The Family Business

 

I thoroughly enjoyed bathing in the tub. It was like washing up in the river, but much cleaner. Letting all that water go out seemed like quite a waste though. Same with the sink. And, where did all that water come from? The ocean? I wondered. I put on the light blue dress Mrs. Witherspoon gave me, tied up my hair with a scarf, pulled on my boots, collected my rent and board money, and rushed downstairs to meet Mallory.

I heard voices in the kitchen. “Well, what did you expect, Mallory?”

A young voice said, “I don’t know. I thought it would be a good idea, I guess.”

I stood, silent, in the kitchen doorway. I hated to interrupt, but Mrs. McCarthy turned around and saw me. “Oh, Emeline! Hello. My, don’t you look nice in that blue dress.” She looked at her daughter. “Mallory, meet Emeline. She’ll be our guest for the next month.”

“Hello, Emeline,” said Mallory.

“Hello, Mallory. I’m happy to meet you.” I turned to Mrs. McCarthy and said, “Here’s my month’s rent and first week’s board.”

“Thank you, Emeline.” She pocketed the money and looked at Mallory. “Why don’t you give her a tour of the house, dear?”

“Come, Emeline, let me show you around. Of course, you know this is the kitchen. What are we having for supper, Mama?”

“Beef stew and rolls, tea to drink, and cake for dessert.”

“Yum!” said Mallory.

I smiled and followed her to the next room, where she said, “Now this is the dining room. This long table can hold up to ten people at once. It doubles as a library. You can read any of the books you want, but they must stay in this room.”

“There are lots of books, I see. Do you have a favorite?”

“I’d have to say, Mark Twain’s book, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I like Robert Lewis Stevenson’s book Treasure Island too. What about you?”

“I like both of those books, and Little Women. I love to read.”

“This next room is the parlor; you came through this one earlier. Some people like to come in here after supper to visit. Mama and I both play the piano, but not unless we’re asked. It’s rude to play unless the others in the room want to hear it. If no one is in the room, then we can play if we want to.”

“No one is here right now. Would you play one song for me?”

Smiling, she took her seat on the piano bench and played a little song for me. “That was called He Was Such a Nice Man.”

“Thank you. You play very well. I’ve never tried. There aren’t many pianos in Kearney, Missouri.”

“I’ve been playing since I was six. I enjoy the piano. Well, there are steps that lead down into the cellar, but we don’t need to go there. That’s mostly for storage. Let’s go upstairs.” We climbed up the stairs to the second floor where my room was. “You know this floor already. There’s your room - just to the right of the bathroom. I know you’ve seen that. The other guests you’ll meet at supper: Mr. and Mrs. Spengler live in the room up the hall from yours, Mr. Baldwin’s room is across the hall from theirs, and Miss Erica Eckhart lives in the room on the left side of the bathroom.”

“And what’s upstairs? Your rooms?”

“Yaw, I’ll show you where we sleep.” We climbed the stairs up to the third floor, which looked almost like the second. “We sleep up here. This is my room.” It was the first door on the right and twice the size of the rooms on the second floor. “It’s much larger than yours. We made those rooms smaller on purpose so we could take more boarders. Across the hall is Mama and Papa’s room. And then there’s another bathroom at the end of this floor for us.”

“This is very nice! Thank you for showing me the house. Where did Mr. McCarthy go with Penny and the carriage?”

“Oh, at the end of the block there’s a livery stable for everyone’s horses and carriages or buggies. Mr. Zuckerman and his son James, we call him Jimmy, take care of Penny for us.”

“Oh, I see. Do you ever ride Penny? I’d love to do that sometime.”

“We’d have to go out of town quite a ways to find some clear roads to travel, but we can ask Papa. Maybe on a fair Saturday we can.”

The sound of a bell rang throughout the house.

“That’ll be supper. Let’s go,” said Mallory. “We’ll have to look at the fourth floor another time.”

