Shattered Lives (Flynn Family Saga Book 1) (10 page)

Sam’s bellow followed him.  “I told you not to call
me Major!”

*  *  *

That night, Flynn dreamed.  He saw a woman, sitting
on a white mare with a rope around her neck.  A skinny man with bad teeth
raised his hand and struck the mare’s rump.  The horse bolted forward.  The
woman’s hat fell off, and a pair of braids, the color of flame, framed her
freckled face.

Flynn woke with a gasp.  His heart pounded.  He got
up and went to the window.  The breeze blew the lace curtains, and tinny music
drifted up to him from the saloon.  He drew deep breaths of air until his
heartbeat slowed to normal.

Then, he went back to bed.

But when he closed his eyes, he saw a freckled face
with the greenest eyes he had ever seen looking solemnly up into his.

And he wondered where in the world O’Brien had come
from.

CHAPTER
TEN

Manhattan
,
New York

June12, 1865

Maggie O’Brien dreamed of a large white house that
stood on a hill overlooking a green valley.  A porch wrapped around three sides
of the house, and gingerbread trim hung like bunting from the porch roof.  A
stream curled protectively around the hill, reflecting a perfect blue sky.  The
sound of children laughing mingled with the sound of the water rushing over
mossy rocks.  Someone took her hand.  His hand was strong, and when he touched
her, she felt safe and loved for the first time in her life.

Maggie woke abruptly to the sound of Jake Farraday
closing up the saloon.

She sighed and held her rag doll in her lap.  “Papa didn’t
come home again, Martha.  Maybe he doesn’t love us anymore.”  Maggie allowed
herself one minute of sniffling.  Then, she got up and went down the stairs to
the bakery.

Mr. Nilson smiled at her.  “What’ll it be today,
Maggie?”

“Just a loaf of bread, please.”

His smile faded.  He looked around
conspiratorially.  Then, he handed her a cookie.

Grinning, Maggie hid it in the left-hand
pocket of her apron.  She ran back to the saloon and climbed the stairs to the
room she shared with her mother.  Lucy was still asleep.  Maggie sighed and
sliced the bread.  When Lucy woke up, Maggie handed her two slices on a china
plate.

Lucy frowned.  “Is this all?”

Maggie hesitated.  “Mr. Nilson gave me a cookie.”

Lucy slapped her.  “You shouldn’t waste money on
sweets.  Your father sends home little enough as it is.”

Maggie tilted her chin up.  “I didn’t spend any
money on it.  Mr. Nilson gave it to me for free!”

“God hates a liar, Maggie.”  Lucy nibbled delicately
at her bread and sighed.  “I wonder if he’ll come home tonight.”

Maggie frowned.  She reached into her right-hand
pocket and reread the telegram.  “He was supposed to be here two days ago.”

Tears filled Lucy’s beautiful blue eyes.  “I’m
afraid he’s never coming home!”

Maggie sighed.  She poured a cup of tea and stirred
in two lumps of sugar.  She brought it over to her mother.  Lucy’s hand
trembled as she lifted the cup, but the tea seemed to calm her down at little.

Later, Lucy went to the window and sat, looking out
at the street as she had, day after day, for four years.

Maggie sighed.

The day passed slowly, but it passed.  Maggie bought
supper for them from the street vendor who sold soup from a covered pail.  Lucy
ate the soup, and together, they finished the bread.  Maggie sighed.

“What is it, Maggie?”

Maggie shrugged.  “I wish we could afford butter.”

Lucy started to cry again.  “I wish we could afford
so many things, Maggie.  I need a new gown and new shoes.  And I hate living
over a saloon.  None of my friends will even speak to me anymore.  No decent
woman would.”

Maggie looked away.

Lucy cried herself to sleep.  Maggie covered her
with a threadbare blanket.  Then, she went to her own lumpy bed and lay down. 
She fell asleep, listening to the church bells as they tolled the hours.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs woke her.  She
ran to the door and opened it, but it was only one of the girls from the saloon
and her man.

The church bells tolled twelve times.

Maggie went back to bed.  She held her rag doll
tightly.  “I guess Papa isn’t coming home tonight, either, Martha.”  She had
been only five years old when he went away to war.  She barely remembered what
he looked like, but she remembered his voice, singing to her as she fell
asleep.  Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to cry.  Instead, she lit the
stump of a candle she had hidden from her mother and took out the book of fairy
tales she had brought with her from place to place.  She opened it to the story
of Sleeping Beauty.  She sighed when the prince cut his way through the
brambles with his sword and woke the princess with a kiss.

She longed for a prince to come and rescue her from
this life.

Then, she heard the sound of heavy boots on the
stairs.  She got out of bed and ran to the door.

