The Cassidy Posse (34 page)

Mike’s reminiscing was interrupted by an ongoing dispute.

“I warn’t yuh we was gonna be late,” Mrs. McGhan admonished her daughter. “Yuh always have tuh be talkin’ and talkin’ about all yer causes and yuh never can get yerself out the door.” She stopped her rapid waddling motion and looked up at the clock on top the tall, red brick tower of the Polk Avenue railroad station. “It’s nine thirty. Duh train’s already due. We’re gonna miss Patrick gettin’ off. Duh par soul has been away fer a month in duh God-fersaken wilderness and now there’s no kin tuh meet him.”

“Mother, the railroads have cheated and lied about everything else, why would they tell us the truth about when a train would arrive?” asked Molly. She had the same stout build as her mother and the same resolute nature.

“Now dun’t be gettin’ on one ov your soapboxes,” said Mrs. McGhan.

Mike McGhan was nervous as a Protestant on St. Patty’s Day and he didn’t quite understand why. His mother and older sister shouldn’t be the cause. They had been fighting ever since he could remember. Molly was six years his senior and the apple of old Johnny McGhan’s eye. When he was alive, Molly could do no wrong and he encouraged his daughter to be bold and outspoken. When he died, Mike’s mother tried to go back and correct the problem, but Molly was too set in her ways by then. It intensified when Molly became a suffragette and named her first daughter Elizabeth after Elizabeth Cady Stanton who presented the women’s Declaration of Independence at the Seneca Falls Rally in 1848. It had been a running battle ever since. Mrs. McGhan got her only concession when Molly had a son and named him Patrick after her grandfather.

It had been going on so long, Mike seldom noticed the two women in his life constantly bickering. That was not the reason for his nervousness. He didn’t want to admit it to himself but it was the arrival of Mary Cassidy. What would his mother and sister think of the tall girl with Indian features? Why did he care? She was Patrick’s guest. She wasn’t even a guest. Patrick’s letter said that Doc Fellers had died and gave his modest estate to Mary if she would study to become a doctor. She was coming here to check out the new, ultramodern University of Chicago that was funded by old John D. Rockefeller himself. It claimed to be open to women and all minorities.

As the train from Kansas City pulled in, he felt his mouth go dry and he began pacing. What would he say to her when she got off the train? He always had a ready wisecrack for barmaids and waitresses. They loved him. Why did he feel like all the cleverness had been drained out of him?

He had better think quickly. Patrick was waving from the window of the second car with his good arm. The train ground to a halt amid a cloud of smoke and steam. Patrick motioned them toward the back of the car and disappeared from the window. They gathered in a clump at the bottom of the rear platform stairs. Molly took over at this point by forming a corridor for her son to pass. As he came down the steps smiling and waving, Mike’s eyes were riveted on the tall, slender young woman at his side with the copper-colored skin. His memory hadn’t done her justice.

“Mom! Grandma McGhan! Hey, there’s Uncle Mike!” Patrick was yelling cheerfully as he spotted them one by one. When he saw Mike he winked and made a motion with his head towards Mary who was smiling politely and waiting to be introduced. Although Mary skillfully avoided all eye contact with Mike, Patrick’s subtle gesture did not escape the sharp eye of Mrs. McGhan.

“And who might this be?” she asked Patrick.

“Oh, excuse me, I would like to - hey, Henry Bockleman, thanks for coming down. You got to catch me up on the crime scene. I’ve been gone too long. Kevin - Kevin O’Day. You came up from Joliet. Great!”

Mary continued to smile and wait patiently to be introduced. Tired of waiting for her son to calm down, a curious Molly Donegal approached her.

“Hello, I’m Patrick’s mother,” she said extending her hand.

“Oh, you have a fine son, Mrs. Donegal,” said Mary enthusiastically grasping the outstretched hand, glad that someone had finally spoken to her. “Patrick entertained us daily. He will be missed around South Pass.”

“Wyoming?” Molly asked.

“Why, yes,” said Mary.

“Then you must be Mary Cassidy,” Molly said tentatively.

