The Daughters of Jim Farrell Read online

  “Can’t you see she’s unconscious?”

  Kate began laughing. “Yes, and unconscious means she’s alive! Oh, Joshua, she’s alive!”

  “Come, let me have her.” He pulled Virginia toward him. “I’ll carry her home. But we’ll have to hurry if we want to make it before dark.” And then in one swoop, he picked her up in his arms.”

  “You’re exhausted, Joshua. How are you ever going to manage?”

  “I’ll manage,” he said. “Now stay close.”

  Kate looked at the prone body of Patrick O’Brien. “I . . . hate leaving him here like this.”

  “I promise at first light I’ll come back, with help, to get him. But quickly, now, we must go.”

  Kate sighed as she glanced once more at Patrick before following Joshua. “I wonder what happened?”

  “Virginia will tell you soon enough.”

  Kate’s heart soared with joy at the thought of being able to speak with Virginia. Oh, what a good God she served! He had enabled them to find Virginia in time. And yes, Kate and Virginia would sit together and talk, and Virginia would tell her all that had happened. But one thing Kate didn’t need to be told, one thing she already knew was that somehow, someway, Patrick O’Brien had saved her sister’s life.

  CHAPTER 12

  “You should have let me die,” Virginia said, as Kate tried to insert another spoonful of broth between her dry, cracked lips. “You should have left me on that mountain.”

  “Don’t talk nonsense.” Kate readjusted her spot on Virginia’s bed and hoped she sounded as if she hadn’t taken Virginia seriously—not for one instant—while inside, her heart was troubled. Virginia was a fighter. It wasn’t like her to say such things.

  “We were so worried.” Charlotte sat on the other side of the bed stroking Virginia’s hair. “And we’re so happy you’re home with us now.”

  Virginia responded by turning away.

  “Come now. Mother made this broth for you and infused it with all manner of good things.” Kate held the spoon in midair. “You must eat in order to regain your strength. You’re as weak as a kitten.

  “Alright, be stubborn,” Kate said, when Virginia refused to open her mouth. “But as you know, I can be stubborn, too.” With that she forced the spoon between Virginia’s lips. Most of the liquid dribbled into Virginia’s mouth, but some rolled down her chin. Kate brought another spoonful to Virginia’s mouth, emptied it forcibly, then another and another. Her stubbornness paid off, for soon Virginia willingly took the broth, her eyes brightening with each spoonful.

  “Just tell me . . . .”

  “No. No talking until you have finished. All of it! Then I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” But Kate already knew what Virginia’s first question would be. And what was she going to say? How was she going to tell her sister they had left Patrick O’Brien behind?

  They had been home for hours and Kate had been thinking about this very thing. It had taken all this time for Virginia to revive. And while Mother had been busy preparing the broth, Kate and Charlotte had stripped Virginia of her filthy rags, washed her hair, and bathed her body with lavender soap, then dressed her in one of her prettiest nightgowns. But Virginia’s clean skin enabled them to see how deep the cuts were around her wrists and ankles; to see how very bruised she was. And seeing it all made both Charlotte and Kate weep. Kate had cried the entire time she removed twigs from her own hair, removed her own tattered dress and bathed her own tired, sore body. But she managed to compose herself before Virginia awoke; while Charlotte still kept a lace handkerchief on her lap for easy access.

  “Now,” Kate said, as she slipped the last drop of soup into Virginia’s mouth. “What is it you wanted to know?”

  “Patrick? Did you bring Patrick back?”

  “No, my darling. We were barely able to get you home before dark. It was just the two of us, Joshua and I, who found you. Joshua carried you all the way. We couldn’t bring Patrick down the mountain, too. But Joshua promised he and others would go at first light and get him.”

  Virginia tried to rise, but she was so weak it was easy for Kate to restrain her. “You can’t leave him up there all night! Alone! You just can’t! Make Joshua go now!”

