1863 Saratoga Summer Page 16

  Connor heaved himself up out of the chair and crossed the room to the window. The outside was dark and deserted, quiet like a graveyard filled with stones of the dead. He turned back to Sinead and held out his hands in a placating manner. His lips twisted in an ugly smile, sensing an unspoken acknowledgement of what he assumed was the real truth, but he needed to ask, to hear her say it.

  Glowering with determination, he asked, “Are you Robbie’s mother?”

  She groaned like a body dying then with fury and purpose, she screamed at him. “The only mother he’s ever known, from the moment of birth to now.”

  “But you did not give birth to him.”

  “Nae, Lucinda, the Dewitt’s daughter did, but she died before she was ever able to hold him close.” The anger she experienced dissipated in a rush of breath and the rest of what she told him she said quietly. “Lucinda hated her parents because of their treatment of the husband she adored.”

  Eyes downcast, she continued, “She bled to death within hours after giving birth but before she met her Maker, she begged me to care for Robert’s son. I promised, gave my solemn word, to remain his caretaker.”

  “And this Cavanaugh she married? You bear his name. What of him?”

  Sinead put fisted hands on the table, bent and rested her head on the fists. She continued, as if the events carried too much pain. “Robert Cavanaugh was in a dreadful carriage accident while rushing home to be with his wife at the difficult time. The doctor Robert hired to care for Lucinda told him she might be too tiny to bear a large child. She sacrificed for Robert, who wanted to share her ordeal.”

  Connor raced around the table, scooped her up in his arms and sat on the sofa against the far wall. “’Tis alright, lass.”

  He brought her close before more pain registered. He held her in a tight grip and murmured comforting words. “You have a need to tell the whole story, so we’ll know where to begin our joint venture. What happened to Cavanaugh?”

  Sinead rested her head on his shoulder, feeling strangely secure. “The police took him to the hospital.”

  She sat up straight. Words sputtered out. “I didn’t even know where he was until the same men came to my door. I couldn’t leave the baby in order to see him myself.”

  Tears welled up in Sinead’s eyes. “I sent a message that the baby boy lived but Lucinda didn’t. It was months before I saw him. He arrived home on crutches, but his condition deteriorated over the years.”

  “When did you marry him?”

  “He begged me to marry him, so Robbie would have the only mother he knew by his side…”

  Tears overflowed and ran down to streak her cheeks and chin. They dribbled onto Connor’s waistcoat. Sinead pulled a handkerchief from a skirt pocket and dabbed at his chest, trying to smile. He patted his wife’s hand and eased her back against him, while he rocked back and forth.

  She sobbed out the rest of the story in spurts. “I finally agreed in January of this year to marry him. He died…at the beginning…of March. The Dewitts took all the money…to save for the baby…I didn’t want it. They sold Cavanaugh House…and took me to live with them so I could care for Robbie...I’ve been there ever since.”

  Connor found neither joy nor hate in the tale. The comforts he could give were few, but he covered the cold hands with his. When the anger and pain dulled in moist eyes and the tears dried, he kissed his wife’s forehead and hugged her close, hoping he could control his own anguish and resentment over this marriage. Bitterness gripped his innards.

  Chapter Ten

  July 13—Monday

  Shortly before sunrise, Bowes stood in the gray-weathered wood barn located at back of his boarding house. The framed building housed the stalls for the carriage, the two grays and all the necessary equipment. There were nine stalls in all, several rented out to friends of the landlady. It was Bowes’ job to keep it clean and tidy, a job he actually enjoyed, and it paid for his use of three stalls.

  All the horses were fed and watered, as they were every morning by this time. Their stalls were cleaned and fresh straw bedding laid down. The two geldings were groomed and waiting to be tacked up. Bowes needed to get out on the streets early in order to make his money.

  First, he’d find out if Egan was well enough to see the sights of the city. The lad slept the night through, and his color was good this morning. Bowes didn’t realize how lonesome he was over the years since Sinead worked for others. He grinned. Daughters were lovely, but it was nice to have young lads around to keep a man company.

