To the Workers of Mac-Griffin Factory
If you are not satisfied with the way you have been treated by the boss, come to the union meeting directly after quitting time at 7 o'clock. For those that read, spread the word to those who can't.
Go to 605 W. 196th St to Apartment 43, the home of union treasurer Gerald Kelly.
"Gerald, what is this?" I demanded. "How did you get these?"
"Printed 'em," he replied, setting a stack of fliers on the table. "Made them just this morning."
"How? You didn't pay for them, did you?" Gerald could be rash with money, so I made it my business to figure out every one of his business deals.
"No, no, we got these for free." He smirked. "You wouldn't accuse me of being so foolish, would you?"
"Gerald, if you're doing what I think you're doing, stop right now." My tone rose. Most wives were not so candid with their husbands; though I normally was sweet to him, I wouldn't be a rug to be stamped upon.
"Matilda, mo gra, rud beidh ceart go lor." Everything will be alright. Sure.
"Don't Matilda, my love me." I rubbed my swollen belly. "I have a baby coming in four months. Do you really think I want you to lose your job?"
"Mattie girl-"
"Don't Mattie girl me either!" I pointed to the children's bedroom. "It's not like we're newlyweds. We have six children and another coming. I don't intend on raising them in the poorhouse."
"Nonsense, this is just a little meeting between the union."
"Union? Since when did you have a union? Besides, why in God's name would they make you the treasurer? You weren't hitting the bottle, were you?"
"Nay, you needn't worry in the least." My exasperating husband clapped his hands together like he did whenever he accomplished something. "Now, I need to ask you a favor. You see, the boys get awful hungry after fifteen hours on the job. I need you-"
"Oh no, Gerald, you can't be serious."
"Mattie girl, just this one time, please, it's not good to send guests home hungry."
"So that makes it fine to make your family starve!" Sick of the discussion I banged my fist on the table. "This is not a free land, no matter what they say. You of all people should know this."
"Mattie-"
"Stop it! Just stop it! I'm not cooking for all these men, so put that in your pipe and smoke it." I turned on my heel and stormed into our bedroom, making sure to close the door.
Why had I married him? He had no regard for me or my babies, including the one I carried. He started a union, then became treasurer, now invited this it over without bothering to tell me. When did he have time? How? He didn't even have the decency to answer my question about the fliers.
"Matilda, I know I should've told you," Gerald apologized pathetically through the door.
"Go away," I hollered. "Now! I'm not cooking, so send them home hungry or find a different house."
"It's not a party, it's an important meeting."
"I don't care."
"Matilda," he growled. "Don't go there."
"I don't care," I reiterated, knowing how much that phrase bothered him. He hated it due to a variety of reasons, mainly it excused laziness or, worse, the callousness of bosses. "I don't care, I don't give a damn..."
"MATILDA!"
"I DON'T CARE!" I leaned against the door. Gerald could feel my weight, he'd know not to push me physically. Especially since I carried his child.
This one will have to be the last I reminded myself. Thanks to his union, I doubted we'd be able to feed the kids we already had.
"Tú fhoirceannadh dom," he grumbled in defeat before walking away. The hours of hauling laundry, cooking meals for eight, washing the dishes, polishing my departed mother's silverware, and finally giving the floor a good scrub finally dawned on me. Barely able to groan, I flopped on my bed. The aged mattress provided no relief to my cramped back, but putting my feet up felt wonderful.
"No more kids," I muttered, rubbing my belly. "Gerald, no more kids. I can't take it anymore." Mrs. Pille's hateful words from six months ago resurfaced.
"Mother?" Belinda pushed the door open.
"Not now, sweetheart. Mama's very tired."
"Jack wants to see you." She dragged in the boy, my son of eighteen months. He knew how to walk- he could scamper across the kitchen rather swiftly before falling on his knobbly knees- but preferred to be carried by his sisters.
"Not now, can't you take care of him?"
"Ma!" Jack broke free of Belinda's protective arm to dash toward me. "Ma!"
"Jack, please go back with your sister." I sat up wearily. "I'm tired."
"Ma! Ma! Ma- ah!" He stumbled and crashed on the floor. Immediately tears began welling in his eyes.
