A Tempest Touch

A TEMPEST TOUCH

BY ALAN GARCIA

Christmas Eve 1912 - Mott Haven, Bronx

Tap! Tap! Tap!

That was Mary’s wakeup ritual; Ralph, on the fire escape, as always with his handy folding ruler tapping on her window at 4:00 AM sharp. He was already up working in the boiler room, so he didn’t mind this ritual. After all, it was just another chance to see Mary. She wanted the chance as well, so he would be the first thing she saw every day.

Most mornings, the two would just nod to one another, signaling that she was awake and that he could continue with his other duties, but on this morning, Mary peeled off her damp wool blanket and inched toward the window. Her breath was visible in the freezing attic space that she called her room; her windowpane left a touch open (back then regulations made them keep these windows open to combat sickness, although it just made everyone terribly cold). She opened the pane to see Ralph standing just below, waiting for her. His face was red from the cold, and the wind was whirring around him. Yet he smiled when he saw her.

“Merry Christmas, Mary.”

“Merry Christmas, Ralph.”

Mary smiled back, but then Ralph was off without another word, back to his work. And so, Mary started the same way. There was much to do today at St. Joseph’s. But Christmas was Mary’s favorite time of year. It was the holiday that she first connected with Ralph, and it was the day she got to see him the most.

She made her bed, which was comprised of a mattress filled with straw, a wool blanket, and a pillow filled with chicken feathers that poked her cheeks throughout the night. The bed smelled of grass and coal and had formed knots every morning in the filling, so Mary would have to beat the mattress back into a firm place when she made the bed. She wore the same wool undergarment all week until bath night. Without it, she’d probably freeze to death in her own room. The room was cold and humid, making it difficult to get out of her damp cotton night gown, buttoned to the top of her neck and covering her legs down to her feet. Apparently, a woman must be modest, even in the privacy of her own room.

A pitcher sat on her washbasin, which was a ceramic bowl on a wooden table. She filled the pitcher up the night before with some water, knowing it would freeze over in her room. But that was the closest thing she’d get to take a bath today. Her hands were already numb, but she took her knuckles to the sheet of ice in the pitcher to crush it up; then she scooped out the freezing shards and brought them to her face over the ceramic bowl. The cold blades of ice felt like needles poking through her skin, but it melted and did its job, scrubbing the poor girl’s face before she could take a cold rag to try to wipe the water off. The rag was stiff and just as rough as the ice, and her face was red and irritated.

She wrapped a wool kerchief around her head, tied under her chin, tucking her curly strawberry blonde hair away. Then she proceeded to pull her work blouse and skirt over the wool undergarment, each little bone button as tedious as the last, putting her numb fingers to the test – and the morning was only starting. With a deep sigh, she grabbed her pack of matches, her kerosene lamp, and made her way to the basement.

Striking a Lucifer match against the stone wall, the light exposed only her face within the darkness, along with a snake of sulfur that slithered toward her green eyes, making her grimace and squint. She lit her lamp and cautiously made her way through the dark halls of St. Joseph’s. In twenty-five years, this building already felt older than one hundred, and the haunted souls of lost children walked these hallways around Mary in the darkness – she just knew it. The wind whispered in her ears, as it passed through the upstairs hallways from the open windows throughout the building. The chill bit her nose and burned her ears. The middle floors, where the children slept in their dormitories, were only slightly warmer, but still terrible that Christmas Eve morning. The cast-iron radiators were fighting a losing battle against the brutal blizzard erupting outside, and Mary couldn’t help but worry for the children, hoping their morning would be better than hers had been.

The ground floor was freezing. The thick wooden doors hardly held up against the relentless weather beating against it. Streams of windy currents found their way inside like infestations of rodents, roaming the floors and under the doors throughout the whole building. It was in the basement, where the heat would be an escape, but then it would be as overwhelming as the cold, once she started working with the copper vats.

As she walked into the basement, she saw Ralph shoveling coal, but he stopped once he saw her and placed his shovel down. Mary had a thick Bronx accent with dental stops making her t’s and th’s start with d and non-rhoticity dropping of the r at the end of words. After Ralph’s stay in Kansas City during several of his formative years, he had developed adding the latter to his accent, but kept the former; the lingering evidence of his Bronx roots.

“Here, I made ya some coffee, Mary.”

