Page 54 of A New World for the Irish Daughter

Mrs. Marks shifted in her chair, sighing heavily. “Well, of course I’m always one who likes to help,” she began. “But I don’t know,” she continued, her frown deepening, and Maggie’s heart started to sink. “I feel sorry for the poor child, of course I do, but the Indians do better with their own kind. I know it might sound mean to say it, but it’s the truth, and anyone who’s lived here for long knows it.”

“But her own kind,” Maggie repeated, trying to keep her voice gentle, “won’t take her.”

“You could try again?” Mrs. Marks persisted. “The Indians can be stubborn as all get-out, everybody knows it, but they come around eventually. Or if they won’t take her, just go on and leave her there. They wouldn’t turn her out, I shouldn’t think, even if they like to act like they would.”

Maggie thought of the way the girl had snuggled into her in the night, her skinny arms wrapped around her waist. “I couldn’t do that,” she said quietly.

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone and developed some sort of attachment to the creature!” Mrs. Marks’ good humor was replaced with a miffed kind of shock that Maggie feared would be everyone’s reaction to her predicament, and that was the best-case scenario.

“She’s just a small child,” she protested, dodging the question. “She can’t be more than two or three years old. I couldn’t justleaveher.”

“Well, those Indian kids grow up fast,” Mrs. Marks replied rather grimly. “They have to.”

“There’s nowhere she could stay, just for a few days?” Maggie pressed.

Mrs. Marks sighed unhappily, gazing down into her half-drunk cup. “I know what you’re thinking,” she remarked after a moment. “You’re wondering why I’m not willing to have the girl myself. I’ve got three bedrooms upstairs, and Mr. Marks and I use only the one.”

“Well…” Maggie smiled in apology. “I suppose it had crossed my mind.”

“Well, it wouldn’t do!” Mrs. Marks snapped, her voice rising. “Do you know what people would say if I took in an Indian child, a little girl?” She leaned forward, her round face flushed in anger. “They’d think it belonged to Mr. Marks!”

“Oh!” Maggie bit her lip, mortified. She had not considered that possibility.

“Of course, there’d be no call to think like that,” her hostess continued severely, a flush rising to her face. “None at all. But you’ve been here a couple of months now, you must have seen how people like to gossip.”

“Yes,” Maggie admitted. “I certainly have.” They both subsided into silence, Mrs. Marks still seeming flustered, and Maggie trying not to give in to despair. “But, Mrs. Marks,” she asked after a moment, her cup of coffee clutched in her hands, “what am I to do? You wouldn’t have meabandonthe child, would you?”

Mrs. Marks hesitated, and from the look of unhappy indecision on her face, Maggie suspected the woman would have her do exactly that but didn’t feel she could say so.

“She’s only little—” she persisted.

“I don’t care how old she is!” Mrs. Marks burst out, and then sighed, shaking her head. “I’m a good Christian woman, Miss O’Halloran, I hope you believe that.”

“I do,” Maggie assured her.

“I attend services at the Presbyterian church every Sunday.”

Maggie nodded; although she attended the Catholic church attached to St. Ann’s, she’d seen the Presbyterian church, a log cabin with a bell tower attached also made of logs.

“I won’t be having anyone say different,” Mrs. Marks continued in a severe tone, before, with a gusty sigh, she leaned back in her chair. “Oh, hell and damnation,” she exclaimed, shocking Maggie and forcing her to cover her mouth to stifle a laugh. “I suppose I’ll have to take the child, at least for a night or two. I can’t have her here forever. You’d best mind that. I’ll take her until you can find somewhere else and that’s all.”

“I won’t need to find somewhere else,” Maggie assured her. “Her mother should be recovered in a few days, and then she can take care of her.” Although if the mother wasn’t welcome in the Tlingit village, where would she go? That, Maggie told herself,not quite able to believe it, was not her concern. She’d solved today’s problem at least.

“I hope you’re going to the dance next Saturday?” Mrs. Marks asked, clearly wanting to talk about something more amusing than the fate of an unwanted Indian child. “It’s sure to be a good knees-up.”

“I hope to,” Maggie told her. “And thank you, Mrs. Marks. I’ll bring the girl here after work today.”

Mrs. Marks sniffed. “She has a name, I suppose? One of those Indian names that’s impossible to pronounce? If I can’t, I’ll just call her Mary, mind. Keep it plain and simple.”

“I’ll find out her name,” Maggie promised. At least Mrs. Marks intended to call hersomething.

Her heart was lighter as she headed back to the hospital, practically skipping in her relief that she’d solved the problem of the girl’s whereabouts at least for today. But when she entered the hospital, her hopes faltered.

The little girl was standing by her mother’s bed, screaming.

“She won’t stop,” Sister Mary Victor told Maggie, sounding equally annoyed and flustered. “She just won’t stop!”

Quickly, Maggie removed her cape and hung it on the hook by the door. “What’s happened?” she asked, and without waiting for a reply, she hurried toward the child. “Sweetheart, it’s all right—” she began, as the girl, still screaming, caught sight of her and rushed into her arms.