by BJ Hoff
Still smiling, she touched one small hand to straighten the blue bonnet she was wearing, the one Daniel always fancied because it so perfectly matched her eyes. “Well, here I am.”
“Indeed,” he managed. “Here you are.”
“I thought I told you I’d be back by the weekend.”
She reached to pat Sarge’s head, and he whimpered with doggie delight. The great oaf had no pride at all, it seemed.
“Yes, I suppose you did tell me that, now that you mention it. It just seemed…longer.” Clearly, his own pride was also sadly lacking.
Her mouth twitched a little when she turned back to Daniel, as if she found him mildly amusing. Which often seemed to be the case.
“So, how was your aunt?”
“She’s doing much better.”
The conversation went on that way for another minute or two, with Daniel growing more and more uncomfortable, his wits seemingly too fogged to say anything even mildly intelligent. He might just as well have made comments about the lack of rain and the dust in the air.
Instead, he gestured toward the school building. “You weren’t working on the classroom today, were you?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Hardly on Sunday, Daniel. I thought I’d just take stock to see how much is left to do before we open. Quite a lot, it seems.”
“I told you I’ll be glad to help.”
“And I plan to hold you to your offer. So, where are you off to so late on a Sunday afternoon?”
“Owenduffy.” At her puzzled look, he went on to explain. “I treated a little girl over there for a bad case of bronchitis the other night. I thought I’d just check and see how she’s doing.”
She frowned. It seemed to Daniel that Serena was the only woman he’d ever known who could disarm a man with either a smile or a frown.
“You’re not supposed to treat those people, Daniel. They have their own doctor.”
“I know. But the girl was seriously ill, and her brother couldn’t find the company doctor, so I took care of her.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That doctor over there must be a perfectly awful man. Everyone says he’s nothing but a drunk.”
“Well, he does seem to be absent more often than not. Anyway, I was glad I went. The girl needed attention.”
Serena regarded him with an expression that bordered on disapproval. “That really shouldn’t be your concern, should it? Surely you have enough to do looking after our own people.”
Our own people. Daniel thought that seemed an odd way to put it, but then he suspected that Serena was probably no different from most long-time residents of Mount Laurel when it came to Owenduffy. There was always that dividing line—in reality more like a dividing wall—between the two towns. The river that ran between was just a symbol of the “them versus us” mentality that separated Mount Laurel’s locals from the immigrant miners and their families.
“It wasn’t all that much out of my way,” he said with a shrug.
Her look was skeptical, but then the smile returned. “You’re such a softie, Daniel. Well, I’d best be getting home. I told Mother I’d be back in time for supper.”
Daniel hesitated before asking, “Could I…stop by later?”
Her reply was quick in coming. “Not this evening, Daniel. I’m really tired from the trip, and I still have to unpack my things and get settled before morning. I want to start getting the classroom in order first thing tomorrow. It’s only two weeks now before the beginning of the term, and I have a lot to do.”
Disappointed, he merely nodded his understanding. “Maybe later in the week then.”
“Of course. Perhaps you can come to supper one evening,” she offered, raising herself up on tiptoe to brush a hint of a kiss on his cheek.
Ordinarily, this gesture of affection, which was as much of a kiss as Serena ever allowed him, would have caught him completely off guard—and pleased him no end. But while her lighthearted words and the kiss itself seemed entirely sincere, he knew from experience that the invitation to supper might well be forgotten in the busyness of her week. He found himself unreasonably annoyed by that simple awareness.
He helped her into her buggy, watching her start off before resuming his own drive. The rest of the way to Owenduffy, he puzzled over his feelings for Serena.
He wasn’t ready to concede that he was in love with her. Could a man actually be in love with a woman he’d never even kissed?
Not likely, he decided.
Infatuated, then? Was it merely the kind of schoolboy crush that would wear itself out given enough time—and enough evasiveness on her part?
