Chapter Four

The smell of brewing coffee filled the kitchen and spilled out into the hallway. The dining room table was set for two, and Finola was humming and smiling brightly as Timothy carried Liam into the dining room for breakfast.

“Well, it’s about time you two were up and going,” she said. “I was about to give up on you both.”

“Good morning, Finola,” Liam cried. “I feel so much better today. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“You’re most welcome, Master Liam. Do you feel like some breakfast this morning? I’ve made a nice hot pot of oatmeal.”

“Okay,” he said, settling into his chair.

“How about a cup of cocoa?” she asked.

“Yes, please.”

“And coffee for you, sir?”

“Oh, yes.” Timothy stared at his son. “I’ll just come in and get it.”

Finola nodded and held the door open for him to enter. She resumed humming as she filled a delicate teacup with cocoa. Liam’s bowl of oatmeal was decorated with a sun fashioned from raisins and sprinkled with cinnamon.

“You certainly go to a lot of trouble,” Timothy commented, raising an eye at the artful bowl of cereal.

“Oh, it’s no trouble. The lad needs strengthening, and raisins are good for the blood.” She whisked the bowl and cup away before he could answer.

“Looking for your dish?” she startled him upon her return.

“Yes, I’m quite hungry this morning. Do I, too, get a bowl of oatmeal with a raisin sun?”

“Go take your seat.” She laughed. “I’ll bring it right out.”

“Finola, I mean, Mrs. McNamara, I just wanted to thank you for last night. I get frightened when Liam takes ill.”

“No thanks needed, sir. But I am a bit curious. You said last night that the lad often has the runs and a lot of stomach pain?” She watched his face.

“Yes. It started about two months after his mother died, and it’s continued for the last several months. Why?”

“Oh, I was just wondering what his ailment could be.” She bit her lip as she prepared his bowl. “You say the doctors don’t know?”

“No, they haven’t a clue, but my wife’s symptoms were very similar, only more severe. Her condition advanced rapidly, perhaps because she was expecting.” His voice dropped at the last word.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know.”

“Well, it was all very sudden. One day everything was fine, and a month later she was unable to get out of bed. I’ve never understood it.” Draining the cup, he turned away. “I’ll have a bit more coffee, too, if you don’t mind.”

“Certainly, sir,” she said, watching him retreat to the dining area. There was a lot of hurt inside that man, and if something didn’t change soon it would eat him up alive, she thought.

After breakfast, Timothy retreated upstairs to get ready for work. Liam remained in the kitchen with Finola, watching her wash dishes. He sat very still, taking in her very movement.

“What was the boat like?” His voice was low and serious.

“Hmm? What boat, darlin’?”

“The one you came to America on. Was it like a big hotel?”

She gazed at his eyes shining with wonder. “Well, no, it wasn’t like that at all. There were a lot of us who came here on that boat. People from England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland, where my family lives. We all lived in the bottom of the boat, but some of them that had a bit more money were on another deck above us. The sea was huge, and I thought that boat cutting through the water must have made it very angry because it tossed us around a lot.”

“Were you frightened?” His eyes were large and round with wonder.

“Sometimes. But most of the time I was just sick. All that jostling around made me throw up a lot.”

“Oh,” he said with a sad sigh. “That’s too bad. Sometimes I throw up a lot, too. It hurts.”

“Yes, it does.” She wiped the bowls dry and placed them in the glass front cabinet.

“Did you come all that way by yourself?”

“Oh, no. My husband, Frank, and I traveled together. We left our home in Ireland to come here. Before we arrived, we had a baby girl. Her name was Siobahn.”

Liam’s eyes lit up when he heard that. “Oh, Finola, where is she now? May I meet her? And your husband, too?”

She knelt down beside him and took his small hand in hers. “No, child. They’re not here anymore. They both died. I’m all alone now.”

Tears welled up in the child’s eyes, and he wrapped his arms around her neck. “No, you’re not. You’re not alone, Finola. You have us now—Father and me.”

She hugged him tightly and patted his small back. “That’s good for both of us, isn’t it? Now, let’s get you into some clothes and make plans for the day.”

