Rose Of Skibbereen, The Beginning, Page 3

he’s a farmer,” Mary said, her dander up. “And he’s never seen a contraption like that in the fields of Ireland.” She went over and helped the man to his feet while continuing her harangue. “You should be ashamed of yourself, too, belittling a poor old man like this for being afraid of something he’s never seen before.”

  Mary’s wrath was something to see, and the policeman seemed stunned by it. “Well, he’d better get used to it,” he stammered. “It’s called a streetcar, and we have a lot of them in America.”

  “And a foul noisy thing it is,” Mary said.

  “But it’s the latest thing,” the policeman said, backing away as Mary came closer to him. “It’s Progress.”

  “Progress isn’t worth a man’s life,” Mary said. “Now, you help me pick up this poor man’s belongings, before another one of them mechanical marvels comes along.”

  Rose had to laugh at Mary’s brazenness, ordering a policeman about like that. There was something about her that struck fear in the hearts of men, to be sure, and the policeman quickly helped her gather up the man’s clothes and possessions and he even located an old packing crate and helped her put everything in that.

  When they were finished, Rose and Mary helped the man find his sister, who was searching for him among the crowd of people at the dock. Once the old man was safely reunited with his kin, the girls went on their way.

  Mary’s sister had sent them money and instructions to stay at a boarding house a few blocks from the dock, “where the proprietor is honest and won’t rob you blind,” and they found a room at the top floor of a crowded brick house. They shared it with an old woman from Cork and her daughter, both of whom spoke only Irish. Rose wondered how the two women would make their way in this new land when they didn’t speak the language, but she didn’t have time to find out. She and Mary had to say goodbye the next day when they boarded a train for Pittsburgh, where Mary’s sister Kate was going to get them jobs.

  They sat in wonderment at the passing landscape that was so varied, with mountains higher and valleys lower than any they’d seen in County Cork. There were fields of wheat and corn that stretched for miles, and there were towns and villages bustling with activity and commerce. The voices of the people sounded strange to their ears, with a nasal whine, and a flat Saxon abruptness to the words that was different from the lilt of their native land. Rose missed her family already, and she wondered what they were doing this very moment, whether they were sitting around the turf fire in the cottage thinking of her, wondering about her adventures in crossing the great ocean, or whether they had started to forget her?

  And what of Sean McCarthy? Had he forgotten her the moment he walked down that path and left?

  “Remember me, Rose Sullivan,” he’d said. That would be no problem for her; she could hardly keep him out of her mind. The black hair and blue eyes, the sound of his high, clear, tenor voice. The taste of his lips. Ah, but she couldn’t let her mind go in that direction. Sure it was that she would never see him again. How could she? She could tell already that this land was too big, too crowded with people, for Sean McCarthy to find her.

  If he ever came over in the first place.

  She realized she knew nothing of him, not a bit. He had not spoken of his family, or where he was from. There were McCarthys living in County Cork -- their clan went back many generations -- but he had never said if he was related to them. He was a mystery man, that was sure.

  “Rose, you’re off in one of your dreams again,” Mary said, poking her in the ribs. “You’ve been very distracted these days. Are you thinking of Sean McCarthy?”

  “Now why would you think that?” Rose said, although she could feel herself blushing with embarrassment. “Oh, all right. I have been thinking of the boyo, but I don’t know why. It’ll be a miracle if ever I see him again.”

  “And are you a prophetess, then?” Mary said. “None of us can see into the future, Rose. You don’t know if that boy will show up in your life again, just as we don’t know what’s waiting for us in Pittsburgh. Trust in God, girl, everything will turn out all right.”

  “Mary, it does me good to hear you say that,” Rose said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you to buck me up at times like this.”

  “That’s my job,” Mary said, smiling. “And you’ll do the same for me. Let’s promise that no matter what happens to us in America, we’ll always be there for each other.” She took Rose’s hand. “Promise?”

  “Promise,” Rose said.