Her father stood on the top step, swaying back and
forth.

“Papa!”  Maggie ran out into the hall and tried to
put her arms around his waist.

“Lea’ me alone.”  Michael pushed her away.

Maggie started to cry.

Michael picked her up in his arms.  Tears shone in
his eyes, and he stroked her hair.  “I’m sorry, baby!  I’m sorry!”

“It’s all right, Papa.  You’re home.  That’s all
that matters.”  She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.

Michael carried her into the apartment.

“Maggie, I told you not to—Michael!”  Lucy ran to
her husband.

Michael let Maggie slide from his grasp in his haste
to hold his wife.  “Lucy.  I missed you so!”

Lucy cried and laughed and hugged her husband hard. 
Then, she looked stricken.  “Oh, Michael!  There’s nothing in the house to eat.”

Michael’s smiled faded.  “I’m not hungry.  Have you
got any whiskey?”

Lucy shook her head.  “You took the pledge,
Michael.  Or at least, you said you did.”

Michael looked away.  “Things change, Lucy.  Things
change.”

“But you told me never to keep any in the house!” 
Lucy’s voice rose angrily.

Michael scowled.  “Well, I’m telling you now that I
need some whiskey!”

“I don’t have any money left.  I spent it all on
food two nights ago.  For a homecoming celebration.  Which you missed.”  Anger
edged Lucy’s voice.

“I was delayed.”

“By a saloon keeper, from the look of you.”

Maggie looked from father’s angry face to her mother’s
contemptuous one.  She stepped between them.  “Please, Papa.  Mama was looking
forward to your coming home so much.  Don’t spoil it.  Please.”

The back of his hand cracked across her face. 
Maggie stood, stunned, with her hand against her bleeding cheek.

Michael knelt in front of her.  The anguish in his
eyes frightened her almost as much as his anger did.  “I’m sorry, Mary.”

Maggie smiled hesitantly.  “It’s all right, Papa. 
Only, everyone calls me Maggie.”

Michael frowned.  “I named you after my mother, not
some saloon girl.”

Tears filled Maggie’s eyes.

“Oh, Michael.  She’s just a child.  She didn’t mean
any harm.”

“Don’t tell me how to raise a child!”  Michael’s
voice was harsh and bitter.

“And why not?  I’ve done it all alone for four long
years!”

Michael’s hand lashed out, striking Lucy across her
face.  Horror filled his eyes.  He stared down at his hand as if he’d never
seen it before.  “Lucy, I’m sorry!  I—“  He reached toward her.

“Don’t touch me, Michael Killian O’Brien!  You’re
not the man I married!”

Michael turned and left the apartment.  Lucy ran to
the bedroom, leaving Maggie alone with her doll and her pain.

*  *  *

 Michael didn’t come home until dawn, and when he
did, he collapsed on the living room floor.

Maggie covered him with a blanket and sat with him
until the sun, streaming in through the front window, woke him.  He squinted at
it.  Then, he noticed Maggie.  He looked away.

“Papa, what happened to you?  Mama said you didn’t
used to be like this.”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it the war?”

Michael opened his mouth and shut it again.  “Honey,
I need more whiskey.”

“I don’t know.”  Maggie tilted her head to one
side.  “That whiskey seems to make you pretty sick.”

“I told you I need more whiskey!”  Anger twisted his
handsome features.

Maggie shrank away from her father.

Michael rubbed his face with his hands.  “I’m sorry,
Mary.  Just—just go down to the saloon and see if they’ll give you a bottle on
credit.”

Maggie nodded.  She ran down the stairs and into the
saloon.  Her nose wrinkled at the stench of beer and urine.  One of the men
grabbed her.  His breath smelled like the alley between the store next door and
the saloon.  Frightened, she struggled to get free.

“Hey!  That’s no way to treat a little girl.”  A
tall, barrel-chested man seized her captor by his shirt and heaved him
out of the door.  Then he turned to Maggie.  “You don’t belong in a place like
this, honey.”

Maggie bit her lip.  “Please, my father sent me.  He’s
awful sick, and he said he needed a bottle of whiskey on credit.”

“What’s your name, honey?”  Her rescuer wore a
Stetson and a leather vest.  He looked completely out of place among the
dockworkers in the bar.

“Maggie.  I mean, Mary Margaret O’Brien.”

The tall man studied her face.  “You’re Mike O’Brien’s
daughter, aren’t you?”

Maggie nodded.

The tall man smiled warmly at her and lifted his
hat.  “Pleased to meet you, Mary Margaret O’Brien.  My name is Sam Anders.  I
was your father’s commanding officer.  He was a good soldier.”  Sam turned to
the bartender.  “Jake, give her a bottle of your best whiskey.  It’s on me.”