Everyone in the house gathered at the long table with a white Battenburg lace covering. In front of me was my place setting: a large bowl, a small plate on top of a slightly larger one at the upper left, a glass tumbler at the upper right, a soup spoon and butter knife to the right of the bowl, and a dessert fork to the left of the bowl. Under the dessert fork was a cloth napkin. The stew was in a ceramic pot on the sideboard along with a chocolate cake on a stand. Mr. McCarthy prayed: “Dear Father in heaven, thank you for this day and this good food. May it nourish our bodies so we are able to continue doing the work you would have us do. Thank you for your Word and your Son. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

Mrs. McCarthy stood up and said, “Everyone on my left, please take your bowls and fill them with stew. Then everyone on my right follow them.” After all were seated, Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy filled their bowls and sat. We passed the basket of hot rolls around, then the pitchers of tea and water, the salt and pepper shakers, and finally, the butter dish.

After one or two bites, I said, “This is an excellent stew, Mrs. McCarthy.” Everyone else agreed and made mumbling noises as it was considered impolite to talk while eating. When the food was gone, Mallory cut the cake and we all got up again to get a piece on the larger plate. All the other dishes were pushed toward the center of the table. When the cake was gone, we each gathered our own dishes: large plate, small plate, bowl, glass, and silverware, and took them to the kitchen where we cleaned them in warm water using soap and a cloth, and then stacked them on a wooden table for Mrs. McCarthy to put away.

Fatigued from the long train ride, I elected to go to bed rather than stay up and visit in the parlor. “I need some sleep, so I’ll say good night,” I said to Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy and Mallory.

“After breakfast Monday, I’ll take you to the library to look for O’Conner Lithography,” Mr. McCarthy said. “You’re welcome to join us for church in the morning.”

“That will be grand,” I said. “Thank you.”

Once ready for bed, I sat in it with my journal open and pencil ready. I wrote to myself this time:

Saturday evening, May 10, 1890

Dear me, what are you doing, and why?

Thank you for your provision, Father, I love you. Amen.

I closed the journal and laid it on the nightstand with the pencil. The pillow and cotton quilt were soft and comforting. I slept.

 

Sunday morning was special. Most in the boarding house went to church. Breakfast was simple: toast with butter and jam, and strawberries. There was no ceremony, just come and eat at will.

I woke up early and dressed in my favorite dress; the one with the rosebuds that Ma made with me. I brushed my hair and pulled it up and back with the sage scarf. I brushed my teeth and descended downstairs. Mallory was already in the kitchen getting her breakfast. “Good morning,” I said.

“Good morning. Help yourself and come to the table.” She glided into the dining room with her plate of toast and strawberries.

“That’s a very pretty dress,” I said to her. “It’s more intricate than any of mine.” It was mainly white with navy blue braided trimmings and an anchor embroidered on the sailor style bib. She even wore a white hat with a huge navy blue bow on the front.

“Thank you. The sleeves are called mutton sleeves because they’re so puffed on the top, but tight on the forearm; like a leg of lamb, I guess. But, I love your dress.”

“Thank you. My ma and I made it together.”

“Would you like some apple juice?” She poured it from a pitcher on the table into a small glass. Several glasses circled the pitcher.

“Yes, please. This is delicious. Where are your parents?”

“Mama is upstairs. She’s already eaten. Papa is getting Penny and the carriage. He’ll be here in just a few minutes. Did you sleep well?”

“I’ll say I did. I don’t even remember dreaming.” We chatted for a bit and then cleaned our dishes, dried them, and stacked them neatly in the kitchen.

Mr. McCarthy marched through the front door and into the parlor. “Good morning, ladies,” he said to both of us. He looked at me. “Ready to go to church?”

“Yes, sir. Ready.”

Mrs. McCarthy descended the staircase; a beautiful vision in a white flowing skirt with a green leaf print, dark green blouse, and white hat with green ribbons. “Good morning.”

Mr. McCarthy took her hand and kissed it. “You look lovely, dear.”

