The Streel Read online

  In desperation I turned my head and bit his hand. He slapped me

  across the face, then descended on me again.

  His weight alone was crushing. The air was pushed out of me and with

  it some of my will to fight. Sure the force of him would tear me apart.

  I prayed to Mother Mary that I would not take his seed to child, as my

  mother had warned might happen.

  The ship tilted as Mr. Vance made to push into me. A force struck him

  and he roared in my ear. Suddenly, he was ripped away. I was uncovered

  in the night and saw that Seamus and Padraic had him by the shoulders.

  Seamus yelled, “Bastard!”

  But Mr. Vance was so strong that he was not to be held back. He lifted

  his arms and shook off Seamus and Paddy. They were boys and half his

  size. He pulled away, but they latched on to his arms and grabbed his hair.

  I pushed down my skirts and got ready to jump into the fight myself

  when lightning cracked and the sea rolled. In the flash of illumination I saw that Billy was on deck.

  He jumped on Mr. Vance and grabbed him from behind, tearing at his

  face with his hands. The big man spun around, but Billy hung on. It was

  hard for me to see all what went on in the melee of arms and legs.

  Even with Billy’s arms around his neck, Mr. Vance hit Seamus in the

  face. My poor brother went down hard on the deck. I ran to Seamus and

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  found blood gushing from his nose. With a sudden heave of his shoulders, Mr. Vance shook Billy loose and backed away.

  Paddy dove at his legs, but Mr. Vance kicked him aside and turned

  toward me. I was caught with my brother in my arms. All I could do was

  put out a hand to protect the two of us.

  At the same moment, Billy dashed forward and kicked Mr. Vance in

  the leg, then danced back toward the rail. Mr. Vance shook his head and

  charged at him. Billy, instead of ducking away, stepped into him and shouldered the big man up and over the railing of the ship.

  The back of him was broad and dark as a stone as he sailed out of sight.

  A man overboard is a deadly thing. Mr. Vance was murdered as soon

  as his feet left the deck.

  The sky burst over us and rain washed the blood from the decks.

  We ran to cover, huddling on the stairs.

  “Not a word,” Padraic said. “Not even amongst ourselves. Say nothing.”

  I could not stop shaking. Seamus had an arm around me, but I could

  feel the fear was in him too.

  “Our lives depend on our silence,” Padraic whispered. “If we do not

  wish to join him in the water.”

  Billy would look at none of us and his arms moved as if he was fighting

  the dark.

  “We are all in this together,” were the last words Padraic said before

  we went to our beds.

  The next morning the word was put out that Mr. Vance was missing. The

  captain asked for any news of him. No one knew anything but we four, and we kept silent. After a day, the captain declared Vance’s death an accident, as it was assumed he had gone over during the storm that had raged all

  night long.

  The death lived silently between us. Seamus would not let me out of

  his sight and that was how I wanted it. Even Billy and Padraic stayed near.

  We were quiet, caught in our own thoughts, but drew strength from each

  other.

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  After wandering around after me all the next day, Seamus finally asked

  me if I was all right.

  “Yes, considering.”

  Then he looked down at my belly.

  I assured him, “He did little to me.”

  “Thanks to the Holy Mother,” he said.

  In the days following, Billy hummed dancing tunes, seeming far from

  it all. Paddy, who had always been quiet, kept even more to himself. He

  became a shadow man, leaning over the railing, watching the water take

  away whatever fell into it.

  Three days later, a hint of a dark green showed on the far western horizon.

  As we drew closer, it grew. Finally we saw buildings. Larger than can be believed. Like castles they were.

  All classes of passengers lined the rails— from the fine ladies of first class to the dirty waifs of steerage. Children were hoisted on shoulders. A cheer went up. We could see the promised land.

  Seamus smiled for the first time in days and threw an arm over my

  shoulder. Padraic came and stood near us. I looked down into the churn-

  ing water and laughed, thinking we could swim from here if need be.

  I reached into my cloak and pulled out the packet of dirt my mother

  had given me. We had arrived. I let the dirt fall into the water below us, the earth of Ireland no longer a weight upon me, but I knew I would always

  carry it in my heart. I brought my eyes up to see what was now my new

  home.

  The Hunt Mansion

  King of the bright sun

  Who knows our every need,

  Be with us every day,

  Be with us every night,

  Be with us every night and day,

  Be with us every day and night.

  — Irish prayer

  2

  St. Paul, Minnesota

  November 22, 1878

  I stood still for a moment, holding the tea tray, watching snow drift

  down out the front window. More than a year had passed since I had

  landed in New York. How lucky I was to find myself in the middle of the

  country, working for a wealthy family, getting their house ready for this holiday they called Thanksgiving. I knew my father would approve of this celebration, for wasn’t he always saying we should be giving thanks every day of our lives.

  I would have loved to have my family with me for the holidays. Even

  to see them for a day or two. Christmas at home had been simple fare, a

  rabbit if Father was lucky with the snare, stewed apples that Mother had put by. Homemade presents of knitted scarves and carved toys were all

  that were given, but joy in the making was what counted.