  A clamor in the street, along with considerable shouting, filtered into the stables. Bowes rushed from the back of the boarding house to the front. Waves of men, the majority Irish immigrants, spilled out of some of the nearby tenements and houses. Ragged-looking and coatless, they roamed the street in gangs of four or five, waving and screaming to one another.

  The men carried strange weapons. Iron bars, brickbats and huge chunks of wood rested on their shoulders. Women ran with them, carrying copper pots they smashed together at every opportunity, all the while screaming louder than the men. With every house passed, the crowd increased.

  The people moved west across Broadway. Bowes could feel trouble in his bones. The slowly building army of people was headed toward the draft office on Third Avenue. The list of names printed in the black and white of Sunday’s papers spelled out the reason for the difficulty. He turned to rouse Egan. Together they would pick up Sinead and Connor.

  One of the neighbor men Bowes recognized hollered to him. Although they weren’t exactly friends, they had sipped a pint or two together on occasion. “Hey, Bowes, are ye joining us in this?”

  “After I get me chores done,” Bowes answered, with a smile on his face. He wasn’t taking any chances of incurring the anger of this mob.

  A man carrying a NO DRAFT placard shouted to him. “Brennan, get yer arse down here with the rest of us Micks.”

  “Come on there, fella’,” called another, also carrying a NO DRAFT placard. “‘Tis time to be showing those politicos what’s the right and the wrong of the draft.”

  “Aye, I’ll be hanging with ye in a trice. Got to see to me guest first,” Bowes shouted back, waving in good fellowship.

  The three men stopped. “We’ll be waiting right here for ye. Aye, that we will,” the first man said. The three sat on the raised curbing of the street. One of the three scowled at him.

  Bowes realized he had to get away from them before his plans were rearranged. “Nae, ye go ahead. I’ll be with ye in seconds, I will. Ye’re going to see the provost marshal at the draft office, aren’t ye?”

  “That’s where we’ll be going. Make sure ye join us there…” The words rang out as a threat.

  When the three nodded and moved forward to catch up with the rest of the crowd, Bowes breathed a sigh of relief. No sense in starting troubles near his boarding house and neighborhood. He wouldn’t be joining them but let them think he would. There were responsibilities in his life, and he was not about to disregard those commitments to run off and play at what could turn out to be a nasty affair. He must get to his daughter.

  Once the crowd moved further down the street, about to turn a corner, Bowes, upset, wheeled around and trudged back to the house. He tore up the stairs to his room and charged through the partially open door. His delight at seeing Egan already up and dressed eased his heavy disgust over what looked to be the start of a terrible day.

  “’Tis good ye’re up, son. We need to be leaving here immediately.”

  “I thought something was amiss. The shouting woke me up. It was off to the window, I was. When I saw the goings-on and heard the men shouting to you, I knew something out of the ordinary was happening,” Egan said, stuffing clothing into his trunk.

  “Aye, it is that, laddie. I’ll tell ye quick as I can.” Bowes grabbed his carriage purse, with all his documents in it from the pine dresser in the room, and shoved the strap over his shoulder. “Ye see. ‘Tis this way. The government’s passed
a law saying all men will be drafted into the army to fight in a most uncivil war between the states.”

  “I take it these men and women marching in the streets don’t think much of that law.” Egan lifted the trunk to the bed.

  Bowes heard more noise and rushed to the window. A large group of unruly men, who sounded drunk, heaved tumultuously down the street. Bowes clucked his tongue, shook his head and turned to Egan. “Ye want me to carry that, lad?”

  “Nae, I just wanted to get it up a wee bit higher, so it wouldn’t be so far to reach,” Egan said, swinging the trunk up and settling it on his shoulder.

  “That’s a lad. Do ye have everything ye’ll be needing?” Bowes asked as he started out the door.

  “That I do.” Egan followed him out and shut the door with his foot. “I’m right behind ye, I am.”