"Oh Jack." If there's anything that got me up quick, it was seeing my children in pain. A mother's weakness. I rose to scoop him up. "Sh, sh, it's going to be okay."
"Is he hurt badly?" My eldest frantically inspected his knee.
"No, just a bruise. Poor baby." I rocked him tenderly. "Don't run so fast until you can walk better."
"He's rather injury prone these days."
"Yes he is. Don't worry, I'll take care of him. Go with your sisters. Your father is having some guests over, and I don't want you to get caught up in it."
"Guests? Has Aunt Lillian-"
"I wish. No, your papa's coworkers. Stay there with your sisters and shut the door. Do not open it unless I am coming."
"What if someone needs the privy?"
"Then come get me."
"Yes Mama." She left us. Jack ceased crying, resting his head against my bosom, his blue eyes darting about.
"You're such a big boy, aren't you?" I crooned. "Yes you are." I bounced him up and down lightly, eliciting a series of delighted coos. "Mama's big boy, aren't you? Soon you're gonna have a little brother or sister. Maybe you won't be the only boy, huh?"
"Ma," he repeated, his favorite word.
"Ma. Can you say Papa? Your daddy would love that."
"Ma."
"Come on, say it with me. P-ah."
"Ma."
"Stubborn like your papa, hmm? Say pa." I said again. "Pa. Pa."
"P-pa," he stuttered.
"Good, good!" My bitter mood ascended. "Say it again."
"Pa. Pa. Pa." He observed the movement of my mouth. "Papa." My clever son. Your papa will be so delighted."
"Papa."
My mood drooped somewhat as I recalled my harsh words to Gerald. Not to mention his union. Although he acted recklessly, leaving him to rot seemed wrong.
"Let's go help your papa," I bid Jack. "I'll cook his friends supper, and you can talk to him. Okay?"
"Ma."
"Sweet Jackie." I kissed his forehead lightly. We exited the main bedroom to the kitchen. Much to my surprise, the stove burned feverishly, a pot simmering on top. Pastel vegetable peelings, flaxen potato slices, evergreen cabbage, a scarlet tomato.
"Hello Mother." Mary curtsied to me. "We're making dinner, if you don't mind."
Belinda and Margaret shredded cabbage and peeled potatoes. Anne mixed up vegetable stew while the twins performed any extraneous tasks. A rich aroma drifted across the apartment, sprinkled with my daughters' charity.
"Oh girls, you shouldn't have!" My conscience berated my actions further. My daughters, my beautiful girls, had operated the kitchen all by themselves. No fights, no messes (yet). Pride choked my throat.
"We knew you were tired, so we did the cooking," Anne explained. "Do you like it?"
Like it? "Sweetie, I'm so proud of you." I wrapped each of them in a bear hug. "You deserve a treat. Tomorrow we'll go out and have a picnic in Central Park. We can even buy ice cream."
"Ice cream! Really Mama?" I almost regretted mentioning the ice cream, especially since it was a luxury, but I brushed that worry away. What good would saving pennies do if you couldn't enjoy life?
"Really. By the way, your brother learned how to say Papa."
"Make him say it!" Betty ordered.
"Say it!" Margaret begged. Jack stared at her, confused. I chortled before staring into his eyes- my eyes.
"Say Pa."
"M-ma," he stuttered.
"No, Pa. Remember?"
"P-p-a."
The girls squealed in excitement. Belinda took him so I could tend the kitchen. Soon they were each trying to get him to say different words, like their names.
"Mar-gar-ret."
"Ma."
"No!"
"Pa."
"Nice try."
000
"Matilda, I never should've done what I did without asking you first, so-"
"Gerald, it's alright," I told him. "It doesn't matter anymore."
"What's all the food for?" he inquired, eyebrows raising.
"The girls cooked most of it. Can you believe it? I'm very proud of them. I bet the union will love it."
"Matilda, about the union."
"Gerald," I admitted. "I'm not too keen on the union, but I won't stop you from doing what you think is right. That's why I married you, right? You always did right, even if it cost you big."
"Oh Mattie." He stroked my cheek, thumbing my beauty mark. "I didn't tell you again, I thought you were angry, but I told them to find food elsewhere."
