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Muldoon's Minnesota Darling: a Novella

By E.V. Sparrow

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Chapter 1
Brothers and Hoodlums
He’s something like Brendan but worse
Mick
New York City, McGinty’s Pub
Friday, May 3rd, 1867
Mick Muldoon plucked one dark auburn hair from inside his tattered tam and rolled the tweed fabric against his thigh. His cheek, ribs, and leg throbbed from his beating at the docks on the Lower East Side. Beating a man for his limp. He stroked his sore jaw with his fingertips and stared into the amber liquid at the bottom of his glass. Thank God in Heaven for Ed’s unexpected rescue. He never should have left Ireland; no matter he’d lost all his wives and children to disease again. His farm was a sheltered place. Mick swigged his last gulp and glanced around McGinty’s pub.
At midday, it was dim inside, with only one window for light. A few glasses clinked, and three patrons chatted together at the nearby bar.
Mick’s distraction made him miss much of the conversation between his brother, Ed, and Ed’s old chum, Charlie Gilhooley. But Mick had no difficulty in understanding Charlie’s character. Thinking he’s a hoodlum.
Gilhooley’s largest muscled man leaned down and murmured into Gilhooley’s ear.
Mick quickly turned to his brother. “Listen, Ed. You freed me from those ruffians at the docks, but you landed us here before another, I’m thinking. He’s a giant with dark, dead eyes.” He shuddered. “What were you discussing? I—”
Charlie Gilhooley blew smoke into Mick’s face, and addressed Ed. “Did you have difficulty following me, old chum, or did you take me meaning of what I’m offering to you?”
“Aye, and ’tis a generous offer to join your gang, me chum.” Ed wagged his head.
Gang? Chill bumps slithered up Mick’s arms.
“I came to New York City from Canada to search for Mick. Got me gambling earnings and heading out west to purchase farmland. Think I’ll stick to me plan.”
Mick gasped. “Glory be. Getting out of this stifling city? Open sky. Luscious earth.”
Gilhooley chuckled. “The world needs you, Mick. Your innocent hopes remind those of us jaded men of our boyhood dreams.” He stubbed out his cigar inside his empty glass. “Get away, whilst your heart yet desires wholesome things. Get out before city life sucks out your soul.” He curled his hands into fists on the tabletop. “Beware, if you ever rat on me, I’ll hear ’bout it. I’ll find you. I will.”
Mick flinched at the man’s harshness.
Ed stood and offered his hand to shake. “Charlie, ’twas fine to see you. I’ll be telling me mam to tell your aunt I delivered her letter. May take time whilst the letter gets to Ireland, but there’ll be a celebration, ’tis sure, for I’ve found you. Do you have a word for her?”
Mick tucked in his split lip and licked the metallic taste.
“Nah, just tell them I’m well.” Gilhooley sliced the air with his hand. “Aye, ’twas grand honoring our friendship for old time’s sake. Now, get.” He stiffened his shoulders like a bull. “And don’t share a word of me offer. If you do, you might find a devil with a blade at your neck.”
“Aye, no doubt to your meaning.” Ed lifted his knapsack from the floor by his chair.
Mick scrambled to his feet, using the brick wall behind him for support. He gawked at Gilhooley as he slid the chair beneath the table.
Charlie’s two guards stepped in unison toward Mick and Ed, with their right hands inside their vests.
Ed said, “Farewell, Charlie.” He slid a glance to Mick and jerked his head toward the door.
“Aye.” Mick scooted along the wall to the door and hobbled forward as the space opened. His bruised torso and leg now throbbed in earnest. But his fear of wicked Gilhooley helped him squelch any groans. Mick tugged his tam over his hair and reached for the door handle. The door narrowly missed his nose when it opened inward. He stepped back.
Ed bumped into him from behind, shoving Mick into the path of two policemen. “Oof.”
“Steady there, fella. Imbibed a bit much?” The tallest policeman leaned closer to Mick.
“No, sir,” said Ed. “He was born with a limp. ’Tis a problem that’s always with him.”
The shorter officer scowled. “And what’s happened to him, then? You don’t get to be looking that way from birth, aye?”
Mick chuckled. “God loves the Irish wit.”
“That He does.” The tallest policeman grinned. “You alright there, fella? Anything you wish to tell us?”
Mick shuffled his feet and gazed back at Gilhooley. “Not a thing. Tripped and fell earlier all by meself is all.”