Jake nodded and went back behind the bar.  He
brought out a bottle, which he handed to Sam.

Sam took the bottle and handed it to Maggie.  “Here
you go, Maggie.  Tell him compliments of Major Sam Anders.”

Maggie took the bottle.  “Yes sir.”  She saluted
him.

Grinning, the Major returned her salute.

Maggie turned and ran back to her mother’s room. 
The sound of angry voices stopped her.

“This can’t go on, Michael.”

“Shut up, Lucy.”

“Michael, please.  Why can’t things be the way they
were before?”

“Have you ever been in a war, Lucy?  Well, I have! 
I’ve seen doctors saw off a man’s legs while he was awake and screaming.  I’ve
seen men do things they wouldn’t dream of doing to women in civilian life. 
Even without the liquor, I could never go back to the man I was.  At least,
when I drink, I forget.”

“What about me, Michael?  I waited four long years
for you to come home and now—“

“I don’t know!  I don’t know, and I don’t care!” 
The door opened.

Maggie stepped back, holding the bottle out to the
monster who had taken possession of her father’s body.

Michael snatched the bottle out of her hand and ran
down the stairs.

Maggie watched him go.  Then, she went inside.

Her mother lay on the bed, crying.

“Mama, is Papa ever coming back from the war?”

Lucy stared at her daughter.  She opened her mouth
and shut it.  Then, she rolled over and buried her face in her pillow and
sobbed.

*  *  *

Maggie watched as her father’s drinking got worse
and worse.  Then, one hot, July morning, the owner of the saloon climbed the
stairs to their apartment.  He knocked on the door.  Lucy opened it.

Jake wiped his hands nervously on his apron.  “I’m
sorry, Mrs. O’Brien, but it’s been six weeks since you paid me any rent.  You’ll
have to go.”

Lucy started to cry.

Jake looked away.  “I’m sorry.”  He turned and went
back down the stairs just as Michael was coming up.  Jake spoke to him quietly.

Michael bowed his head.  He climbed the last three
steps like an old man.

“Michael?  What are we going to do?”  Lucy clung to
his arm.

Michael shook her off.  “There’s a place on Eleventh
Street—“

“No!”  The color drained from Lucy’s face.  “Michael—“

“It’s all right, Mama.  We'll manage.”  Maggie took
Lucy’s arm.

With a sigh, Lucy let go of her husband and walked
away.

Maggie pulled her old battered carpetbag from under
her bed.  She packed Martha carefully.  It wasn’t the first time she and her
mother had been forced to move.

They descended the stairs, and Michael led the way
to one of the tin shacks near the docks.  Lucy stood in the doorway.  “Michael,
I can’t live here!”

“Fine!”  Michael turned on her.  “Go back to your
parents, then!  They always said I’d never amount to anything!”

Lucy opened her mouth and shut it.  “I’m sorry,
Michael.”  She touched his cheek tenderly.

Michael winced away from her touch.  He turned and
left the tiny shack.

Lucy started after him.

“No.”  Maggie grabbed her mother’s arm.  “He’ll be
back, Mama.”

Lucy nodded uncertainly.

That night, Michael returned.

Lucy met him at the door.  “Michael, we can’t stay
here!”

Michael stared blearily at Lucy.  “What do you
expect me to do about it?”

“Get a job like a real man!”

“Mama, no!”  Maggie ran between her parents, but she
was too late.  Michael’s hand swung, and Lucy fell.  Maggie grabbed her father’s
arm.  “Papa, please.”

Michael’s eyes focused on her, on the scar on her
cheek from the first night he was home.  He lowered his hand and ran out onto
the street.  Maggie watched as he ran into the tavern.

She sighed.  She helped her mother stand and led her
over to the pile of blankets.  She loosened her mother’s corset and waited
until Lucy was asleep.  Then, she went to her own blanket.  She shut her eyes,
but it was a long time before she slept.

*  *  *

In the morning, church bells woke Maggie.  She
followed the sound to a small chapel wedged in between two saloons.  It seemed
like a strange place for a church, and the man who swept the sidewalk seemed
even stranger.  He was a monk.  Maggie could tell that from his brown robe and
tonsured head.  But unlike the priests in black robes she had seen uptown, this
man whistled and smiled as he swept.  His smile broadened when he saw her.  “Good
morning, young lady.  What brings you out this early?”

“I heard the bells,” she said smiling.  Then, she
put her hand over her mouth.  “Oh.  My mother said not to talk to any of the
men around here.”

The sweeper laughed out loud.  “It’s all right,
child.  I’m a monk.  It’s safe to talk to me.  My name is Brother Joseph.”  He
tilted his head to one side like a sparrow.  “Tell me, have you had breakfast
yet?”