Of Irish Blood Read Online Free PDF Page A

Stunned is the least of it.
    Finally Rose says, “Thank you, Mr. Bartlett. Thank you very much.”
    Mame adds, “We’re very grateful.”
    And I say, “We will do a good job for you.”
    “I believe you will,” he says, “and Miss Kelly, please give my regards to your brother Mike.”
    “You know him?”
    “I do. And your cousin Ed, too, a fine boxer.”
    “You, you don’t go to the Brighton Park Athletic Club, do you?” I ask.
    “Sometimes,” he said. “On Saturday when I visit my grandmother, Kate O’Connor.”
    “Of the shop?” says Rose. “Are you her daughter Mary’s son?”
    “Yes,” he says.
    “But Aunt Kate Larney says Mary O’Connor married a rich Protestant and left the neighborhood.”
    “Not entirely,” he says, and then, “Miss Allen, close your mouth.” He smiles at us. “I married a McCarthy from the Patch. My wife and I are at Faith, Hope and Charity in Winnetka. I’ve had my eye on you three for a while.”
    “Oh Jesus,” I say. “You had us shaking in our boots, not knowing you were one of us.”
    “I am first and foremost an employee of Montgomery Ward. I am offering you these jobs because I believe you have talents that will benefit the company. But there will be no favoritism, and certainly no disruptions of our labor force by troublemakers of any denomination. Is that understood, Miss Kelly?”
    “I’m a Democrat, not an agitator,” I say. “But I do want women to vote and workers to be treated fairly. What’s wrong with that?”
    “Nothing,” he says, “as long as you do a good day’s work.”
    “Oh, we will, we will,” Rose says.
    “Come on, Nonie,” Mame says, “before our afternoon off is over. We’ll be back promptly at nine, Miss Allen.”
    Our former supervisor stands up, straightens her back.
    “Eight-forty-five,” she says.
    “But…” I start.
    The McCabes take my arm and push me out the door.
    “For Lord’s sake, Nonie,” Mame says to me when we are safely down the stairs and in the hallway. “Were you trying to talk the man into changing his mind?”
    “What do we tell the others?” I say as we stand before the door to the telephone room.
    “They’re probably sure we’ve been fired,” Mame says. “They’ll be happy for us.”
    “Will they?” I say. I’m thinking of Henrietta’s begrudgery and wondering how I’d react to such a tale of good fortune. Jealousy and Envy—two of the deadly sins according to the catechism.
    I want to hold on to the good news, to protect it, but Mame’s through the door saying, “Girls! Girls! We didn’t get fired! We have lovely new jobs! Isn’t that wonderful?”
    All of them look at us, surprised, and I see some of that deadly sinfulness on a few faces.
    But then Alice Jennings, who sits next to Mame, gets up, comes over, and hugs her. “I’m so glad!”
    And then from the others, “Good on you! Good girls, yourselves!”
    Well, I think, Tim McShane should know that Dolly McKee’s not the only professional woman going. What God has for you won’t go past you.

 
    2
    When I tell them at dinner that night that I’m a dress designer now, making money from my sketches, Agnella, good girl that she is, is over the moon, which annoys Henrietta no end, especially when Mam says, “I loved to draw when I was a girl in Mayo. I used a charred stick and a bit of slate to get the look of our cottage and the fields around it. Such a lovely little place.”
    Mam mourns for Auld Ireland just as Granny Honora did. As a little kid and the youngest grandchild I loved hearing Granny’s stories about her home on the shores of Galway Bay. At fourteen, I stopped listening to her stories.
    “Too busy, Granny,” I said, rushing out to St. Xavier’s High School myself or to the dances at St. Bridget’s parish hall, one thing always leading to another. By good luck Ag was living with us then and glad enough to settle herself into Granny Honora’s lap and listen. Especially after Granny took us all to the