Paradise Falls (2 page)

“I made it, Da.” She stared hungrily at his face, desperate to see him open his eyes and give her that smile that never failed to lighten her burden and touch her heart. “I’ve been accepted to Bennett College.”

Had he squeezed her hand? She looked down, but could see no movement.

Releasing his hands she leaned over him, pressing her ear to his chest, desperate to hear his calm, steady heartbeat. “I couldn’t wait to tell you, Da. I know how proud this makes you. We’ll be together now in the classroom. You’ll lecture and I’ll take notes. And afterward, we’ll walk home together and talk and talk. Oh, the things we’ll be able to share now.”

In the other room she could hear soft weeping, but here in the bedroom, there was only an eerie silence. It frightened her more than her mother’s cries.

“Don’t leave me, Da.” She shook him slightly and waited to hear him say something. Anything. “Please, Da. I can’t bear it.”

She could hear the high, sharp edge of hysteria in her voice and bit her lip to stop the trembling. To keep from screaming, she turned her face into his shirt and breathed him in, filling her lungs, her heart, her very soul with the smell of him, needing to store it up for all the long, lonely years to come.

Even while she struggled to deny the truth, it slipped through her defenses. The tears she’d been fighting now spilled over, adding to her pain. Through the mist, through the numbness that settled over her like a shroud, came the awful realization that her father was gone. Truly gone.

This day that had begun as her greatest triumph was now a day of bleak, unrelieved pain. Somewhere in a small, dark corner of her mind was the knowledge that her world of books and letters, her life on this cozy, comfortable campus, all her sweet dreams for the future, had just died along with her beloved Da.

* * *

 “It’s time, Mum.”

Fiona drew an arm around her mother’s shoulders and led her toward the waiting horse and wagon, where their trunks were already stowed.

A long, drawn-out sigh seemed to well up from deep within as Bridget trailed a hand along the porch railing and plucked a rose from the vine, before burying her face in it. The look of her, so frail and beaten, twisted a knife in Fiona’s heart.

Mother and daughter spoke not a word as they rode to the train station. Once there they watched in silence as the driver unloaded their meager belongings..

So little
, Fiona thought,
to show for a lifetime.
A life filled with love and laughter, a life of struggle and happiness they’d shared together.

Together.
How was it possible that now, just two weeks after losing her father, she must lose her mother as well?

The days since her father’s death were still a blur. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. The simple box in the parlor, flanked by vases filled with Bridget’s precious flowers and Daniel’s beloved books. Students and faculty forming a steady stream as they stopped by the house to offer condolences. The funeral, a solemn affair held in the chapel of the college, and afterward, the storm-tossed skies opening up to drench the mourners who stood in a small cluster around the open grave.

The day after Daniel Downey was put in the ground, an official from the college had arrived to announce that Bridget and Fiona would have to vacate the house, to make room for the professor who would take Daniel’s place on the faculty. A family friend, Professor Norton, aware of their dire circumstances, had offered Fiona an opportunity to teach in a school in northern Michigan, and live with a host family.

“Paradise Falls is nothing like Bennett, my dear. It’s a farming community, and the work will be hard. Because it’s so late in the summer, most positions have already been filled, and there are few choices left.”

“I don’t mind hard work, Professor.”

“I know.” He patted her arm. “Fortunately, you’ll have very few expenses, since your lodging includes meals. But you’ll be far from home, living among strangers.”

She’d felt a moment of absolute terror, before seeing the questioning look on her mother’s face. She owed it to Bridget to be brave and strong. Owed it, as well, to her father’s memory. “I’ll take the position, Professor. I’m grateful for the opportunity to earn my keep.”

“And you, Bridget?” Philip Norton turned to the woman who seemed to have aged years since losing her beloved Daniel. She was like a flower cut from the vine, wilted and fading a bit more each day. “Where will you go?”

“I’ve written my sister, Nola, in Chicago. She has agreed to take me in until I can find some means of supporting myself.”

