Page 57 of A New World for the Irish Daughter

“I think I did the same,” Maggie confessed after a moment. She kept her gaze on the view of the shimmering bay. “I thought I wasn’t like you, but maybe I am. I had so many dreams…” She thought of the ambition she’d nurtured all through her days in New York and Chicago, how tenderly and jealously she’d cherished those silly, schoolgirl dreams! And for what? Nothing, it seemed now, but a moment of vainglory and a handful of silk and satin.

“Ah, lass.” Her father’s voice was rich with affection. “And now?”

“Now…?” Maggie tilted her head up to the sky and breathed in all that wide openness. “Now I want different things.” Things she already had—a home she could make her own, for the very first time in her life, a job she loved and that made a difference in the world, and a daughter.

Adaughter.

And yet some part of her still longed for more. She found herself thinking of Brendan and then pushed the painful thought of him away.

“And what I want,” she told her father as she turned to smile at him, “is what I have. Everything, right here.”

Her father smiled back at her and reached for her hand. “Me too, lass,” he told her. “Me, too.”

CHAPTER 30

JUNEAU, ALASKA

September 1895

The months of summer slipped by like precious pearls off a string. To Maggie’s great relief, Sister Mary Zeno and the others were happy to have Sheetka among them as they performed their duties at St. Ann’s, and, in truth, the little girl made very little fuss, often happy to sit tucked up in a corner of the hospital with a storybook or a sheet of butcher’s paper and a stub of pencil.

She still wasn’t speaking, but she seemed to understand quite a lot, and Maggie was grateful that she’d settled into this strange, new life without too much difficulty—although there certainly were challenging moments—such as when Sheetka ate an entire jar of honey and was violently sick, or she kicked and screamed on bath night, when Danny and her da fetched pails of water from the creek outside and filled up the tin tub.

All in all, though, Maggie supposed she didn’t make more trouble than any child would. Sometimes, in fact, Maggie worried that Sheetka didn’t make trouble enough. She was so quiet, so docile, so utterly unspeaking and uncomplaining that Maggie feared some terrible trauma lurked behind those wide,dark eyes. All she could do, she knew, was wait and hope and love.

The day after they’d moved into the cabin on 7thStreet, Maggie had spent a very pleasant morning strolling the aisles of the dry goods stores, picking out everything they could possibly need to set up a homestead.

“Anything you want,” her father had declared as he’d rocked back on his heels, enjoying his moment of largesse. “Sky’s the limit! I’ve got savings, and I know you’re hankering after a home,a chroi. You haven’t had much of one lately.”

Shewaslonging for such a place, but Maggie had limited herself to a perfectly reasonable set of tin dishes, a pot, a pan, and a kettle, and set of sheets and blankets for each of their beds. It was enough.

Next, they went to the grocer’s to buy what food they needed. Maggie was astonished at the astronomical cost of some things—canned butter, fresh produce, and eggs were all barely within their budget, whereas canned salmon, bear meat, halibut and flounder were more reasonable. She was as judicious in her purchase of food as she was with dry goods—she could stretch a couple of potatoes and a few stalks of celery to several meals, especially if they were accompanied by canned salmon or bear steaks.

“I guess we’ll be eating like the Indians,” her father had said cheerfully, while Maggie had winced at the price of half a pound of sugar. Still, it was fun to stock their little kitchen, almost like playing house, as if she were a little girl. She hadn’t been in charge of her own kitchen since shewasa little girl, and her mother had been sickly, and that certainly hadn’t been nearly as fun as it was now, planning what she’d cook for Sheetka, as well as Danny and her da.

As the summer stretched on, with balmy days and long, sunlit nights, Maggie enjoyed making meals for them all, havingeveryone seated around the rickety table while her da said the blessing and then they dug in, talking about their days over boiled potatoes and canned salmon, or bear steaks and beans. When, she wondered, a lump forming in her throat, had they last been like this, afamily, a proper one?

She sewed dresses for Sheetka and curtains for the windows, accepted flower cuttings from Mrs. Marks and planted them in pots by the front door. When she wasn’t working at the hospital or tending to their home, she spent time with Sheetka, often walking up in the meadows above the cabin, the wildflowers waist-deep, the Alaska summer days so lovely and long and surprisingly warm. She’d point out various flowers and birds to the girl, the ones she knew anyway, asking questions about where they were or how they were that Sheetka never answered. It saddened her, how silent the girl was, but Maggie told herself she needed to be patient. Sheetka had been through so much.

Over the summer, she paid Mrs. Marks several visits, taking tea or coffee and hearing the gossip about Juneau’s society, such as it was. Sometimes she brought Sheetka, and she was glad to see the older woman’s uncertain affection for the little girl grow into something a little deeper, her bemusement at interacting with a native child turning to genuine affection.

It was on one of these visits in early September that Mrs. Marks fixed Maggie with a beady eye and declared, “I certainly hope you’re intending to attend the dance this Saturday. You’ve missed the last two, and heaven knows, we need more eligible ladies present!”

Maggie laughed and shook her head. “I always mean to, but life has been so busy.” She glanced at Sheetka, who was sitting quietly next to her, flipping the pages of an illustrated book of fairy tales that Mrs. Marks had gotten out. Sheetka didn’t seem particularly interested in the stories, turning the pages quite quickly, but at least it kept her busy.

“Well, that simply won’t do,” Mrs. Marks declared. “It’ll be hard enough for you to find someone decent in this town, with your…. current obligations.” Mrs. Marks, never one for subtlety, looked meaningfully at the girl.

“I’m very content with my current obligations,” Maggie replied, smiling.

“Even so.” Mrs. Marks leaned forward, her eyes alight. “We need you there, my girl! There are far too many men and not enough women as it is. Please say you’ll come. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t. Why, for many it’s the highlight of their month!”

“All right, I’ll come,” Maggie told her on a laugh. She didn’t know why she’d been so hesitant; she liked to dance as much as anyone else. Maybe it was the prospect of seeing Brendan at such an occasion. Or maybe, she reflected,notseeing him. Either way, some part of her had remained reluctant to venture to the public school where the dances were held, its one big room cleared of chairs and desks, a three-man band playing merry tunes and always finishing with a waltz.

“Good.” Mrs. Marks nodded, satisfied. “And I hope you have something decent to wear.”

Maggie thought of the navy silk she’d brought with her that she’d once worn to supper at the Browns’ house. That seemed so long ago, even though it was less than a year since she’d last been there. Her time in Alaska felt so separate from the rest of her life, and also as if her new life—her real life—hadn’t begun until she’d stepped on shore.

“I think I have something,” she told Mrs. Marks.