He was covered in soot, so he didn’t want to touch the cup and he just pointed. This was a luxury for her. There wasn’t much coffee to go around, so he had to swipe it. Mary accepted the gift with a smile and took a sip before looking up perplexed at Ralph, who was happily enjoying seeing his friend enjoy the morning drink.

“Where’s yours, Ralphie?”

“Oh, Mary, you know we don’t have coffee beans growing ‘round here. Dat’s just for you. Consider it one of the only things I can give you this Christmas... though I wish I could give you somet’ing better.”

Mary smiled once more, but shook her head, “No, no, Ralphie, you ought’a have some wit’ me.”

She gestured for him to take a sip, but he leaned back a hair, “Mary, I’m covered in all this mess!”

She giggled and untied her kerchief, removed it from her head, letting her curly hair fall, and took the kerchief to wipe his face as much as she could. He stared at the ceiling with slight humiliation; he couldn’t admit that he was frozen stiff with Mary so close to him being so intimate. After she finished wiping off his face, she let him have a sip from the same cup as her. Her smile never faltered, and her eyes glowed with happiness as a spark electrified by the two young orphans ignited when they were together like this. He didn’t take a big sip and offered the rest to her. She happily accepted and went on to her work just on the other side of the wall, where she began stoking the copper vats with lye. Then she started pre-scrubbing the white garments before placing them in the boiler. Since it was Christmas Eve, she was making sure to have everything as “pure” and white as she could possibly make it for the nuns.

Not long after Mary started, two of the younger, preteen girls arrived to assist her, mostly working with the box mangle machine in the drying room just adjacent to Mary’s space. Mary remembered the days she had to work where they did, but now she supervised them and took any sheets they were done with. The machine was also extremely dangerous, and Mary watched to make sure the girls didn’t make any mistake that could seriously injure them. Around when those girls arrived, Ralph had a supervisor arrive to make sure that everyone was going smoothly. But for a moment every morning, even with the wall between them, Mary and Ralph worked together in their own atmosphere. It took her back to their younger days, before Ralph left for Kansas City, when they worked in the courtyard.

The courtyards back in those days were just for work. The girls were in the laundry line; the only "playtime" they had was knitting, sewing, and scrubbing the floors. The boys were mostly practicing basic masonry and doing odd jobs like breaking down crates and moving coal to the furnace. In the courtyard, their recreation mostly consisted of military-like drills. But even though the labor was grueling, Mary would look up at the wall sometimes, hearing the boys on the other side, and knowing that Ralph was one of the voices she could hear. She'd listen for him and smile when she heard him. Those little moments were all they had. These children had the “thousand-yard stare”, found in soldiers that had endured the worst reality; they had lived a thousand lives throughout their youth. Things had changed a little culturally in the last few years. There was work in the courtyard still, but there was now time to play games out there too. Mary was happy for the kids today, who had a little more freedom than she and Ralph had. But it still wasn't enough, as life was still so bleak at St. Joseph's.

The church bells rang at six in the morning, and that meant that Mary had to move on to her next task; Rorate Caeli, or mass. Ralph would soon follow behind, after cleaning off his face once more. Mary would now tuck her hair into her white cap, to be presentable around the sisters. They would take a ruler to her, just as fast as they would the young children.

Mary gathered the girls together from their dorms, making them form a “crocodile line”, each girl in pairs, following the pair before them toward the chapel. There weren’t enough coats for the children, so they all shivered in unison as they marched downstairs to mass. The boys’ line would meet the girls’, side to side, and together they would enter the chapel, each line going on opposite sides of the aisle to keep the boys and girls separated. The chapel was still dark, except for little eyes of fire dancing atop candles lined along the room like the children. The symbolism of the sun's light pouring through the windows during the service, was a planned ritual to psychologically influence the idea that God gave the children the sun in response to their prayers. They did this every day, so how could the children not know the truth? Although no child would be fooled, as they all prayed for many things, only to never have their prayers answered. Mary noticed Ralph across the room, through the forest of candlelight, and he shot a glance back at her, but looked away quickly. Sometimes she wondered if he really felt the same way she did. It seemed like an unspoken truth, but it was, in fact, unspoken.

After making and serving breakfast, Mary would continue her duties in the basement until noon.

The weather was getting intense outside. She and the girls who worked with her had to go out in it to rush the clothes on the clothesline in the courtyard, desperately trying to pin up the garments to dry in the sun before they’d freeze stiffly in the basket.