Together in the carriage, we rolled down the cobblestone streets and pulled up in front of a gigantic stone church building with many colorful, ornate stained-glass windows.

“It must hold hundreds of people!” In Kearney, we either met at a small country church or someone’s home on Sunday.

The McCarthys chuckled.

“Yaw, it does,” Mr. McCarthy said.

After church, most of the residents met in the parlor, or helped Mrs. McCarthy with supper. Mallory and I decided to help in the kitchen. The night before, she had made bread dough and put it in the food pantry to rise. Now she just kneaded it one more time, divided it into three parts, rolled it out into three long ropes, and then braided them together, tucking the ends underneath. “Mallory, will you put more coal in the stove please?” she asked.

“Coal?”

“Yaw. Don’t you use coal in Kearney?” Mallory asked as she used a scoop to lift black nuggets from an unusual shaped bucket. Mostly round, one side was flattened so you could pour the coal straight from it. She opened the top of the coal box, which was already hot, and added the new coal. “It’s called anthracite coal. It doesn’t smoke a lot and burns with a blue flame.”

“I see. So, is it better than burning wood?”

“Well, here in Boston, we don’t have an abundance of wood like you do farther west, but there are many coal mines near here: Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and probably more places than that. Plus the coal only needs to be added every twelve hours or so, once you have a good hot bed of it.”

“I need to add new wood about every three or four hours to our stove.”

“Right. So a wood stove is more work really.”

Soon, supper was prepared and ready and Mrs. McCarthy asked me to ring the bell. Ding-ding, ding-ding. It was a melodic sound. Everyone gathered, prayed, and enjoyed the Sunday meal.

Afterward, Mallory and I spent the rest of the afternoon up on the fourth floor - “The attic room” she called it. It was a warmer room, so we opened up the windows to let in some fresh air. We laughed, shared our stories, and played games until dinner, which was small. Supper was the big meal on Sunday. Then it was off to bed again. Mr. McCarthy let me borrow his Bible for the night so I turned to read what Jesus said about prayer.

Matthew 7:7-12

7 “Ask and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall
find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you:

8 For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.

9 Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?

10 Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent?

11 If ye than, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?

12 Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets.”

I wrote:

Sunday evening, May 11, 1890

Dear Jesus, thank you for your provision and protection. Please help me find Grandfather Silas tomorrow and please, if it be your will, let him accept me as his own granddaughter. I thank you. Amen.

I slept soundly through the night. In the morning, I heard the rustling of the other renters getting ready and going off to work. When they had finished, I did my ablution and dressed. This time I chose the olive green calico dress with the yellow sash and hair-tie scarf. I put a few coins in my pocket, just in case. “Later today, I must ask Mrs. McCarthy about where I can do my wash,” I said to myself. Looking up toward heaven, I said to God, “Please lead me to my grandfather today. Amen.”

I hurried downstairs and ate a quick breakfast. Mr. McCarthy was smoking his pipe and waiting for me in the parlor.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, ready.”

 

Penny pulled us all the way to the center of Boston, to the library.

I looked at its edifice: a large stone building with high Gothic arched windows. “It’s amazing!”

“Wait till you see the inside.”

We pulled Penny to the side, tied her to a hitching post, and traversed the road and sidewalk until we were inside. The main reading room was filled with several long tables, surrounded by wooden chairs, and lit by hanging lanterns. Between the windows were tall bookcases with thousands of books and a rolling ladder on each side to get to the taller shelves. At one end was a fireplace and at the other end was a large desk behind which were rows and rows of little drawers. We approached the desk. Mr. McCarthy motioned for me to make my request as he perused the books.

“Pardon, I am in search of my grandfather. May I inquire as to the whereabouts of a company called O’Connor Lithography?” I asked. There were postcards with pictures of the library on the desk for sale. “And, I’d like to purchase twelve of these cards, please.”

