Keeping Secrets (2 page)

2
 

P
EG
K
ELLY CLOSED
her eyes and inhaled the warm cinnamon-sugar smells of the kitchen. Nibbling, she held a tiny bite of apple dumpling on her tongue to make the birthday treat last longer.

Her mother smiled and winked. “You needn’t be afraid to gobble it down. There’ll be more dumplings with supper tonight.”

Peg gulped and dipped her spoon into the flaky pastry for another bite. “You’re a good cook, Ma.”

“And you’re a good daughter, little love.”

“I am not little. I’m eleven now.” Peg sat up defensively and squared her shoulders, as though she could will herself to add an inch or two to her height of four feet, eight inches. “I’m practically grown.”

Noreen Kelly Murphy added wood to the fire in the cast iron cookstove, then picked up a heavy pan,
which contained a fat hen, stuffed almost to bursting with a mixture of bread crumbs, minced onion, and herbs.

Peg’s eyes gleamed. “Roast chicken, too! Oh, yum!” It wasn’t often they were able to have meat. Both the Confederate and Union raiding parties helped themselves to farmers’ stock and food supplies. There was precious little left for the stores to sell.

As Ma tucked the chicken inside the oven, Peg heard the creak of buggy wheels and the clop of horses’ hooves stop in the road outside their house.

“Someone come to visit?” Ma asked and held aside the lacy curtain that hung over the kitchen window. “Oh, merciful heavens!” she cried in delight. “It’s Frances Mary!”

Peg threw down her spoon and raced to the door, flinging it open and screeching, “Frances! Frances!” She wrapped herself in her big sister’s hugs.

Frances turned to greet Ma, who held her tightly. Over Frances’s laughter Ma chattered on. “It’s been months since I’ve laid eyes on you, Frances Mary! And look at you! Blooming with good health, praise be! How is my Petey? Did you bring him with you this time? He’s well, isn’t he?” She craned her neck, staring toward the wagon.

“He’s fine, Ma. I’m fine. And so are the Cummingses.”

Ma abruptly stopped speaking. In surprise, Peg followed her mother’s gaze and saw a woman standing beside the wagon. She was pale, her skin nearly matching the faded gray of her cotton dress and bonnet. Almost apologetically she hung back, and when she met Peg’s glance, she smiled shyly and ducked her head.

Frances, one arm still around her mother, turned
toward the woman. “Ma,… Peg,” she said, “I want you to meet Violet Hennessey. Miss Hennessey fled from her home in Lawrence, when Quantrill and his raiders burned the town. She needs a place to stay for a short while, Ma, so I brought her to you.”

“And rightly so,” Ma said without hesitation. She immediately took charge, sending Peg to plump the pillows on the bed in the spare room and fill the pitcher with fresh water.

By the time Peg returned to the kitchen, Frances had left to stable the horse, and Ma had ushered Miss Hennessey into a chair by the fireplace.

A cup of tea already in her trembling hands, Miss Hennessey murmured, “It will be just for a few days. Just until I can find suitable lodgings.”

“We’re happy to have you stay with us,” Ma reassured her. She pulled up a chair facing Miss Hennessey. “Here in St. Joe we heard about Quantrill’s attack on Lawrence. It must have been terrifying.”

Eager to hear any details that Miss Hennessey might offer, Peg took a step forward. She realized her mistake when Ma immediately spotted her.

“Miss Hennessey’s two carpetbags are on the floor by the door,” she said. “Will you please take them to her room, Peg, my girl? One at a time now, because they’re heavy.”

“But, Ma, I want to hear about the raid.”

“Now, please,” Ma said firmly.

To argue in front of a guest was unthinkable, so Peg silently turned and did as she had been told, but inside she fumed.
She sent me off on purpose so I wouldn’t hear. She treats me as if I’m a child. And I’m not! I’m close to becoming a full-grown woman!

The first bag wasn’t particularly heavy, but Peg lugged the second bag up the stairs with difficulty. It
was more scuffed than the first one, the flocking worn and stained at the corners.
How did Miss Hennessey escape quickly if she had to carry these two bags?
Peg wondered, then shrugged.

By the time Peg returned to the kitchen Frances had joined Ma and Miss Hennessey, who was now spooning up a bowl of chicken broth.

