Currents (28 page)

“H
ow many hours do you work today?” Ma asked Mary Margaret the next morning as her daughter pulled on her coat and wrapped her thin scarf around her head, tucking it neatly into her coat.

“I'm not sure, Ma,” she snapped, still too angry to look at her parents. “We don't have as much work this week. Seems everyone wanted their shoes and boots spiffed up for the holiday. It's quieted down a bit now.”

“Well, if you have the chance, stop in and thank Mr. Hamilton again for advancing us the money on the cross before he'd sold it. He didn't have to do that. You were right—he is a fine man.”

Mary Margaret didn't have to be reminded to check in with Mr. Hamilton. She was curious to learn if the man had come back with the rest of the money.

She stopped before opening the door to leave and still staring straight ahead, said, “I'm not angry at you, Ma. I don't know who to be angry with. I just know some things are not right.”

“There are a lot of things in this world that aren't right, lassie,” Ma said softly. “You'll either learn to live with that truth, or life will break your heart.”

Mary Margaret was relieved to see that Mr. Hamilton's Pawn and Jewelry Repair Shop was open when she arrived a few minutes early to work.

“Ah, Mary Margaret! Do you have any other treasures to sell today?” Mr. Hamilton greeted her when she entered.

“No, sir. My ma wanted me to stop in and thank you again for giving us the money before you even knew if you could sell the cross.”

“Oh, I was sure I would eventually sell such a lovely piece. And sell it I did!”

“The fellow came back, then?” Mary asked, lighting up.

“He did indeed. Just about to close up when he came rushing in counting out the money and asking me if I could send it out for him. Said he didn't have a return address, and if it got lost or damaged he wanted to be sure it would come back.”

“No return address?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Not so surprising,” Mr. Hamilton said. “The city is becoming filled with a lot of temporary workers, and they rest their heads at night wherever they can. I was happy to do it. He paid me extra to send it off for him and to enclose a note.

“I've been busy and haven't sent it yet, but I have everything right here.” He reached under the counter and pulled out a box neatly wrapped in brown paper with the address written on it.

Mary Margaret examined the carefully printed address and wished she could open it and read the note, but she knew Mr. Hamilton would never allow it. The address read:

Lady Bess Kent
Attwood Manor
Isle of Wight, Great Britain

“A lady, Mr. Hamilton! Do you think she lives in a castle?” Mary Margaret asked.

“I wouldn't know,” he said, chuckling. “The note he asked me to include made it clear that the necklace is important to this Lady Bess, though.”

Mary Margaret looked at him, amazed.

“I thought you'd feel better about selling it,” he said, “if you knew it was off to someone who seems to hold it so dear.”

“Oh yes, I do,” she said softly. “Is the fellow who bought it a young man?”

“Yes, fairly so. Looks to have had a bit of a hard life, though. His hands were rough and calloused. Looks like he might have been a fine-looking fellow if he'd had it a bit easier, if you know what I mean.”

“That I do,” she said, folding her own hands, red and chapped from the cold and the iron's steam. “Did you get his name?”

“No, no. I didn't ask, and he didn't seem to be in any hurry to offer it. And he paid in cash, so there's no way to trace him.”

M
ary Margaret hummed an old Irish tune she'd learned from her da, rolling the silver dollar over and over between her fingers before dropping it into the bottle with the piece of paper about Agnes May Brewster's birth. Such an adventure this little bottle must have had. If only it could speak! She wondered what it would be like if she were tiny enough to slip into the bottle and be cast out on the ocean currents to who-knows-where. She imagined a story about a magic bottle that could talk if a secret phrase was spoken.
Ah! That will be part of the next story I'll write
, she thought.

Too much cluttered her thoughts to sleep well at night. She worried about poor Mrs. Lowe. Streaks of white had suddenly begun sprouting in her hair almost overnight. And Mary Margaret had dreams about the mysterious Lady Bess. At first she dreamed she was an old dowager dripping with royal jewels. Lately she had become a princess, held captive like Rapunzel.

From the windows high on the walls in their basement apartment, Ma and Mary Margaret watched the feet and legs of people walking past. They recognized the tiny boots of Mrs. Bennett and the long, black shiny dress of Mrs. Lowe as the two ladies carefully picked their way down the Caseys' icy steps and rapped on the door.

“Heavens,” Ma said, twisting her apron between her fingers. “Whatever could they want?” Except for the day they moved in, none of the Bennetts had ever been down to the Caseys' rooms.

“I can't imagine why they would be coming here.” Ma glanced around the room as if looking for something to pick up or to put in order, but they owned so little that nothing was out of place.

Ma opened the door, and Mary Margaret saw her ma's face flush at the sight of the beautifully dressed women standing at her doorstep.

“May we come in, Rose dear?” Mrs. Bennett touched her arm gently.

“Of course, of course. Shall I put on some water for tea?” Ma asked nervously.

Mary Margaret realized that Mrs. Lowe was carrying the journal that she had lent to Louisa. She couldn't imagine why Louisa would have given it to Mrs. Lowe, and she tried to remember if she had written anything that could get her into trouble. Why else would these ladies come to the Caseys'?

“Oh, no, we won't take up that much of your time. Is Tomas here?” Mrs. Bennett asked.

As if on cue, Da came trudging down the steps, stamping the snow from his boots before he came in. Ma would have his head if he dragged in snow and dirt.

Mary Margaret saw that he was as surprised as Ma to see the two ladies standing in the little kitchen, and he quickly pulled off his cap.