  Kate pointed to the window over which they had yet to draw the drapes. “It’s pitch black outside. No one could navigate that mountain in the dark. It would be too dangerous. But first thing, first thing in the morning, they’ll go for him.”

  Virginia began to weep.

  “Please don’t cry, Virginia,” Charlotte said, blotting her own tears with her handkerchief. “Benjamin will go with Joshua tomorrow. And they’ll take good care of him.”

  Kate blinked back tears, too, as she brought Virginia’s hand to her lips and kissed it. “He saved your life, didn’t he?”

  Virginia nodded.

  “When you’re ready, you can tell us about it. We’ll be here.” Kate tucked Virginia’s hand beneath the clean white sheet. “I just wanted you to understand that we know what a fine and grand thing Patrick did for you.”

  “I . . . think I’d like to talk about it . . . now. Right now. I’d like you, both of you,” she turned to Charlotte, “to understand how wonderful Patrick is . . . was.”

  And then, with Charlotte sitting on one side and Kate the other, Virginia told them everything that had happened; about the abduction and Powderkeg Kelly; about how Patrick came to rescue her, the fight, his injuries, and how knowing he was badly hurt and shouldn’t move, threw away his chance of survival by enduring great pain and bringing her out of the mine to freedom.

  “He shouldn’t have come for me,” Virginia said, when her story ended. “Why did he have to come?”

  “Because he loved you, Virginia. Because he loved you,” Kate whispered, still awed by the great love Patrick obviously had had for her sister.

  “But how can I live my life knowing it cost Patrick his?”

  “By making it count.” Kate readjusted the sheets. And as she did, Virginia appeared so grief-stricken, so utterly sorrowful it made Kate scoop her up in her arms, and in spite of her resolve, cry like a baby.

  “I’m not sure that would be proper.” Charlotte frowned at Benjamin as he stood by the sputtering logs in the back-parlor fireplace.

  “Why not? It’s money I never expected to see again. Why shouldn’t I give away the five hundred dollar reward? Two hundred to that elderly woman at Higgins Patch and another two hundred to the young man at the Mattson Colliery. After all, their information did help Kate and Joshua find Virginia.”

  “Yes.” Charlotte smoothed the folds of her day dress as she sat in one of the damask-covered chairs. “But it’s the hundred dollars for the funeral that I’m worried about. I . . . I’m not sure Virginia would approve.”

  Benjamin chuckled. “I’m afraid it’s too late. When Joshua and I brought Patrick’s body to his boardinghouse, I gave the woman of the house a hundred dollars in coins, and told her I wanted Patrick to have a first class funeral; though I’m sure it won’t cost even a fraction of that, but the rest she is welcome to keep for her trouble.”

  “Well . . . Virginia has been worried about the funeral. You should have heard her last night. She said she’d never let any medical school have him. She went on and on about it, too, until Kate told her how Joshua had been paying rent, and why he was, then promised Virginia that Patrick would have a grand wake and funeral, even if she had to sew a dozen quilts to repay Mother any of Joshua’s rent money it might cost. But now that you’ve . . . well . . . it’s wonderful, really . . . but what will people say? It’s indecent for a lady to accept such a lavish sum from a man, even if it’s not for herself.”

  “Not if it’s from her fiancé as part of her wedding gift.”

  Charlotte caught her breath. “Oh, Benjamin . . . how clever and good you are! And yes . . . I do believe you’re right. And I’m h
appy, so very happy that you phrased it that way because I do love you, too. I love you so dearly.”

  Grinning, Benjamin came over and sat in the chair beside her. “You might as well get used to my gifts, Charlotte.”

  “Then . . . would I sound too . . . too terribly ungrateful if I asked for just one more?”

  Benjamin’s smile deepened. “No, indeed. It is my pleasure to give you all I can.”

  “Well, there is a woman who needs a train ticket West and perhaps a little traveling money. A sick woman who has fallen on hard times and . . . .”

  “Someone from the Women’s Home?”

  Charlotte nodded.