The professor turned away, but not before Fiona caught his look of utter disbelief. The thought of Bridget Downey supporting herself seemed ludicrous. It only reinforced Fiona’s realization that her mother’s situation was desperate. Daniel had always been his wife’s fierce champion, treating her with such great care. Fiona had followed his example, shouldering more and more of the responsibilities as she’d watched her mother’s strength ebb through the years.

Now mother and daughter stood in the train station, stiff and awkward, as they struggled to hold back a torrent of conflicting emotions.

“The days will go quickly. You’ll see, Mum.”

Bridget twisted her handkerchief around and around her hand.

Such a soft hand
, Fiona thought. Guilt and fear lay like a stone in her chest at the realization that she was abandoning her responsibility. It didn’t matter that she had no choice. It was just one more layer of pain to endure. “It’s only for a year, Mum. I’ll save my money and as soon as I have enough to send for you, we’ll be together.”

At a call from the conductor, the two women fell into each other’s arms and choked back sobs.

“I’ll be fine, Fiona.” Bridget’s voice was little more than a strained whisper. “We’ll both be fine. You’ll write often?”

“Every day, Mum.”

“Hush now. Don’t make idle promises.” Bridget pressed a finger to Fiona’s lips. “You’ll be busy with your new responsibilities. Just write when you can.”

The conductor gave a final call and the two women peeled apart, step by painful step. Fiona stood watching as her mother climbed aboard the train that would take her to Chicago, and her sister’s tiny row house, where Bridget would share a bed with several little nieces.

As the train slowly slipped from the station, Fiona caught sight of her mother’s tear-streaked face in the window. She waved until the train dipped out of sight, then sank down on a wooden bench, drained beyond belief.

When the boarding call sounded for the train that would take her to Michigan, she refused to think about what she was doing as she put one foot in front of the other, forcing herself to climb aboard and find a seat.

The cars overflowed with businessmen in stiff, dark suits and women carrying squalling babies, calling sharply to older children who giggled and fidgeted. In the oppressive summer air the cars reeked of sweat and humanity, of rotting meat and overripe fruit carried in baskets or wrapped in linen. A childhood memory, of a ship’s fetid hold crowded with moaning passengers, crept into Fiona’s mind, leaving her momentarily stunned.

As the train pulled from the station, Fiona closed her eyes and fought the weariness that seemed to have drained her of all her strength. At first she was annoyed by the clatter of wheels, and had to fight a feeling of nausea at the awkward swaying motion of the car. What had she been thinking, to accept a position so far from home? She began to entertain thoughts of getting off at the next stop and making her way back to Bennett. At least there she would be surrounded by people and places that were comfortable and familiar. What did it matter if she had no home, no means of supporting herself? Even if she couldn’t use her education, she could always take a job as a housemaid.

Though it was more than a little tempting, she knew she wasn’t ready to give up the dream. She had a fine mind. Hadn’t Da said as much? She owed it to herself, to Da, to her mum, to teach. Still, the thought of giving up, of returning to Bennett, was so tempting.

As the train gradually ate up the miles of track, she was lulled into a troubled sleep. It was the first rest she’d experienced in days.

Dear Mum

I hope your train ride was of much shorter duration than mine, and more pleasing to the eye and ear. I was recently jolted from sleep by a series of ear-splitting whistles as our train came to a sudden, shuddering halt. I watched as the conductor stepped down and shouted to a farmer and his dog herding cows across the tracks.

I suspect, from the flat fields stretching as far as the eye can see, that we must be in Ohio.

Fiona paused in her letter to her mother to stare out the window. From the map she’d prepared before leaving Massachusetts, she was able to keep track of her journey. The first rush of passengers had disembarked in New York, with more following in Pennsylvania. Now the train car was nearly empty, except for an old man and a little boy.
Grandfather and grandson?
she wondered.

She couldn’t recall her own grandparents, or the life she’d known in Ireland. Her mother had come from Cork, her father from Galway. Both her parents had carried the lilt of home in their brogues, as did their daughter, despite her many years in this land.

Fiona glanced at the wee lad, asleep on the old man’s lap, and felt a sudden rush of pain at her loss. It was still so fresh and new, this idea that her father was truly gone, and it hit her at the oddest times, leaving her struggling not to weep aloud.