They left the kitchen hand in hand, chatting about the things they could do together. Taking the steps upstairs at a turtle’s pace, they made their way to the boy’s bedroom. Finola made up Liam’s bed while he changed clothes. From the hallway, the scent of bay rum skittered in to tickle her nose.

“I think your father must be about ready to leave for work. Why don’t you go tell him goodbye and give him a hug?” she suggested.

Liam crept out of the room, tired from his morning activities. He would need a nap soon, she thought. She closed her eyes as the persistent scent of bay rum seemed to close in around her. How she had always loved that smell. The few times when she had urged Frank to go into a real barbershop for a haircut and shave, he always returned smelling of bay rum. She still missed him. She supposed that she always would.

“Mrs. McNamara? Are you all right?”

Her eyes flew open to find Mr. Adams staring at her curiously.

“Oh, yes, sir. I was just having a little visit into the past. Memories, you know.”

“Yes, I know. I’m leaving now.” His eyebrows knitted together in worry. “I think Liam is ready for a nap.”

“Certainly, sir. Will you be returning for lunch?”

“Ah, well, I don’t know…”

“Oh, please do, Father,” Liam begged. “Please do.”

“All right, then. I shall return a bit before noon.” With that, he waved a hasty farewell to them and strode down the stairs.

She winked at Liam. “How about a little rest now? Where do you prefer to take your naps, Master Liam?”

“I don’t know. Where will you be, Finola?”

“I think I’ll begin cleaning upstairs first, so if you would prefer to stretch out here in your own little bed, I’ll be very close at hand should you need me.”

“Then that’s what I’ll do,” he agreed, climbing onto the bed. “Will you tuck me in?”

“Of course,” she said.

“And kiss my forehead again?”

Finola smiled. “Absolutely. No one can take a decent nap without a good kiss on the forehead, can they?”

“No, they can’t,” Liam agreed. Yawning, he received his kiss and settled down.

“Liam,” Finola said, squinting her eyes at his mouth. “Could you do that again?”

“Do what?”

“Yawn for me again, darlin’, really wide like you just did.”

Liam complied, opening his mouth as wide as could. And there she saw it—a blue line on the child’s gums.

“How long have you had that blue line there in your mouth, Liam?” she asked, keeping her voice steady.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe a few months or so. Why?”

“No reason, really.” She patted his arm with reassurance. “It’s just that I knew someone with that same kind of line in their mouth one time. She was sick, too.”

“Really? Did she get well?”

Finola bit her lip. She didn’t want to lie to the boy, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell the truth either. “Eventually she ended up just perfectly fine,” she said, hoping God would forgive her for fudging the truth just a little. But little Nancy went to live with God, so she wasn’t lying—the child was truly and perfectly fine now.

Within an hour she had the beds changed and made up neatly, the water closet scoured and clean, and most of the cobwebs knocked down from the corners of the hallway. She gathered up the long carpet runners from the hallway and took them out to the gazebo until she had time to beat the dust out of them, then she returned upstairs to sweep. As she worked, her mind clicked along with deductive precision. Liam was being poisoned, but how? Little Nancy, her young cousin, had died when she was just five years old from lead poisoning. By the time anyone figured out what had happened, it was too late and the child was gone.

She highly doubted that Mr. Adams was poisoning his own son. No, it was something else. He was getting it somewhere, but how could she find it? She had only just arrived in the house, and whatever was making the child sick had been doing so for several months. Perhaps it was that strange water heating contraption in the kitchen, she thought with horror. Or maybe it was something to do with the elaborate gas lamps they used? She looked around her in fright. It could be anything, anything at all.

With the hallway swept neatly, she deposited the collection of dirt into the dustbin outside the kitchen door. Quietly, she made her way back up the stairs and tiptoed into Liam’s room. Maybe, she thought, it was one of his favorite toys. Something he played with a lot, like a train or a top.

She looked over the large assortment of toys, but none of them seemed particularly dangerous. In fact, they looked as if they hadn’t been touched in ages. She sighed. That was a dead end.

Discouraged, she went down to the kitchen to make lunch. Mr. Adams would return in an hour’s time, and she had to begin the noon meal. By the time the little bell in the corner jangled, she had a chicken cut up and frying in a large, black iron skillet. A kettle of black eyed peas simmered alongside it, and a pan of cornbread dressing baked in the oven.