He knew most of their friends and acquaintances took it for granted that he and Serena were a couple. They attended many of the town’s social events together, and Daniel called at the Norman house with as much frequency as she would allow—usually no more than once a week and almost always on Sundays. But no matter what anyone else might assume, Daniel knew they were leagues away from any sort of a commitment.
In truth, he wasn’t exactly sure if he wanted a commitment, or even what, exactly, his real feelings were. He did know that she managed to make him feel awkward and even somewhat foolish on a fairly regular basis. He couldn’t help but wonder, though, if his ineptness was due solely to the effect Serena had on him or had just as much to do with his own awkwardness and lack of experience where women were concerned.
He heaved a somewhat dramatic sigh, and the Newfoundland looked over at him with disdain.
He could hardly fault the hound for his contempt. Was there anything more pathetic, after all, than a man losing his mind… not to mention his dignity…over a woman?
As he bumped across the corded covered bridge linking Mount Laurel to Owenduffy, Daniel’s mood darkened still more.
He had no inclination now to bask in the grace and tranquil glory of the late summer countryside or take comfort in the knowledge that Serena was back in town. Instead, he steeled himself to face the soot-dusted, gloom-clouded community held captive by a company of men who saw not the sin of enslaving their own kind, but only the profit to be gained from that servitude.
It was always a bit of a jolt to cross the bridge from the placid beauty and quiet of Mount Laurel and its environs to enter a place that seemed the very antithesis of all he’d left behind.
He had an unsettling sense that the town of Owenduffy existed in the bowels of a shadowed cave, much as did the mine from which its inhabitants drew their sustenance. The few houses that had windowpanes seemed to glare at them as they passed. In one yard, a scrawny black dog growled and ran toward them as if to give chase, but Sarge rose and bared his teeth and the sorry creature scurried off, tail between his legs.
“Well, aren’t you the fierce one?” Daniel said to the Newfie, who ignored the taunt, studying him as if to question the wits of a master who would take them into such a place as this.
“Can’t say I blame you, chum,” Daniel muttered. “Even I’m beginning to wonder what I’m doing here.”
The sun that had been at Daniel’s back only a moment ago seemed to have retreated, as if its brightness would be found alien and unwelcome in this place. And though the afternoon sun had been steady and warm when he left Mount Laurel, he now shivered and drew his shoulders inward against the sudden chill.
EIGHT
MEETING MURPHY
A fighting-man he was…
Hewn out of the rock.
JOSEPH CAMPBELL
The door was ajar, so after rapping on the frame Daniel waited only a moment to enter.
His second visit to the Flynn cabin, this time in the dim afternoon light that managed to seep through the windows, revealed an even harsher view of the poverty of those who lived here. The few furnishings seemed mostly in a state of disrepair, and the lack of anything even remotely decorative or aesthetically pleasing marked the forlorn little house as a place where comfort and contentment would not be easily attained.
He went directly to the bedroom, where he found
young Molly Maureen in bed. Today, however, she was sitting up, with the help of a quilt propped behind her, while a young woman with a flaming tumble of copper hair fed her with a spoon.
Both jumped when Daniel walked in. Molly Maureen gave him a bright smile, but her companion eyed him with a plainly suspicious stare.
“Sorry,” Daniel said. “I knocked, but you must not have heard me.”
With what appeared to be a deliberate lack of haste, the young woman set the bowl of food down on the table beside the bed and rose from the chair.
This would likely be Elly Murphy. No wonder Clay Holliday was so badly smitten. She was a beauty. Tall and lithe, with strong features and a long, graceful neck, she might have been one of the ancient Celtic warrior queens instead of the daughter of a small-town coal miner. She also looked considerably more mature than the seventeen years Daniel knew her to be.
Indeed, Stephen would have his work cut out for him, trying to convince his lovesick son to walk away from this girl.
She looked entirely unimpressed when Daniel introduced himself. “And you must be Elly,” he said. “Elly Murphy?”
Molly Maureen giggled. “She’s Addie, not Elly! Addie Rose is Elly’s big sister.”
The older girl cracked a small smile but said nothing, instead dismissing Daniel’s attempted apology with a wave of her hand.