  My family was never far from my thoughts. Missing them was a con-

  stant ache in my heart. I sent them a bit of money every time I was paid.

  Mother wrote when she could, assuring me that times were better, but I

  was hard pressed to believe her.

  When Seamus and I had first arrived, we stayed with our uncle Jim in

  New York for a few weeks, but it was obvious the poor man could barely

  keep his own family together. Then Seamus left to work with Paddy and

  Billy on the railroad.

  With an empty feeling, I had watched the train that took the three of

  them away until it was only a black smudge in the distance. I envied them, having each other, while I was left alone in the world, with no family at all.

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  How could I manage with only myself? But before leaving Seamus had

  promised we would be together again soon.

  After days of walking New York’s hard and endless streets, I managed

  to find work in a boardinghouse. There were ten residents and I was the

  only servant. Back- breaking work it was, and I was only fifteen. From six in the morning until nine at night there was no time to take a breath. I served food and cleared tables, then started all over again. I was forever exhausted.

  Some of the men were handy, grabbing at a girl. But I learned to laugh

  at them and turn their words against them. Coming from a big
family, I

  knew how to take teasing. Many of them were kind and would sometimes

  slip me a little extra money on the side. The woman I worked for, Mrs.

  Ester, was mean— and doubly mean with the money. I had little to send

  home to my parents.

  Seamus wrote me soon after he left. He was in Pennsylvania, working

  on the railroad. As the rails went west so did he, with Paddy and Billy still by his side. Then I didn’t hear from him for months.

  In the meantime, one of the boarders mentioned that the girl he

  was marrying was leaving a position in a private home near Washington

  Square. With her as reference, I stepped into the job. My new mistress,

  Mrs. Lowdon, was cruel in her own unhappiness and her husband was a

  drunk, but at least I wasn’t the only servant. They also had a cook and a manservant.

  I slept in a cold attic, washed floors, emptied the slop, and did all the drudgery labor— but I also learned how to set a table and how to serve. I had moved up in the world. For all my raw fingers and aching back, I was learning the work of a house servant.

  When I next heard from Seamus, he wrote from the Dakota Territory,

  a town called Deadwood. He, along with Paddy and Billy, had staked a

  gold claim. He bragged that they were on their way to making their for-

  tune. I wondered what the three of them had gotten into.

  He sent me a bit of money and told me I might try for a position with

  the Hunts, a wealthy family in Minnesota. He had become acquainted with

  the son as the family had some interest in his claim. I would rather have joined Seamus in Deadwood, but he wrote that I should not come. He

  described the new town as a raw and dirty world with men going deep into

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  the earth and coming up with nuggets. “Bags of gold do line the streets.”

  As he had instructed, I wrote a neat letter to Mrs. Hunt about the po-

  sition. She answered me with speed, asking me to come. I packed my bags

  and walked out on my job that day and bought my first ticket for a train.

  I loved riding on the train all the three days of travel to St. Paul. In the early spring, the land turned green as I sat in coach and watched out the window. I lived on bread and bowls of soup, the cheapest food on the menu in the dining car, washing myself in the bathroom sink and catching what sleep I could in my seat.

  As I stood in the enormous St. Paul train station I could see that over

  thirty trains a day came through from all parts of the country. I had been told that the population was nearly forty thousand in the city. Not as big as New York, and I was happy to be in a smaller town.

  At my first meeting with Mrs. Hunt, I told her I was from Galway. She

  brightened, then bowed her head. “My father was born there. He’s been

  gone now these past five years. May his soul rest in peace. We’ll be glad to have you working for us, Brigid.” Kindness lit up her eyes.

  There were eight of us servants, and a stable boy and a groomsman

  attended to two teams of horses, a carriage, and buggy. There was Aggy the cook and her two kitchen helpers. Then there was Bigsby the butler, and

  Rose, Anna, and I, the housemaids. We were roomed down in the lower

  floor next to the boiler room. I didn’t mind it. Sure there was not much light, but it was always warm. For the first time in my life, I slept in a heated room. Sheer luxury.

  Mrs. Hunt was good to us all, making sure we were well cared for. She

  gave me— like all the other servants— two changes of uniforms, but she

  also handed down to me a good dress, an everyday dress, and even a coat

  that she claimed she no longer wore. More clothes than I would ever have imagined. I so wished my mother could see me. I wished she could sink

  into a tub full of warm water like I did once a week. I wanted my family to have all this too.

  The hardest thing for me was learning the proper behavior of a ser-

  vant in such a fancy house. Once I fell asleep in a chair in the parlour and Bigsby scolded me to high heavens, saying that I was never even to sit

  down on the job. He had to remind me often to walk slowly and quietly

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  in the house, speak only when spoken to, and keep my own thoughts to

  myself.