She hurried up to Liam’s room, only to find him scowling at her from the bed. “I thought you said you would be nearby if I needed you.”

“I have been, but I went down to make lunch for you and your father,” she explained, helping him out of bed.

“Well, I want sauerkraut.”

“I haven’t gotten down to the cellar to see about it yet, Liam. Go wash up and we’ll go downstairs and have some tea.”

“I want sauerkraut,” he yelled again, slamming the door behind him as he marched into the water closet.

“Someone certainly got up in a snit, didn’t he?” she mused out loud. The boy was moody, and one thing she knew for sure was that she was not making sauerkraut for midday dinner.

****

They went downstairs in silence, Liam still petulant and sullen. Although the chicken smelled delicious, he refused to reconsider his demand for sauerkraut. His father allowed him to eat it all the time, he insisted, and as much of it as he wanted. It was the last thing he had left of his mother, and he wanted to have some of it every day to keep her nearby.

“I’m sorry, Master Liam, but no sauerkraut today. Perhaps at supper,” she said firmly.

Sulking, he drank his tea and answered her questions about how his mother made the kraut with words as terse as he could manage.

“Grandmother Livinia usually brought the kraut every year, but when the floods came, she sent Mother a letter saying she couldn’t bring any from Pennsylvania,” he huffed at having to divulge the story. “Mother would have to make her own. She didn’t really know how, but she wanted it for the baby.

“Mother almost never made anything like that herself, but she said he just had to have sauerkraut just like my Grandmother Livinia made.” He related the story with such sorrow that she wanted to hold him close, but she didn’t. She just let him talk. “Mother told me the baby really wanted sauerkraut, and if the baby wanted it then I want it, too.”

She listened to his story, nodding as he paused to catch his breath.

“I helped her by bringing her the cabbages and washing them in cold water. She cut and chopped so many cabbages, I thought she would never stop.” He spread his hands out before him. “But she finally finished. Mother packed the mountain of cabbage into the large urns in the cellar and turned into sauerkraut”

“And how did you like it,” Finola asked.

“I thought it smelled awful,” he admitted, hanging his head. “I didn’t want to eat it.”

Finola thought this information over carefully. “But then you decided you liked it?”

“My mother loved it and ate bowls and bowls of it.” He stared down into his empty cup. “After she died, I started eating it. She had made it with her own hands, and that made me feel like she was still close to me.”

She refilled his cup with tea and milk, watching the boy as he lost himself in thought. She knew exactly where was his mind was today.

“Are you going to get my sauerkraut?” he asked suddenly, his face a mask of anger.

“I’ll go down to the cellar after your father has his lunch. If he approves, I’ll be happy to make some for your supper.” She leaned closer to him. “I was wondering, Liam, if you could tell me more about this sauerkraut.”

“Like I said, it smells bad. German people eat it a lot. My Grandmother Livinia is German. She likes to make it a lot with something called ‘wurst,’ but we never have it here.”

“I see,” she mused. “I’ve never eaten it.”

“It was a lot of work, but I helped her. She used to get tired a lot because she was going to have a baby. Mother never let me cut the cabbages up, though. She was afraid I would cut myself with the knives,” he explained. “But I wouldn’t have, you know.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that,” she answered quickly. “You’re far too smart a lad to do that.”

“Right. Anyway, she cut up all those cabbages and mixed some salt into it and put the whole bunch of it in crocks in the cellar.” He made motions with his hands as he explained the process. “That’s where it turned into sauerkraut, kind of like magic, you see.”

“Ah, yes, magical cabbage. I like the sound of that.”

The sound of the front door opening distracted her from her suspicions, but she promised herself that a trip to the cellar would soon confirm or negate what she feared might be true.

Timothy entered the kitchen with anxious eyes, looking from one to the other. “How are you both this fine day?”

“Very well, sir. I’ll get your dinner. Master Liam, I hope you like fried chicken,” she said.

“Yes, I do. Not as much as sauerkraut, but I like it,” he said, keeping his eyes on his cup of milky tea.

“Why don’t you run upstairs and wash up for lunch, uhm, dinner, well for chicken? Okay? There you go. Can you manage it alone?” Timothy waited until Liam had exited the kitchen before he spoke to Finola. “He’s at it again with the sauerkraut?”