“Hurry, girls, hurry. This weather’s fierce as frozen hell. These will be hard as a rock, if we don't get them up quickly.”

Trying to pin the linens, flannels, and sheets on the line was a painful task. Their fingers were already almost worn to the bone and numb as could be. One of the girls dropped a pin. The snow was already forming and it was hard to find it on the ground.

“I’m sorry, Mary!” She cried with worry.

“No worries, dear, I ain’t the sistas. Now let’s just keep moving!”

They got everything up and rushed inside. Snow was coming down heavily already. The ground would be covered soon.

Ralph needed to run several errands. His supervisor decided to take over for him. Ralph liked the idea of getting out and about, even in this weather. He felt a strong sense of significance when helping the kids and he wanted to show Mary that he was capable and strong. Maybe one day he’d be strong only for her. Or perhaps one day, they’d help all these kids, together; and his sister Bethel too. He missed her so much. But realistic goals are one at a time. And today’s goal was getting some important goods for tonight’s Christmas celebration. So, Ralph went off proudly on his errand for the children.

Mary went to the boiler room with the girls, to notice Ralph was gone.

“Where’s Ralphie?” She asked his supervisor.

“Out.” Was all he said, as he continued to work with his back turned to her.

That was just passed noon, and lunch was about to be prepared.

Sometime After 7:00 PM That Evening

The frigid wind whipped and shoved its way through the streets of Mott Haven with a show of force matching the might of a marching military. Yet even a soldier couldn’t endure this weather for long. But Mary O’Neil would stand strong on the front stoop of St. Joseph’s Home for Destitute Children, wondering when Ralph Mannion would return.

It wasn’t like Ralph to be gone for so long. And it was Christmas Eve. By the fifties, most people would be singing that they were “dreaming of a white Christmas”, but New York in 1912 might have dreamt of summer on a night like this. Because, with eleven inches of snow later that night, this was looking to be the whitest Christmas that New York had possibly ever seen.

It was a blizzard. And Ralph was somewhere within it.

Mary shivered and clutched her wool coat, but the wind was consuming as well as invasive. Little fleas of ice found their way through her coat, bleeding through her blouse to her corset. Her leather boots were already getting soaked and frozen, and she risked frostbite. Mary lost her mother to pneumonia, and she wondered if this would become her own fate, if she stayed outside any longer. She was angry with Ralph. Surely, he was okay. How could he make her worry so? But with every painful moment of anticipation, Mary’s mind ran wild with tragic thoughts. And she ironically hoped that he would be home soon, so that she could be angry with him, rather than be so worried.

“Mary!” Someone shouted.

The wind was strong, but the snow muffled everything else.

“Mary!” The person shouted again.

It was Father MacReady, coming from the front doorway.

“Fatha’, I’m sorry I was just looking fo’...”

“For Ralph? Oh, my child,” the sweet old priest cried; he literally cried tears as he spoke in his old Irish brogue,

“Ralph’s in the hospital. It’s not looking good, Mary.”

Mary was shivering and so was the priest. She didn’t want to keep him any longer, so she got to the point,

“Fatha’, where is he? Please tell me!”

The father explained that he was at the nearest hospital, but he begged her to not leave.

“Mary! You can’t go out in this blizzard. It’s far too dangerous!”

“Pray for me fatha’! I’ll be alright, if I can make it to the El!”

Father MacReady shook his head, but shouted once more, “I’ll pray for you my child, but I still think you ought’a reconsider!”

Then he went back inside, as Mary trekked onward toward the train system.

But the father couldn’t let her go like this. Besides, Ralph might be in real trouble, MacReady thought, so he may need a priest; a priest that he knows.

“Mary!”

She didn’t stop, she kept on, but then it was louder, apparently closer, so she looked back after the second time he hollered.

“Mary! I’m coming with ya! Let’s make sure we survive mother nature, for she can be unforgivin’. They say no hell like a woman be scorned, and maybe man has tested her patience long enough.”

He took her by the arm, and she linked with him, surprised to hear the priest say such things. She’d never heard him talk like that before.

So, they made their way together. It was only about three blocks away from the first steps on the elevated train. After what felt like a deadly, grueling journey, they found those first steps up to the darkened platform above. They were careful to make their way up the stairs, as they were covered in deep snow and solid ice.

