have been my age now, but it wasn’t meant to be—they both had died of the Spanish Flu two years ago. In some ways, I suppose, I reminded Mrs. Hirsch of the children she had lost.
Less than a year later, Mr. Hirsch would fall below a horse and carriage as he was crossing Broadway. A heart attack, the doctors had said. He was no longer able to get out of bed. Mrs. Hirsch worked in one of the garment factories sorting buttons for a few hours each day, just enough, I suspected, to pay the rent. The rest of her day was spent caring for Mr. Hirsch.
“Another letter,” She said as she pulled the envelope from her sweater.
I hid my excitement. Kathleen’s letters had come once a month, and all, like the first letter, had been cautiously written, with only passing mention of the troubles at home and no mention at all of our relationship. After the truce had been announced, I had asked several times what it meant, but her neat, plain handwriting only provided vague answers. I handed Mrs. Hirsch the package—beef tongue was all I could steal today—and she handed me the letter.
“A woman dropped this off this morning.”
I looked up at Mrs. Hirsch. She frowned, and I couldn’t help but think that something was wrong. I looked at the envelope and felt a sudden emptiness in my stomach. It was addressed to Frank Kelleher.
“Is that you?” Mrs. Hirsch asked. “Frank Kelleher?” She was still frowning, her gaze was steady on me.
“Yes,” I heard myself say. Someone knew my real name and where I lived. Sharing my secret with Mrs. Hirsch hardly seemed to matter.
I looked at the envelope again. There was no stamp from the post office. I stared at my name but didn’t recognize the handwriting. I flipped the envelope over. There was no return address.
Frowning myself, I looked up at Mrs. Hirsch.
“She wouldn’t give me her name,” Mrs. Hirsch continued. “She only said it was important that I deliver that to you.”
I turned the letter over in my hand as my mind raced. I couldn’t stay here—after Jack and now this letter, it was no longer safe. I wondered again about Philadelphia and Kansas City and whether I could find a job there.
“Supper will be ready in thirty minutes,” Mrs. Hirsch said. I looked up, and she held my eye then nodded once before turning away. My secret, it seemed, would be safe with her. But was that enough?
I unlocked my door, the letter feeling heavy in my hand. I lit the oil lamp but didn’t bother with the fire. With a sense of dread, I slid my fingernail, still dirty from the day’s work, below the flap.
Dear Mr. Kelleher,
We’ve been introduced once before but you wouldn’t remember me. It doesn’t matter. I’m from Ireland. I came to New York six months ago.
I knew Kathleen Coffey in Limerick. I visited Kathleen and her sister Mary in March, before my journey. Kathleen made me promise not to tell anyone and I wanted badly to honor that promise. I have had a long time to think and pray about this.
When I saw Kathleen, she was with child. She didn’t want to tell me but I wouldn’t let her be until she did. I know you and Kathleen were courting.
God willing, the baby has come safely. I’ve written to Kathleen but I couldn’t ask directly. I’m sure you know why. I pray for Kathleen and the baby every Sunday and I light a candle in the church when I can. I pray too that Kathleen and God will forgive me for this letter. But the world is not kind to women such as Kathleen, Mr. Kelleher. I’m sure you know that.
I’ve done what I set out to do and whatever you decide is your business.
Sincerely,
A Friend
I let out a heavy breath when I finished reading. I pictured Kathleen as I had last seen her: three in the morning and she had been sitting in bed, her knees pulled up to her chest. Her fingers had been playing nervously with the medal dangling from the chain she wore around her neck. I realized now that the fear I had seen on her face wasn’t only for me,
Less than a year later, Mr. Hirsch would fall below a horse and carriage as he was crossing Broadway. A heart attack, the doctors had said. He was no longer able to get out of bed. Mrs. Hirsch worked in one of the garment factories sorting buttons for a few hours each day, just enough, I suspected, to pay the rent. The rest of her day was spent caring for Mr. Hirsch.
“Another letter,” She said as she pulled the envelope from her sweater.
I hid my excitement. Kathleen’s letters had come once a month, and all, like the first letter, had been cautiously written, with only passing mention of the troubles at home and no mention at all of our relationship. After the truce had been announced, I had asked several times what it meant, but her neat, plain handwriting only provided vague answers. I handed Mrs. Hirsch the package—beef tongue was all I could steal today—and she handed me the letter.
“A woman dropped this off this morning.”
I looked up at Mrs. Hirsch. She frowned, and I couldn’t help but think that something was wrong. I looked at the envelope and felt a sudden emptiness in my stomach. It was addressed to Frank Kelleher.
“Is that you?” Mrs. Hirsch asked. “Frank Kelleher?” She was still frowning, her gaze was steady on me.
“Yes,” I heard myself say. Someone knew my real name and where I lived. Sharing my secret with Mrs. Hirsch hardly seemed to matter.
I looked at the envelope again. There was no stamp from the post office. I stared at my name but didn’t recognize the handwriting. I flipped the envelope over. There was no return address.
Frowning myself, I looked up at Mrs. Hirsch.
“She wouldn’t give me her name,” Mrs. Hirsch continued. “She only said it was important that I deliver that to you.”
I turned the letter over in my hand as my mind raced. I couldn’t stay here—after Jack and now this letter, it was no longer safe. I wondered again about Philadelphia and Kansas City and whether I could find a job there.
“Supper will be ready in thirty minutes,” Mrs. Hirsch said. I looked up, and she held my eye then nodded once before turning away. My secret, it seemed, would be safe with her. But was that enough?
I unlocked my door, the letter feeling heavy in my hand. I lit the oil lamp but didn’t bother with the fire. With a sense of dread, I slid my fingernail, still dirty from the day’s work, below the flap.
Dear Mr. Kelleher,
We’ve been introduced once before but you wouldn’t remember me. It doesn’t matter. I’m from Ireland. I came to New York six months ago.
I knew Kathleen Coffey in Limerick. I visited Kathleen and her sister Mary in March, before my journey. Kathleen made me promise not to tell anyone and I wanted badly to honor that promise. I have had a long time to think and pray about this.
When I saw Kathleen, she was with child. She didn’t want to tell me but I wouldn’t let her be until she did. I know you and Kathleen were courting.
God willing, the baby has come safely. I’ve written to Kathleen but I couldn’t ask directly. I’m sure you know why. I pray for Kathleen and the baby every Sunday and I light a candle in the church when I can. I pray too that Kathleen and God will forgive me for this letter. But the world is not kind to women such as Kathleen, Mr. Kelleher. I’m sure you know that.
I’ve done what I set out to do and whatever you decide is your business.
Sincerely,
A Friend
I let out a heavy breath when I finished reading. I pictured Kathleen as I had last seen her: three in the morning and she had been sitting in bed, her knees pulled up to her chest. Her fingers had been playing nervously with the medal dangling from the chain she wore around her neck. I realized now that the fear I had seen on her face wasn’t only for me,
Similar Books