The herd of cows cleared the tracks and the conductor climbed aboard. After a series of toots and whistles, the train began inching forward. Mile after mile of flat fields followed, and though Fiona tried to absorb as much as she could of the countryside, the monotony of it had her closing her eyes once more. The pencil slipped from nerveless fingers; the letter to her mother forgotten.

After several hours Fiona again awoke. Someone had opened a window, and she breathed in fresh clean air that carried the hint of evergreen. There were clear sparkling lakes and apple orchards, the fruit heavy on the branches. As the hills became steeper, she could see, off in the distance, a farmhouse looking lost in the fields of wheat and corn and tomatoes stretching as far as the eye could see.

Despite her weariness Fiona sat up straighter, wondering again at the strange fate that had brought her so far from all that was comfortable and familiar. She couldn’t deny the little ripple of excitement at the thought of the town that held her future. Paradise Falls. She’d seen pictures of Niagara. Would this be as impressive? Did people come from all over to see this natural phenomenon? And what of the children she would be teaching? She imagined herself opening all those eager young minds to history and mathematics and literature, could see in her mind’s eye a lovely ivy-covered schoolhouse, and perhaps a chapel nearby, much like the one at Bennett.

Oh, it was such a lovely dream. One that had her smiling as she bent to her letter.

I anticipate the end of my journey, Mum, and the beginning of my new life. I tried to find Paradise Falls on my map, but to no avail. No matter. Soon enough I shall be there, to see and experience it firsthand.

With love and prayers that you are resting comfortably,

Your loving daughter

The train moved through a forest of pine trees tall enough to blot out all trace of the sun. By the time they came out on the other side, the air had grown cold, forcing Fiona to reach for her shawl. With her face to the window she watched a spectacular sunset reflected in the water of the lake that seemed to stretch all the way to the horizon.

Seeing the conductor passing through, she lifted a hand to stop him. “How long before we reach Paradise Falls?”

The old man tugged on his beard. “Not until morning, miss. That’s the end of the line, just after Little Bavaria.”

“Little Bavaria?” She liked the sound of it. “Will we cross the ocean, then?”

He chuckled. “It’s right here in Michigan. These are German settlements, miss. As you’d expect, most of the folks living in Little Bavaria are from the Alpine regions of Germany and Switzerland. I guess the rocky hillsides of northern Michigan remind them of the land they left. They brought their language and crafts with them, and Little Bavaria is known around these parts for its fine woodworking and leather goods.” He chuckled and touched a hand to his stomach. “But most of all they’re known for their food. There’s none better.”

As he moved on she found herself thinking about food. Reaching into her satchel, she removed a precious apple. Before she could take a bite she felt a movement beside her and looked over to see the little boy standing in the aisle watching her.

Up close, his face was streaked with dirt. Mud was caked beneath his fingernails. His ill-fitting clothes were threadbare, but his smile was angelic.

Fiona gave him a gentle smile. “Are you hungry?” He nodded and stared at the apple as though it were gold.

She’d carefully rationed her food, packing most in her mother’s bag so that Bridget would have enough to last until she reached Chicago. Still, the look of the lad, all big hungry eyes and solemn little mouth, touched Fiona’s tender heart.

Without a word she reached into her satchel and removed a small knife, cutting the apple into quarters. She handed the lad two, so that he could share with the old man.

He gave a quick smile and danced away. Minutes later his grandfather turned and smiled at her, showing a gap where his teeth had once been. Fiona returned the smile. As darkness settled over the land, she nibbled her fruit and caught occasional glimpses of light far out on the water.

There had been fishermen in Massachusetts. That fact brought her comfort. She wasn’t going to a foreign land, after all. How different could Paradise Falls be from the home she’d left behind?

All through the night, as she drifted in and out of sleep, she thought about what lay at the end of her journey. She snuggled under her shawl, fighting a sense of overwhelming excitement laced with moments of pure terror.

Da’s beloved voice washed over her.
“remember, Fiona, that all of life is a blank slate, on which we can write whatever we choose.”