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Approaching the back door of the house, Michael saw his mother struggling with the door and a load of laundry. He put down the bag of groceries.
“Here, Ma. Let me help you with that.”
“What took so long? I expected you back an hour ago.”
Following her to the clothesline strung between two trees behind the house. Michael placed the basket on an old weathered stool, so she wouldn’t have to bend down as much.
“I met Tony down the street, and we talked a while.”
Moira reached into the clothespin bag and pulled out a handful of pins. She put a couple of pins in her mouth and pegged the pair of trousers on the line before reaching for the next item and pegging it to the line. “What’s he up to?” she said around the pins in her mouth.
“He’s going to work the carnival the next few nights.”
“Michael, don’t you go getting any ideas. That daft kid, trouble always finds him, and carnivals fester with trouble! I don’t want any of you getting into trouble, hear me?”
“Don’t worry, Ma. I have no intention of going there tonight. I’ve been asked to take the night shift at the mill.” Taking two corners of a bed sheet he helps her hang it on the line. The sheets billow in the breeze like sails.
“I love the smell of clean clothes on the line. What time do you have to leave?”
“Not ’til later, right after supper or so.”
“Go on with you then. Take a hoe to the weeds around the tomatoes and pick any ripe ones. I’ll slice some up for dinner. Pick some green beans, too. We’ll have them for supper.” Moira stood for a moment and stretched her back looking out over the garden. “I reckon the weeds grow better than the vegetables.”
“I got dry beans, molasses and brown sugar for baked beans. We haven’t had that for a while. I stopped in to Kinchela’s on my way home. Ellen insisted I get a newspaper and I got some tobacco for Dad. She’ll be home soon.”
“That was thoughtful.” Moira reached for something else to hang. “Your poor Da, he doesn’t find much enjoyment these days. Cigarettes seem to calm him.”
Michael watched her expression. Ma didn’t find much enjoyment these days either. He saw how she’d aged since the accident. Frown lines run deeper and so do the lines around her eyes. But mostly he missed her laughter. She never laughed anymore. He walked to the shed, picks up the hoe, and heads for the tomatoes in the garden.
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“Where is that girl?” Moira asked the shirt she was hanging.
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Ellen worked a few hours a week at a summer job in Kinchela’s on the corner of Chapel and Watertown Streets. They sold newspapers, magazines, tobacco; they had a good selection of comic books; and there was a penny candy counter. That made Kinchela’s a favorite hangout for teens. Neighborhood kids sit on the floor and read the comics until someone kicked them out. The counters were scratched and dented. The wide, wood plank floor is worn and uneven in places, but it shines brightly from the lemon oil Mrs. Kinchela used to polish it.
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Kinchela!” Ellen called rushing out the door. In her hurry she almost tripped over Tony, who was sitting on the wooden steps outside the door.
“What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing, sitting there in everyone’s way?” She regained her balance in time to avoid falling down the steps.
“Hi, Ellen . . . I’m sorry, uh . . . really sorry. I’m just sitting.” Tony’s face turns crimson as he babbles on. “I didn’t mean to . . . you almost . . . Uh, I’m working at the carnival tonight and tomorrow night, and Michael said he might bring you there . . . tomorrow ‘cause he’s workin’ tonight.”
In spite of her annoyance, Ellen restrained a laugh as she watched Tony, usually so high hat and cocky, become all cute and shy. She’s known him all her life and felt she could say anything to him. “When are you going to get your hair cut? It’s curling down to your collar!” Ellen says, twisting the strap of her purse around her fingers.
His dark eyes grew huge. He’s thinking now he’s done it! He’s made her mad, just what he feared. His heart had been set on only one girl these last couple years. Ellen. He couldn’t think straight when he sees those light blue eyes. Her long chestnut hair shining in the afternoon light, caught up behind her head with a large blue bow. He knows his heart is lost.
“Tony! Are you listening? You know Ma would never let me go. She doesn’t even want the boys to go.” Ellen sits down on the step beside Tony. “Ma says they are all lowlife degenerates at the carnival—even if it is at Our Lady’s.”
“She doesn’t have to know, does she? Just say you’re goin’ to a movie or something. Come on, Ellen. It’s a Friday night, geech!” He couldn’t look at her anymore, afraid she’ll see the disappointment on his face. He pretended to be interested in a knothole in the wooden steps.
“Tony, why do you use that carnival slang?”
“I don’t see what’s wrong with it. Lots of guys say it.” Oh no, more criticism. “What are you going to do when
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you graduate from high school?” he asked, changing the direction of the conversation.
“I’m going to get a real job. Kinchela’s is only for the summer. When school starts, I can still work a little after my classes and on Saturdays. But after graduation I can go anywhere. Maybe even Boston.”
“Boston!”
Ellen was proud of her decision. “Oh, yes, Ma says I need to be able to support myself, in case I don’t get married straight away.”
“Don’t go to Boston! I know plenty of guys that would marry you.” Uh oh, I shouldn’t have said that! I don’t want her thinking about other guys.
“I’ve got to go.” The conversation was getting uncomfortable. “I don’t know about tomorrow night.” Ellen got to her feet. She took two steps, turned back, and planted a kiss on his cheek. “See ya!” She quickly walked away.