“Yes, yes I am. Patrick did tell you I was coming, didn’t he?”

“Oh, yes, he did. You’ll be staying at our house tonight.”

“Oh, there’s no need to do that. I am sure Patrick can direct me to a good hotel.”

Mrs. McGhan was staring curiously at Mary and was about to open her mouth when Mike moved in to save her from possible embarrassment.

“Oh nonsense, Mary, we have plenty of room,” he said, giving her a generous hug.
Sweet Jaysus
, thought Mike,
did I just say
‘
Oh, nonsense
?’
Those were my first words to her
.

As Mike hugged Mary, he turned her around and came face-to-face with his sister Molly. She looked shocked. Stunned. Then she broke out in this evil little grin. He hadn’t seen it since he was a kid when she had something good on him. Something to tell Mom. She went over and put her arm around Mrs. McGhan who was looking very confused.

“Molly,” Mrs. McGhan whispered quietly. “That can’t be Mary Cassidy. She’s an Indian. We can’t have an Indian sleepin’ in our house. What would duh neighbors say?”

“The neighbors be damned, Ma,” Molly said smiling confidently, “She can stay at my house. If they say anything, I’ll tell them how Wyoming was the first state in the union to allow women to vote.”

“Well, if yuh get on one ov yer soapboxes, thet will surely drive them away.”

The porter carrying the bags conspicuously cleared his throat, and Patrick dug into his pocket for a tip with his free hand without missing a beat of the conversation.

“Henry, I can’t believe Theodore Carver arranged for his own wife to be killed, and Barnes took the rap for it when the whole thing blew up in his face. Wow! I can’t believe I had inside sources and missed all this. Who do you think will be first in line to become the new chief of police?”

“It looks like Bill Stewart has the inside track.” said Henry, “We can’t find anything to tie him in with the murder.”

“Who would become the new chief of detectives if Stewart got the promotion?”

“None other than your Uncle Mike. The man that brought back Sean Daugherty and cracked the case.”

“No, not me,” Mike protested. “Too much poletican and paperwork tuh suit me.” He tipped the porter and reached down to pick up Mary’s luggage. His mother noticed this and the concern shown on her face.

“Oh, thank you, Mike,” said Mary appreciatively. “Are you going with us tomorrow? Patrick promised to take me to St. Thomas’s for Sunday mass. He says it’s a beautiful Church.”

“Well, ah, sure,” he stuttered as he clumsily tried to keep one bag under his arm with a bag already in each hand.

“Splendid.”

Molly watched her younger brother struggle with the luggage, and she gave their mother a supportive hug. “Ma, what else could you want? Mary Cassidy. She’s a good Irish Catholic girl.”

“Ma, there’s somebody at the door,” said the sleepy six-year-old. He was holding a blue blanket against the side of his face that he had carried since he was a toddler. Mary McGhan, dressed neatly in a green gingham dress, smiled as her son walked past her and curled up in his father’s easy chair. She had been in the basement of their Roger’s Park home and had not heard the knock on the door.

She went to the foyer and had her hand on the doorknob when her husband’s schooling stopped her.
You’re a cop’s wife in Chicago. Always check to see who’s at the door before you open it. I have a lot of enemies
. She stretched to look out the bay window to get a view of the front porch. There were two men standing there looking very out of place. They had their Derby hats pulled down and were casting furtive glances around the neighborhood. Mary hesitated, unsure of what to do. She was glad it was almost five o’clock, and her husband would be home soon.

Then the one nearest her knocked on the door again, and she saw his face. It was the man that, when she had first saw him years ago, she thought he must be her husband’s brother. He looked hardened. The ten years had taken a toll on him. She opened the door to welcome a friend from earlier days in Wyoming.

“Butch? Butch Cassidy? Is that you?”

“In the flesh,” he said with a chipper smile that dissipated the hardness.

“Aren’t you a long way from home?”

“Further than you think. I got a ranch in South America these days.”

“South America,” she said incredulously.

