Page 45 of Calling on the Matchmaker
The dank air held the stench of unwashed bodies and excrement. With the broken window patched with boards, a lone candle cast its grave light over the room, the pile of soiled clothing serving as a bed for the emaciated children, holes in the sooty walls stuffed with old newspapers, a mound of refuse in an unoccupied corner.
“You’re doing grand.” Mary’s tired gaze shifted past the clusters of other families to the open door. “And your man is grand too, so he is.”
Finola glanced to where Riley stood in the hallway outside the apartment with a group of men surrounding him. He heldone of Mary’s little boys on his shoulders. The tyke was wearing Riley’s hat and sucking on one of the peppermint sticks Riley had distributed among the children.
Riley had crossed his arms over the child’s legs to hold him in place, which only served to highlight his muscles and remind her of those arms surrounding her yesterday in the little closet behind the wagon shop.
Her heart sputtered with fresh warmth, as it did every time she thought about his embrace. Why did each encounter with Riley Rafferty have to rattle her down to her bones?
His expression was intense, almost severe now, as he listened to the men air their many complaints. After the past hours of accompanying her from one apartment to the next in the worst of the tenements, she’d expected him to look tired. She could admit she was. But after each visit, he only seemed to gain energy.
“You’ll be married soon?” Mary’s question was raspy and followed by a fit of coughing that shook the woman’s frail body. Mary, her husband, and five children had arrived in St. Louis two months ago, carrying one bag with all their worldly possessions. Like most of the other immigrants, they were severely malnourished.
Mary had gotten sick on the passage over, on what were becoming known as the “coffin ships.” Finola had heard enough tales of the vessels to know that Mary, in her weakened condition, had been fortunate to survive the crowded, disease-ridden voyage. The trouble was, she hadn’t regained her strength and was growing weaker with each passing day.
Perhaps if she had a sanitary place to stay with better nourishment, she might be doing better. But this building, unlike the tenements the Shanahan’s owned, was drafty and dirty.
“Thought you were a nun, so I did,” Mary continued the conversation. “Didn’t know you have such a fine fellow as Saint Riley himself.”
“’Tis but a recent match.”
Riley had been at her house this morning meeting with Da before she’d descended for breakfast. Apparently, he’d spent the better part of yesterday afternoon searching for Bryan Haynes and had come to report his findings.
When the two had finished their meeting, she pretended not to show an interest in Riley. But he explained that he’d gained her da’s permission to accompany her into the Kerry Patch and she had no need of the Sisters if he was along.
Riley hadn’t made any mention of her visit to him at the wagon shop, for which she was grateful. Her da didn’t approve of her traveling to the waterfront unaccompanied. And she didn’t want to burden him any further, not with how distraught he still was over Enya’s disappearance.
She and Riley had loaded several large pots of Cook’s soup into a cart and then passed by a bakery for the day-old loaves. During their time together, he didn’t bring up their embrace. Instead, he shared with her all the details he’d learned about Bryan Haynes, namely that the fellow hadn’t shown up to work and was last seen getting on a steamboat heading north. No one could verify if he’d been with a woman, but he’d purchased two tickets, which seemed to be confirmation that Enya had gone with him, and only God in heaven above knew where.
“He sure does have eyes for you, so.” Mary turned her attention back on Riley, straining her neck to get a better view.
“Now don’t be imagining such things, Mary. ’Tis a practical match. That’s all.” Actually, there would be no match. But Mary didn’t need to know that.
Finola admired Riley’s strong profile again. More than his handsomeness, she appreciated how he genuinely cared about the people and their concerns. He cared enough that he’d decided to run for mayor—not out of personal ambition or gain. He was doing it because he truly wanted to make changes for the better.
From what she’d learned at the campaign office, he was competing against an alderman who was wealthier and more powerful, as well as a judge who’d earned a reputation for his fair and honest dealings. Both men were friends of the family. And they would be difficult to beat.
If anyone could do it, Riley Rafferty could ... but not if he took a stand against slavery.
She’d continued to contemplate Riley’s dilemma if he spoke out against slavery—namely losing the votes of the Irish immigrants. And if he lost those votes, he’d surely lose the election and then not be able to make a difference in anyone’s lives, neither the Irish nor the Black folks.
Even though she understood the quandary, she still couldn’t excuse him. Every person against slavery had to do their part and make their voices heard, otherwise how would they ever bring about changes? The truth was, as Saint Riley of the Kerry Patch, Riley had a big voice and could make a difference by educating the Irish immigrants about the evils of slavery and addressing their fears about St. Louis not having enough work for everyone.
“The matchmaker clearly made a perfect match, so he did.” Mary’s voice held a note of humor.
Perfect match? Hardly. Bellamy might have believed he’d made a perfect match, but he’d realize soon enough that he had a long way to go in learning how to be a matchmaker.
“You cannot keep your eyes off him either.”
Riley chose that moment to glance her way. At the sight of her staring at him, he quirked one of his brows. She dropped her sights back to Mary. That man didn’t need any more flattery filling his head. He was already revered everywhere he went by young and old alike. And if she paid him even a wee bit of attention, he’d mistake it for interest and tease her to no end.
A short while later, he carried the supply bag down to the cart waiting outside the tenement, with only empty pots remaining.They’d given away all the food and distributed the few coats and shoes and blankets that some of the parishes had started collecting and saving after she’d approached them earlier in the winter about doing so.
The thin layer of snow that had fallen yesterday had already melted and given way to more mud on the street. With the busy traffic passing by in the late afternoon, she made sure to tiptoe carefully around the cart, not wishing to give herself or Riley a repeat of his rescue.
He situated the bag in the back, then helped her up onto the seat. “Do you mind if we swing by the campaign office before I take you home?”
His gloved hand lingered around hers as he peered up and waited for her response. A part of her didn’t want her time with him to come to an end. But another part urged her not to spend any more time with him than she absolutely needed to.
