The Enchanted Inn by Miguel Maldonado

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t e d n a I h n c n

Part I The Prediction

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The Magical Spell of the Enchanted Inn 1 - The Prediction Young Maggie sat across from the old Irish Traveler. Pavees, or gypsies, as they were known in other parts of the world, came through Londonderry on occasion, mostly doing tinkering jobs and helping with the harvest before rolling away in their wagons. But it was the old woman’s fortune-telling talents that 12-year old Maggie was interested in. Maggie had seen the vardo – or gypsy wagon, but never stepped inside one – until now. Once inside Maggie’s senses were greeted by vividly-colored tapestries on the curved walls. A mandolin was propped to one side, shelves of bottled herbs and a variety of stones and crystals were carefully lined up on shelves. A mixture of sandalwood and rose incense wafted through the vardo. Madame Theresa‘s clothing was no less dramatic. She wore an indigo cap with unfamiliar ancient golden symbols that Maggie guessed were Egyptian hieroglyphics. The gypsy’s loose but radiant garb was accented with magenta and amber jewelry. Maggie placed a basket of eggs on the floor and joined Madame Theresa at the small, pine table. The woman eyed the girl carefully. “You’ll be including the basket as part of the payment won’t you now, Lassie?” the woman said in a tone that was more of a statement than a question. Maggie hadn’t expected this. She had made the basket herself and was quite proud of her handiwork, but before she could even think of protesting, Madame Theresa proclaimed in a husky voice, “I see a big ship on the ocean. It’s on its way to America.” Maggie’s mouth dropped open. Only last week her father had announced his plans for the family to settle in the colonies. Maggie leaned forward, the basket forgotten. “Have yah a piece of jewelry or something yer wear that I can be holding Margaret Lenan?” Madame Theresa said as she reached across the table. Maggie hesitated. “Don’t be a frettin’ lohve. I will be giving it back to yah. I need it to make a connection with the other side.” Maggie removed her woolen scarf and handed it to the woman. Madame Theresa cradled the fabric in her withered hands, closed her eyes, and went into a trance. “Aye, you and your family will settle in America, but not in the likes of New York – at least not for long,” she intoned. “Your journey will take you to a land far to the west. Twice you will be a widow. But you will bear babes to both of your husbands, and four of the babes will live long, healthy lives. One husband searches for gold, but the real treasure, though he will not know it, is in you my lassie. The luck and love of Éire will

be carried in you and sprinkled like fine seasoning in those who come your way. It will take on a life of its own in the enchanted home you will dwell. And that lohve and magic will be continuing long after you are gone to meet your Maker.” The next section will be about Tammy and the Inn, followed by stories of some of the guests. Some of the stories will include ventures in the town and local community and Yosemite. There will also be a flashback to Maggie and Madam Theresa where she reveals that the magic can only manifest in the hearts of those who allow their hearts to fill up with love and pass that on to others.

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Part II Saying Goodbye

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“Don’t even tink about it. Amn’t for the likes of yer belly,” she said to the wooly creature as she stuffed the scarf into her waistband. Maggie gave the disappointed ewe a quick pat on its head.

Maggie gazed into the nearby forest and darted up the hidden path where she knew of a short cut. With a bit of hustle and luck she could gain some ground and reach Madame Theresa’s wagon before it traveled too far to catch.

In a few quick minutes Maggie emerged from the trees and onto the road that was headed out of town. She spied Madame Theresa’s horse and wagon approaching. Maggie stood in the middle of the bumpy thoroughfare and waved to the approaching vardo. Madame Theresa pulled back on the reins and brought her lumbering mare to a halt. “Madame Theresa, I just wanted to bid yah a safe journey and say we will be going to America – just like yah said.”

The gypsy nodded. She knew her predictions often came true, but very few of her patrons acknowledged it. Or maybe the traveler was not settled long enough in one place to have her prognostications validated. Not that it mattered. The second sight was what it was –sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse. Maggie smiled up at the gypsy and pulled out the scarf from her waistband. She reached up and handed the silky babushka to the woman. “I found dis on the path. Knew it kin only belong to ye. Ah it is so grand.”