  “Yes, I’ve heard of your visits there and I must say it pleases me, for it shows a tender heart. And what man would not prize such a heart in his wife? But say no more. When she is well enough to travel I shall arrange everything.” Benjamin let out a contented sigh. “I must admit I’m enjoying this. I look forward to spoiling you as my wife.”

  Charlotte hesitated, then reached out and took his hand. “Dear, dear Benjamin, you’ll not find a more grateful wife on which to dispense your good pleasure, I assure you.”

  With her arm entwined in Joshua’s, Kate walked toward the small grey wooden house wondering how they were going to get through this. It would take God’s strength, for sure. Her dark wool skirt swirling in the wind, her free hand clutched her cape. Already, the throng was so thick she could barely see the door, though the large black ribbon nailed near the top was clearly visible. A sea of both men and women filled the small yard and spilled out across the dirt footpath like water overflowing its banks. She was pleased to see a small band of musicians playing perky Irish tunes, though it created an odd contrast to the wailing of the professional keeners that could be heard coming from inside the house.

  She hoped it pleased Virginia, too. It was obvious that the landlady had done her best to provide a first class wake, though, at Virginia’s insistence, it would last only one day. Two large wooden tables, covered with white Irish lace cloths, had been set up outside, one containing bread spread with real butter—Mother made sure of that—along with platters of assorted cheeses and sliced meats, while the other table—stationed near three giant wooden barrels of beer—held pewter mugs along with tea pots and cups.

  Still, Kate worried about Virginia who walked just ahead, holding the arm of Davin MacCabe. She was dressed in a black linen day-dress, her beautiful red hair gathered at the nape of her neck. MacCabe had not left Virginia’s side since coming from Tamaqua in response to the telegram Virginia had asked Kate to send. As one of Patrick’s oldest friends, Virginia felt he should be informed. And Kate had thought so, too. And since his coming, he had proven to be a strong pillar. Even so, Mother and Charlotte, who each held one of Benjamin’s arms, looked ready to act as brace should the need arise.

  Kate watched the crowd swallow Virginia and the ever present MacCabe. Virginia belonged to them now. These people, these miners and their wives, were her people, and they greeted her with deference and with sincere condolences as if she had actually been Patrick O’Brien’s wife.

  “It’s a grand wake,” Kate said, bending closer to Joshua. “It’s sure to please Virginia, though I worry she’ll overdo. She’s still not strong, you know.”

  “She’s stronger than you think. And she’ll be fine. But I suppose my saying so won’t stop you from worrying. I wonder, would you worry like that about your husband?”

  Kate laughed. “I don’t know. I suppose if he carried a gun, for instance, and chased criminals for a living, I believe I’d worry a great deal.”

  “Ah . . . but what if your husband was a school teacher? A plain, rather boring, schoolteacher? And the most dangerous encounter he’d have would be with a cussing miner’s son? I suppose you wouldn’t have much to worry about then, would you?”

  Kate pulled him to a stop. “Oh, Joshua, you got fired! I knew it! I just knew it was going to happen. Oh, that ungrateful Mr. Pinkerton! Letting his best agent go. And it’s all my fault. If I’d only . . . .”

  Joshua placed his fingers over her lips. “Mr. Pinkerton didn’t fire me, Kate. He put me on probation for blowing my cover and compromising my assignment. And though he was furious, he said he understood why I did it. And he did say I was his best agent. In fact, he told me I reminded him of Timothy Webster, his famous operative who was executed as a spy during the Civil War. He thought highly of Mr. Webster, so when I handed him my resignation, he couldn’t believe it. And when he found out I was leaving to teach school, well . . . he cursed a blue streak. But in the end, we shook hands and parted as friends.

  “But before I submitted my resignation, I had a talk with Mr. Gowen. He was in a good mood—all awash with gratitude for my investigation and subsequent information concerning Martin Roach—so I figured there would be no better time to ask him to add another room to the Higgins Patch school house so the upper and lower grades could be separated, and to install two new large coal stoves to keep the children warm, and finally, to add me to the teaching staff; all to which he agreed.”