“Tomas—good evening,” Mrs. Bennett began. “I have some good news that I would like to tell you and see what you and Rose and Mary Margaret think of it.”

“May I?” Mrs. Lowe began. “I hope you won't be offended, Mary Margaret, but Louisa brought me your journal to read. She said you are a gifted writer.”

“I hope you don't mind that she did that,” Mrs. Bennett interrupted.

“So,” Mrs. Lowe continued. “I must tell you that I heartily agree with Louisa's assessment. And Mary Margaret, the story you wrote about the day you and Louisa went sledding with my Lucas . . .” Her chin trembled, and she struggled to continue. “It touched me more than I can say. You have indeed captured my son's kind heart. I treasure that story. And my goodness, it's a rare thing for a young person to write so movingly and with such luminous prose.”

Mary Margaret held her head high and made a mental note to look up the word
luminous
.

“Aurelia tells me that you are to go off to Lowell, perhaps as early as next year, to work in the mills there,” Mrs. Lowe said. “I have something quite different to propose.”

“The mills are a fine opportunity for her,” Ma spoke up. “The girls there make good money. She can't be ironing shoelaces for Mr. Eaton forever.”

“I won't mind going to Lowell,” Mary Margaret said without much enthusiasm. “I hear it's quite exciting there.”

“Rose, Mary Margaret,” Mrs. Bennett said, leaning forward. “Forgive my frankness. But I must say it. They're only hiring Irish girls now because the American girls have been leaving the mills in flocks. It's hard for me to say this, but you must know the truth. The air in the mills is filled with cotton lint. It floats in the air like snow and destroys the girls' lungs. Many have become ill from consumption.”

Mrs. Lowe picked up where she left off. “Lowell aside, I hope you'll consider the proposal I'm about to make. Each year the Boston Girls' School provides one deserving young lady with a full scholarship. It is only for one year, mind you.”

No one in the room could miss Mary Margaret's gasp as she fell back against the fireplace mantel. “Me?”

“This year we would like to award it to you, Mary Margaret,” Mrs. Lowe said. All eyes turned to the girl who stood thunderstruck against the hearth.

“I assure you, this is a serious offer,” she added.

Da scratched his head, “Well, 'tis a very generous offer. We appreciate it. But, we
had
planned on Mary Margaret getting out and working to help out. I just don't—”

“Perhaps the child could help tidy up the classrooms in the afternoons to help pay for any extras, if that is giving you hesitation,” Mrs. Lowe suggested.

“I'd still have plenty of time to keep working for Mr. Eaton,” Mary Margaret added quickly. “And Bridget seems to be coming along so well with the new medicine, Ma won't need me as much to look after her.”

Rose looked at her husband. Mary Margaret looked at them both. She knew that in their hearts, they no more wanted to send her to Lowell than she wanted to go.

“I can think of nothing in the world I would love more than to go to school,” Mary Margaret spoke up. “Nothing,” she added softly.

“The school provides all the books. The only thing Mary Margaret would need to purchase is a school uniform. All our girls must wear uniforms.” She passed Ma a piece of paper. “Here is the name and address where it can be purchased.”

Mary Margaret squirmed in the silence that followed. But she was determined not to lose this opportunity. She reached up and took the bottle from where it rested on the mantel—covered in glory—and shook out the silver dollar. She looked between Ma and Da, and when she saw the accepting looks on their faces, she held it out to Mrs. Lowe.

“Will this cover the cost of the uniform, ma'am?” she asked.

“Indeed it will,” Mrs. Lowe assured her.

“Do you need a moment alone to discuss the offer?” Mrs. Lowe asked as she looked back and forth between Ma and Da.

“I, I don't think that's necessary,” Ma said. “Do you, Tomas?”

“No, not at all,” Da answered. “A uniform, eh? Well, Mary Margaret, I think you'll look very smart heading off to school in a uniform.”

“Don't forget, you'll still have to help me around here with the chores,” Ma said quickly, wiping her eyes with the tea towel she had been wringing.

“I won't forget, Ma,” Mary Margaret said. “Thank you. I won't forget.” She had a lot more to say, but she was afraid that if she tried, she would burst into tears.

“Then is it settled?” Mrs. Lowe asked.

The Caseys looked from one to the other, and Ma spoke up, “Aye, then. It's settled.”

I
t was still dark the next morning when Mary Margaret stole quietly out of bed, so as not to wake Bridget, pulled on her coat, and tiptoed out into the kitchen. The bottle, now considered the Casey family's lucky bottle, rested securely in its place of honor on the mantel next to the clock they'd carried over from Ireland. Agnes May Brewster's birth note was still folded safely inside. Sticking her feet in her father's boots that stood by the door, Mary Margaret crept outside into the dawning light to sit on the stoop—her favorite thinking spot. The wind had stopped, and it seemed as if the whole earth was still. The snow had blanketed everything with a fresh clean coat, and her breath left delicate clouds that trailed off in the clear air.

I'm going to be a student!
She thought about how she would march off to school every day in her uniform and learn about writing and science and the great history and adventures of the world. She would have her journey in the classroom instead of in a magical bottle. Lost in her thoughts, she sat as quiet as a star until she heard the beginning of morning's chorus from inside. Da scooped more sea coal into the hearth until the fragrant smoke ribboned out the chimney, winding through bare-limbed trees that towered over the neighborhood. Ma's kettle whistled. Above Mary Margaret, Mr. Bennett's voice called out Mrs. Bennett's name, and the smell of her coffee brewing snaked through the house. Outside was a day full of possibilities, about to begin.