The Streel Read online

  Two gentlemen proposed marriage, and one proposed something that I

  had to pretend not to hear.”

  Charlie roared with laughter. “Brigid, you are so refreshing.”

  The next dance was a beautiful Strauss waltz. Charlie identified it for

  me and I will always remember the sound of it, like a river flowing, a pulse that moved through the whole song. Even though my feet were worn, I

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  danced like I had only stepped onto the floor. Charlie swirled me off my feet as we turned. At the end of it the band went right into “Auld Lang

  Syne.”

  I was suddenly lifted off my feet and twirled around by Charlie. Then

  he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. Caught in the joy of the mo-

  ment, I kissed him back with my whole heart. The room disappeared and

  the music dimmed. I only felt the arms that held me and the mouth that

  embraced me. At midnight of the new year 1879, a small spot of time van-

  ished, and in that moment I was held in the arms of Charlie Hunt.

  When we separated from our kiss, the room was going wild around

  us. People banging pots and pans and kissing and yel ing. Wel - wishers

  around us hugged us and sang out “Happy New Year!”

  Charlie grabbed me again and held me in his arms. He did not attempt

  to kiss me this time but looked down at me and asked, “Brigid, would you marry me?”

  My heart leapt in my chest at the thought, but then I watched his mouth

  curve and his eyes crinkle and he was laughing at me. He was merely copying the other men who had danced with me that night. I pushed him away.

  I was furious. How dare he? Just when I was coming to trust him, he was

  back to his old habits. I flew away from him and lost myself in the crowd.

  Men were grabbing at me and trying to embrace me. I could not stand

  to be there in that room any longer. I decided to take myself home.

  There was nothing more I wanted to say to Charlie. Nothing would

  ever change the way he saw me. I would always be a servant girl to him,

  someone he could take advantage of and then discard. I wanted no part of his boorish behavior. His desire to court me might simply be a ruse to have his way with me, and it would come to no good. I saw clearly that he would never treat me with the respect I deserved.

  As I made my way toward the door, the mayor and a group of men

  began to push the sporting women off the dance floor, and the women did

  not take it wel . I saw Nel ie elbow a man in the stomach. A battle ensued, and I tried to slip out the door and avoid the scuffle. I made it to the foyer and found my boots. I got them on and hooked them and found my wrap.

  I carefully slipped my new very worn shoes into the pockets.

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  Nel ie and her friends were now in the foyer with me, and the scream-

  ing and cries were quite loud and profane. The pans that had been banged together to bring in the New Year were now being applied to the backsides of the women.

  The women were shrieking profanities and the men returning some

  of them; I was astounded at some of the words I heard. I saw Nel ie slug a man, and he fell backward into another. I felt like cheering for her. What right did these men have to turn out hardworking women?

  I backed away from the melee and turned to step out into the night

  when I felt someone grab my arm.

  As I turned, I was struck on the side of the head. I opened my mouth

  but no sound came out. The night turned very dark, and I felt my knees

  give out. I was enfolded in black.

  Before I passed out, I heard a man’s voice say in my ear, “Leave it alone.

  Lily is dead. So might you be soon.”

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  For a moment I thought I was back in Ireland, lying on the floor of

  the hut we had called home, hungry and cold. The cold pinched

  my sides and filled my nostrils. Like pinpricks, it nipped and bruised me.

  I was shivering so hard that my teeth clattered in my mouth, my head

  clanged like an old bel . The hard ground beneath me smelled dank, like

  an old wel .

  The smell must have brought the memory of home to me, and for a

  moment I hoped to open my eyes and see my dear mother. But when I

  tried to open my eyes, I realized they were covered with something. The

  blackness was deeper than a peat bog. As I struggled I could feel that my hands were tied behind me. I stopped thrashing and tried to think clearly.

  I had been at the dance.

  Midnight had struck.

  The end of the dance was all I could remember well and then my

  thoughts faded. I tried to figure out where I was by listening hard, but I could hear little. Only a dripping sound. From this I figured that I was not outside, and wherever I was, the temperature was not below freezing if the water was still running.

  As I came to my senses, I remembered the end of the dance, Charlie’s

  mean- spirited proposal, the pushing and shoving of the women in the en-

  tryway, and finally the blow to my head. But it was the whispering in my ear that hit me the hardest, and that I feared. Dead. Lily. Leave it be. A man’s voice, that’s all I could be sure of, warning me off my questions. I had been left for dead in this cold, dark place.

  Fear grew in me like a bubble swel ing in my chest. I could not breathe.

  Pulling on my hands, I twisted at the ropes that bound me, but to no avail.

  My hands were torn and bleeding from ripping at my bindings. I was

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  secured tightly. I tried to stand and found that I was tied to something. I felt behind myself on the ground with my hands. I was tied to a metal bar that laid along the ground.