Once atop the platform, they were lucky to not wait more than five minutes, but even those minutes felt like an eternity in this blizzard. The two were chilled to the bone, but they held on to one another for warmth. There were moments they worried they would be found there Christmas morning; that the blizzard was too much for the cars and they'd be trapped somewhere (and hopefully they wouldn't get trapped on their trip if the cars arrived), but then they noticed the light inside the wooden box car coming to them. Soon they would be able to warm up next to the furnace inside, next to the warm bodies of the late-night workers, anxiously waiting to arrive home to their families for Christmas.

As the wooden beast approached them, they could hear humming and metal screeching against the ice before they saw the yellow windows glowing in the distance and the front bright eye fighting to shine through the thick white blanket between the two passengers and the wooden beast. Blue sparks seemed to ricochet off the track, reflecting in the snow, just as bright as the wooden beast’s shining eye or yellow windows. When the beast finally stopped, the side doors groaned open, and the two rushed inside the first hole they could find between workers finally arriving at their stop.

Once inside the hazy interior of the wooden cart, the two sat on wool cushions at the other end of the car from the coal furnace. One worker immediately noticed the priest and young girl, who had the look of a troubled child. He knew they wouldn’t be here if they didn’t have to be. Obviously, they were on some sort of an important mission; and on the night of Christmas Eve of all nights.

“Hey fatha’, you and the kiddo come take a seat over here by da fire.”

The priest and Mary were impish but accepted the offer to no protest from any of the other workers. They made way for the priest and the young lady.

Mary decided to speak on behalf of the two, “Thank you. It’s like frozen hell out there.”

She suddenly realized she was speaking like this in front of Father MacReady, and she shot a look of fear at him, to which the MacReady waved his hand, as if to say she mustn't worry. This made the workers laugh; even the father began to giggle a little, but he couldn’t laugh too much, as his anxiety for Ralph was overwhelming. Mary mostly held a look of innocent perplexity to go with her own anxiety. She couldn’t help but be a little intimidated by this group of male working men, late at night on this tiny, enclosed moving, wooden box. But the men had good intentions and were in the spirit of the holiday.

“Merry Christmas to youse.” The worker, who offered his seat, wished them well with a genuine smile.

“Merry Christmas, sir.” Father MacReady wished back.

Mary would share the same wishes, as would the rest of the workers in the box car. It was a scary, anxious trip, and it was a hard, painful day at work for everyone on that car. But that moment on the train was the closest to the Christmas spirit that Mary would feel that year. She wondered what stories those workers had to share; could they have been just as anxious as her, but for some other, equally impactful reason? Or hopefully, they would be home soon to hold a family close; maybe a loving child, not so unfortunate to be one of the poor souls at St. Joseph's. Mary really hoped that was so.

She looked over at the priest, who was now praying. Father MacReady seemed more disturbed than she’d ever seen. She couldn’t help but wonder if he hadn’t told her everything that he had heard on his phone call.

The Hospital

MacReady couldn't stop her once he told her what really happened. He didn't want to mention it around the workers, so he waited until they started walking on the ground again. Once he told her the full story, she tore off as fast as she could in the deep snow. He worried that she may grow hysterical and get herself into trouble, so he tried to catch up as fast as he could to be at her aide.

Mary swung the door open, dashing rapidly through the threshold. She almost fell to the floor, slipping due to the moisture from the clinging, melting ice around the base of her boots. The building had the pungent, chemical smell of antiseptic; a constant buzzing hummed through the halls, coming from the electric lights overhead, hanging from crystal balls that painted the room a bleak yellow tint. Her mind was in panic. She had become frantic. Ralph was her best friend; her only true friend.

Ralph went out approximately at noon to grab some groceries for dinner. They had been short on a lot for the small feast they could afford that night, since he hadn't returned. Sister Sarah had complained to Mary about it, asking if she knew what the boy was up to. Just after that was when Mary stood on the stoop, wondering where he could be. She'd never know the full truth. However, before he was sent to the hospital, apparently, he had the bag of groceries and some Christmas decorations. He'd went out of his way to add some festivity for dinner. But somewhere on his trip back home, Ralph had been shot by the police in a violent encounter. They claimed that Ralph allegedly held up a liquor store at gun point in the neighborhood, then shot and killed the clerk. The killer's description was someone in their late teens; approximately five-foot-seven, bright red hair atop his head and upon his face, and dark brown eyes.

