man to walk into my life.”
Patrick chuckled. “Not a chance. Not as pretty and sweet as you are. One of these days the prince of your dreams will show up and whisk you off to his castle of love.”
“I sure hope so.”
“Here you go, Patrick,” said Maureen, who had the groceries all packed in a large box. “Total is ten dollars and forty-one cents.”
When Patrick O’Leary was gone, Maureen locked the front door. “Okay, honey,” she said, “let’s go home.”
They left by the back door and moved down the alley, turned onto the street, and headed toward home.
As they walked, Maureen said, “I’m a little confused, Kathleen.”
“About what, Mother?”
“When that Tralee boy asked you to go to Marybeth Monaghan’s party, you told him you were dating someone steady right now. Is there some boy your father and I don’t know about?”
Kathleen blushed. “No.”
“Then why did you tell Ross there was? It isn’t like you to lie.”
“I had to, Mother.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to go anywhere with Ross. He’s too immature. All the boys I know are too immature. The prince that Mr. O’Leary talked about will
be a mature young man, not a boy.”
“I understand,” said Maureen. “You’ll just have to be patient, honey. And one of these days, you’ll meet him.” She paused, then laid a hand on her daughters shoulder. “Kathleen… instead of lying, you should have told Ross the truth. I know it would’ve been harder, but it’s always best to be truthful.”
“I know, Mother, and I’m sorry.”
AS PATRICK O’LEARY TURNED THE CORNER on DeKoven Street, neighbors called to him from their porches and yards, asking about the fire on Sampson Street. He made a quick explanation that there was no damage to personal property, and no one had been hurt.
When he was almost home, he glanced toward his next-door neighbor’s house and saw Patricia O’Malley sweeping the front porch of 139.
“Hello, Mr. O’Leary,” she said. “Looks like you gave our store some business.”
“Sure did. Working hard?”
“Not really; just sweeping the porch. Was the fire on Sampson Street real bad? We heard about it at school.”
“All that burned was grass, weeds, and leaves. No buildings. And nobody was hurt.”
“Oh. I sure am glad to hear that.”
As he stepped inside the front door of his house, he called out, “Daddy’s home! Hello!”
There was no response.
“Hello-o-o-o!” He passed the staircase to the second floor and moved down the hall toward the kitchen. “I’m home! Where is everybody?”
He set the box of groceries on the cupboard, then went to the back door and opened it. There were four Holsteins in the corral, and his two horses were standing side by side in a corner, facing opposite directions.
The barn door stood open, swaying slightly in the breeze.
As he headed toward the corral, Patrick told himself Katie and the children had to be in the barn with the missing cow, Dinah.
Sure enough, Katie was on her knees beside the cow. Seven-year-old Ryan and five-year-old Amy stood close by. When Amy saw her father, she squealed “Daddy!” and ran to him, lifting her arms.
Ryan made a beeline for his dad, too, and a worried Katie looked over her shoulder as Patrick took Amy up in one arm and Ryan in the other.
“Dinah’s sick, Daddy!” Ryan said.
The cow lay on her side, breathing fast and shallow, her tongue hanging from her mouth.
Patrick looked at Katie. “Honey, when did she get like this?” he said as he stood Amy and Ryan on their feet.
“I actually noticed that she didn’t feel well when I milked her this morning, so I didn’t use her milk.”
Patrick leaned over Dinah and stroked her head. “Her eyes are dull, and I don’t like the way she’s breathing.”
“She didn’t start breathing like this till a few minutes ago,” Katie said. “I noticed her moping around the corral all morning. I came out to check on her about noon, and she was holding her head low. I put her halter on and led her to the water tank, but I couldn’t get her to drink.”
Patrick rubbed his chin. “So she hasn’t had water all day?”
“No.”
He bent down and looked at the cow’s tongue. “Dry.”
“Yes,” Katie said, concern etched on her face. “When I came out to check on her about forty-five minutes ago, she looked real bad, so I brought her into the barn. As soon as she was in here, she went down on her stomach, then laid over on her side. That’s when she started breathing in these short little gasps.”
Patrick patted the cow’s neck. “Dinah, ol’ girl, I wish you could talk so you could tell me if there’s pain somewhere.”
Katie bit her lips. “Oh, Pat, what if she dies? We can’t afford to buy another cow.”
Patrick put an arm around her shoulder. “Now, honey, she’s not going to die.”
“She will if we can’t give her what she needs. There’s no way—”
“I know what it is!” Patrick said.
“You do?”
“Yes. I remember now. When I was a boy in Ireland, one of our family’s cows looked like this. Papa determined it was a lack of salt. He gave the cow salt chips and poured water down her throat. In a few days she was back on her feet and felt fine.”
“Then we must do it,” Katie said, her countenance brightening.
“I’ll go to Fitzhugh’s Feed and Supply right now.”
“But they’ll be closed.”
