Page 51 of A New World for the Irish Daughter

“Hello,” Maggie ventured, feeling faintly ridiculous as well as scared. “This child, her mother is in the hospital. St. Ann’s. Do you know St. Ann’s…?”

The man’s lip curled contemptuously, and he gave a terse nod. Maggie had no idea how much he’d understood.

“The child came with her,” Maggie explained, “but there is no room at the hospital for her to stay. She must come back here.”

The man stared at her for a long moment before he slowly, definitively, shook his head.

“What?” Maggie stared at him in surprise. She was quite sure, judging from his reactions, that he’d understood everything she’d said—and was now refusing it all. “But… why ever not?” she asked. “She’s one of you.” She winced a little at how that sounded, then persevered. “She belongs here.” Somehow, that didn’t sound any better.

“Her mother isnitckakaku,” he told her, his voice low and gravelly. “Her father white. Mother live with him for many years. This child does not know our ways. She does not belong here.”

Maggie stared at him blankly. She had no idea whatnitckakakumeant, but it seemed not to be a good thing. “But…” she began, unsure what to say. “Where else could she go?”

The man shook his head again, in that slow, certain back and forth. “Not here.”

Maggie knew instinctively there was absolutely no point in arguing with him. For whatever reason—and she couldn’t fathom one—he was refusing to let this little girl into the village.

Maggie swallowed hard, then nodded. “All right,” she said. “Thank you,” she added, although she wasn’t sure what she was thanking him for. He certainly hadn’t helped.

The man didn’t reply, and she turned around and started to walk away, holding the girl by the hand. At least she was docile now and didn’t fight her as they left the village.

Except now, Maggie wondered despairingly, where on earth were they going to go?

CHAPTER 27

“What’s that heathen child doin’ here?”

“My God, it’s an Injun! Right here in the front room!”

Maggie’s hand tightened on the little girl’s as she stood in the doorway of the boarding house. A miner sitting at one of the tables gave her a surly look as she started forward. She held her chin high as she walked past, determined not to respond to any of the unfriendly questions.

On the walk from the Indian village to the boarding house, she’d considered her options—return to the hospital? Ask Sister Mary Zeno if they could let the girl sleep with the nuns at the mission? She thought it likely that the nun might agree, at least for one night, and then the little girl would be close to her mother.

And so, she’d headed back there, only to have the nursing sister greet the suggestion with dismay.

“My dear, we simply do not have the ability to care for a child here,” she’d told her. “Maybe one day,” she’d allowed. “I have great hopes to expand the hospital, the school, maybe even start an orphanage. But now?” She’d shaken her head. “There must be another place.”

“There isn’t,” Maggie had replied a little desperately. “They won’t have her back at the Indian village. They said she was a nit—a nitch?—”

“Anitckakaku?” Sister Mary Zeno had filled in. “That’s the Tlingit word for someone who is in their lowest social class.” At Maggie’s look of confusion, she’d continued, “The Tlingit have a very stratified culture. Their social classes are even more delineated than ours! Thenitckakakuare the lowest—they would have the humblest jobs, the most modest housing, and they would not be treated with respect.”

Maggie had tightened her grip on the girl’s hand. “He also said that the child’s father is white.”

“Ah.” Sister Mary had nodded. “In that case, I can sadly understand why they would have rejected her. She would have left the tribe first, to go with the white man. They would see it as a betrayal. Add to that her low social class, and I’m not surprised they won’t have her.”

“What about the father?” Maggie had asked. “Maybe he?—”

But Sister Mary Zeno was already shaking her head. “My dear, it would be impossible to find out who he is,” she’d said. “There are, I’m sorry to say, far too many miners and prospectors here who take up with a native woman. And they rarely acknowledge the offspring produced from those illicit unions. Truth be told, they rarely acknowledge the women themselves. It’s likely he kept her tucked away somewhere miserable and cold, which is why she’s come to us in this desperate condition.”

Maggie had stared at her hopelessly. “But if he can’t be found… then what am I to do with this poor child?”

Sister Mary Zeno had looked torn. “I would let her stay, at least for a little while,” she’d allowed, “but we are not well equipped for that, and also I would not want to encourage others to bring their children here in a like manner. We cannot startan orphanage without the necessary space and resources.” She’d sighed, seeming regretful. “I suggest she stay with you for the night, and then you take her back to the Indian village. The clan leader might have rejected her at the outset, but he might change his mind upon your return. The Tlingitdotake care of their own, and they like to see native children raised to know and respect their ways.”

And so Maggie had done as the nun had said, and brought the girl back to the boarding house, and just a few minutes in, judging by the grumbled whispers and murmurs racing around the room, she might live to regret it.

“What on earth…?” Mrs. Compton, in the middle of frying bear steaks for supper, came bustling toward Maggie, a look of incredulity on her face. “Why do you have that native child with you, Miss O’Halloran?”

“She was left at the hospital, and she has nowhere to go,” Maggie told her, trying not to sound as apprehensive as she felt.