  “And we’ll be sneaking out the back to me horses. Then we’ll find me daughter and yer brother. I sure hope they’re up and ready to leave the hotel. I have a feeling this is going to be a nasty day for everyone.”

  ~*~

  After two overtaxing days, one day on the steamer waiting to land and one in jail for foolish reasons, Connor’s exhaustion from lack of a good night’s sleep plagued him. Throughout the night, he had twisted and turned on the narrow sofa, unable to get into a comfortable position.

  This morning, he felt frayed, worn-out, his energy burned up. His legs hung over one end of the sofa arm and his head rested high on the other, making his neck stiff and his feet numb. Even though the draperies were drawn, dawn light filtered through, bringing with it the beginnings of another bright, sunny day, already hot to the point of mugginess.

  Conner yawned and stretched to ease his many aches and pains. There was little sense in trying to sleep further. He stood, grabbed his shirt and jacket, slipped on his shoes and moved to the bathroom, barely glancing at Sinead, who was curled into a ball and seemed to be sleeping soundly on the bed.

  He splashed water over his face. The sensation of cold helped him to waken further but also created a strange prickling feeling at the back of his skull. He bathed himself as thoroughly as possible in the low sink and dressed, trying to smooth the wrinkles from the clothes he had slept in. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts, few of them pleasant.

  He came out of the bathroom and gazed at his wife. The sight enticed him beyond anything reasonable. Something in the silky curve of her chin brought a flash of indistinct memory. He shrugged it away and, taking his key, quietly left the room.

  Deciding to walk down instead of suffering the clanking noise of the little parlor, so early in the morning, he headed in the direction of the stairs. Noises drifting up the stairwell from the lobby puzzled him. The garbled shouting was frantic in its intensity. Sounds of hurried activity needled and poked at him. Wondering what the buzz was, he sailed down the stairs two at a time, passing others going up and down the same set of stairs. He nodded politely to everyone but continued his steady march down.

  The mezzanine rang with strident voices, none of which he recognized, carrying up from the lobby. “Board up the windows.”

  “Push the lounge chairs together near the entrance.”

  “Keep those front doors locked.”

  Many folks rushed about, from one end of the wide, curved steps leading to the lobby to the stairs leading to the rest of the hotel. Connor went to the railing near the lobby steps to look down, unable to dispel the uneasiness caused by the strange commotion and hurried movements.

  The lobby seemed nearly empty of the many servants who usually scurried about trying to help the hotel’s guests. The clerk, who usually stood behind the registration desk, frantically gestured and called to uniformed men who stood, trying to secure large slabs of wood to the front windows. “Be careful. Don’t let the board tilt toward the windows.”

  Other employees were turning upholstered lounges and chairs upside down and pushing them to toward the big glass doors leading into the lobby. “Whatever you do, don’t damage the goods,” the clerk shrieked.

  “We’re being as careful as we can.” The reply rose over the sounds of grunting.

  Chills ran up Connor’s spine. He heard noises from the street, noises sounding like pans being beaten together. It was not unlike the pot lids his mam banged when she wanted to attract her sons’ attention from the horses. Besides, the O’Malleys heard such sounds often enough during the worst of the famine years in Ireland. Those agonizing memories haunted Connor still.

  His shoulders tightened, his head ached and he ran his hands through his dark hair. He strolled to the desk clerk, not wanting to add any more nervous energy to the already excited people in the lobby. “What’s going on?” he inquired.

  “It seems the whole Lower East Side of the city is up in arms. The Irish and the rest of the immigrants are marching uptown.”

  “What for?” Connor asked, trying to ascertain the crux of the problem so he could dismiss his own worries. “Egan and Bowes are down in that area,” he muttered.

  “What, sir?”

  “Nothing to concern you. Go on with your story.”

  The clerk picked up a newspaper and shook it aloft. “It’s the draft, of course. The damned Conscription laws,” he said, frowning and pointing to an article.