  Calming myself, I thought logically about my predicament. The only

  thing for it was to get free. I might be someplace where no one would ever find me. I had to get loose before the man who had tied me came back, or I died in my ropes. The thought of dying made me shiver harder.

  For an odd moment, I wanted to weep for my new dress. The lovely

  garment would be ruined I was sure. The only lovely dress I would ever

  have. Then, at the thought of my situation and my concern for my dress,

  I started to laugh. The sound of it shocked me. For all the world, I was behaving like a crazy woman wailing in the dark, like a lonely bird calling over a watery slough. I stopped myself.

  The dripping sound echoed. Death, if it found me, would be hard.

  Starvation or exposure. The room felt cold enough to weaken me. That at

  least would be faster than starvation.

  With these thoughts in my mind, I tore at my bindings again and

  found that my wrists suffered. I needed to be methodical. I felt with my hand along the metal bar. I could move my binding along it and so I had

  some movement if I crawled. Then the binding hit something on the bar.

  It was a sharp piece of metal driven into the ground.

  As I picture this in my mind, it came to me that I was tied to some

  kind of track, like for a train only smaller. A track for a mining car? Possibly. This made some sense. It would explain the coldness. Billy had told me that there were many deserted mining tunnels under the town. I might

  have been left in one.

  But this sharp tie on the railing might mean my freedom. I rubbed the

  rope against it, doing it slowly and steadily. I did not want to wear myself out. I worked for long stretches but from time to time took a rest to relieve the pressure on my arms and hands.

  During those moments I thought of who might have done this to me. />
  Although I did not want to face it, I came to the horrible conclusion it might well be Charlie. He had been trying to persuade me to desist from

  my inquiries into Lily’s death. He was the last person with me. He saw

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  me flee to the entryway. Few would question his solicitation in helping an ailing woman out of the dance hall.

  Yet I hated to think he might have done this to me. Yes, he would tease

  me, but to actually hurt me didn’t seem his way.

  At the moment, it mattered little who had done this to me. All I need

  think about was how I would get out of this mess.

  I sawed away at the rope. My hands lost feeling. My feet were freezing.

  My breath came in labored gulps, and I was forced to stop for longer and longer periods as my body could not bear the pain. I could no longer feel my hands on the end of my arms. As I rubbed, I cut off the blood to them and they were growing cold. My fingers had puffed up like little sausages.

  I couldn’t tell if I was getting anywhere— my fingers were too numb to

  check the rope and feel if it was fraying. I sank into a pile on the floor and felt tears push at the back of my eyelids. I would not cry. If I cried I would weaken, and if I weakened I might not live. I determined I would make my way out of this hole and continue my investigation. I had not come all this way to America to die in a stinking mining pit.

  Breathing slowly, I gave myself a talking- to. I had much to be thankful for at this moment. I was strong from all the housework I had done. I was young and in good health. I was determined. Nothing mattered but freeing myself— before I died or before someone came back to do me more harm.

  My mother had taught me perseverance and I would make her proud. As

  much as I had loved my mother, I was not ready to join her.

  I started in again on the sawing. The rhythm of it soothed me. My

  hands were past hurting. I feared to think of the wounds on my wrists.

  I would rub for fifty times and then I’d pause for ten breaths. Counting helped. And I prayed to the Virgin Mary. I asked her to aid me in my time of need.

  Finally I prayed to St. Brigid. She would help me, I was sure. As I

  breathed her name out into the cold air of my prison, I felt a loosening.

  One of the bindings had been cut through and I could feel it falling away from my hand. This renewed me. I kept on with the other one, rubbing

  harder. After what seemed like hours it too came loose, and I could roll away from the railing.

  As the circulation rushed into my hands, the pain rushed right behind.

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  My hands pounded like two drums. Carefully, I moved my arms until they

  were in front of me. I could go nowhere until I could see, and I wouldn’t be able to do that until my hands were fit to untie my blindfold.

  Suddenly I heard a noise like a footstep. I rolled back toward the rail-

  ing and tried to put my hands as they had been. Maybe my attacker had

  come to check on me and would leave again as soon as he saw me lying

  stil . Maybe he would lean over me and I would be able to hit him with my wounded hands and flee.

  I listened for the sound to repeat. When I heard it again, I held my

  breath and knew it to be footsteps, but not of a man. A beast of some sort.

  And rather small. My air came out in a whistle of relief. Rats did not scare me.

  I rolled onto my back and attempted to move my hands up toward my

  face but was only able to heave them onto my belly, hardly able to touch or to feel, let alone manage to untie a knot. I began to rub them against each other in an attempt to get the circulation going.

  Quietly I sang a little ditty to scare the animal away and to keep myself company. “My true love wore a ribbon of brightest green . . .” My mother sang this song as she stirred our dinner. My mother sang whatever she was doing. She said that song kept the evils at bay and let the Lord find you more easily.

  Shaking my hands in time to my song, I could feel life slowly flowing

  back into them. The pins and needles were leaving, and I was gaining more strength. When I next lifted my arms, they reached up to my face and felt for what was over my eyes.

