west, you know—there wasn’t much reason for a bathing costume among the cows.”
The other girls broke into laughter and began teasing Margaret. “Did you think she’d be swimming in some water hole?”
“There isn’t exactly an ocean out in the desert!”
“Margaret missed geography—she was too busy making eyes at Willie Todd!”
All of the girls dissolved into laughter again, but Katie didn’t miss the flash of anger in Margaret’s eyes, which was directed at her. Katie gave her a huge smile, which only infuriated the girl more. Thankfully the coach pulled up to the beach and the girls piled out, then raced to the water.
The surf was a brilliant blue green, the water so clear that one could easily see the sand. There had been a storm the previous night, and the beach was lined with seashells of every imaginable shape and hue. Seaweed floated through the water like a mermaid’s tresses, waving gently with the ebb and flow of the sea, while starfish glided through the surf like fallen angels. It was beautiful, restless, and exhilarating. It was also freezing.
The girls laughingly ran into the waves, then shrieked as the cold water plastered their swimming costumes to their bodies. Nellie Mitchell scooped up a handful of water and doused Katie, who quickly returned the favor. A water fight broke out until all of them were soaked, then they fled to the beach to towel themselves dry.
A gull cried overhead and sandpipers ran toward the waves, their little feet scampering comically. Katie sat on her towel as the other girls joined her, talking quietly or dozing in the warm sun. She couldn’t stop the tightness in her throat as she envisioned her six-year-old son, running through the waves, laughing and playing in the ocean. God, he would love this. She missed him so much, and even knowing he was well cared for didn’t stop the ache in her heart as she realized that he’d never know this life, never know anything but pain and hard work. Why was it that some people had so much and others so little?
She remembered asking her father when she was little and had seen a fancy carriage passing by, filled with beautiful ladies in silk dresses. Seamus O’Connor grew quiet then, staring at his little daughter dressed in frayed cotton, her feet bare, knowing she would never have such a dress. He got roaring drunk that night and sang “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen” outside the mayor’s house. Katie always knew that the two events were connected, but it was something they never talked about.
May you be at peace, Pa, she thought. A tear started in her eyes and stung the back of her throat as she envisioned the run-down area of Philadelphia, the lines of laundry stretching from one dingy row house to another, the broken piles of wood from dilapidated buildings that filled the alleys and provided homes to dozens of rats, the tin washtubs that hung on the outside of the walls, waiting for a weekly bath.
There was one lamp on the street one light that drew people like moths to a flame and illuminated the gloomy alleyway. When the first star appeared, she would sit there with her child, hearing the cacophony of voices, the passionate Italian marketers hawking their wares, the pugnacious Irish who were always ready for a joke or a brawl, the guttural German accents that as the night progressed, grew softer with beer. It was their one escape from an existence that offered no others.
Ryan O’Connor, her brother, couldn’t take it anymore and disappeared out west in search of gold. Moira, her aunt, worked in the kitchens of the wealthy. At night, she would drink raucously and dress up in her one good gown and insist she was Lillie Langtry. Her mother took in laundry, struggling to see in the dim light. She was old well before her time, and Katie saw herself in Catherine’s webbed face and lifeless eyes….
And Katie hated it. When John Sweeney approached her, with his cocksure charm and handsome face, she
The other girls broke into laughter and began teasing Margaret. “Did you think she’d be swimming in some water hole?”
“There isn’t exactly an ocean out in the desert!”
“Margaret missed geography—she was too busy making eyes at Willie Todd!”
All of the girls dissolved into laughter again, but Katie didn’t miss the flash of anger in Margaret’s eyes, which was directed at her. Katie gave her a huge smile, which only infuriated the girl more. Thankfully the coach pulled up to the beach and the girls piled out, then raced to the water.
The surf was a brilliant blue green, the water so clear that one could easily see the sand. There had been a storm the previous night, and the beach was lined with seashells of every imaginable shape and hue. Seaweed floated through the water like a mermaid’s tresses, waving gently with the ebb and flow of the sea, while starfish glided through the surf like fallen angels. It was beautiful, restless, and exhilarating. It was also freezing.
The girls laughingly ran into the waves, then shrieked as the cold water plastered their swimming costumes to their bodies. Nellie Mitchell scooped up a handful of water and doused Katie, who quickly returned the favor. A water fight broke out until all of them were soaked, then they fled to the beach to towel themselves dry.
A gull cried overhead and sandpipers ran toward the waves, their little feet scampering comically. Katie sat on her towel as the other girls joined her, talking quietly or dozing in the warm sun. She couldn’t stop the tightness in her throat as she envisioned her six-year-old son, running through the waves, laughing and playing in the ocean. God, he would love this. She missed him so much, and even knowing he was well cared for didn’t stop the ache in her heart as she realized that he’d never know this life, never know anything but pain and hard work. Why was it that some people had so much and others so little?
She remembered asking her father when she was little and had seen a fancy carriage passing by, filled with beautiful ladies in silk dresses. Seamus O’Connor grew quiet then, staring at his little daughter dressed in frayed cotton, her feet bare, knowing she would never have such a dress. He got roaring drunk that night and sang “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen” outside the mayor’s house. Katie always knew that the two events were connected, but it was something they never talked about.
May you be at peace, Pa, she thought. A tear started in her eyes and stung the back of her throat as she envisioned the run-down area of Philadelphia, the lines of laundry stretching from one dingy row house to another, the broken piles of wood from dilapidated buildings that filled the alleys and provided homes to dozens of rats, the tin washtubs that hung on the outside of the walls, waiting for a weekly bath.
There was one lamp on the street one light that drew people like moths to a flame and illuminated the gloomy alleyway. When the first star appeared, she would sit there with her child, hearing the cacophony of voices, the passionate Italian marketers hawking their wares, the pugnacious Irish who were always ready for a joke or a brawl, the guttural German accents that as the night progressed, grew softer with beer. It was their one escape from an existence that offered no others.
Ryan O’Connor, her brother, couldn’t take it anymore and disappeared out west in search of gold. Moira, her aunt, worked in the kitchens of the wealthy. At night, she would drink raucously and dress up in her one good gown and insist she was Lillie Langtry. Her mother took in laundry, struggling to see in the dim light. She was old well before her time, and Katie saw herself in Catherine’s webbed face and lifeless eyes….
And Katie hated it. When John Sweeney approached her, with his cocksure charm and handsome face, she
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