24

Thomas would walk until his feet bled, and then he would beg a ride on wagons heading north. It seemed he would never make it to New York. Finally, he arrived in Tennessee where he was told there were northbound train tracks.

He jumped a train along with a group of unsavory-looking characters. With his dirty, disheveled clothes and the scruffy growth on his chin, he wondered if those he rode with thought him one of their own. What would Margaret think were she to see him now?

For some strange reason it was comforting to think the lot of them were more than likely in the same boat he was. Jumping the train was illegal and ungodly, and it made him feel about as low as he ever had. But having no means to pay his way and needing to get back to his duty as a sailor, he asked God to forgive him, and he’d figure out a way to pay later.

After many long weeks of travel, Thomas arrived in Yonkers, New York, on a Sunday afternoon. Winter plunged its frigid hooks into the North. Dirty brown snow piled high on street corners and people walked about clad in layers of thick clothing.

The smell of soot and smoke from well-used chimneys saturated the air. Thomas rubbed his arms against the brutal cold. He longed to hold his beloved Margaret next to a warm fireplace but would have settled for a warm winter coat. The only thing that made this place desirable to him was that he didn’t have to fear capture by the Rebels and that his family was nearby. The town seemed to go on as usual despite the war raging in the South.

The little row house where his father lived remained intact with its peeling paint and rotting eaves. The distinct smell emanating from the house confused Thomas, as he’d never known his pap to smoke meat before. His mouth watered with the wonderful smell of food. He rapped on the door. An elderly man answered, but it wasn’t Pap. A streak of fear dashed through his heart.

“What’d you want?” The old man’s eyes revealed his misgivings. His thick accent fell harsh on Thomas’s ears.

It took Thomas a moment to collect his thoughts. “Ah, yes. I’m looking for my pa…my father. I used to live here with him. His name is Darby Murphy.”

The look of suspicion melted from the man’s face and he smiled. “Well, that must make you either Thomas or Jonathan then.” He opened the door all the way and took Thomas’s arm, ushering him inside. “Come in, come in. You’re letting all the warm air out.”

Thomas stepped inside the house. “The name’s Thomas Murphy, sir. Jonathan’s my brother.”

The door was shut behind him. It was unclear how the man could possibly know his or his brother’s name, but he was sure to find out soon enough.

The man looked Thomas up and down and rubbed his chin. “Thomas, eh? Well, you’re mighty tall compared to your father. But you have that same Irish accent, that’s for sure.”

“Excuse me, sir. Ye sure seem to know a lot about me, but I haven’t a clue who you are.”

The man walked as if it pained him to get around.

Thomas followed him to the small kitchen table near the fire. He pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Well, of course, you don’t; my apologies. The name’s Gorski, Edward Gorski. But you can call me Ed.” He moved to the stove and put a kettle on to boil.

Thomas looked around the familiar surroundings and found the source of the divine aroma.

“Son, don’t you worry about your father. As best I know, he’s fine.”

A wave of relief flooded Thomas’s heart despite the fact that his father so obviously wasn’t living here. Where had he and Michael gone? He tapped impatient, cold fingers on the table. “So can ye tell me where my pap is, Mr. Gorski?”

Mr. Gorski waved off Thomas’s question. “Just hold up there, young fellow. Let me make some coffee to warm your insides, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

The coffee did sound wonderful. There was probably no use rushing Mr. Gorski. He lifted his hands toward the fire, careful not to touch the slab of meat dangling from the hearth. The smell of the meat so close to his face was intoxicating.

After a few moments Mr. Gorski brought two mugs of coffee to the table. “Good ol’ cup of coffee will warm you up. Oh, be careful of that pastrami—it’s going on display in my shop window tomorrow.” He set a mug in front of Thomas and placed the other on the table. He was about to sit in the chair, but jumped up. “Oh, my goodness, I almost forgot.”

Gorski went to the countertop next to the stove. He dug through a stack of papers, looking for something. “Ah, here it is.” He pulled out an envelope and brought it back to the table.

The envelope was plain and white with Thomas’s name written on the front in ink. Thomas reached for it, recognizing his father’s writing. “It’s from my pap.”

“Yes, sir, he left it with me before he moved on. But I’ll let you read about that for yourself.”

Thomas opened the flap, removed the letter, and began to read.

Dear Thomas, if you’re reading this letter, then you went to the old house before going to the naval office. I left a letter for you with them as well so you would be sure and receive the message. I won’t go into detail here, but Michael and I have moved up to Massachusetts. I pray that you will come to us as soon as you are able. Inquire for Michael at Massachusetts General Hospital in order to find us. Love, Pap.

“What on earth are they doing in Massachusetts? And why should I inquire at the hospital for them?”

His words were more for himself than Mr. Gorski, but the old man answered him anyway. “Well, I can’t say that I actually knew your father. I took over his lease when he moved out. He left that letter with me and asked that I give it to you, should you show up.” He took a sip from his mug. “Heavens, that’s been almost eight months ago.”

“Eight months…they’ve been gone for eight months?” He released a long, mournful sigh. He rested his elbows on the table and rubbed his eyes. “I’ve been on the road for so long, and now I have to keep going all the way up to Boston?”

Mr. Gorski walked to an icebox and removed a bowl of butter and a plate of sliced meat and set them in front of Thomas. He then gathered a knife, a plate, and a basket covered with a piece of cheesecloth and returned to sit at the table.

When he uncovered the basket, the wonderful aroma of fresh sourdough bread wafted to Thomas’s nostrils.

Gorski took a slice and shoved the basket to him.

Thomas took a large piece and waited for his host to finish using the butter knife.

Gorski motioned toward the plate of meat. “Have yourself a big slab of that ham. My smoked meats are some of the best you’ve ever tasted. I guarantee it. Now, of course, I was able to get my hands on a lot more kinds of meat before the war, but that’s how it goes, I suppose.”

Thomas helped himself to some of the sweet-smelling ham. “Thank ye, sir. I’m much obliged.” He laid the piece of meat on top of the bread he’d smeared with butter.

“Well, I can tell you haven’t had much to eat by the way your clothes are hanging on your body. You’re too big a man to be so skinny. Reminds me of my grandson; probably around your age.”

The good food and warm coffee helped to soothe Thomas’s beleaguered disposition. “Yer grandson, eh, does he live close by?”

“Not anymore,” Mr. Gorski said quietly. “He was killed at Gettysburg back in sixty-three.”

~*~

By the time evening rolled around, Thomas had heard the entire history of Mr. Gorski’s family. After his daughter died in childbirth, he and his wife raised their grandson, and the three of them worked together in his butcher shop. He had to move into this place after a fire destroyed the apartment above his shop. Now with his grandson and wife gone, he was truly alone in the world.

Thomas stood up from the table and brushed sourdough crumbs from his trousers. “Mr. Gorski, I’m much obliged for yer kind hospitality, but I’m afraid I must be leaving now. I have a long way to go yet.”

Mr. Gorski took a sip of coffee. “Thomas, why don’t you sit back down. I have a proposition you might be interested in.”