The woman touched her unadorned head and gasped. She had not felt the scarf leave her long, grey hair. She nodded a surprised thanks. She took the kerchief and briefly held it to her heart. Madame Theresa was not accustomed to talking to “settled people” unless there was a coin to be had from it. But there was something about Maggie that opened her heart and loosened her tongue.

“Twas me mother’s it was. Me dadai gave it to her as a wedding present. A treasured gift twas to her, then me. Not another one like it anywhere.” Maggie smiled proudly. It always made her heart shine when she was able to do good for another.

“Why didn’t you keep it fer yer own, Lassie? “Madame Theresa asked as she stared deep into the lassie before her. Maggie blinked her brown eyes in bewilderment and shook her head. She could not even imagine keeping something that she knew did not belong to her. The gypsy smiled, for at that moment, she knew it too. This was a soul who was good, kind and

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incapable of dishonesty of any sort.

Madame Theresa patted the seat next to her, motioning for Maggie to join her on the bench seat of the wagon. Maggie quickly obliged. “You’d be tinking about your travels and yer new home,” declared Madame Theresa as she turned to face her visitor. “Na to worry. You will be happy in America. Even the big, noihsey city will be a fascination to yah. Honestly Lassie, it’s a blessing ye will be leaving this place. Tings will not go well for the folk who stay,” the gypsy said with sadness. All across the land the farmers had been suffering from the potato famine. Maggie did not know yet that she and her family would join thousands of Irish men, women and children who would be leaving their homes for more promising opportunities in America. I’m afraid I will miss ‘Eire. America is so fer away,” said Maggie. “And there is so much I din’t know.” “Aye,” Madame Theresa said with a thoughtful nod. “But when you move from the east and travel to the west, you will feel the magic in the land, just as yah do here.” Maggie gasped. She never told a soul how she could feel the enchantment of the land, the woods and even brooks that meandered through the countryside. She could feel the magic in the very air she breathed. “I would not be knowing if daa Wee People live so far across daa ocean, but dare be dragon lines across da land, just as in ‘Eire,” Madame Theresa said in her gravelly voice that showed no trace of doubt. “You will have a hohse near an enchanted place. Tru daht land runs magical lines deep in da earth. You din’t see it, but you feel it in your very bones. Wise ones knew of dese lines and dehy built churches, monasteries and even da ancient stone circles on it.” Maggie’s eyes grew wide as she listened. A church, a monastery that was good. But the stone circles? She was not so sure. “You need not be afraid, Lassie,” Madame Theresa continued. “You will indeed live in a hohse near a powerful source. Dis power will bring out dat what’s best in yah already. Some of it will spill over to dose who visit yer place. Dey will feel joy and be renewed – like a cool drink of water on a muggy, summer day.” “And yer sayin’ all who will be visitin’ will be feeling daa magic?” Maggie asked. “T’would be more like a peaceful feeling. And aye, if dare be goodness in dem dey will feel it, yah. But some hearts, not many, but some, may be too cold, too hard, to enjoy dat goodness. Dare is nairy a ting to be done for dem. Best fer you to shine yer light best you can and be knowing yer spirit of all tings good and holy, will melt into the land and whisper in the trees. Dat is the best yer kin do.” Madame Theresa took a breath and sighed as she watched the light filter through the trees. “Now go. I need to catch up to da udders.” Maggie turned to disembark but Madame Theresa reached for Maggie’s arm to wait. Page 6 • Enchanted Inn

The woman removed a pendant from her neck and placed it in Maggie’s hands. “Thank ya fer returning me scarf, Margaret Lenan.” Maggie got down from the wagon. Madam Theresa clicked the reins and trotted off. Maggie watched the vardo until it disappeared. When it was no longer in view, Maggie placed the pendant around her neck and headed home. There was much to do before she and her family sailed off to America.

This part would correspond to the chapter of the woman who was not happy at the inn.