“Happens. Poor soul.” Ed clapped Mick on the shoulder. “We appreciate you asking ’bout him, officers. I’ll be getting him on home and into a good soak.”
The policemen scrutinized Mick from his scruffy boots to his battered cap, wished him good luck and the Saints to preserve him, then headed for Charlie’s table.
Ed grabbed Mick’s arm. “Make haste. Let’s get to your lodgings whilst the police occupy Charlie’s men, for I don’t trust me chum Charlie one whit.”
“We’re in agreement.”
The brothers rounded the corner of McGinty’s, and Ed drew Mick to a stop. Ed shifted his bag and glanced back the way they’d come.
Mick copied him. “What’s wrong?”
“Realized I don’t know which way to turn. Where do you live, me boy-o? Be quick. Charlie gave me the willies.”
Mick tugged Ed left. “This way. Living on Rose Street and on our sister’s goodwill. She’s paying for me rent and for me food. ’Tis why I’m so desperate for work as to go to the docks. Eight months here in the land of plenty and none will hire me because of this limp.”
“’Tis a bad lot you’ve been dealt, brother.”
Sunset dulled the city’s filth, adding golden hues for sparkle and shine on anything metal, stone, or wood. It haloed the people in a rush to get home. “’Tis the only time of day I think the city is nigh pretty. Mayhap a glimpse of heaven, aye? If Fiona and the children appeared, I’d believe it.” Mick blinked back tears, as he stepped onto the street between carts and pedestrians. “This way.”
“No one’s been trailing us. Thinking we’ll be fine.” Ed kept up with Mick’s uneven pace. “Sure and hoping we don’t catch sight of your Mister Death.”
“No one sees Mister Death, but me. Ed, what did Gilhooley mean by offering you a spot in his gang?”
“He’s an American version of the Irish Republican Guard in Ireland.”
Mick froze, stared at Ed, and huffed. “Your old chum is a hoodlum.”
Ed glowered. “Depends on your viewpoint. The IRG are patriots to many.”
“But we have our freedoms here. No need for gangs. Turn in here.” Mick headed down an alleyway. “’Tis a shortcut from the pub I’ve discovered for getting home.”
“Aye, not the time to argue our politics. Best be on our guard in this dark and narrow place.” Ed surveyed the several storied buildings, doorways, and any openings they passed. “Ah, but the farmer has naught for street smarts. Keep to the middle, me brother. Gives us time to react to an unpleasant creature waiting to waylay us.”
A gigantic man stomped toward them from the end of the alley, his face downturned.
Ed yanked Mick back and stopped. “Don’t you see him?”
Mick wrenched his arm out of Ed’s grasp. “’Tis Brendan. He’s me chum of a sort. See him most nights.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Ho, Brendan, returning from Maeve’s?”
Brendan started, then gave Mick a lopsided grin. “Yeah, saw Orla. Be careful, Mick. I put Digger on a rampage. Thinks I was sniffing after Maeve. Don’t fancy her. Only fancy Orla—”
“Our Orla? Our sister, Orla?” Ed balled his fists.
Mick stepped between the two men. “Orla invites him to visit her. Ed, get a grip on yourself, man. We must have a chat.”
“Is something wrong?” Brendan leaned down into Ed’s face. His crooked nostrils twitched. “Who’s this fella? Is he cross at me? I don’t like it.”
“Me brother, Ed.” Mick grinned. “He came to get me. ’Twas a grand surprise, aye? Ed, here’s Brendan, a chum to me and Orla. He’s a winner at boxing. You two have that in common, boxing. Good evening, Brendan, for we must be away to home for supper.”
“Brothers.” Brendan blinked, then smiled, revealing two missing front teeth. “’Tis alright, then.” He shuffled his bulk past the brothers and continued down the alley to the street.
Ed huffed. “Me heart was in me mouth. Thought we’d had it. Can’t box with a man that size.”
“Fine thing he’s a friend, then, aye?” Mick hobbled toward the light at the alley’s end. “Now, ’bout Digger. He’s something like Brendan, but worse. He’s a lout, whereas Brendan,” he tapped his temple, “has an injury, it seems. Digger rules with cruelty, and we don’t want that for the girls, now do we?”
“The girls?”
They reached the end of the buildings and entered the common area between the tenements. Cats combatted in the distance, voices raised in a quarrel, and dishes clinked through open windows.
The fresh aroma of soap blew on the breeze. “’Twas washing day.” Mick gestured upward. Hung above them, clothing lines with wash clipped to ropes crisscrossed in a tight pattern.