These features matched Ralph. He didn't have the murder weapon, but he could have ditched it. And suddenly, this poor Irish boy had a lot of loot in a sack. Yet Mary knew Ralph had saved his money well (whenever he managed to make something), and the sisters gave him money for the groceries. Mary couldn’t imagine Ralph doing such a thing in a million years.

The New York Police Department had already finalized everything, and the paperwork was going through on the record, tarnishing Ralph's name forever. There just wasn’t enough evidence to protect Ralph’s innocence, and he'd already been shot; the officers were going to protect their own skin first and wouldn't admit if they had made a mistake. Yet Mary knew Ralph would never commit such a despicable atrocity; he would never put another in harm’s way, and he would never steal from another. He only wanted to protect everyone from any wrongdoing, and sometimes he opened his big mouth too many times in protest for those whose voices weren’t as powerful as his. He did get mouthy with the priests and nuns from time to time, but it was always in the best interest of the children. His motives were for the right reasons, but there were times when New York’s Finest missed the point of protecting and serving the people of New York. And, if Ralph hadn't done it, while the police are willing to look the other way, then that would mean someone dangerous was still out there. Regardless, they didn't seem thorough. Ralph fit the description, he resisted arrest, and he was shot. End of story. That's all they needed to know to draw their conclusion.

She found his room, almost as if the angels had guided her to him. She didn’t ask permission. She wasn’t his family. She had no permission. She only had a few moments left of time to see him; to see if she could still see him anymore at all. And there he was before her, cuffed to his hospital bed like a prisoner, with the bloody wound in the center of his torso. There were officers in the room doing paperwork and two nurses, one speaking with the officers, and one looking over some of her own paperwork.

Ralph’s eyes turned to Mary, even though his face was barely visible. One bright green light shined over his body, as if to display the wound like a piece of artwork. His face was just out of the light, but Mary could see him; his eyes were wary, but they saw her too. They were calling for her. No words came from his mouth. When he tried to talk, all that would come out was grunts and gurgles. His breath rattled and his skin was clammy and as pale as could be. He'd been shot three times in his lower chest and mid stomach. She didn't hesitate, nor did she care about the presence of the police and nurses. They hadn’t noticed her right away, and no one had time to stop her before she lunged for Ralph’s bed.

“Ralphie? Oh... God... Ralphie! What’d they do to ya?”

His eyes stared wide at Mary as she pressed her face to his. She sobbed and cried. Police began to reach for her, trying to pull her away, but she grabbed the bed, and they couldn’t pry her away without hurting her or the patient.

She screamed at them, "Stop it! Let go of me!"

Then Father MacReady stepped in pleading to the police, "For the love of Christ, let go of the girl, please! She's with me!"

And officer approached the priest. He was of Irish decent too. "What's this about, father? Who's this girl and what's her relation to this murderer? You do realize what he's done?"

"You're a liar!" Mary shouted, "Ralph would never do such a thing!"

"Mary!" MacReady shouted, "Please shut your mouth, child!" He looked to the officer, "Please son, she's all the family the boy's got. They're from St. Joseph's. I'm begging that Ralph have his last moment of peace with his loved ones. Let me see if I can get a last wish or confession from the boy. It's his right as a son of God."

The officer looked reluctant, but as a Catholic himself, he refused to argue with the priest.

"Okay then. But son of God or not, that boy is guilty."

Mary began to plead to Ralph, “Tell me it ain’t the truth, Ralphie! Tell me it’s all some rotten lie! Ralphie, I know you’d never hurt nobody!”

Ralph tried to speak, but no full words could come. His eyes began to roll and come and rise and fall; then he looked deep into her eyes for a moment.

Father MacReady spoke to him, "Ralph, can you hear me? We're here for ya, lad. Can you speak to me?"

Mary didn’t know what else to do. She didn't care anymore what anyone had to say about it. This was her last moment with Ralph. She just kissed him and then held him. She knew he was dying in her arms, but she let go of him and looked him over before pleading more.

“Ralph Mannion! Ralphie! Look at me! Don’t you die on me!”

He wasn't moving anymore or breathing. The officers and nurses watched in somber silence. Mary cried out what some officers later referred to as the saddest sound on Earth.

“I love you, Ralphie...”