  With great effort, I learned not to talk when I was serving food. The

  first time I was allowed to serve the family, after I had set down all the plates, I bid them have a good supper, which I thought was just good manners. Bigsby had looked at me as if he wanted to turn me into a block of salt.

  On that day before Thanksgiving, we were all awaiting the arrival of Prince Charlie. That was what the staff called Mr. and Mrs. Hunt’s twenty- four-year- old son.

  The house had never been in such a stir. We had polished and waxed

  and washed and dusted every inch of the house, cleaned all the fine silver, put new linens on all the beds, stacked oak logs in all the fireplaces. I never saw such goings- on.

  Charles Hunt had been gone for nearly a year, tending to his father’s

  new mining business in the Black Hil s. Since I had worked at the Hunts’

  home only a short while I had never met him.

  A letter had come that morning for Mrs. Hunt. She was reading it as I

  brought in her tea. In her early fifties, she held herself very upright. Threads of gray streaked her dark brown hair. Not really beautiful, more handsome I’d say, she had a wide face, deep blue eyes. I knew life had not always been this easy for her. At the start, she had worked alongside her husband and then had lost two children in her younger years. Now she had only Charles, her eldest, and Dorry, her baby as she called her, a sprite of a child at ten.

  She turned to me and said, “Tomorrow, Brigid. According to his letter,

  he’ll be coming sometime tomorrow. In time for the holidays. I can hardly wait to see him, my darling boy.”

  After Mrs. Hunt left the room with her letter, Bigsby came in and told

  me to sweep the snow off the front steps. Without wasting a moment, I put on my coat and grabbed the broom, anxious for an excuse to be outside in the crisp air.

  Before stepping outside, I caught a glimpse of myself in the looking

  glass by the front door. A full face with a dusting of freckles looked back.

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  My eyes held the soft gray that is in a field mouse’s fur. My curly hair was the blackness of shoe wax. No beauty, I thought, but I looked better since I had come to the Hunts’ house.

  As I pulled the front door open, a young man almost fell in on me. He

  had been about to knock. He was wel - dressed and stood tall, with a smile that filled his face and lit up his eyes.

  “Oh,” I said and I must have sounded as if the wind was knocked out

  of me. Between the surprise of his appearance and his obvious good looks, I could hardly breathe.

  “This is a good start,” he said, looking down at me.

  “May I announce you, sir?” I asked.

  “Yes, please.” He stepped in the door and pulled off his gloves. “Tell

  them Mr. Hunt, Mr. Charles Hunt is here.”

  He had his mother’s handsomeness and his father’s vitality. I ushered

  him into the entryway. “They’re not expecting you ’til tomorrow,” slipped out of my mouth.

  He looked at me, then laughed. “You seem to know much that is going

  on in this house. For your information, I caught an earlier train.”

  “Your mother will be so happy.”

  “I am delighted to make her so.”

  I reined myself in. As Bigsby reminded me often, I had to remember

  my place. “Yes, sir. I�
�ll go fetch them.”

  “No.” He grabbed my arm. “Don’t. Let me surprise her. Where is

  she— do you know?”

  “Yes, she went to join your father in his office.”

  “Perfect,” he said and went off to find them.

  The Prince was here and now the holidays could begin. I retrieved my

  broom and finished sweeping down the steps. My thoughts went to Prince

  Charlie. My mother always said if you wanted to know the worth of a man, check his teeth. Mr. Charlie had good teeth.

  I wanted desperately to ask him about Seamus, my brother. To think

  that Charlie Hunt had probably seen my brother in the last week made me

  miss him all the more. Had Seamus grown tall? Was he sporting a beard? I hoped I would get a chance to ask him or that he might think to mention

  Seamus to me.

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  The trees were laced with a cloth of white. Only a skiff of snow was on

  the sidewalk. Snow was a lovely thing when you had a warm house to sleep in. I finished sweeping the steps, then went back into the house to tell the others of the royal arrival.

  “He’s here,” I announced to Aggy.

  She was stirring something in a cast iron pot at the large black range

  that took up half the kitchen wall. The range often seemed like a beast to me, especially when I had to feed it wood. Aggy turned and yelled at me

  above the roar of the stove, “What are you saying, my girl?”

  “I let him in the door. Prince Charlie, he’s here. Just arrived. He went up to see his parents.”

  “Sweet Jesus, but I’ll be glad to see that scalliwag.” Aggy turned a little jig in the middle of the kitchen. She was a sight to see— this small, round woman moving her feet so fast that they almost disappeared.

  “What are you stirring up for dinner tonight?” I asked. The range was

  roaring and whatever was bubbling away smelled good.

  “Beef stew. That will make my Charlie happy.”

  “Does everyone like him so much?” I asked.

  Surprisingly, her face fel . She pushed a few stray hair locks back up

  off her face. She sat down on her stool near the counter. “Not everyone. I guess that’s too much to ask. Mr. Charlie is a healthy young lad with warm blood pushing through his veins. He’s made a few girls upset and once