“Yep, me and Harry here, we got a spread down in Argentina. We’re raisin’ some beef. It’s just like raisn’ beef here except everythin’ is upside down.”

The man he indicated as Harry forced a smile and politely tipped his hat.

“Sure is a might warm out here,” observed Butch tugging at his collar to let some air in.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Please come in.” she apologized. “Summers are always so hot here in Chicago.”

The two entered cautiously as if unaccustomed to using front doors.

“This is nice, Mary, real nice,” said Butch as he looked the new home over. He took off his suit coat and hat and hung them on the hall tree. The man called Harry followed his example. His shirt was expensive with cuff links and HAL monogrammed on the pocket.

“Now who is your friend here, Butch?” she asked, wanting to clarify whom she had just let into her home.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Forgot my manners. This is my pardner, Harry Alonzo.”

“Are you from Wyoming? I don’t remember you.”

“Well, ah, for a time I was,” he answered hesitantly.

“He hadn’t joined the posse yet when we were at your place back in - when was that?”

“1892,” she laughed. “It was in the last century it’s been so long.”

“Time sure does fly,” said Butch. “How is Mike’s nephew Pat? How did he do with that broken arm of his?”

“It mended well. He came back to Chicago about a month after your posse left. He talked me into accompanying him and well, here I am.”

“You know, I thought there was some sparks between ole Mike and you,” Butch chided. “People don’t think I pick up on that stuff, but I do.”

Mary looked embarrassed at his good-natured kidding.

“Well, come into the parlor and sit down. I just made some lemonade. We can have a nice visit.”

“That would go real good on a hot July day.”

“July? Oh, that’s right. It’s July first today,” she said as she walked into the kitchen.

“Everything seems ta stick to you down here in the flatlands. The air is like breathing gravy.”

“That’s called humidity,” she yelled from the kitchen. “We didn’t have any of that in the high country.”

“What’s this I hear you’re a doctor now.”

“Yes, yes it’s true. Doc Fellers was a widower and had no kin. He left his estate to me if I went to an accredited school and became a doctor. It wasn’t easy. I’ve had two kids in the last eight years. I finally finished last June.”

She re-entered the room with a pitcher on a tray with four glasses.

“There, now I won’t have to shout.” She poured the pinkish colored liquid over the ice in the glasses and it cracked appreciatively. The sound made them all feel cooler.

“Did you say you have two kids?” asked Butch.

“Yes, there’s Ian you saw in the living room,” she said, “and then there’s little Mandy who is two. She is the apple of her father’s eye. I have her take a nap this time of the day because when Mike gets home, she is too excited.”

“Will Mike be coming home soon?” inquired Butch. “We wanted to ask him for some advice.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, speaking up for the first time. “Kind of legal advice.”

Young Ian’s curiosity got the better of him. He entered the parlor and went to his mother’s side where he peeked at the two strangers from behind her apron.

“It’s okay, Ian. They are friends from out west. They’re cowboys like Uncle Jack.”

“He sure looks like Mike,” said Butch. “He’s got your coloring, Mary, but you can see the old man in him. Look. He’s already sizin’ us up.”

“He’s a little tired right now,” she said as she tried to straighten his unruly black hair. “He’s been over at Grandma’s playing with his cousins all day.”

“How’s your brother Jack doin’?” Butch asked in a concerned tone. “He was having a bad time of it when his pal Luke got killed. I was always thinkin’ one of us should have rode back with him when he brought the body home.”

“He did have a rough time of it when he got back. I don’t know exactly what happened, but he blamed himself. He drank too much and stayed to himself for almost a year. Then he seemed to come out of it, but he was changed. Jack won’t pick up a gun now except to go hunting. He married Elva Riggs three years ago, and he’s a serious rancher now. He even built a nice frame house on the ranch about fifty yards from our old cabin. We couldn’t bear to tear it down, so the kids and I stay in it when we go out there every summer. They couldn’t get another doctor to come to the Sweetwater area, so I’m the only real doctor folks around there can see. Even if it’s only once a year, they’re grateful.”