The Ride Home

Mary and Father MacReady somberly walked out the front door of the hospital, stepping back into the blizzard, which had only gotten worse. The snow was so deep now, that they worried they wouldn’t make it back to the El, or if the El was still even running, but they hurried to make their way. The nurses offered to let them stay for the night, and they were now beginning to consider taking the offer when the sound of bells chimed toward them. It was a stagecoach driver, trying to make it back to the stable after his last run through what had become a dangerous drive.

“Are ye mad, Fatha'? What’re you 'nd the young lass doing out in this white mess?”

“We come to pay our last respects to a dying friend. Now we’re trying to get back to the El, to get to St. Joseph’s.” Father MacReady explained.

The coach driver had now stopped by the hospital, “Well the horse needs a quick rest. She’s about had it for the night. My stable’s only ‘round the corner from St. Joseph’s. I can’t take you to the front stoop, but I can get you close. This weather’s coming down fierce, and I don’t know if you’ll make it to de El, or become snow covered corpses, if you forgive my wording, Fatha'.”

“No offense taken, sir. You’re quite right to be worried. And we’d gladly accept your offer. Thank you for your kindness, stranger.”

Father MacReady and Mary climbed into the cab of the coach. The priest tried to pull some coins out to pay the driver, but the man held up his hand.

“Free of charge, sir. It’s Christmas, after all, and we’re only heading back home together, the way I see it.”

MacReady smiled and bowed with a gesture of gratitude before hopping in the cab with Mary. Then they were off to St. Joseph’s.

Automobile taxis were beginning to emerge more across the city, but there were no more out tonight, and no other carriages either. The roads were beginning to get extremely dangerous, so it was a slow, frigid ride, even from inside the cab. She fought to conceal her pain, but the tears would not cease, as she silently wept all the way. Father MacReady held her hand, trying to comfort her. He prayed for Ralph out loud. The coach driver heard them and the prayer pulled his heart strings. He was a gentleman and very polite, not making any comments that might upset them. He tried to make a comforting comment before she stepped out just a block away from St. Joseph’s front stoop:

“Please try to have a Merry Christmas, lass. I wish there was something I could do...”

Mary gave a whimper, followed by a weak “Tha'thank you, sir. And a Ma'merry Christmas t'you...”

Her face was pale, and her stare was blank. She looked as though she had aged ten years in her eyes. Earlier that day, she was a seventeen-year-old girl, wise beyond her years. Now she didn’t feel wise, but tired; absolutely drained.

Father MacReady spoke up, “You’ve done more than most, sir. We are very grateful for your hospitality. Merry Christmas, sir.”

The man gave Mary a pitiful look before tipping his hat to the priest and driving on.

They trudged through the deep snow as quickly as possible. Mary’s boots were soaked and her feet were in terrible pain. Usually, she would be worried about frostbite or pneumonia, but at that moment, she was just numb emotionally. She didn’t care about herself as much anymore. She felt more alone than she had ever felt before. Finally, they made it to the set of eight stairs leading to the stoop at the main entrance. Father MacReady opened the door and looked back to Mary.

“C’mon, Mary. You must get yourself warm now!”

Mary stood still, staring back at the street with her back to the priest.

“I know it hurts, child. But killin’ yourself won’t help no one. Please come in when you’ve collected your thoughts.”

Father MacReady went inside. He could not keep the door open any longer, making the internal building more frozen than it already was. When he entered the building, a nun, Sister Sarah, was already coming to check up on them.

“Father, what happened?”

Mary’s wool coat fluttered in the wind as she stood like a phantom within the blizzard. Tears flowed down her face and froze on her chin. The midnight mass bells rang. It was Christmas, and Mary had a lot of work to do. She knew she would be lectured by the nuns, even if Father MacReady stood up for her. At least he would, but it didn’t matter. This tragic event took Mary from some of her most important duties. She knew that Ralph didn’t do anything wrong. She went over it in her head thoroughly, and she could see it all play out. She knew what happened to him, because she knew him so well.

Those officers confronted him and accused him of murder, and that would offend Ralph to his core. He denied it and when they told him they were taking him in, Ralph pleaded with them. He had to have explained to them that he needed to get back to the children for Christmas, and that the nuns would be his alibi. But the officers wouldn’t listen. They were mostly Irish American cops, but sometimes they were harder on the young Irish American kids than others, for many complicated reasons. Ralph was tough and stubborn. He probably thought he could fight his way out or flee. Mary didn’t know for sure, but she could imagine this is what most likely happened; she assumed that through either a scuffle or a chase, Ralph was shot by the police. Ralph was fighting for his life, for the orphan’s livelihood, for his future with Mary, and for his mission to return to his sister, Bethel.