“Yes, sir. He’s been in quite a state this afternoon, and I’d like to talk to you this evening about some things.” She smiled despite her growing worry. “Right now, I’m sure you’re half starving. Would you like to have your meal in the dining room or here in the kitchen?”

“Oh, let’s just eat here in the kitchen. I kind of like that. Makes it cozier. You know, Finola, you can join us if you would like.”

She felt the blush rise in her cheeks. He was openly calling her Finola and not Mrs. McNamara. She supposed that was to be expected after she had traipsed around the house in her nightgown in front of them both.

“I thank ye, sir. I’ll get the food,” she said, anxious to escape his questioning gaze.

By the time Liam returned with his face and hands scrubbed clean, she had set their plates on the table. Crispy, golden fried chicken tantalized them with its aroma, and piles of dressing and freshly cooked black eyed peas filled their plates. She set a tall glass of cold milk in front of each of them.

“Now, you two need some meat on your bones,” she said, sitting down at the far end of the table with mere dabs of food on her plate. “Let us say grace and enjoy this meal.”

Timothy blessed the table with the familiar Catholic prayer they both knew. After crossing themselves, Finola passed a basket of buttery little rolls around.

“I can’t remember when I’ve had such a fine mid-day meal,” Timothy said after three pieces of chicken and two servings of peas. “I can hardly wait for supper. What are we having?”

“Sauerkraut,” Liam intoned with an ominous glance toward his father. “I haven’t had any for days, and I want some. Finola promised she would see about it, and you know that she doesn’t lie—even to children.”

“Surely we can have something in addition to sauerkraut,” she suggested, arching her eyebrows at Timothy. “What would you like, sir?”

“If you’re going down to the cellar anyway, perhaps you could check the storage bins for some sweet potatoes. I had the vegetable vendor put some down there a couple of months ago. I love sweet potatoes.”

“I shall do that,” she agreed. “And I have some nice pork left from the visit to the mercantile yesterday.”

“That would nice. I suppose I should arrange for Carmine to drive you to the butcher’s tomorrow and perhaps some of the other shops, too.” Timothy pulled himself out of the chair and stretched. “I’ll leave word for Mrs. Johnson to come and sit with Liam while you’re gone.”

“No!”

Liam’s outburst startled her so that she nearly spilled her glass of milk.

“I want to go where Finola goes. She might need me,” he said, his lower lip trembling. “I don’t want her going into town alone.”

“But Carmine will be there,” his father tried to explain.

“No, I’m going with her. Really, Father, I want to go.” He crossed his thin little arms across his chest, as if to say that no manner of arguing could persuade him otherwise.

“Let’s see how you’re feeling tomorrow, and then we’ll decide. Okay?” Timothy smoothed his son’s hair and patted his back. “A wonderful meal, Finola. Thank you. Now, I must return to the bank.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll see you this evening.”

****

After the kitchen was cleaned and the dishes washed and put in their rightful places, Liam returned to his bed to look at a storybook while Finola ventured into the cellar. She found an oil lantern with a handle by the top of the stairs and lit it before descending into the musty darkness.

The large stone crocks were nestled toward the back of the small cellar, nearly hidden by barrels of apples, turnips, and sweet potatoes. Delighted with the discovery of such ample stores, she located a basket and loaded it with an assortment of the produce. Her mind swam with the idea of flaky apple pie, baked sweet potatoes, and a fine pot of turnips to accompany their pork supper that night. Setting the basket aside, she turned her attention toward the two large crocks. Lifting the lid off one, the fermented smell that came whooshing out almost made her faint.

“I suppose some people like this stuff, but I can’t imagine ever developing a fondness for it meself,” she muttered aloud. Using a long-handled scoop, she pushed away a mound of the fermented cabbage from the side of the crock and held her lantern up to it. Just as she feared. Repeating the procedure in the other vessel, she closed them both up tightly and gathered up her basket.

A visit to Carmine would be her next bit of business, she thought resolutely as she climbed the cellar steps. Her actions were bound to cause a ruckus, but her mind was made up, and the Adams would just have to live with it.