Page 35 of Unlikely Heroes
“These girls cook and clean and can lay a fire to perfection,” he said. “Can’t you?” he barked out suddenly, causing several to jump in fright.
“That’s fine, sir,” Meridee said hastily, when one of the girls started to weep. “I’ll chat with them. You may leave us.”
“I can’t never do that,” he protested. “No telling what they would do.” He clapped his hands like an explosion and the terrified girls drew together.
All except one child. Out of the corner of her eye, Meridee had watched her separate from the others and sidle along the wall. She sat cross legged by Ben now, helping him with the jackstraws, unmindful of the fear around her. Her red hair was drawn up in two uneven pigtails held together by bits of colorful cloth and she was painfully thin.
More irritated than fearful, the scrap of a girl turned when the beadle shouted, “Pegeen! Get in line!” and stood up reluctantly.
“She’s more trouble than she’s worth,” the housemaster grumbled.
“She is the girl I want,” Meridee said decisively, positive as almost never before. Hadn’t the Gunwharf Rats been chosen because they stood out from other beaten-down children? “Pegeen, did you say?”
He stared at her. “But she won’t do nuffink she doesn’t want to,” he declared. “I’d get rid of her, if I could.”
Meridee shuddered inside at that.
He leaned closer, giving Meridee the benefit of rotting teeth. “To compound it, she’s Irish.”
“She’s coming home with me,” Meridee said firmly. “Does she have a last name?”
“O’Malley,” the beadle said, resigned now. “Her father died of the drink and her mother dumped her off in a rainstorm. Her? Why, in the good Lord’s name do you want her?”
“She is too thin,” Meridee said. “Shame on you.” She lowered her voice, remembering that she was a lady. “More to the point, she likes my son.”
Pegeen O’Malley did. A bath, a clean shift and dress, shoes, a brush and better pieces of yarn later, the ten-year-old Irish girl could already scrape carrots and peel potatoes for Mrs. Perry, then play with Ben. She ate more than Meridee and Mrs. Perry put together, and here she was now, rubbing her eyes and wondering what had happened.
And probably blaming herself. Long experience with workhouse lads had taught Meridee Six a great deal. She held out her hand. “We didn’t mean to wake you, Pegeen,” she said. “Please join us. Believe me, this is not your fault. We were noisy.”
“You’re not sending me back?” the child asked, the Irish lilt to her speech so lovely, even when she worried.
“Never!” Meridee said. “Mrs. Perry says no one peels potatoes as efficiently as you do, and Ben would be upset if you left.” She held out a biscuit. “I was feeling lonely and came downstairs for tea and comfort from Mrs. Perry. Are you ever lonely?”
Pegeen nodded. She sat beside Meridee and took the biscuit. Mrs. Perry poured her some tea. When the child leaned against Meridee with a sigh, the universe righted itself once more and peace reigned in a little kitchen on Saints Way.
When everyone was full and Pegeen started to droop, Meridee picked her up and returned her to her room, hardly more than an alcove off the pantry, but warm and with a soft bed. “In the morning, maybe you will help me with some darning, Pegeen.”
“Aye, Mam.” The child nodded and slept.I want a daughter just like you, Meridee thought.Someone kind who likes jackstraws and little boys. She returned to the kitchen, happier. “Mrs. Perry, I believe I will go back to sleep.”
She did sleep a little better then, even if it wasn’t the good sleep she enjoyed with Able right there, keeping her warm, breathing along with her. She reminded herself that she was being a complete ninny, and that wives all over the British Isles were missing their men in the fleet. She thought of Pegeen O’Malley and knew she had work to do right here. Able would return when he could. She had to remember that.
When she opened the door a few days later to see Grace St. Anthony standing there, her eyes so sad, Meridee reminded herself that Grace had no such guarantee. Her man was gone from her sight forever, not just until he sailed back to Portsmouth.
Meridee could have said something wise and comforting, but she knew there were no words sufficient to the occasion. Wordless, she pulled Grace inside, closed the door and wrapped her in a huge hug as her friend sobbed on her shoulder.
Mrs. Perry must have heard the whole thing. In minutes they were both in the kitchen, a pot of tea between them on the table. The hot bread and melted butter perked up Grace. She dabbed at her tears, then picked up a buttery wad. Practical Pegeen came close with a handkerchief.
“I needed this,” she said. “And this,” she added, after a few sips of the strong brew that Mrs. Perry favored. “Mrs. Perry. You can almost make things right.” She saw Pegeen and the handkerchief. “And I need this, too. Thank you, dear.”
“We’ve all known loss,” the housekeeper said. “I miss my little Mr. Perry. Even Mrs. Six is all about the place pining for Master Six.” She shrugged. “I tell her the first time’s always the hardest…” Mrs. Perry looked away. “I cannot fool myself. Each time is always the hardest.”
They all reached for hot bread and butter, including Pegeen. Finally, Grace gave that little shake of her shoulders that broke Meridee’s heart every time she saw it.
“Better,” Grace said, as the tears slid quietly down her face now, practiced tears, the kind a woman probably learns to cry when her man is ill unto death and doesn’t need to hear anyone weeping. Meridee remembered the awful time when Able wavered between life and an odd sort of death, accompanied, as near as she could tell, by commotion from the racket inside his odd brain.
Think, Meridee, think, she ordered her own brain, a brain mostly normal. How could she help her friend?
She sipped her tea in silence, thinking of how empty her not-empty house felt with her man gone. Grace’s big house, Sir B’s mansion many streets away in the more genteel part of Portsmouth, must seem like a tomb.