In one moment of misunderstanding, Ralph, along with the better world he imagined, was eradicated.

Mary came back inside to get back to her work. She knew that Ralph would want the children to have a good Christmas, so she could at least make that a reality. She hoped that the nuns would let her change into something dry, but when Sister Sarah saw her enter the door, she didn’t ask her if she were okay, or about Ralph, but instead, she told Mary to hurry and get the girls to mass. Father MacReady had already left to the service, as he was late too.

And so, Mary continued her duties, with Sister Sarah accompanying her. They went to retrieve the girls, ages seven and up, who were dressed and ready to form their line, but wouldn’t dare leave their dorm without permission. They were all very confused about everything going on around them from the late shift in schedule, Mary and Ralph’s disappearance, and the rumors that had piled up. But everything went on as planned, just a few minutes late. The young orphans marched behind Mary and Sister Sarah, following the guide of the kerosene lamp through the darkness; each child being just as cold as they were that morning, almost a day ago. Mary fought through the pain. Her feet hurt, but her left foot hurt the most, especially on her two outer toes. The lamp light flickered in her face, as she stared blankly into the darkness. She was surrounded by ghosts of the children that had called these halls home – she just knew it. She believed now that Ralph was living with them.

When they arrived at the chapel doors and the children fed the pews, Sister Sarah made a startling realization, relieved to see that no one else had noticed.

“My child,” Sister Sarah whispered in Mary’s ear.

“You must change your clothes quickly.”

Mary was confused for a moment but then looked down in the flickering glow from the lamp that rolled across her body. Blood was on her coat and blouse. If the children noticed, it would surely traumatize them. So, Mary snuck out as quickly as she could and rushed to get herself cleaned up.

Sister Sarah gave Mary her lamp, and Mary navigated her way to the basement, where she would change into some fresh clothes and warm up near the boiler room. Taking off the wet, icy clothes was a difficult task, but the hardest part was removing the wet leather boots, especially on her left foot. Her fingers were trembling as she untied the frozen laces that refused to go without a fight. The boot has fused to the stocking, and the stocking did the same to her skin. The right foot was first, because she feared to see her left foot. Although numb, her right foot looked fine. But taking off the left boot was terribly agonizing. She was careful; she slowly took the boot off, trying to hold the stocking in place, before taking it off second. She got that task done but taking off the stocking was just as difficult. When she removed it, some fears were confirmed. Her two outer toes were grayish blue and skinned after removing the stocking, causing some minor bleeding. For a moment Mary just lied on her back, took a few deep breaths, and tried to remain calm. But she couldn’t help but stare up at the ceiling in despair; she had the worst feeling that this was the end of those toes.

Mary had a medical kit near the box mangle machine, and used some lard to cover her tender skin, then used bandages to wrap up her foot. It wasn’t hurting too bad, which gave her hope that maybe her toes barely made it out with their lives. She wished she could say the same thing about Ralph. She already missed him. He wouldn’t be at mass. And he wouldn’t be tapping on her window in the morning anymore. She tried to hide her emotions and her limp as she made her way back to mass, just in time to help the girls return to their dorms for the night.

Valerie

The children were in their dormitories. Mary was being lectured by Sister Sarah on the stairs heading to the attic. One little girl snuck out of bed and wondered out to see what the two were arguing about. It was seven-year-old Valerie, who had been at St. Joseph’s since she was a baby. Valerie was a mystery; she was left on the stoop, with no more than the name tag that read, “Valerie”. Mary’s mother died from pneumonia; Ralph and Bethel’s father died in a construction accident, and then their mother was deemed unfit to raise the children after having a mental breakdown. But Valerie just appeared one day without anything more than a name.

“It won’t happen again, Sister Sarah. I was only helping Father...”

Mary was interrupted by Sarah, who spoke in a similar old-school Irish brogue as the priest, “You were runnin’ off like a fool, and Father MacReady has too soft a heart to teach you children proper discipline! If I’d seen you walking off from your duties, then I’d have let you kill yourself on your own freewill. That’s what freewill gets you, just like the demise of poor Ralph, who couldn’t cooperate with the law...”

