“And you, Bridget?” Philip Norton turned to the woman who seemed to have aged years since losing her beloved Daniel. She was like a flower cut from the vine, wilted and fading a bit more each day. “Where will you go?”
“I’ve written my sister, Nola, in Chicago. She has agreed to take me in until I can find some means of supporting myself.”
The professor turned away, but not before Fiona caught his look of utter disbelief. The thought of Bridget Downey supporting herself seemed ludicrous. It only reinforced Fiona’s realization that her mother’s situation was desperate. Daniel had always been his wife’s fierce champion, treating her with such great care. Fiona had followed his example, shouldering more and more of the responsibilities as she’d watched her mother’s strength ebb through the years.
Now mother and daughter stood in the train station, stiff and awkward, as they struggled to hold back a torrent of conflicting emotions.
“The days will go quickly. You’ll see, Mum.”
Bridget twisted her handkerchief around and around her hand.
Such a soft hand, Fiona thought. Guilt and fear lay like a stone in her chest at the realization that she was abandoning her responsibility. It didn’t matter that she had no choice. It was just one more layer of pain to endure. “It’s only for a year, Mum. I’ll save my money and as soon as I have enough to send for you, we’ll be together.”
At a call from the conductor, the two women fell into each other’s arms and choked back sobs.
“I’ll be fine, Fiona.” Bridget’s voice was little more than a strained whisper. “We’ll both be fine. You’ll write often?”
“Every day, Mum.”
“Hush now. Don’t make idle promises.” Bridget pressed a finger to Fiona’s lips. “You’ll be busy with your new responsibilities. Just write when you can.”
The conductor gave a final call and the two women peeled apart, step by painful step. Fiona stood watching as her mother climbed aboard the train that would take her to Chicago, and her sister’s tiny row house, where Bridget would share a bed with several little nieces.
As the train slowly slipped from the station, Fiona caught sight of her mother’s tear-streaked face in the window. She waved until the train dipped out of sight, then sank down on a wooden bench, drained beyond belief.
When the boarding call sounded for the train that would take her to Michigan, she refused to think about what she was doing as she put one foot in front of the other, forcing herself to climb aboard and find a seat.
The cars overflowed with businessmen in stiff, dark suits and women carrying squalling babies, calling sharply to older children who giggled and fidgeted. In the oppressive summer air the cars reeked of sweat and humanity, of rotting meat and overripe fruit carried in baskets or wrapped in linen. A childhood memory, of a ship’s fetid hold crowded with moaning passengers, crept into Fiona’s mind, leaving her momentarily stunned.
As the train pulled from the station, Fiona closed her eyes and fought the weariness that seemed to have drained her of all her strength. At first she was annoyed by the clatter of wheels, and had to fight a feeling of nausea at the awkward swaying motion of the car. What had she been thinking, to accept a position so far from home? She began to entertain thoughts of getting off at the next stop and making her way back to Bennett. At least there she would be surrounded by people and places that were comfortable and familiar. What did it matter if she had no home, no means of supporting herself? Even if she couldn’t use her education, she could always take a job as a housemaid.
Though it was more than a little tempting, she knew she wasn’t ready to give up the dream. She had a fine mind. Hadn’t Da said as much? She owed it to herself, to Da, to her mum, to teach. Still, the thought of giving up, of returning to Bennett, was so tempting.
As the train gradually ate up the miles of track, she was lulled into a troubled sleep. It was the first rest she’d experienced in days.
Dear Mum
I hope your train ride was of much shorter duration than mine, and more pleasing to the eye and ear. I was recently jolted from sleep by a series of ear-splitting whistles as our train came to a sudden, shuddering halt. I watched as the conductor stepped down and shouted to a farmer and his dog herding cows across the tracks.
I suspect, from the flat fields stretching as far as the eye can see, that we must be in Ohio.
