Child of Light Page 2

  As much as she loved helping Hattie care for her three precious children, Margaret couldn’t help feeling jealous. Both Thomas’s and her younger siblings were building their families while she and Thomas remained childless.

  Hattie interrupted her thoughts with a long groan and pushed off the chair.

  “What do you need, Hattie? I’m right here to help you.”

  The young mother waddled across the kitchen floor to the cabinet where she stored her dishes. “I’m not completely helpless. Besides, I could use the exercise.” She reached for a glass on the bottom shelf and took it to the sink to fill with water.

  Margaret smirked. “That’s not what your husband, the doctor, said. He told me to make sure you are staying off your feet as much as possible.”

  Hattie returned to the chair. “I’ll be sure to remind him of that tonight when he’s tired and doesn’t want to help with the children.”

  Margaret chuckled and stirred the bean and ham soup. “How does Michael like his new position?”

  Hattie shook her head. “Ever since they opened Boston Children’s Hospital he hasn’t had a moment of rest. Good thing he likes it, because they keep him busy day and night. He’s hardly ever home anymore…it’s no wonder he’s always exhausted.”

  “Goodness. That makes it hard on the both of you.”

  “Yes. That’s why I’m so thankful for your help. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Margaret smiled as she took small dishes from the cabinet. “Well, I’m happy I can do it.” She set the bowls and spoons on the table and filled each bowl with the warm, hearty soup. “I can sympathize with you, though. I don’t see much of Thomas of late, either. Pappy’s job at the processing plant is very time-consuming.”

  “Oh, is that right?”

  Mikey peeked his head through the kitchen doorway, enticed by the delicious aroma. “Mmm. Is it ready yet, Aunt Margaret?”

  “Yes, sir,” she answered.

  “Go wash up and get your sisters.” Hattie hollered to the boy.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Hattie sighed. “Oh, Margaret you have no idea how blessed you are. No children, your husband is never around, you can do whatever you please.”

  “I suppose so.” Margaret gave Hattie a polite smile, took the soup pot to the sink, and let it slip beneath the murky dishwater. Yes, I am so blessed…

  She leaned against the counter as the three little Murphys filed into the kitchen. The two elder children took their seats at the table, but Milly rubbed her eyes and cried; her nap cut short. She walked straight to her aunt and raised her arms wanting to be picked up.

  “Come here, sweet one.” Margaret picked her up, snuggled the precious baby close to her heart, and kissed the top of her head. She closed her eyes and basked in the moment. Oh, my dear, sister-in-law, if you only knew how very blessed you are. What I wouldn’t do to have my own house full of little Thomases.

  3

  “There’s me girl.”

  “Hello, Pappy.” Margaret shut the door and greeted her father-in-law with a kiss on the bald spot atop his head. “How are you feeling?”

  “Old as dirt and stiff as yesterday’s catch.” The old Irishman leaned forward and groaned as she plumped the pillows behind his back. “Ye look as tired as I feel.”

  “Long day.”

  “Ay, me grandbabies running ye ragged, then?” Pappy grunted as Margaret lifted his broken leg onto a stack of pillows.

  “You’re supposed to keep this leg up. I don’t want Dr. Murphy hollering at me because you’re not following his orders.”

  “Och!” Pappy waved off her comment with his good arm. “You let me worry about me son. As long as I’m still able to take me own nourishment, he’ll not be the boss of me.”

  Margaret chuckled as she approached the small kitchen that occupied a corner of the living room. “You’re so funny, Pappy. And to answer your question, yes…your grandbabies have enough energy to keep three women busy. This snow and ice doesn’t help. Poor Mikey longs to go to the park. Told him I would take him later this week if the snow lets up. Let’s hope it does.” She placed a stockpot beneath the tap.

  “You and me both, daughter. Makes me joints ache.”

  The large kettle was hard to carry filled with so much water. Margaret hefted it onto the stove and added salt before lighting the fire. She chose an onion and four potatoes from the bin and took a knife from the drawer. The sharp blade sliced through the vegetables with ease, making quick work of dicing them for the chowder. With a father-in-law as a partner in a seafood processing business, the fare was never in short supply. It reminded Margaret of all the oysters, crabs, and fish her family had eaten back home on the Bolivar Peninsula during the war. Food had been scarce, and they were thankful for God’s provision from the sea.