“What! Oh my God!” Maybe she does like me. But I made her mad. She was mad, wasn’t she?” He watched her go, then straightened up and brushed himself off. Tony stopped, smiling as he watches Ellen crosses Chapel St and carries on up Watertown Street heading home.
Arriving home, Ellen rushed in the back door. The family was already seated at the table. “Sorry, am I late?”
“Michael has to work the night shift, so we’re eating a bit early. We’ve said Grace. Wash your hands and come to supper.”
Ellen washed at the sink and returned drying her hands with a towel.
“What kept you? Did you work late?” Moira passed the bowl of vegetables. “I needed you to help with the supper.”
“I was held up a while at the store,” Ellen answered, not wanting Ma to know it was Tony who held her up.
“Take a plate in to your Dad first; then come and eat before your brothers eat it all.”
Ellen returned quickly and took her seat beside her older brother.
“Ma, I’ve been thinking. School starts next week. Sister Agnes, the principal, has invited some of her business friends to come and talk to the seniors about their future. I want to go and hear about jobs I could get.”
“Sister Agnes is a very wise woman. I think you should go.”
“Well, there is something else . . . I mean, my grades are good, and I’m a fast learner, but . . .”
“What’s this on my plate?” Frank asked, interrupting Ellen, looking down at the Boxty. “I think it’s smashed. What is this smashed thing?” Frank usually ate anything put in front of him.
“It’s a potato pancake. It’s supposed to look like that,” Michael told him.
“But I don’t like smashed food.” Frank cringed.
“You like every kind of food!” Christopher said.
“Frank, eat it and be still,” Moira said, turning back to Ellen. “I can tell you want something.”
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“Why do I have to eat smashed food?”
“If you don’t want it, I’ll eat it.” Christopher reached with his fork to take the Boxty, but changed his mind when Moira raised an eyebrow.
“Frank, food doesn’t grow on trees, and we can’t afford to waste it. Eat it.” Again, she turned to Ellen. “Spit it out, Ellen. What is bothering you?”
“Christopher, you can have the rest,” Moira said.
“Gladly.” He made a show of flying his fork through the air and letting it hover in circles over the morsel. Then, with a dramatic flair, the fork swooped down, impaled the Boxty and carried it to his plate. The children laugh, but Moira is annoyed both by Frank and Ellen.
“Ellen?”
Ellen swallowed hard before answering. “Ma, this is so important to me. It will be the most important time of my life . . . my whole life. The changing point . . . pivotal . . .”
“I hope you get to the point in my lifetime.”
“Ma, I need a new dress for this—oh so important—meeting of my life.” Ellen’s eyes drop to the table fearing the response. “Sister Agnes said we should dress like we were going to an interview. I don’t have anything like that.”
Frank was getting bored and wanted to change the subject. “Ma, why can’t we go to the public school? The nuns at Our Lady’s are slave drivers.”
Moira was losing patience quickly. “I promised God, Frank!” she states firmly, and then tried to soften the sarcasm. “The Sisters of Charity are pious teachers. They may be tough, but you will get a good education with them.”
“He’s right, Ma. There is very little charity spread in the classroom,” Christopher added.
“Don’t start, Christopher. I will not hear a word against those God-fearing women of the cloth. They have given up everything in life just to teach you and Frank.” She takes a deep breath and turns once again to Ellen.
“I don’t have to tell you things are tight. Besides the bills, your brothers have outworn all their pants and shoes. Maybe later we can find the money.”
“But later will be too late! I’ve saved some money, and the dress I saw is only eight dollars.”
“Eight? It might as well be twenty-five!”
“Ellen, I’ve saved a bit, and I get paid tomorrow. Between us I think we can make it happen. Would that be okay, Ma?” Michael offered.
“I don’t see the need. Food and medical bills don’t get paid when we squander our money.”
“It’s not squandering. Honest. This meeting will open the door to a better paying job. Then money won’t be so tight. I promise, Ma.”
“I can find a bit of extra work for a while. That will help. What do you say, Ma?” Michael asked, thinking about his conversation with Tony.
“Do what you want, Michael. But don’t ask for my blessing,” Moira answered, getting up from the table and
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walking out of the room. She would sit with Donal for a while.
Ellen jumped up and hugged Michael tightly. “Oh, Michael, thank you; thank you! I’ll pay you back, I promise. I’ll clean the chicken coop for a month, if you want. I wish I could show you the dress. It’s fabulous. Any time I have a break at work I look at the fashions in Harper’s Bazaar and Women’s Wear Daily. That’s what all the women who work in offices wear.” Michael chuckled at his little sister.
“What about me? Can I get a new shirt for school? All I ever get are Christopher’s old stuff that used to belong to you, Michael.” Frank scowled, folds his arms roughly, and plops against the chair back.
“My pant cuffs are so high everyone thinks they’re knickers! My shirt sleeves hardly cover my elbows! I’m the sorriest sort in the 10th grade!” Christopher chimes in.
“You’re in the 10th grade?” asks Michael with a grin.
“You know I am.” Christopher huffed.
Michael leaned close and whispered, "Then you should go out and get a job and earn your own money."
“What about me? I’m too young for a job. And look, I can’t button the top button of this shirt.” Frank was the stouter of the two younger boys. He was always the one to finish off food in the bowls. Moira never worried about left-over food with Frank around, except apparently Boxty.
“We’ll see what kind of bargains Mr. Fried has to offer; so... it’s a maybe.”