Fiona paused in her letter to her mother to stare out the window. From the map she’d prepared before leaving Massachusetts, she was able to keep track of her journey. The first rush of passengers had disembarked in New York, with more following in Pennsylvania. Now the train car was nearly empty, except for an old man and a little boy. Grandfather and grandson? she wondered.
She couldn’t recall her own grandparents, or the life she’d known in Ireland. Her mother had come from Cork, her father from Galway. Both her parents had carried the lilt of home in their brogues, as did their daughter, despite her many years in this land.
Fiona glanced at the wee lad, asleep on the old man’s lap, and felt a sudden rush of pain at her loss. It was still so fresh and new, this idea that her father was truly gone, and it hit her at the oddest times, leaving her struggling not to weep aloud.
The herd of cows cleared the tracks and the conductor climbed aboard. After a series of toots and whistles, the train began inching forward. Mile after mile of flat fields followed, and though Fiona tried to absorb as much as she could of the countryside, the monotony of it had her closing her eyes once more. The pencil slipped from nerveless fingers; the letter to her mother forgotten.
After several hours Fiona again awoke. Someone had opened a window, and she breathed in fresh clean air that carried the hint of evergreen. There were clear sparkling lakes and apple orchards, the fruit heavy on the branches. As the hills became steeper, she could see, off in the distance, a farmhouse looking lost in the fields of wheat and corn and tomatoes stretching as far as the eye could see.
Despite her weariness Fiona sat up straighter, wondering again at the strange fate that had brought her so far from all that was comfortable and familiar. She couldn’t deny the little ripple of excitement at the thought of the town that held her future. Paradise Falls. She’d seen pictures of Niagara. Would this be as impressive? Did people come from all over to see this natural phenomenon? And what of the children she would be teaching? She imagined herself opening all those eager young minds to history and mathematics and literature, could see in her mind’s eye a lovely ivy-covered schoolhouse, and perhaps a chapel nearby, much like the one at Bennett.
Oh, it was such a lovely dream. One that had her smiling as she bent to her letter.
I anticipate the end of my journey, Mum, and the beginning of my new life. I tried to find Paradise Falls on my map, but to no avail. No matter. Soon enough I shall be there, to see and experience it firsthand.
With love and prayers that you are resting comfortably,
Your loving daughter
The train moved through a forest of pine trees tall enough to blot out all trace of the sun. By the time they came out on the other side, the air had grown cold, forcing Fiona to reach for her shawl. With her face to the window she watched a spectacular sunset reflected in the water of the lake that seemed to stretch all the way to the horizon.
Seeing the conductor passing through, she lifted a hand to stop him. “How long before we reach Paradise Falls?”
The old man tugged on his beard. “Not until morning, miss. That’s the end of the line, just after Little Bavaria.”
“Little Bavaria?” She liked the sound of it. “Will we cross the ocean, then?”
He chuckled. “It’s right here in Michigan. These are German settlements, miss. As you’d expect, most of the folks living in Little Bavaria are from the Alpine regions of Germany and Switzerland. I guess the rocky hillsides of northern Michigan remind them of the land they left. They brought their language and crafts with them, and Little Bavaria is known around these parts for its
fine woodworking and leather goods.” He chuckled and touched a hand to his stomach. “But most of all they’re known for their food. There’s none better.”
As he moved on she found herself thinking about food. Reaching into her satchel, she removed a precious apple. Before she could take a bite she felt a movement beside her and looked over to see the little boy standing in the aisle watching her.
Up close, his face was streaked with dirt. Mud was caked beneath his fingernails. His ill-fitting clothes were threadbare, but his smile was angelic.
Fiona gave him a gentle smile. “Are you hungry?” He nodded and stared at the apple as though it were gold.
She’d carefully rationed her food, packing most in her mother’s bag so that Bridget would have enough to last until she reached Chicago. Still, the look of the lad, all big hungry eyes and solemn little mouth, touched Fiona’s tender heart.
Without a word she reached into her satchel and removed a small knife, cutting the apple into quarters. She handed the lad two, so that he could share with the old man.