  Margaret opened the icebox and removed a dish of butter, some pork trimmings, and a bowlful of fresh clams. She put the butter, meat, and diced onion in an iron skillet to cook.

  Pappy eased his bad leg off the pillows and pushed himself from the chair.

  “What do you think you’re doing, mister?”

  “The fire’s waning. Need to add a log.”

  Margaret rolled her eyes as he hopped across the floor pulling his lame leg behind him.

  “What am I going to do with you? I’m here to help, Pappy.” She scowled. “I’d stop you, but it’ll do you good to move around a bit. Besides, it’s freezing in here. I can see my breath.”

  “That’s why I’m stoking the fire.” Pappy laughed at her, pitching a log in the fireplace. “Me daughter’s always cold.”

  “Oh, you hush,” Margaret scolded. “I can’t help it.” She scrubbed her forearms against the chilly air. “I’ve never been anywhere so cold in my life. It’s miserable here.”

  Pappy returned to his chair and dropped into it. “Och. It’s not so bad. We have a sturdy roof over our head and a fire to warm our bones by.”

  Margaret returned to her cooking. Pappy’s comment hit her squarely, putting her back in her proper place. If his heart remained thankful with all life had dealt him, then why couldn’t she? There was a lesson to be learned there.

  She lifted the lid on the pot of water to check for bubbles and saw a few. Closing the top, she stirred the buttery pork and onion, which hadn’t made much progress in melting. Margaret would use the time to tidy up the cottage.

  The table where they ate remained a holy place where they celebrated the first Sunday of Advent the day before. She had meant to put away the implements, but her exhaustion won out. The lovely prayer shawl Thomas bought for her lay draped over the back of the chair. She picked it up along with their family Bible and put them away. Then there was the tray of candles she needed to move somewhere. Pappy’s old buffet looked as good a place as any, and that’s where she put them.

  Margaret returned to the stove and peeked under the lid. The water had begun to boil. She stirred the bubbling pan, and then poured in the whole bowl of clams. The delicious smell made her mouth water.

  The front door knob twisted, and Thomas walked into the cottage. His clothes were filthy and his face shone with fatigue.

  Margaret’s head dipped to the side with worry for her faithful husband. Was he working too hard? She turned off the fire beneath the skillet and went to him. “Hello, my love.” Margaret shared a quick kiss with him and helped him remove his coat. She winced at the odor of smelly fish emanating from her husband’s clothes. “Hungry?”

  “I’m starving.”

  ~*~

  Thomas groaned as Margaret pulled his heavy coat from his shoulders. “Please tell me it’s not fish yer cooking.”

  “No—not fish.” Margaret hung his coat on the hook by the door. “But I’m afraid it’s still seafood.”

  “Ay, if you cooked it, I’m sure it’ll be wonderful.” He playfully winked at the love of his life.“Yer so very good to me, lass.”

  Margaret put her arms around his waist and laid her head again
st his foul-smelling shirt. “Only because you deserve the best.”

  He gently patted her back. “Ah, ye shouldn’t touch me or else you’ll smell awful, too.”

  She released him, “Sit down and relax with Pappy,” she said before turning back to the kitchen. “I’ve got clams on the boil.”

  “Good evening, son.”

  “Evening, Pap.”

  Thomas sank into the rocking chair across from Pappy, where he always rested his weary body after a long day’s work. She felt a certain comfort whenever Thomas was home. Of course it wasn’t their real home—that was back in Texas. But wherever Thomas dwelt was her home. She listened to the conversation as she prepared the evening meal.

  “How are things at the plant?”

  “Ay, too busy for what few men we can afford to run it.”

  “If I weren’t such an oaf we wouldn’t be in this tight spot.”

  Margaret frowned and glanced over her shoulder at the men. Pappy worried with the sling supporting his arm. She hated hearing her father-in-law punish himself because of an unfortunate accident.

