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Chapter 1
Meagan
New York, New York
September 1871
“It’s about time ye got off work, Meggie!” Liam teased his sister when she walked out of the factory. “It’s freezin’ out here!”
“Oh, ye’re a tough lad! Just count yer lucky stars ‘tisn’t December!” said Megan Shannon, his sister. She let out an exaggerated deep breath as she smoothed her shiny auburn hair back into place. “I’m sorry ye had to wait so long. The foreman wouldn’t let us out until the last of the day’s pieces were finished.”
He scoffed as he walked beside her. “Why don’t ye tell that man to kiss yer broad Irish arse an’ just walk out of there?”
Megan slapped his arm as he playfully raised his fists. “For yer information, me arse is not broad!”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s why ye haven’t landed a husband yet.”
She huffed, raising her chin. Autumn was swiftly approaching, and it was getting cold at night. She regretted not wearing her heavy coat. “Liam Shannon! I’ll have ye know that I don’ have a husband yet because I haven’t met anyone that strikes me fancy.”
Megan and her brother had moved to New York from Ireland after their parents had died. As a woman, the jobs she could get were few. Factory jobs were plentiful in New York, but not for Irishmen or women. Signs hung in the windows stating IRISH NEED NOT APPLY. She was lucky to have gotten one.
Liam sighed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers, his expression suddenly serious. “I worry about what would become of ye if something were to happen to me.”
“Liam, ye know I don’t like that kind of talk.”
In Ireland, their parents had died of starvation. They would have been next if they hadn’t sold everything they owned and purchased two steerage tickets on a steamer headed for the United States in hope of a better life. But since their arrival, they’d had to work like dogs just to survive.
In Ireland, she had heard stories that the streets in America were paved in gold, and that all one had to do was to claim their share. But the journey on the steamship had been brutal.
When they arrived, they were greeted with bigotry. The only job Liam could get was as a laborer, building the new Brooklyn Bridge; and Megan in a factory.
The pay was minimal, but between the two of them, they could afford a small, one-bedroom, run-down tenement that they shared with two other families. Megan slept in the bedroom with the women, and her brother slept in the living room with the men. Both clutched what few belongings they had to their chest while they slept, bundled up in pillowcases, for fear that one of the other dwellers would steal them blind. Megan took the pillowcase containing another dress, a hairbrush, and her mother’s locket with her to work every day.
Megan often felt bad about how they had to live, but it was the best they could do under the circumstances, and her brother protected her from the other tenants. As the eldest, he had always been protective of her, even when they were children.
“That job of yers is too dangerous.” Megan wrung her hands as they walked home. “Could ye not find a safer job? One that won’t result in yer gettin’ sick from working in that frigid water? Ye could freeze to death!”
Liam laughed as he ran his fingers through his dark brown hair. “I don’ take any chances. Don’ ye be frettin’, Meggie. I can take care of meself.” He stopped and held his arms out and flexed his muscles. “I’m as fit as a fiddle and as strong as an ox.”
“Well, ye’re not too strong for me to take a ladle to when I have ta,” she barked as they rounded a corner, trying to keep from smiling. “Don’t ye be forgettin’ that.”
He laughed as he slid his arm around her shoulders. “Oh, ye love me and ye know it.”
She pulled away, feigning anger. “Get off me, ye big ox!” She pulled the shawl around her shoulders again. “And that fightin’ ye do! Ye’ll be killed!”
He let out a deep breath. “It’s called boxin’, and I’ve won several nice purses from it. Or have ye forgotten?”
She shook her head in disbelief. Liam was a great boxer, very skilled, and the money was good when he won, but it was just too dangerous. Oftentimes, he had come home from boxing matches with both eyes blackened and stumbling in through the door, but smiling and happy as a lark as he held up a pouch filled with coins. “I worry that ye’ll be killed. We don’ need the money that badly.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, his laughter ringing through the streets as they turned a corner. She loved the sound of it.
Suddenly, his laughter died, his body grew rigid, and all conversation stopped. “Stay close to me.”
She knew well his body posture and that tone of voice as her head snapped up. A group of men were gathered on the street corner. They chortled menacingly, and from the way theyeyed her, they were up to no good. One man fell off the curb as another grabbed the bottle he was holding.
“Don’t let that good whiskey go to waste,” he ordered in a strong Italian accent.
Megan’s heart fell. There had been rivalry in New York between the Irish and Italians for some time, and lately, it was getting worse.