“No matter. The Fitzhughs live upstairs above the store.”
“May Amy and I go with you, Daddy?” Ryan asked.
Katie stood at the barn door and waved as Patrick and the children drove away in the twilight. She bent over the cow and patted her neck. “I’ll be right back, Dinah.”
She hurried to the house and crossed the porch. There was a small table just inside the kitchen door where empty milk buckets were stacked inside one another, and a couple of old kerosene lanterns stood beside them. She picked up one of the lanterns and carried it to the cupboard where a newer lantern stood. Striking a match, she lit both of them and went back to the barn with the older one.
Dinah switched her tail and made a grunting sound when Katie returned to the barn and set the lantern on the floor. She knelt beside the cow and petted her as she spoke to her in low tones.
Patrick and the children were back with the bag of salt chips within thirty minutes. Patrick knelt once again beside Katie.
“If I remember right, Papa poured water down the sick cow’s throat to moisten it, then put a few salt chips in her mouth and massaged her throat to help her swallow them. He repeated that several times the first day, then did it again for the next couple of days. Pretty soon she was drinking water again, so all we had to do was feed her the salt chips for another two or three days. We’ll just do it like Papa did.”
When the process was done, Patrick unhitched the horses from the wagon and removed the harness.
“I’ll go start supper, Pat, if you’re ready to do the milking now,” Katie said.
“Sure am. You and Amy go on inside. I imagine Ryan will want to stay here with me, right, Ryan?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
After Patrick had milked the four cows, he took the buckets of milk to the house, then told Katie he would milk Dinah and be right in.
“How are you gonna milk her when she’s laying down, Daddy?” Ryan asked.
“I’m not, son. I’ve got to get her on her feet.”
“But she’s so sick. Couldn’t you just wait till she’s better to milk her?”
“No. I have to do it now.”
“But why?”
“If I don’t milk Dinah, her bag will get so full that it’ll burst. Then she would die for sure.”
“Oh. I didn’t know she’d still make more milk when her bag was foil.”
“Well, you learned something today, didn’t you, son?”
“You’re always teaching me something new.”
“That’s at least part of what dads are for, don’t you think?”
“Yes, sir.” A sudden smile lit Ryan’s face, and he said, “They’re also for taking us to Lake Michigan so we can play on the beach.”
Patrick laughed. “Right. We’re goin’ to do that on Saturday.”
“Yeah, and I’m really looking forward to it!”
On Friday afternoon, the men of Company Six returned to the fire-house after having fought their fourth fire of the day. Thankfully, none of the fires had gotten out of control.
With an hour left before shift change, the tired men poured cups of coffee and sat down. Chief Murham—who worked every day from seven till five—sat down with them.
“So,” Murham said, “what’re you fellas doing tomorrow?”
Mick Delaney chuckled. “My wife’s got a work list for me a mile long. No play time for me.”
Burgo Murray nodded. “Mine, too. Women can think up more work for a man than you can shake a stick at. I’d like some time to just lie around and relax.”
Everybody laughed, nodding their agreement.
Th
omas MacMahon said, “I’m going to start painting my house. It was too hot to do it this summer. Won’t be so bad, now that falls in the air.”
“Yard work for me,” said another. “Since the newspapers are warning of the fire danger, I’m gonna rake all the leaves out of the yard.”
“That’ll make you a good example to your neighbors,” Murham said.
“Trouble is,” put in another fireman, “we rake one day, the wind blows a little, then there’s more to rake the next day.”
“Well,” said Murham, “one of these days the trees will be bare, and that’ll take care of the leaf problems.”
“For this year, at least.”
“Let’s hope we get back to normal with rainfall here pretty soon,” said Patrick O’Leary. “Then the leaves won’t be such a hazard.”
“What are you doing tomorrow, Pat?” Chief Murham asked. “Raking leaves, too?”
“Nope. Yard’s clean right now. I’m taking Katie and the kids for a wagon ride along the lakeshore. Ryan and Amy love to play at the water’s edge. We’ll make a picnic of it, too.”
The O’Learys were up early the next day in anticipation of their outing to the shore of Lake Michigan. Though it was the first week of October, the temperature was still moderately warm during the daytime.
Patrick and Ryan saw to the cows, which included giving water and salt to Dinah, while Katie prepared breakfast with Amy’s “help.”
When father and son came in with the milk, Patrick said, “Good news, girls. Dinah was already standing up when we went into the barn.”
“Oh, Patrick, that’s good!” Katie said. “Looks like your papa’s remedy is going to work.”
“Sure does. Breakfast ready?”
After they had eaten, father and son went back outside to do some more chores and to hitch up the horses to the wagon.
Mother and daughter did the dishes, then Katie started packing the picnic basket full of goodies.
“Mommy, is someone else going on the picnic with us?” Amy asked as she watched her mother fill the basket.
“No, honey. Why?”
“‘Cause you’re putting in so much food.”