Chapter 28
Maggie stood in front of the pleasant wood-frame house on Fifth Street, gingham curtains at the window, flowers in pots on the sill.
She’d been meaning to call on Mrs. Marks since she’d arrived in Juneau, but somehow she had not managed to find the time, or, she had to admit, the inclination.
As kind as the older woman’s offer had been for her to visit, Maggie had felt too shy to do so.
It was one thing to accept an invitation in the flurry of farewells after a week-long voyage; another actually to follow through and show up unannounced at the good woman’s door weeks later.
But today she had no choice. She’d woken that morning with the little Tlingit girl still asleep in her arms, only to have her startle awake when Maggie had stirred, and then scoot to the end of the bed, gazing at Maggie with that wide-eyed watchfulness that just about broke her heart.
Downstairs, Mrs. Compton had reiterated her one-night policy, making it clear the girl would be gone that morning. And at the hospital, Maggie had seen no change in the mother’s condition—she’d been sleeping fitfully, still in a fever—while the girl had once more taken up residence under her bed.
Maggie hadn’t known what to do.
Sister Mary Zeno hadn’t budged in her refusal to bring the girl into the mission, although she’d remained sympathetic.
“Five years from now, God willing, we will have a bigger hospital, a school with boarding facilities. But as for now…” She’d given Maggie a look full of both sympathy and resolution. “She belongs in her village.”
Maggie had been loath to return the girl to a place where she was so clearly unwanted, but what else could she do with her? Who did she know in this city that could help?
And that had led her to the door of Mrs. Marks. Resolutely, Maggie knocked once and then stepped back, steeling herself for whatever came next.
Mrs. Marks opened the door herself, and her wide, homely face creased into a smile when she caught sight of Maggie. “Well, if it isn’t Miss O’Halloran from the Queen! I’ve been wondering how you’ve fared these last few months. Thought I might see you about town.”
“I’ve been very well, thank you?—”
“Come in, come in.” Mrs. Marks gestured for her to enter. “I’ll make coffee. I want to hear all your news.”
The Marks home was pleasant, the plain wood walls and floor decorated with rag rugs and pictures to make it welcoming.
What passed for a well-to-do home in Juneau, Maggie reflected wryly, was a far cry from what did in any of the other places she’d lived, but she decided she preferred the comfortable homeliness of the Marks’ home compared to the grander houses she’d been in.
She followed Mrs. Marks into the sitting room, furnished with a horsehair sofa and a couple of armchairs, and then sat down to wait while her hostess made coffee and brought it through on a tin tray.
“Now, tell me how you’ve been getting on,” she invited as she poured them both coffee, loaded liberally with canned milk and sugar, and then settled down in a floral-patterned armchair with her own cup. “You certainly look smart.”
Maggie glanced down at the white apron and plain dress of navy muslin she’d bought at a dry goods store for her nursing work. “Thank you,” she murmured, taking a sip of her own coffee. “I’ve been working up at St. Ann’s Hospital, as a nurse.”
“Well, isn’t that fine!” Mrs. Marks exclaimed. “No wonder you look so nicely turned out. Those nuns do a good job up there, I’ve always said.”
“Yes…” Maggie hesitated. “They’re very kind,” she started, and then fell silent, unsure how to continue.
Mrs. Marks gave her a frank look, full of humor. “You’ve clearly come here to say something,” she remarked on a laugh. “After two months and all, to boot! You might as well come out and say it.”
Maggie grimaced good-naturedly. “I meant to come sooner?—”
“Oh, I know how it is,” Mrs. Marks assured her. “Time flies, and I’m sure those nuns keep you busy! You’ve found a place to stay?”
“Yes, Mrs. Compton’s boarding house on Front Street.”
“That old barn,” Mrs. Marks scoffed. “You want to move on to somewhere more decent, if you can. She charges an arm and a leg for one of those poky rooms, with walls like tissue paper! You can get a decent cabin for the same price and live with your father and brother, you know. It wouldn’t cost much at all.
One thing that’s cheap here,” she added on a laugh, “is housing. Everything else is through the roof! A dollar for one measly apple, my eye.”
“I didn’t realize…” Maggie hadn’t even considered the matter before.
Although the conditions at Mrs. Compton’s were less than perfectly agreeable, they had sufficed for now, but the thought of more space and privacy was certainly welcome, and now that she, Danny and her da were all earning, they should be able to afford it, surely?
To have their own house, instead of a crowded room!
After years of boarding in various places, it felt like an unimaginable luxury.
“We shall have to look into it,” she told her hostess. “But the truth is, I’ve come here because I have something of a… a problem.”
Mrs. Marks’ eyebrows rose, more in curiosity than in concern. “A problem?”
Quickly, Maggie explained the situation. Mrs. Marks’ brows knit together as she listened, and her inquiring smile slowly turned into a frown, but at least, Maggie told herself, she didn’t cut her off or make some disparaging remark about “the natives.”
“So I was wondering if you might know of a place where she could stay, just until her mother recovers?” she finished. “It would only be for a night or two.”
Mrs. Marks’ frown had turned thoughtful as she took a sip of her coffee.
“Well, I declare,” she said at last. “You’ve taken an Indian girl into that boarding house?
That must have caused a pretty how-do-you-do!
” She laughed merrily, and Maggie smiled, relieved that Mrs. Marks did not seem disapproving.
“It did…” she admitted.
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 just leave her.”
“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 me abandon the 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 her something.
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.
Maggie held her instinctively, cradling her against her as she looked over at her mother’s bed and realized, with a lurch of despair and dread, that the woman lying there was dead.