The librarian rose from her chair and walked over to a row of books titled The U.S. Census. Next to that was the Boston City Directory: 1890. This was the book she brought to the desk. “Everyone who lives here is listed by name. I can also provide an address. Let’s see, O’Connor, O’Connor.” She flipped through the pages, her index finger searching the listings. “What is the first name?”

“Silas,” I said.

“I have a listing for Silas O’Connor living at a residence at 35 Washington St., South Boston, Massachusetts. His entry says he is a lithographer.”

My heart fluttered. “Would you please write that down for me?”

“Certainly. Let me check the business directory in the back.” She turned to that section. “O’Connor Lithography. Here it is. It’s the same address. He probably lives in an apartment above the business.”

“Thank you so much! You don’t know what this means to me.”

“Happy to be of assistance to you. The postcards come to twenty-four cents please.”

“Would you happen to have any Bibles to sell? I lost mine on my journey.”

“No, I’m sorry. But you can find one at the Corner Bookstore on Washington Street.”

“Thank you. You’ve been most helpful.” I gathered the postcards and slipped them in my pocket, along with the address. I nodded to Mr. McCarthy and we returned to Penny and the carriage.

“Could we please stop at the Corner Bookstore on Washington Street? The librarian said I could find a Bible there.”

“Yaw, I know exactly where it is. Where is your grandfather’s business?”

I showed him the address.

“Why, that’s just a few blocks from our house. You can walk that distance easily.”

“Really? That’s incredible! I’ll go right after supper.”

We stopped at the bookstore and were home by noon. I ran upstairs to wash my face and hands and brushed my hair again. My new Bible now lay on my nightstand, along with the postcards and my journal. I looked up at the ceiling. “Thank you, Lord, again, for your provision. Amen.”

After lunch, I brushed my teeth and filled up my canteen with water while Mr. McCarthy drew a map of the streets in the area up to grandfather’s address. Anticipation welled up inside. “Thank you, Mr. McCarthy. Thank you for everything.”

I scampered out the door and down the street, following the directions on my map. Within fifteen minutes, I stood in front of his building. “Help me, Lord.” I climbed the stairs, pushed the door handle down, and leaned against the heavy door. It creaked as it opened and while I turned to shut it, a man wearing an apron over a suit came over to greet me.

“May I help you?” he asked. He was holding sheets of paper under one arm.

“Um. My name is Emeline O’Connor, daughter of Tavis O’Connor of Missouri. I’m seeking my grandfather, please.” My hands perspired while my mouth was dry.

“Tavis is my older brother. The name is Trevor O’Connor.” He shook my hand and smiled. “That makes you my niece!”

Pa had a brother? How did I not know this? “How do you do.” I smiled, grateful for his immediate acceptance.

“But where is my brother? Isn’t he with you?”

“No. It’s a long story, but I’m sorry to tell you, your brother, my pa, has died. He asked me to come and find my grandfather. It was important to him that I connect with our family.”

“Oh, no! How did that happen?”

“I think it was his heart. Farming is hard physical work.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But it’s odd that he felt that way, about family, after he, himself, left us so many years ago.”

“I wondered that too. I guess he thought I needed family to take care of me, as I’m only thirteen.”

“Your grandfather, Silas, is up in years. He’s feeble and struggles with his hearing, vision, and memory. Unable to work in the shop, he lives in an apartment on the third floor of this building. I run the business now, and my wife and I have our hands full with four small children. If you plan to stay, we’ll have to discuss living arrangements and so forth.”

“I understand.”

“You might be just what we need at our house; a helper with the little ones at home. It’s good to meet you. I can see Tavis in your eyes,” he said, as his eyes met mine.

Pleased with that compliment, I smiled. “Would you mind if I visited Grandfather Silas?”

“I don’t mind, but his mood and memory are usually best in the morning. Better try tomorrow.”

“Alright. I’ll return then.”

He opened the door for me and I shuffled down the steps.

“See you tomorrow morning,” he said.

I waved and started back to the boarding house. A helper with the young children? My eyes stung with tears that wanted to fall. I let them.