He gave a quick smile and danced away. Minutes later his grandfather turned and smiled at her, showing a gap where his teeth had once been. Fiona returned the smile. As darkness settled over the land, she nibbled her fruit and caught occasional glimpses of light far out on the water.
There had been fishermen in Massachusetts. That fact brought her comfort. She wasn’t going to a foreign land, after all. How different could Paradise Falls be from the home she’d left behind?
All through the night, as she drifted in and out of sleep, she thought about what lay at the end of her journey. She snuggled under her shawl, fighting a sense of overwhelming excitement laced with moments of pure terror.
Da’s beloved voice washed over her. “remember, Fiona, that all of life is a blank slate, on which we can write whatever we choose.”
Soothed, Fiona swallowed back her fear, and vowed to write the grandest adventure of them all.
TWO
Thin morning sunlight filtered through the leaves of trees lining the railroad tracks, creating a kaleidoscope against Fiona’s lids. She opened her eyes, fighting a feeling of complete disorientation, before she realized where she was. The train was slowing. She peered out the window but could see nothing except forest.
“Paradise Falls,” came the conductor’s voice.
Knowing first impressions were important, Fiona reached into her valise and withdrew stiff new boots and a bonnet. It wouldn’t do to meet her hosts looking weary from her travels. She set aside her everyday boots and slipped her feet into the shiny new ones. After stuffing her old boots into her valise, she pulled on the bonnet, tucking little wisps of hair up under her brim. She smoothed down her skirts before picking up her valise.
As soon as the train came to a shuddering halt she followed the old man and his grandson down the length of the car and accepted the conductor’s hand as she stepped from the train.
The station was little more than a crude shed. Inside a bearded man was seated at a wooden desk, marking in a ledger. When the conductor, assisted by one of the coal-stokers, dropped Fiona’s trunk with a thud, the station master looked up in surprise.
“Sorry, Edwin. You should’ve told me. I’d have given you a hand with that. Looks heavy.” He glanced toward Fiona. “Don’t get many visitors to Paradise Falls.” His words were delivered in clipped tones, with a thick accent Fiona didn’t recognize. He carefully set down his pencil and stepped around the desk.
Fiona extended her hand. “My name is Fiona Downey.”
“The schoolmistress?” The man couldn’t hide his surprise as he looked her over. “Didn’t know you’d be coming in today. Neither did the Haydn family, I’ll wager.”.
Her heart sank. That would mean there was no one here to greet her.
“Fine people, the Haydns. You won’t find anyone better in Paradise Falls.” The stationmaster looked pointedly at her trunk. “Don’t think you’d care to haul that all the way to the Haydn farm. Just leave it here until someone’s heading that way. I’ll see they deliver it.”
“Thank you. How will I find the Haydn farm?”
He stepped to the door and pointed. “Just follow that road up the hill and around a couple of bends. It’ll be the sixth farm you come to. No more’n a half-dozen miles, I figure.”
Six miles. She saw the conductor step aboard the train, and gave serious consideration to following him. Then her sanity returned and she managed to smile at the station manager. “Thank you. I don’t know your name.”
“Gerhardt Shultz.”
“Mr. Shultz, do you think I might leave my valise here with my trunk?”
“Yes, indeed.” He took it from her hand.
“Thank you.” She turned away and walked out of the little shed into blinding sunlight.
Squaring her shoulders, she started up the dirt path, wondering what had happened to the old man and little boy who had shared her train ride. In the excitement of retrieving her trunk and getting directions to her destination, she had lost track of them. Seeing no one on the trail ahead of her, she decided they must have been picked up by family.
Family.
The very word brought a heaviness to her heart, and she had to fight the tears that threatened. She’d once been part of a family. Now she felt like the loneliest person in the world.
“Oh, Da.” Her words came tumbling out in a cry of anguish. “How I wish you could be here with me.”