Peg glanced wistfully toward the apple dumpling she had left. Her mouth watered for it, but it would be rude to eat it if Miss Hennessey had not been served some, and she would rather wait than give up any of her own portion at the moment.

“And your friend, Johnny?” Ma was asking Frances. “Is he also well?”

Frances’s cheeks suddenly turned pink, and she stared down at her cup of tea. “He writes when he can,” she said. “He’s with the Kansas Volunteers.”

“He’s in my prayers, love, along with all the other young men who have gone off to fight.” Ma patted Frances’s shoulder.

“On the Union side,” Peg said and pulled up a chair.

“On
both
sides,” Ma corrected.

“Ma!” Peg was shocked. “You can’t pray for the Confederates!”

“I’m praying for all the boys who have left their homes to fight for what they believe in, no matter if they’re right or wrong,” Ma said. “They all have mothers who lie awake at night worrying about them.”

“But we’re under martial law. The provost marshal arrests anyone who helps the enemy in any way.”

Ma laughed. “Fortunately, the provost marshal has no way of knowing what’s in my mind and heart.”

Frances smiled and reached over to hug Peg. “Let
Ma be,” she said. “Today’s your birthday, and I didn’t forget. I brought you a bag of molasses taffy.”

“Yum!” Peg said, but at that moment Miss Hennessey gave a little moan and swayed in her chair.

Ma and Frances jumped to their feet, Ma clutching Miss Hennessey’s shoulders to keep her from falling.

“I’m sorry.” Miss Hennessey’s voice was so faint she could scarcely be heard. “Maybe it was the long journey. I’m so tired … so tired.”

“Then it’s bed for you,” Ma said. “A good sleep may be all that you need. Don’t even think of coming down to supper. I’ll bring up a tray.”

“Thank you,” Miss Hennessey whispered. With Ma’s help she rose from her chair and stumbled from the room, supported by both Ma and Frances.

Quick as a shot Peg snatched her half-eaten apple dumpling and began to gobble it down. It was no longer warm, and the cream had soaked through the lower crust, but it was still delicious.

In a few minutes Ma and Frances came downstairs, pausing at the foot of the staircase to talk in low tones.

Peg felt a lump in her throat as she watched her sister, whose dark, shining hair gleamed in a beam of late afternoon sunlight that came from the fanlight window over the front door. Frances had grown taller and even more beautiful. With her small waist and rounded breasts and hips, at sixteen she had become a lovely woman.

Peg slid her hands over her own flat chest and grimaced. She wanted to look like Frances, to be as kind and loving as Frances, and to be as brave as Frances had been when she risked her life to work with the Underground Railroad, helping slaves to escape to freedom.

Besides
, she thought, as she licked the last drop of
cream from her bowl,
by the time I’m sixteen maybe Ma will stop treating me like a child!

Supper preparations soon began, and Peg helped by cutting pole beans into a pot for boiling and setting the table.

Her stepfather, John Murphy, arrived home from his blacksmith’s shop. The shirt that stretched over his broad shoulders was stained with sweat. He greeted Frances warmly and raised his thick black eyebrows in surprise when told of their guest.

“Were you acquainted with this woman before the raid?” he asked Frances.

“No,” she answered.

“Then how did she happen to go to the Cummingses for help?”

“Pure fortune,” Frances said. “She was on the road after dark and spotted the lights in our house. She knocked on our door and asked us to take her in.”

“Who are her people? Where is she from?”

“That I can’t tell you. I simply know that Miss Hennessey is frightened and alone. She wanted to leave Kansas, and I thought that Ma …”

“Your ma. Ah, yes indeed,” Mr. Murphy said with a frown. “She’s very good at taking in strays, without thinking of the consequences. Just between you and us and no one else, last week Noreen risked arrest by feeding a Union Army deserter who stopped and asked for food.”

Indignant, Ma thrust both hands onto her hips. “It’s not up to me to be judge and jury, John Murphy. All I saw was a frightened, hungry boy—of no more than sixteen years of age, if that much—curled up under the washtub in our backyard, trying to get some sleep as he traveled homeward.”