“That could break a man’s fall from the third floor. Your place is beyond this maze somewhere?”
“Duck through without knocking something down, and we’ll be fine.” Mick wove between blankets, diapers, and aprons to arrive at his back porch room. “Me room is there. Up the stairs.” His booted feet scuffed up the three steps. He swung open the rickety door and held it for Ed. “Thinking none followed. The laundry’s a grand screen to hide us.”
Ed entered and stood to the side of Mick’s cot, pushed into the corner of the six by ten-foot covered porch. He scowled. “Why’d you live here? Nigh to a shanty, Mick. I’d wish better for you.” In the twilight, he fingered a tear in the screen, and scraped his toe over the splintered wood framing a hole in the floor. “No light back here? Don’t you worry ’bout Mister Death in the shadows?”
Mick scoffed. “Only the moon to see by. And you’re giving me a better life, aren’t you? The chance to farm again. I’ll be free of me living conditions then, I will. You’re an answer to me prayers. Never thought I’d say that to you, to be sure.”
Ed nodded. “Thought you’d feel that way, but this? This stuns me—”
“How else can I abide in America without money? I’ve women’s charity to survive on. ’Tis why you found me at the docks, remember? Searching for work.” Mick slapped the door. His palm stung from the force.
“I’m not saying you—”
“You beast!” A high-pitched voice screeched beyond the door connecting Mick’s porch to Maeve’s dwelling.
“Ah, the girls are awake.” Mick faced the doorway. “Time to introduce you, and to tell Orla you’re here.”
“What girls?”
“Orla’s school chum, Maeve. Remember her? Maeve and her girls.”
Ed folded his arms and shifted his weight. “Maeve O’Donnell?”
“Aye. ’Tis her boarding house. More like a brothel.”
Ed’s jaw slackened. “You’re living where? What sort of establishment did you say?” He jiggled his finger into one ear.
Mick sighed. “Yeah, you heard right. Only learned of where’d we be living when Orla and I first arrived at the tenements. She had Maeve’s letter saying Maeve’s occupation was running a boarding house, and to stay with her after we came to New York City. Guessed the truth of what place this was when one of her girls answered the door.”
“I only ever teased Orla ’bout those rumors ’bout her I’d heard in the village.” Ed’s nostrils flared. “’Twas possible they were untrue. Why’re you so calm ’bout it? You’re a good Catholic.”
“Ed, she’s our sister, our Orla. We’re to love our family. God says it. And she’s been caring for me so I won’t starve. Even Maeve herself lets me live here—”
“You expecting me to be glad to go in there?” Ed glowered a few inches away from Mick’s face.
Mick yelled, “You got somewhere else to go?”
The door opened, washing lamplight over the brothers, and Orla leaned through the frame. “What’s the trouble?” Her scowl transformed to shock at Ed’s presence.
“Well, we’ve got our bully Ed back with us.” Mick side-hugged his sister. “He’s come to find me and take me with him to Minnesota. Isn’t it grand, Orla?”
With Ed like a red-faced statue, and Orla tongue-tied, Mick laughed. “We’re living a scene from our childhood in the Old Country. All’s right in me world, now.”
Orla glared. “All is not right with the world.”
“Course ’tis. Our own wildcat and bully facing each other.” Mick propped himself against the wall. “What will happen now, I wonder?”
“We’re not settling in for an entertaining chat, Mick. Come on in, you two. Better get this over with.” Orla swung the door in and stepped aside. “Maeve’s up. We must tell her ’bout Ed before Digger returns. He left to gamble, after I scolded him for stealing me earnings. We’ll need a plan.”
Once inside Maeve’s warm kitchenette, she turned around and studied Mick’s face. “God in heaven, me brother.” She fingered his bruised jaw, turned his chin sideways, and wiped his split lip.
“Ouch, none of that.” Mick stepped back.
“Glory, why can’t you keep away from scuffles?”
“Was at the docks. Happened whilst looking for work.”
“Docks all alone?” Orla tsked. “Surely you’ve a better head on you than that.”
Mick rubbed his sore nose and stared at the ceiling.
“Found him in time to run those ruffians off.” Ed shoved his hands into his pockets and surveyed the small, untidy room. “Told some officers I’d get him home and into a tub to soak. You got a tub, aye?”
Orla huffed and clutched her hip. “What officers? Policemen? Never say you got mixed up with them, Mick.”