She shivered as a breeze whispered across her cheek, tugging at the ribbons of her bonnet, just the way, her father often had.
Though her doubts remained, a little of her fears seemed to subside.
As she passed the first squalid farm, and studied the leaning outbuildings and meager crops in the fields, the thought of her grand adventure mocked her. Grand indeed. This seemed to be the sort of grinding poverty her parents had endured, before coming to America. It would seem that she’d traded one set of problems for another. Perhaps she should have gone to Chicago with her mother. Even if the only work she found would be cleaning other people’s homes, at least she and her mother could be together.
Here she was, nothing more than a fool, trapped in a web of her own making. Now there was nothing to do but endure it as best she could, and hope that by year’s end she had enough money saved to leave this dreary place and make a home with her mother any place but Paradise Falls.
“Was this what drove you from Ireland, Da?”
The sound of her own voice startled her and she walked faster. The sun was now high overhead, sending little rivers of sweat down her back. Her boots were stiff and she thought about sitting on a boulder and removing them. But what would her hosts think if the schoolteacher should arrive barefoot?
Her hair beneath the bonnet grew damp. After half an hour she’d tossed her hat back from her head, leaving it bouncing against her back, secured by the ribbons at her throat. She was so grateful for the breeze she gave not a thought to the havoc it might be playing with her hair, which tended to curl into little corkscrews in the heat.
The second farm she passed was no better than the first, though the house seemed pretty enough, with sunflowers growing by the porch. By the time she’d passed the third farm the road grew steep, climbing through heavily wooded forest. Her gown was damp with sweat and her boots weighed her down with every step. The fields here seemed larger, each farm farther away from its neighbor, but, she reasoned, it might only seem that way because she was so desperately weary.
After passing yet another farm she paused under a tree and removed her boots, carrying one in each hand. The hem of her gown swept the dust of the trail, though she no longer cared how dirty it got. All she wanted was to reach her destination and enjoy a sip of water.
As she moved doggedly forward, she was too tired to appreciate the symmetry of the fields she was passing. The soil here seemed richer, darker, but that might mean it had recently rained. When she spotted the name Haydn on the side of the barn up a
head, she thought she might weep with relief.
She sat down in the grass by the side of the road, determined to slip into her boots and smooth her hair before meeting her hosts. But before she could even begin to repair the damage of her long walk, she caught sight of a horse and wagon coming up over a rise.
When the driver spotted her he pulled back on the reins and sat staring at her with a look of complete surprise.
“Hello.” She got to her feet, unaware that she was still holding a boot in each hand.
“Hello, yourself.” With sunlight streaming over him, he looked like a drawing from one of her da’s books on mythology. His hair glinted with gold highlights. His skin, too, was bronzed by the sun, while his eyes were palest blue, like the sky in early morning, before the sunlight warmed it. “Are you lost?”
She was so dazzled by the look of him, it took her a moment to answer. She shook her head. “It seems I’ve found what I was looking for. The Haydn farm.”
“Why are you looking for the Haydn farm?”
“I’ll be living there while I teach school.”
“You’re the new teacher?” He laughed then, a loud, joyous sound that had her smiling in spite of her weariness. “Oh, this is going to be great fun.”
“Fun?”
He nodded and jumped down. “The fun will begin when Ma sees you.” He offered his hand. “I’m Fleming Haydn. My friends call me Flem.”
“Flem.” She stuck out her hand, then seeing the boot dangling from her fingers, laughed and dropped it before accepting his handshake. “My name is Fiona Downey.”
He lifted her boot out of the dirt and handed it back to her. “Are you going to wear these, Fiona Downey, or carry them?”
She blushed slightly before plopping down in the grass.
“I think I’d better wear them. I don’t want to meet your family looking like this.”
“I don’t see why not.” He knelt beside her, his smile widening. “I think you look positively delightful. Not at all like a schoolmarm.”
She ducked her head and finished lacing her boots before getting to her feet and brushing off her skirts.