The Walking People (29 page)

The other thing is that I have a small fear of what Johanna might do once the baby comes. We have talked about it at home and we don't want her to give the baby away. I don't think she wants to give it away either, but on the other hand I don't know if she's ready to keep it. That's the second reason I want to keep track of her.

Please write back as soon as you can.

From,
Greta Cahill and Michael Ward

 

INTERNATIONAL TELEGRAM

 

DATE: JULY
23, 1964

TO: LILY AND TOM CAHILL
BALLYROAN
CONCH POSTAL AREA
COUNTY GALWAY
IRELAND

BABY GIRL BORN. GRETA WITH JOHANNA IN HOSP
.
JOHANNA AND CHILD HEALTHY. PLS SEND WORD TO
DERMOT W.

MICHAEL WARD

 

July 25, 1964

Mrs. Lily Cahill
Ballyroan
Conch
Co. Galway
Ireland

 

Mammy,

I hope you got Michael's telegram with the news. Johanna and baby are still in hospital. They will keep them for five nights which is the
usual in America from what I understand. There was no trouble in delivery and in fact she came faster than expected. I owe you a long one but I'm dead tired. All this writing things down makes things too hard to explain and all I can think of is how I wish I was home. The baby's name is Julia, which was my suggestion.

Johanna doesn't like me telling her business, even to you, and since she has no patience for letters she said after first seeing the baby that she'd like to arrange a time to talk to you by telephone. I had an idea about you coming for a visit and Michael thought that was great but when we looked at our accounts and all the things a baby will need it just seems like we can't swing it just yet. Michael had to buy a lot of tools to look after the building—tools he pretended he already had when he got the job and in fact helped him get the job in the first place. Would you come down the road if we could cover it? Mammy, I think of you all the time how you say a person can do most things they put their mind to but neither myself nor Johanna knows much about babies and Johanna wouldn't go to any of the classes they offered at the clinic. I thought it was because she is so young, but Shannon says there are even younger girls having babies in New York City believe it or not. If they can do it we can do it. Of the three of us Michael knows the most about it as the camp had a new baby arrive almost every year.

I'm sorry we kept it from you. All I can tell you is that now that Julia is here she seems absolutely one of us already and though I suppose it wasn't the best thing to have happened I'm glad she's here and I love her. Johanna said she is goosey like I am the way she looks around and waves her arms in front of her but unlike me I hope she loses it when she grows up. Well, maybe I've begun to lose it a bit because no one at work has commented on it and Michael says I have a light step which is the same as being graceful. Speaking of Michael he came home last night with a second-hand crib that he sanded and painted white as a surprise. Honest to God you've never seen anything as pretty not even at Bloomingdale's. She'll sleep in the room with me and Johanna.

I'm most sorry you had to find out from Mr. Riordan.

Love,
Greta

 

August 23, 1964

Shannon O'Clery
39—28 61st Street
Apt. 3D
Woodside, New York 11377

 

Shannon,

I have a favor to ask and I'm sure you wonder will these favors ever end. You know how Johanna has been as you've seen it yourself at the clinic. She is no better at home and looks at Julia sometimes like she forgets whether they've met. Johanna's milk dried up early on so Michael and I take turns feeding Julia with a bottle. When she cries Johanna looks at me or Michael and never gets up herself. Johanna is not a lazy person and so I feel it in my heart that something is wrong. The drunk woman upstairs is moving to Chicago to live with a man and has been turning Johanna's head with dreams of other cities. We've just got our feet under us here so I don't know what I'll do if she suggests we move.

The favor is whether you would mind coming by for a visit on Sunday 30 August. I have to work a double shift and Michael is working as well and has to go in the truck all the way upstate to Rockland County and won't be back before supper. It only happens once in a while and we can't turn it down. Neither of us like leaving Johanna and Julia together so long alone. Julia is a good baby but once she starts wailing she doesn't stop until she's picked up and I'd be afraid Johanna wouldn't go to her straight away and next thing the whole block would know we have a baby in here. It's bad enough the tenants know and them totally confused about the baby's father since we said at first we're Michael's sisters. Now we say I'm Johanna's sister and Johanna Michael's wife and act like they just misheard us the first time. I don't know if they believe it or not or if they care. If you came for a visit she'd be better about getting up and tending to the child.

I'll call from work on Friday evening to see if it works for you and if not, no problem, we'll figure it out. If you can't come I'll just call
in sick from a payphone. We thought you might like to see the baby again anyway.

Love,
Greta

 

August 25, 1964

Michael Ward
222 East 84th Street
Apartment 1A
New York, NY 10028

 

Michael,

Bitty is in Ennis. Paul the butcher is putting this down. You had your girl and named her Julia. The brother with the lip came to tell us in Clonbur. He wanted no part of a place by the fire or a cup of tea. Our fire is as warm as any other and our tea as strong and I regretted offering. But he came and that was good. I was the first one he came upon and he tried to talk to me alone. Its a puzzle understanding him the way he swallows up his words poor crathur but he has his own way using his hands and going slow about it. He made like he was rocking a baby in his arms and we knew yours had come. Bitty was there and gave him a board to scratch the name so she could read it out. He's a good writer. Da called our men off and explained he doesn't know our ways. The brother is called Tom.

Da wont write again as he said his goodbye in his last and wishes you well. I wish you well too Michael tho I dont understand. You are an outsider now but we would want to see you if you return one day. The carravan has got very big so we are splitting in two. Catherine Donavan married a cousin too close and Da said at least there was no danger of that with Michael. The cousin she married is a drinker of the worst kind and shames her every day and night.