  Another clerk surfaced from a back room, his white hair shining under a gas lamp. “They’re taking men away from their families, leaving the wives and children to suffer more poverty and want. Just to fight a war against their very own brethren to save some black men who’ll move north and take their jobs.” He raised a fist in anger. “The men around here tell me that’s what the damned government’s thinking.”

  The first clerk chimed in. “The Irish will have no more of it, I’ve heard. And the foolish newspapers printed the names of those the government’s looking for.”

  Although fearful of the news, Connor craved more information before he took action of any sort. “I came over from Ireland but two days ago. I don’t know what might be happening to your country. We weren’t getting much news of the world, coming over on the steamer.”

  The white-haired man shook his head. “The people of this city are marching in protest against the powers-that-be. He lightly slapped the counter. “Over something they don’t have a chance of fixing. I have a feeling these sad affairs will get bloody before this day is through.” He turned to go back into the inner office.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, sir, but I have to get this hotel secured from the mob that’s roaming in the streets. At any moment, they might take it into their heads to come up Fifth Avenue. My advice to you is, gather your family together and leave this city as quickly as you can.”

  “Aye, I’ll be doing that immediately, but I have no idea where I could be going with them all.” Connor responded, wheeling about and crossing the lobby at a run.

  The clerk shouted after him. “Go north toward Albany or thereabouts.

  Connor rushed up the stairs to the mezzanine, three at a time. His heart beat hard against his sore ribs with the effort. Sinead would know where to go for safety. “The lad. She’ll be wanting to get the laddie.”

  By the time he reached the fourth floor, ragged breaths puffed out from his mouth. He inserted his key in the lock of their room and swung the door open.

  Sinead shrieked. She stood half-clothed in the shadows, one hand at her bosom. He stopped short, tightly gripping the door, and stared at the lush sensuality of her.

  “Er…” Flushed, Connor backed out, slightly closed the door and banged on the outside of it with his fist. Struggling not to smile at the innocent posture he’d glimpsed, he called out, “Sinead, something’s wrong in the city. We have to leave the hotel, quickly, I’m afraid.”

  She came to the door in an instant and flung it open, pulling it from his grasp. Embarrassed, her eyes were red and teary, mouth drawn and pinched but a white blouse was somewhat in place. “What more can go wrong with my days?” Arms limp at her sides, she scooted backwards to grant him
entrance.

  Taking a step further into the chamber, his gaze drifted against his will to her open bodice. She met his gaze. It took all of his strength to look away. “You’ve no time to be weeping, lass. There’s something going on, outside, in the streets. The hotel workers are barricading the hotel for some sort of invasion. Get dressed. We’re leaving…”

  Shadows masked her face under a sooty fringe of lashes. Her eyes were downcast. “I’ll not have you rushing me, Connor O’Malley,” she said, moving away in a stiff, stubborn motion.

  “Aye, I will.” He covered the distance between them in a single step and grasped her arm. “Did you not hear me, lassie? I’m trying to tell you…there’s something wrong…outside…in the streets of this city.”

  Her look of concern sent daggers of guilt into him for being so rough, but his senses told him they had to leave quickly. He breathed a sigh of relief when he watched her refasten the rest of her clothing, tuck it in properly and pack her things into the bag she brought with her the night before. Now, her motions were quick and sure.

  She turned to him. “Now, let me tell you, Connor O’Malley,” she warned, repeating her newly assumed name, “we’ll not be leaving here until my da arrives. He said he’d come by to pick us up.”

  “If what the clerk of the hotel said is true, people are marching up and down the streets. I’m thinking, your da might not be able to get through.”

  “My da will get through anything. He has a gift of gab in his every word. He said he’d be here and be here he will,” she retorted. She sat in one of the chairs at the table, put the bag on her lap and clenched balled fists over it.

  Connor glared at her. Exasperation filled him, along with a sense of defeat greater than any he’d ever known. With or without his liking, this marriage was a fact and it was his responsibility to see her to safety. He suppressed a shudder rolling through him and struggled to adjust his expression before he spoke.