John smiled and put an arm around Ma’s waist,
drawing her close. At one time Peg, still missing the father she had lost, had resented John’s open affection for Ma, but no longer. Over and over she saw that he sincerely loved Ma and was a good husband to her, and it was obvious that Ma loved him.

“Tell me more about this Miss Hennessey,” John said to Frances. “I heard that the raid took the entire town by surprise. How did she manage to escape the raiders?”

“A merchant with a horse and wagon was fleeing Lawrence. He agreed to let her ride with him.”

“That’s not very fast transportation. A Reb on horseback could catch up with a wagon in less than a minute.”

“They were ahead of the Rebs,” Frances explained. “Violet left Lawrence from the north as the raiders entered the town from the south.”

“Interesting,” he said. “How did she learn they were coming?”

Frances grew flustered. “I don’t know, and she was so upset that we didn’t bother her with questions. I suppose that people fleeing ahead of the raiders brought the news.”

“John!” Ma broke in. “Stop ragging Frances. She brought Miss Hennessey here as an act of kindness because the poor woman was so frightened. You get so curious that you shake a bit of news to pieces the way a dog worries a bone.”

John shook his head sadly. “It’s Quantrill I’d like to be shaking. The Lawrence raid was a terrible act of revenge on that evil man’s part. Word has it that Quantrill led his raiders shouting, ‘Kill! Kill!’ The man must be mad.”

John’s news didn’t surprise Peg. Marcus Hurd, who was undoubtedly the dirtiest, meanest boy in school,
was nevertheless a good source of information. One day before class, Marcus had told them in gory detail what he’d heard about the collapse of the makeshift prison in Kansas City, in which many of the wives and women friends of Quantrill’s men had been killed or badly wounded. Quantrill had vowed to get even.

“Vinny Ottman came by today to get his horse shod,” John said. “The poor man was broken. It seems his cousin Frank was caught by a Union patrol, accused of spying for the Confederates and hanged on the nearest tree.”

“Oh, dear,” Ma said. “I’ll go pay a call on Vinny and Jane.”

“Why did they hang him on the nearest tree?” Peg asked. “Why didn’t they take him to jail?”

“There’s no quarter given to spies, my girl,” Mr. Murphy said. “On both sides, if a spy is caught, he’s immediately hanged.”

With a concerned eye on Peg, Ma pulled away from her husband. “Enough of all this talk of war,” she said. “The chicken is browned, the potatoes are baked, and it’s time to celebrate Peg’s birthday with her favorite supper.”

The meal was every bit as delicious as Peg knew it would be. Afterward, Ma prepared a tray, taking it to Miss Hennessey herself, and Frances insisted on doing all the cleaning up.

Peg curled contentedly into a chair by the fire Mr. Murphy had laid in the wide, brick fireplace in the parlor. This was not only a special day for Peg, there was a guest in the house, so the parlor would be readied for her use. How different from their usual routine of spending the evening at the kitchen table, Peg thought. Most evenings she’d be busy with schoolwork, Ma would have a lap full of mending, and John would go
over every inch of
The St. Joseph Gazette
, bits and pieces of which he’d read aloud.

As Peg stretched like a cat, sucking on a piece of the taffy Frances had brought her and luxuriating in the warmth from the fire, Ma came downstairs with a report that Miss Hennessey had eaten every bite of her supper and had settled back in bed, ready once again to sleep.

“The color’s come back into her face,” Ma said with satisfaction as she placed her oil lamp on the table. “With rest and good food she’ll be herself in no time at all.”

Her gaze went from the small clock on the parlor table to Peg. “It’s getting late. Time for bed, love,” she said.

“Ma!” Peg complained. “I’m older now. I shouldn’t have to go to bed at eight-thirty. Besides, it’s my birthday!”

“Birthday or no birthday, you have school tomorrow,” Ma replied. “I’m not sending you off to Miss Thomas to yawn in her face and stumble over your sums.” She bent to kiss Peg on the forehead and pull her to her feet. “Good night, love.”

“Ma, you don’t treat me seriously,” Peg complained. “I’m old enough to take on a fair share of the cooking and cleaning—and do a good job of it! Yet you send me off to bed as though I’m an infant! You’re all going to talk about Miss Hennessey and the raid and her escape, and I want to hear, too!”