You are my twin Michael which is a thing I try to understand when I think how different we are. I hope your girl Julia grows big and strong and has a good head on her shoulders. Here is a length of lace
from Mary Ward. Don't send another letter as it only makes us want to be always checking.

Your sister,
Maeve Ward

 

August 30, 1964

Greta,

I tried to wake you twice last night with no luck. Then Julia woke and you were up like a shot. Then Michael came knocking at the bedroom door asking if you needed a hand and I knew my chance was gone. You say I'm bad but when you left for work this morning you left the milk out on the counter and you know how fast it will turn in this heat. You have to pay more attention. You will be seventeen before you know it.

You must imagine I'm very thick if you think I don't know you've asked Shannon to come over later today. You and Michael aren't quiet when you talk, and the door of this room is as flimsy as an old sheet. I hear everything. You think I'm a bad mother and I won't argue. I wasn't meant to be a mother yet, but here I am. You had no intention of leaving Ballyroan but here you are in New York City and getting on better than I ever thought you would. Sometimes you hardly seem like the same Greta.

Before I tell you anything else, I want to apologize about the bank account. You will think it's the least of what I've done, but I feel it's the worst. It's the only thing I feel truly bad about because I know how hard you work for it and how you hate making nice to the women who treat you like some at home treat the tinkers. And me with a tinker child sleeping at the end of my bed. Life is strange. I feel most bad because I know it means you won't be able to go home, or at least not until you've saved it all up again which will take a long time, especially now that Julia is here. The God's honest truth is that I don't think you should go home anyway. Yes, there's Mam at home to help you but think of what you can have here that you can't have there. Think of what it would be like for Julia. The poster in the clinic said nothing is greater than
a mother's love, but from the moment I had to switch to the big skirts and loose blouses I think you've loved her more than I do.

You will wonder how I can be sorry about the bank account but not about leaving, but it's the truth. I'm going to Chicago with Linda upstairs. She has a car that will bring us and a room at her boyfriend's place where I can stay. She's going to teach me how to drive on the quieter roads. After a few months I want to go to California and see what kind of a life I can make for myself. I left home because I wanted something else but every night looking at you and Michael and now Julia I think I might as well be in Ballyroan. You left because Mam made you and so it's different for you. And don't think I haven't noticed what's happening between you and Michael. I don't mind, believe me. Can you believe it never even crossed my mind to teach him his letters? I never imagined he'd be with us this long, but then again I never imagined being in the position I'm in. I hear the two of you in there every night turning sounds into words, and laughing, and you congratulating him, and him thanking you in that way he has, and it reminds me of how we used to listen to Mammy and Pop talking on the other side of the wall. Unlike me he will never ever leave you stranded. I see him look around for you whenever it's the two of us home and we hear the locks turning in the door and I thought to myself the other week that he is in love with you. And every night lately when you walk in from work, smoothing down your hair and already starting in with the stories from your day I see how much you've changed, and what good leaving home has done you, and also that you might love him too. And then I thought you would make a nice family. Him and you and Julia.

I believe Shannon is due to drop by and surprise me around 11: 00 this morning and I will chat with her for an hour then ask her to watch Julia for a minute while I run out to get more milk. Linda will be ready with the car packed. Apologize to Shannon for me. I hope she didn't have big plans for the rest of her day. I figure you'll be home around 4: 00 and she'll be in a panic about why I never returned. Then you'll find this letter. Then you'll give it to Shannon to read for herself. Shannon, I'm sorry. To Michael you'll have to read it out loud unless he's gotten further than I thought so please tell him how sorry I am. He is going to be the best father. He already is.

I will get in touch with you when I'm settled, and I'll understand if you are angry, believe me. With Julia, I trust any decision you make. If you want her to call you Mam or Mammy—or MOM—then by all means. Just don't give her away, Greta. I didn't go through all this to have her brought up by strangers and never hear of Ballyroan. I love you and despite everything I've said and done, I know I will miss you very much.

Leaving you is a million times harder than leaving Julia, or Michael, or even home.

Your sister,
Johanna

O
N A WET FEBRUARY
morning in 1977 Greta readied herself for work for the first time since giving birth to Eavan twelve weeks earlier. Julia had soothed her baby sister while Greta showered, and now, as Greta hurried to dry off and change the child's diaper before she started wailing again, she thought of how foolish it had been to expect a baby to be easy now, just because she'd raised one already at a time when she knew so much less. Knowing more might make it harder, not easier, Michael had said when they discovered that Greta was finally pregnant. And though he hadn't been totally serious, there were moments over the past twelve weeks when Greta had wondered if he might be right.

A half hour later she boarded the 6 train headed downtown and realized with a start that she'd been working at Bloomingdale's for more than thirteen years. She calculated the years again as she tugged at the bottom of her coat, which had gotten caught between the closing doors of the subway car. "Excuse me, please," she said to the man who had planted himself just inside the door, a massive backpack strapped to his back, and he shifted slightly to let her pass. Yes, she would be twenty-nine soon, and since she started at Bloomie's in December of 1963, this year would be her fourteenth. With her bag zipped tight and tucked securely under her arm, she fought her way to the middle of the car and found a seat between a sleeping woman and a man holding a
pair of dress shoes on his lap. She had stepped in a puddle of slush on the corner of Eighty-sixth and Lexington, and as she stared straight ahead at an advertisement for business classes at Lehman College, she tried to move her numb toes inside her soaked sock. As she did so, she also realized that she'd worked in almost every department at Bloomingdale's at one time or another. With her hands warm inside thick wool mittens, she tried to name them all on her fingers while the stops raced by in a blur, and as often happened when Greta was tired and her glasses fogged with the steam of so many damp bodies pressed together, it seemed as though the stops were on a moving track and the train were standing still.