  My hands were not yet up to the work. Turning the back of my head,

  I could feel the knot in a kind of fabric. As my hands came to life, I tried them from time to time. Finally I was able to work the blind loose and

  pulled it from my face. My eyes blinked open and I pulled in my breath.

  The surprise was that I still could not see. Wherever I was, was as black as pitch. I must have been brought down in the pit with a lantern. I sat and held myself. It would do no good to stay here. Yet I feared moving and falling into yet another deeper pit. I decided I must crawl and feel my way slowly.

  On my hands and knees I moved forward a couple of body lengths

  until I hit a wall made of stone. Which way to move? I decided to head

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  toward the dripping water. I followed the wall and came to a rough open-

  ing, flanked by wood beams. As I stuck my head through it, I saw a hint of light down the end of a long tunnel. This light seemed more miraculous

  than the changing of water to wine, and I drank deeply of its sight.

  I stood slowly, keeping one hand on the wall and feeling forward care-

  fully with my foot. With each step, the light strengthened until I could make out the opening it came through. Another rough doorway, and this

  time when I poked my head through I could see the space I was stepping

  into, the bottom of a pit with a ladder attached to the side of it. I stepped to the bottom and found I couldn’t reach up to the last rung of the ladder.

  It was half again my height above my head.

  I looked down at my hands, ringed with blood bracelets, and won-

  dered if they would be able to pull me up the ladder. I had to try.

  As I stepped back to see how I would get to the bottom of the ladder, I

  saw the holes where the other ladder had once been. Whoever had carried

  me down here had pulled the lower part of the ladder up behind him.

  Like water pouring down my neck, I soaked in the realization that he

  had wanted me dead. He had intended me dead. My abduction had been

  deliberately planned and, if not for my determination, he might have gotten his wish.

  I would not die.

  I would climb out of here if I had to dig my own footholds.

  I would find out who killed Lily and avenge myself.

  I needed to give myself a foothold from whence I could clamber up to

  the ladder. I sat at the bottom of the pit and took off my boot. Using the heel of it, I dug away at the hard- packed dirt wall about three feet off the ground. After countless minutes of agonizing work, I managed to form

  a lengthwise crease in the wall that might gain me a toehold. I wouldn’t need much.

  I put my boot back on, scrambled to my feet, and stepped as far back

  as I could from the ladder and ran at the wall. The toehold worked, but

  my hand missed the lowest rung. I tried again, and again I failed. On the third attempt I snagged it with my fingers. My hand felt wrenched from its socket and, as I tried to swing my other hand up, I slipped off.

  I landed with a thud on the dirt floor. Tiredness seeped through me.

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  Hunger stabbed me. I did not know how much longer I would have the

  strength to make this attempt. One of the next few tries had best be suc-cessful. I could not think further.

  Flexing my arms and wrists, I warmed them for their task. I made a

  few easy runs at the foothold, practicing planting my foot just so. I too
k off my coat and dropped it to the floor. It would be there for me if I didn’t make it out of this pit, and if I did I would not need it so badly.

  Sending up one more prayer to St. Brigid, I aimed myself at the lad-

  der. In my mind’s eye I could see it happening. The easy jump, the hands holding tight to the ladder, the making my way to the rungs until I could ascend as one should— with hands and feet.

  I ran at the ladder. The foot was well planted and I flew up to the bot-

  tom rung, catching it in both hands. With my feet, I scrambled up the

  wall while I flung my right hand up and managed to catch the next rung.

  I wrapped my arm tight around it and brought my left hand up to it. Up

  again went my right hand and caught the next rung. My knee found the

  bottom rung and I was secured.

  For a few moments I simply clung to the ladder and let tears leak out

  of my eyes, not so much crying as releasing my fears. Then I crawled up

  the ladder. The wooden cover for the pit was half off and I could peek up above it. I looked into what appeared to be a warehouse. Boxes and shovels and picks were arranged along the sides of the structure. Relief flooded me as I saw no one was in the room. Quietly, I stepped up off the ladder and crept silently to a door on the far side of the warehouse. I did not want to have come so far only to give myself away.

  When I looked out the door, I saw I was down in the Badlands again.

  Bright light flooded in, and for a moment I was near to blind from it. As my eyes accustomed themselves, I could see the life on the street. Near

  to midday, I figured. People walked the streets, and I could step out into them and leave this place.

  What a sight I must look, but stranger creatures than I roamed the

  streets at every hour of the day and night. What cared I for people’s opin-ions? I was alive.

  Stepping out into the street with the full noon sun shining down on

  me, I noticed my dress. Ripped in the sleeves, the flounces in ruins, it

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  looked like an old curtain someone had hung on me. I smoothed it out as

  best I could and walked toward my brother’s house. I would buy myself

  a new dress, maybe even today, and I would buy one that was even more