  “What . . . what brought this about?” Kate said, unable to believe her ears.

  “Virginia’s article. The one about how most miner’s children never stay in school long enough to reach their tenth birthday, and how the boys, especially, think going to school is a disgrace and that only “sissies” did so if they could be working at the mine. It made me want to change things, made me want to make a little history right here in coal country as well as teach it. And I already have, for I believe Higgins is the only patch in the vicinity that can boast of having two teachers. Now what do you think of that?”

  Kate slid her arms around him. “I love you Joshua Adams. But is that your sole reason for wanting to stay?”

  “Well . . . after you accepted my rather trepid proposal outside Martin Roach’s store, I realized I was tired of a detective’s life. I want to settle down, Kate, and if I stayed with Pinkerton I’d be all over the country, going from one case to another. And he’d never let me take you along. And I fear I’d miss you so much I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on my job. And constant separation wouldn’t be much of a life for either of us. And once we had a family, well . . . a son needs his father, and so does a daughter because . . . .”

  Without letting him finish, Kate kissed him on the lips, right there on the dirt path.

  Virginia was overwhelmed by the love that poured from all those around her. She thanked each mourner, shook every hand, even the men’s, who seemed glad to shake hers, too. It gave her strength. She was sure, now, that she could make it through the day, even though she still felt weak and her body ached and her heart felt like someone had ripped it open with a knife. She was glad that her long-sleeve dress covered those awful cuts around her wrists so no one could see them. As it was, the attention of far too many people lingered on her scratched face and neck, and elicited sympathy she didn’t want, for she wished everyone’s attention to be on Patrick, and to honor him this day.

  As she moved through the crowd, Davin MacCabe moved with her. He was like a guarding angel, taking her arm when he saw her falter; smiling and nodding when she seemed to need encouragement. He had not left her side since coming from Tamaqua this morning to their house. He had held her arm all the way to Higgins Patch, and talked of Patrick and the old days when they were boys. And though he seemed as stunned and grief stricken as she, he had tried to make her laugh and to bring Patrick back, for a moment at least, to both of them by his stories. And once, Davin actually did make her smile when he told her how Patrick came to his rescue when they were seven, after two local bullies had cornered Davin and were ready to beat him to a pulp. And how Davin ended up returning home without a scratch, while Patrick got his nose bloodied, one eye blackened, and a whipping from his mother for fighting and tearing his new shirt.

  Now, the strain of greeting everyone left Virginia
exhausted. She needed to regain her strength, at least her inner strength, before going inside to where Patrick lay. So when she spotted an area near the rear of the house, where few people had gathered, she headed there and Davin followed. Here, in this quiet space she would work up her nerve before seeing Patrick. How would he look? How would she react when she saw him? Her heart raced at the thought.

  She glanced at the man standing quietly beside her. How would he fare? Davin appeared to be the sort who could handle himself well enough—as tall as Patrick and as well built. And yet . . . there was something soft about him, too. Something kind and tender about his eyes, about the way they smiled, the way they looked at a person as though with thoughtfulness and insight. And though outwardly Davin appeared in control, stoical even, Virginia was sure that when the time came for them to go inside, he would weep, too.

  “I’ll be goin’ back to Tamaqua tonight,” he said, breaking the silence. “And though I hesitate mentionin’ this, I need to know your plans. Have you considered my offer?”

  “Yes, Mr. MacCabe, and I’m going to take the position.”

  He chuckled. “I’ve read and published so many of your articles I think it only fittin’ that you call me Davin. I feel I know you, Virginia. Not just from your articles but from Patrick, too. He spoke of you often. And I know he’d want us to be friends.”

  Virginia nodded. “He said you were a good man.”

  “Did he now? Well, maybe that’s because he never worked for me. I am fair-minded, but I’ll work you hard. And I won’t pamper you because you’re a woman, either, and I’d be disappointed if you’d expect me to.”

  “I think . . . hard work is what I need right now. It might help.”