After another awkward moment he turned to Molly Maureen, relieved to find his small patient looking much perkier than she had two days ago. She was still noticeably weak and too pale by far, but there had been visible improvement.
“Well, now, Miss Molly, I do believe you might be feeling better than you were the last time I saw you.”
The little girl beamed. “Addie Rose says I’m doin’ ever so much better. She takes good care of me, she does.”
“Well, you make sure to show her you appreciate it,” said Daniel with a quick smile in the older girl’s direction—a smile that wasn’t returned.
“All right,” he said, sitting down on the side of the bed and taking his stethoscope from the medical case. “Let’s have a listen.”
After satisfying himself that the child really was significantly improved, Daniel straightened and turned to the young woman. “I think you must be a good nurse, Miss Murphy. Molly seems to be doing remarkably well, considering.”
She fixed him with a sharp blue-eyed stare but remained silent. Puzzled by her demeanor, Daniel made another attempt to engage her. “Do you live nearby, Miss Murphy?”
One perfect eyebrow lifted. “Anywhere in Owenduffy would be nearby, I expect.”
Daniel looked up. Was the girl being deliberately rude?
This time he was the one who made no reply.
Instead, he turned back to his patient. “I can see that you’re on the mend, young lady, so I’ll just leave you another bottle of medicine and be on my way. But I want you to promise me that you’ll stay quiet and warm for a few more days until you’re feeling completely well again. Do I have your word?”
Molly nodded, still smiling at him.
“Where’s your brother, by the way?” asked Daniel
“At Mr. Gormant’s”.
Daniel turned to Addie Murphy. “Gormant—the mine boss?”
She nodded and said shortly, “He works for Mr. Gormant on Sunday afternoons. Does odd jobs and the like.”
Daniel wondered if the boy ever got any rest. And working for Hugh Gormant—what would that be like?
The Welsh mine boss had the reputation of being about as coarse and mean a human being as the Creator ever saw fit to breathe life into.
Daniel stood, pressed by a sudden urgency to get out of this small and dismal cabin—indeed, out of the town itself.
On the heels of that thought came a stab of guilt. If the place could have such a bleak effect on his spirit in only a few minutes, what must it be like for the sick child on the sagging bed and her brother, who faced it on a daily basis?
Or for a girl like Addie Murphy, whose beauty seemed so glaringly out of place against the backdrop of hopelessness and gloom that pervaded Owenduffy?
Did they ever dream of escape, he wondered? It was hard to imagine how they could not.
He jumped at the sound of heavy footsteps thumping across the floor. A big man with a face like a thunderhead and shoulders wide enough to heft a barrel on each side came tramping into the bedroom just then. Sharp, hawklike features, a fierce, black mustache, and a shock of dark hair falling over one eye gave the fellow a hard, even dangerous appearance.
Daniel had to check himself to keep from taking a step backward.
“You’re to come home now, girl,” the man commanded in a deep rumble of a voice with an accent that plainly marked him as Irish. “Your mother is needing your help.”
“Aye, Da,” said Addie Murphy. “I was just giving Molly her supper.”
Gone now was the somewhat sullen air she had presented to Daniel. Her expression conveyed, if not outright acquiescence, at least a measure of respect. Or was it caution?
As the big Irishman turned his fierce gaze on him, Daniel moved to offer his hand. “Daniel Kavanagh,” he said.
The man stood unmoving, glaring at Daniel. “You’d be the doctor from across the river,” he finally said, the words laced with something akin to disgust.
Daniel dropped his hand back to his side. “I am, yes.”
He heard his own accent thicken. It was as if he’d stepped outside of one world into another, one that was different and yet familiar. The rhythm of the west of Ireland had not been completely lost. Even though it had been years since he’d left the small village of Killala and later the back alleys and docks of New York, his tongue could still turn as Irish as a well-worn coat.
“I didn’t get your name,” he said cheerfully.
The Irishman stood eyeing him as if he were a toad on a rock. “I’m called Murphy,” he said, offering no more.