  “Leave it to me to go and fall off a ladder right in the middle of the shellfish harvest. Couldn’t have picked a worse time. Mm, mm, mm…sorry, son.”

  Thomas sat up in his chair .“Don’t talk like that. Yer not an oaf, and I’m happy I can be here to help.”

  “I’m happy to help, too, Pappy,” Margaret said.

  “And besides,” Thomas continued, “what would Michael do without Margaret here to care for Hattie and their wee ones?”

  “Och. Our poor girl is having to jump through hoops for Michael’s band of heathens. Yer both too kind is what y’are.”

  Margaret smiled as Thomas chuckled at his father’s comment concerning his grandchildren.

  “Thomas,” she called, “will you help Pappy to the table?”

  “Yes, love.” He groaned, rising from the comfy rocker. “All right, old man. It’s time to get ya up.”

  ~*~

  Margaret sat on the side of the bed and dragged a brush through her hair. A few long, black strands were pulled from the bristles, left behind after brushing. The flannel nightgown helped her stay warm, but it was the heavy mounds of bedcovers and the heated bricks placed beneath them that did the most good. She waited for Thomas before diving into the warm bed.

  Even after five years, she enjoyed the sight of Thomas’s broad chest, and had they been back in Texas, he wouldn’t have covered it with a thick nightshirt before retiring. He sat on the bed stretching tight muscles, and then climbed beneath the covers. Margaret joined him and rubbed her icy, cold feet against his warm legs.

  Thomas cringed. “Och! Yer toes are freezing, lass.”

  She giggled. “And you’re nice and warm like a big ol’ bear.”

  He rolled over to face her and grinned. “I won’t be for long with those two blocks of ice beneath the covers.”

  After the giggles died down they lay together in silence. Margaret gazed into the eyes of the one she loved more than life itself.

  “I forgot to tell you and Pap I’m traveling down to Chatham tomorrow.”

  Margaret furrowed her brow. “Oh, whatever for?”

  He harrumphed, clearly unhappy about the situation. “Ay, Pap’s business partner, Mr. Likos, is sending me on a call to a sea captain with a fleet of fishing boats on the Cape. He wants to gain their business.” Thomas released a long breath. “Seems to Likos I’m good with negotiations.”

  Margaret sighed. “Yes…you’re good at everything. It can be such a curse.”

  Thomas rolled his eyes. “Oh, you hush now. I’m not good at everything.” A cheeky smile crossed his lips. “Just most everything.”

  Her nose scrunched up and she pinched him beneath the covers.

  “Hey, now, watch that.” Thomas grabbed for her hands. “Come here, you.”

  She giggled when he pulled her on top of him and eased her head down onto his chest. She soaked in the warmth of his body, the rising and falling of his chest, and listened to the beating of his heart “When will you leave?”

  He stroked the length of her side. “First thing in the morning. And I’m afraid I won’t be returning for several days, lass.”

  The thought of Thomas leaving overwhelmed her with sadness. Without him, she was alone in the strange, new town with only his relatives to talk to. She slid to her side of the bed. He turned to her and put his hand on her cheek. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

  “I’m sorry, love. Please don’t cry. I can’t bear it.”

  She sniffed back her tears, determined not to cry in front of him. “I won’t. But I’ll miss you terribly.”

  “Ah, come here, lass.” Thomas extended his arm, and she snuggled into his shoulder. “I’ll be back as fast as I can. I promise. Besides, you’ll be so busy with yer job and taking care of Pap…not to mention me brother’s wife and kids. You probably won’t even know I’m gone.” He took her hand in his and kissed her fingers.

  The minute Thomas lowered their entwined hands onto his chest, Margaret felt him take one deep rhythmic breath after another. He was sound asleep. Closing her eyes, she prayed for her precious man, for happier days to come, and for a child of their very own should God allow it.

  ~*~

  The morning sun had not yet risen when Margaret saw Thomas off on his business trip to Chatham. With Pappy fed and washed up, she left for her position at St. Agnes. Her heavy boots squished into the dirty slush accumulated on the sidewalk. Margaret gathered the warm coat she wore close to her neck. It was another cold, snowy day.