"What?"
"We moved the meeting."
"To another day?"
"No, to another location. Don't worry, it's safe."
"But, but- you mean we made all this food for nothing?"
"I guess."
Frustration nagged the back of my throat, but I concealed it. There must be a way out; think, think.
"Girls, get your shawls. It's chilly. Belinda, Anne, would you dears help me load up the food?" I turned to my husband. "Where exactly is your meeting?"
"Mattie, you're not serious."
"I'm speaking of food." I laughed. "Why would I not be serious? So where do we go?"
"You're not going to like it."
000
The Togalach, or "The Building" in Scottish, loomed in the shadows. Glass windows, some broken, all layered in black soot, failed to reflect the slightest glare. Rats the size of Baby Jack's head ducked in and out of holes, squeaking shrilly. The walls of the Togalach radiated an eerie, melancholy mood, a drink called abandonment.
"No one's run this place since before we got married," I informed Gerald. "How did you get them to move the meeting here so fast?"
"Word of mouth. I warned you."
"I know." We approached the deserted warehouse, Gerald's arm clutched around my waist. I questioned my judgment in bringing the girls. Who knew what lay inside?
"Kelly." A portly fellow older than my husband greeted us. "I knew you'd make it. Is this your lovely wife?"
"Dustin." The men shook hands. "Aye. Matilda brought food, even though she been working all day."
"Actually the girls prepared most of it," I interjected. "Pleasure to meet you, Dustin-"
"DeLuca. Dustin DeLuca. Matilda Kelly, I've heard more than my share bout you from Gerald." He grinned. "Tell me, how's the baby coming along?"
"Oh, good, I suppose." I cringed inwardly. It's not right to just talk about pregnancy casually, especially with a strange man.
"May we get down to business?" Gerald queried tiredly. I squeezed his hand, knowing he shared my sentiments about DeLuca.
"Course, of course. Come this way." He ushered us into the Togalach. Shockingly the night chill didn't penetrate the aged walls. Rows of candles lit the way. Tuning out DeLuca's incessant babbling, I surveyed the interior. Bundles of cobwebs arched across the wooden ceiling, which warped so much that it arched like a cathedral. Dust, crumbs, dirt packed in corners. The occasional beetle skittering across the floor. Yet the Togalach appeared strangely beautiful to me.
Broken bottles cast transparent color in tiny specks under the candlelight. Moths spread their patterned wings, flitting around the light. Most alluringly, the path of candles.
"Jacob's ladder," I murmured. Only Jack, who laid in my arms, seemed to hear. He twisted to get a more comfortable position.
"Pa," he uttered. "Papa."
Gerald paused. "Did someone ask for me?"
The girls shook their heads. Jack pouted. "Pa," he parroted. "Papa."
"Papa." Gerald slipped him from my arms into his. "Papa. Did you-"
"Pa! Pa!" Jack gurgled. "P-pa. P-pa. Pa-pa."
"Papa! You speak to me!" My spouse glanced at me. "You taught him, didn't you?" he reckoned, noticing my sly grin.
"Now he says Mama and Papa." I beamed as I traded the food for the baby. "Now off to your meeting; don't be home late."
"Papa!" Jack yipped as a farewell. Gerald hugged each of his daughters before planting a peck on my lips. Brief, tender.
"Atta boy. I'll see you at home, my Mattie girl." He clapped my back as we sauntered out of the Togalach, guided by Jacob's ladder, into the foggy streets of the outside. My five little women, my baby son, the child protected inside me. I don't dare speak, my heart could burst with all this love.
Chapter 5 is from Matilda Kelly, Jack's mother's, POV. Togalach is Scottish for building. Jacob's Ladder refers to the staircase Jacob, the third patriarch of Israel, saw in his dream at Bethel.
Gerald's Irish Gaelic
Mo gra
My love
Rud beidh ceart go lor
Everything will be alright.
Tú fhoirceannadh dom
You wound me.
W. 196th St, where the Kelly family lives, actually can be found in Manhattan. On it can be found the City College Academy for Arts. Though I lack the means to properly research the history of addresses, streets, and buildings, I found it fitting that the Kellys live near site of a school for the Arts.
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