“Well, Mr. Murphy, Molly Maureen tells me that your daughter has been taking very good care of her, and I must say that’s obvious. She’s doing very well.”
Clearly ignoring Daniel’s attempt to compliment his daughter, Murphy continued to study him with a less-than-pleasant expression. “Thought you did your doctorin’ across the river.”
Daniel wasn’t about to let this fellow intimidate him. He knew his type well enough, after all. He’d spent his share of time in the midst of hard men with dark tempers.
“Molly’s brother came for me. It seemed an emergency.”
“Bevins was in his cups again, I expect,” said the miner. The hard mouth beneath the heavy mustache turned down even more.
When Daniel made no reply, Murphy gave a nod and glanced at the child in the bed. “She’s been bad for a time.”
“Well, she’s doing much better now. And as I said, I believe your daughters can take part of the credit for that.”
The other man’s dark-eyed gaze scraped over Daniel like a sharp knife. “They do their share of tending to the sick. We look after our own. No one else to do it.” His eyes stayed locked on Daniel. “If you’re needing paid for your visits, you’ll have something of a wait. The boy’s wage barely keeps the two in beans.”
Daniel shook his head. “That’s already been settled between Rory and myself.”
Ignoring Daniel, Murphy went on. “I’ll have the girl—” he turned his head toward his daughter—“fetch some fresh eggs and a basket of her mother’s sweet bread. That will have to do for now.”
Daniel put up a hand. “That’s not necessary. I’m not looking for payment.”
Again, the man disregarded him. “Molly Maureen, Addie must go and help her mother now. You stay abed until Rory gets home, mind.”
The little girl, who seemed accustomed to Murphy’s orders and appeared entirely unfazed by him, merely gave the big miner a smile and a nod. “Aye, Mr. Dom.”
“Come on, then,” said the miner, turning his back on Daniel and starting for the door, his daughter following on his heels.
Daniel said his goodbyes to Molly and then followed the Murphys.
Outside, he stopped at the buggy, where Sarge had stretched out for his late afternoon nap. The big Newfie raised his head, lumbered to his feet, and fixed Murphy with a watchful eye.
“I’ll just go and get the things, Da,” said Addie Murphy, starting for the road.
Daniel stopped her. “No, please. That’s not necessary.”
Both she and her father looked at him.
“If you insist, please give it to Molly and her brother.”
Murphy studied him before nodding to his daughter to go on.
Daniel watched her make her way to a house that sat a little more than halfway down a slight hill, well away from the road. It was the same one he’d noticed before, one of the few buildings in Owenduffy that sported a coat of paint. Of course, the coal dust had darkened the siding, but even so, the place stood out from the neighboring houses.
In front, two small boys played with a spotted dog and a stick, while a little girl who looked to be younger than Molly Flynn came at a run when she spied Addie.
Daniel turned back to Murphy and found the miner watching him with the same unsettling, narrow-eyed stare. When the man finally spoke again, however, his tone, albeit grudging, might have been slightly less harsh.
“They won’t like it, your coming over here to see the girl.”
Daniel looked at him.
“The company,” Murphy said.
Daniel nodded. “So I’ve heard.”
“You came anyway.”
Daniel wasn’t sure if Murphy meant the remark as a question or an assessment of his mental state. He merely shrugged, and, propelled by some perverse streak of stubbornness, again extended his hand to the irascible miner. There was no reason whatsoever to expect that this gesture toward courtesy would be accepted any more readily than his first attempt. Nevertheless, he made the offer.
“Well, then, it was good to meet you, Mr. Murphy,” he said, purposely letting his own Irish thicken his words.
Murphy, not quite as tall as Daniel but as solid as a stockade, glanced at Daniel’s outstretched hand and then his face. After a long, somewhat awkward moment, he finally applied a bone-bruising handshake. “I’ll see the Flynn youngsters get the bread and eggs,” he said gruffly, yanking his hand away as if it were his bones that had been splintered and, without another word, turned and traipsed toward home.