  The streets of Boston were always busy in the morning. Crowds of townsfolk walked to their appointed positions while horse-drawn buckboard wagons carried wares to various markets and surrounding towns. Margaret had grown accustomed to the sights and sounds of the city, and her thoughts strayed to the long list she needed to take care of before Christmas.

  Whatever shall I make for Elizabeth’s baby? I wonder if I can buy yarn by the skein at Langston’s Market? Oh, what’s the use? I’ve no time to knit a blanket by Christmastime. I need to remember and…

  A noise interrupted her concentration. Margaret stopped walking. The miserable sounding croup came from up ahead. She approached with apprehension, hesitant to get too close. Exposing herself to illness would be a great injustice to the women she served at the young women’s home, as well as to Hattie and her children.

  Drawing nearer, she witnessed a pitiful young woman; a wretched cough wracked her small body. Her long auburn hair was matted, and the skimpy red dress she wore was torn and filthy—her face as pale as cotton.

  Her heart went out to the young woman. She looked up and down the walkway at the crowd of people passing by. Heads held high with noses in the air, no one acknowledged the poor girl lying against a building on the cold, wet sidewalk. Why didn’t any of them stop and help? Was this girl one of the many prostitutes that scavenged out a living on the streets of Boston? Was that the reason no one cared?

  Margaret didn’t care what she was. Her parents hadn’t raised her to judge a person in need of help. Throwing caution to the wind, she knelt on the frigid ground beside the young woman. “Excuse me, ma’am, I heard you coughing. You shouldn’t be out in this cold.”

  Weak blue eyes looked up at Margaret. Chapped, peeling lips parted to speak. “Are you an angel?”

  “No, not hardly.” The girl’s soft southern accent touched Margaret’s heart. She put her palm on her forehead. “Oh, dear, you’re burning up.”

  Margaret pondered what to do. “What’s your name, hon?”

  “It’s Josie.”

  “Well, Miss Josie, you need to get out of this cold. Is there someplace I can take you?”

  Josie’s eyes rolled around as though she might pass out. “No, ma’am. I don’t got a place to stay no more. Not since this happened anyway.”

  What kind of person would put a sick woman out on the street? Monsters!

  “Come on, Josie. You can�
��t stay out here. Let me help you up.”

  Margaret put her arm around the young woman and helped her to stand. When Josie was up on her feet, the other reason she was kicked to the curb became quite apparent. She swayed in a circle, but Margaret caught her before her enormous belly caused her to fall over forward.

  Oh, Josie…you’re pregnant too?

  “Are you able to walk?” Margaret asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, I think so.”

  “All right, come with me. I’m on my way to a place where you can get the help you need.”

  Josie’s head rolled toward Margaret. “Thank you, my sweet angel.”

  “You’re welcome, but again…I’m no angel.”

  “Well, you sure seem like one to me.”

  4

  Margaret spread her arms apart and pleaded with the housemistress. “But, Miss Annie, the girl has no place left to go. She’s been put out on the street because of her illness, and her belly is ripe with child. Won’t you please have mercy and let her stay here?”

  Miss Annie Brown remained stalwart in her position. “Margaret, surely you can understand why St. Agnes isn’t the kind of place for a girl like Josie.”

  Margaret glanced toward the building’s foyer where she left Josie beside the fireplace. Could she hear Miss Annie’s condemning words about her from where she sat?

  “Please, hear me out. As you know, a large group of our girls are leaving our facility at week’s end to join the Lowell Mill workforce. We’ll have plenty of room for Josie to stay. And I’ll take full responsibility for her care until she gives birth and overcomes her illness. I promise to—”

  Miss Annie raised her palm and shook her heard. “I’m sorry, but the girl cannot stay here. St. Agnes is a respite for young, Christian women, and I can tell simply by looking that this girl isn’t one.”

  How could Miss Annie be so hardhearted and obstinate? Margaret’s bottom lip quivered, and her eyes burned with tears. What kind of Christian organization refused to care for a sick, expectant young woman? “Well, if, if Josie can’t stay here, then I quit!”