Now Mary was interrupting Sister Sarah, “Don’t speak ill of the dead, Sister; Ralph didn’t do nothin’ wrong, he was just trying to get back to the children...”

“Don’t you tell me how to speak, child! I outta...”

Sister Sarah suddenly stopped with a perplexed look. Mary felt the same sensation, holding her lamp higher. Something felt off, as if they weren’t alone, and when Mary’s lamp shifted over toward the hallway, the light exposed a little girl, standing, shivering, and watching the two women argue.

“Mary, get this child back to bed. We’ll discuss this in the morning. You come see me as soon as Ralph...” Sister Sarah realized what she was saying, but tried to move on, “well, we’ll send someone to wake you anyway.”

Sister Sarah went off and Mary went to fetch the girl.

“Here lil one, you shouldn’t be out of bed in this cold.”

Once they were in the dorm, and as Mary tucked the little girl in bed, Valerie asked, “What’s the matter?”

Mary shushed the girl, “Everyone is sleeping. We don’t speak this late.”

The little girl tilted her head slightly and scrunched her eyebrows, indicating confusion.

“Why not? Why is it bad to speak at night, but not the day?”

“Well, we can’t speak too much in the day either... now, please, go to sleep.”

“But why not? I love to talk about things. There are so many things to talk about.”

Mary looked somewhat annoyed, yet intrigued, “Oh really? You must see things I don’t see, because this place isn’t so imaginative.”

The little girl sat back up, even after Mary had tucked her in, to which Mary became frustrated, but she couldn’t help but be overcome by the child’s bright personality.

“I don’t know... I want to know about everything... so I try to think about everything.”

Mary looked past her frustration and smirked.

“How old are you, lil one?”

The little girl showed with her fingers and answered, “Seven; this many.”

Mary shushed the girl again, to make sure she stayed quiet for the other sleeping girls. Learning that the girl was seven took Mary back to when she first arrived at St. Joseph’s at the same age. This made a connection between the two, on this tragic Christmas morning.

“How long have you been here?” Mary whispered.

“I’ve always been here. Ever since I was a baby.”

That made Mary even more sad, but she felt she had made a friend somehow.

“What’s your name, kiddo?”

“Valerie.”

The child answered with an innocent smile. She seemed happy for an orphan at St. Joseph’s.

“You’re Mary. I think you’re the nicest lady here.” Valerie stated.

This warmed Mary’s heart more than any other words could on this night. And tears began to crawl down her cheeks. She looked away, trying to hide them, but Valerie noticed.

“Why are you crying?”

“It’s nothing dear. But I’m happy you think I’m nice. I’ll try to stay that way.”

Valerie smiled, “Will you sing a song with me for Christmas?”

"Yeah, Mary could you?" Another little voice called out.

"Please, Mary?" Another one echoed.

Mary shushed them but couldn't help but giggle at the ripple effect Valerie had caused, worrying they were being too loud before replying to their pleas, “Okay, wow. Look at all of you up so late. You're gonna get me whipped by Sista' Sarah... Okay... A Christmas song, huh?”

She pondered as the little ones waited eagerly. “Okay, here’s a good one for getting all you to bed."

Mary tucked Valerie into bed. Valerie impressed Mary; she was an interesting, intelligent little girl. She had long dark, red hair, and her brown eyes held an inquisitive look about them that contrasted the distant stare most of the children had. It was sad to know that she had only ever known of this place to be her home, never having a true family. If making life better for children like Valerie was a reason to continue living, then Mary would proudly pursue making St. Joseph’s a better home. These children needed someone like Mary to watch out for them, while nuns like Sister Sarah were ready to discipline them ruthlessly. There best hope was Father MacReady, but he would never stand up to the nuns. Mary was their best hope.

Mary sang Silent Night to Valerie. The children sat up and listened, and then they joined her. This was one of the songs the sisters didn't mind them singing, although they were supposed to be on their strict schedule, even on Christmas. Mary sang the song surprisingly well, especially after a night in the intense cold. But she noticed that little Valerie had a natural voice that sounded like she had lived a long life. She was an interesting child, who clearly influenced everyone around her, including Mary.

Mary knew from the first moment she truly met Valerie, that this child was something special.

If only she had better resources for such a brilliant little mind.

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