“Not to worry.” Mick pulled up a wobbly chair to rest his throbbing leg. “’Twas afterwards. They were fine Irishmen like me.”
She smirked. “Ah well, ’tis no trouble, then. Let me heat you some water. Ed, fetch the tub from that closet there. Then I’ll take you to the parlor. We’ve an hour until Digger returns.”
“One thing, Orla.” Mick slid a glance at Ed. “Will you go with us away from here? Your life could improve, aye?”
“No. Tenement life suits me. But Mick needs an escape.” She pursed her lips.
Ed nodded. “Aye, he does. But you should listen to your brothers and come with us.”
“And why should I be listening to you?” Orla scowled, puckering the jagged scar on her cheek and eyebrow. “I’m a grown woman and will do as I please. We’re in America and free of the Old Country’s ways. I’ve got me own plans. Let it be.”
“But Orla, ’tis safer in the country.” Mick jabbed at the door. “No thievery by—”
She burst out laughing. “Ah, Mick. You’ve a mind of a farmer, God bless you.” She flicked her focus onto Ed. “Me and Ed? We’ve not lived isolated in a village, married, and raising littles. We’ve got smarts ’bout living in back alleys, hovels, and establishments of ill repute in Dublin. Haven’t we, Ed?”
“Don’t be giving our brother poor opinions of us, Sister.” Ed narrowed his eyes.
She snorted. “If he’s not got them by now, he never will.”
“What plans?” Mick grimaced. “Will you stay with Maeve forever, then?”
“No. Can’t convince me I’d be better off. I wouldn’t. Let’s get you soaking.” Orla tugged Mick inside.
***
Orla screeched from somewhere inside the house.
Mick exited the tub of cooling water, leaving it to drain until after the brouhaha was over. He rubbed down fast, donned clean clothes, and rushed to the front of the house despite his limp.
“Digger didn’t appreciate you flirting with another man,” Orla bellowed, “and you’re causing us troubles.”
Ed stepped away from Maeve’s side. “Can’t help it if I have red hair. Maeve says she’s partial to it.”
“What does that have to do with Orla’s ire?” Mick frowned at the scene.
Buxom, greedy, and reckless Maeve fluttered her hand at Orla. “Get away with your ire. He’s your brother. ’Twas being friendly. All there is to it.” She pouted her painted lips, and winked her tinted, green eyelid at Ed.
That’s done it. Mick wagged his wet head, and rivulets of water dripped down his neck.
For once, Ed remained silent as Mick and Orla snorted at Maeve.
“Mick, being a cripple, didn’t truly count as competition for Digger’s affections. But this one?” Maeve focused on Ed’s auburn hair.
Giggles floated downward from the staircase landing. Maeve’s five girls peered over the rickety balustrade. All wore inadequate dressing gowns and had expressions of glee in the candlelight.
Witless creatures. Mick tapped his lips and shushed the girls.
“Ed will stay in me own room,” Orla snapped her fingers in her landlady’s face, “and there won’t be any shenanigans. Promise?”
Maeve ignored her.
“Mick and I will leave for Minnesota tomorrow morning.” Ed returned Orla’s glare. “We won’t be returning. No need for me to stay here tonight. Sure, wherever I stay, I’ll pay me share.”
Maeve stroked her neck above her silky robe’s collar. “’Tis a bit more pocket money for me.” She eyed Ed. “Our Orla’s staying behind and earning her keep as well. I promise to behave.”
“Aye, ’tis true, New York City suits me plans.” Orla shoved Ed’s shoulder. “Up the stairs you go, and I’ll show you me room. Gentlemen callers will soon be here for the girls.”
“Ungentle men, more like,” Mick murmured. He slid his glance at the front door.
“Well, I’m not a caller.” Ed glanced up to the open landing, and the girls tittered.
Orla turned around to face Mick as Ed trailed behind her. “You should dry your hair before going outside to the porch, or you’ll catch yourself an illness.”
“Don’t I know it.” Mick caught a fleeting spark in Maeve’s eyes. He didn’t like it. But with their shrewdness, his brother and sister were formidable opponents. All this red-haired Irish farmer wanted was to grab his whiskey bottle, get a good sleep, and escape this hellhole in the morning. He’d finally have a purpose in life, be worth something as a man, and support himself. Disfigured Orla could finally chase her dream, whatever that might be, and without him using up her funds. She’s a grown woman. May the Saints preserve her.

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