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Part III The Innkeeper

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The Magical Spell of the Enchanted Inn The Inn Keeper 2007 Dr. Ann Schafer sighed and took a seat in one of the antique chairs near the parlor. It had been a busy day. Her feet ached but her heart was light. Being an innkeeper at All Seasons Groveland Inn had its challenges with the ongoing task of food preparation, housekeeping, customer service and the constant flow of checking guests in and out of the quaint bed and breakfast. But the satisfied smiles of those whose lives had been transformed by their stay in the cozy B & B, and the mystical charm and splendor of nearby Yosemite National Park, helped to rejuvenate her sagging spirit.

While Dr. Ann had experience in hospitality and ranching, her true vocation was more academic. She worked as a clinical psychologist, professor, and coordinated the efforts of the learning disability program at Sacramento City College. The transition to inn keeping was strenuous, but satisfying work. It also allowed her the flexibility to have a steady income and pursue her multi-careers as a psychological consultant, author and motivational speaker. Days like today were a blur of activity. Yet the professor was not alone in her varied entrepreneurial pursuits. Women were the predominate force in the small community of Groveland, California. Dr. Ann preferred it that way. She liked men well enough but there was a special energy being in a town where so many of the businesses were run by women. Margaret Lenon Coyle Simmons and her quaint Victorian house would serve as an historical harbinger. Although she may not have thought about it at the time, Margaret (whose childhood nickname of Maggie was replaced by her given name of Margaret once she set foot in America) set an interesting precedent of female entrepreneurship in the area that continues today. The house was built in 1899 (deed recorded in 1900) and was a gift from her sons – Walter and Thomas Coyle. This was a kind and practical gesture. While women were not allowed to purchase land in their own names at that time, they could own property that was gifted to them. Another advantage to California’s constitution was it allowed for married women to own property separate from their husbands and manage it on their own. This was significant because Margaret’s second husband, Robert Benton Simmons, was 24 years her senior. He died in 1892, making Margaret a widow for the second time at the age of 53. However she continued to live in Groveland and manage her own affairs until she died, at home, at the ripe old age of 90.

The Margaret Simmons house, as it was later known, is a Victorian house that was built in the Spanish revival tradition. It was completely and carefully remodeled in 1999. The white picket fence (added during the remodel) is said to denote the warmth and charm that Margaret was famous for. Looking around the Inn there are constant reminders of the home’s original owner. On display above the stairs of the historical home visitors can view a re-creation of a dress from that time period. On display visitors see a stylish black and white dress with alternating patterns of stripes and polka dots, heartEnchanted Inn • Page 9

shaped bodice and lace collar. Completing the whimsical, yet feminine garb is a delicate lavender parasol. The tan lace up leather boots of the time would have added nearly an inch of height to Margaret’s petite frame that was well below 5 foot tall.

In sharp contrast, yet adjacent to the mannequin displaying Maggie’s dress is a heavy, wooden steamer trunk. Everything the young girl brought with her from the Old Country had been stored within the confines of the box. At times Dr. Ann would lightly run her finger across the trunk. There were fleeting moments Dr. Ann would wonder what Maggie’s life must have been like. Sitting in one of the antique chairs, she could almost feel the Irish woman’s presence behind her. In time Dr. Ann not only learned Margaret’s story, but shared a paranormal experience with her. It was well known in the town that Margaret had a favorite room at the inn and her energy was often felt by others – including numerous guests who stayed at the inn. A film crew learned about the supernatural encounter and returned and brought a crew to document it. It was not only caught on camera, Dr. Ann had seen the orb-like presence as well. (Not sure if that was the Inn or Hotel?????)

Sometimes the encounter was more reflective than mystical. On a quiet night, Dr. Ann could envision the Irish girl’s journey on the Ship Calhoun as the vessel made its way across the Atlantic. More than a century may have passed, but for a moment, just like the hypnagogic state between sleep and groggy wakefulness, Dr. Anne’s spirit could align with the young, Irish lass. The current innkeeper could gaze at the same bright, glowing moon and stars shining outside the inn and get a sense of what Maggie felt and thought. Like remnants of a dream, Dr. Ann could feel the essence of Maggie’s experiences as she made her way on her transatlantic voyage. The view outside the inn momentarily transformed from a quaint town to an endless ocean. Was it her imagination or could she feel the salty sting of the ocean as it flowed through the young Irish girl’s long, brown hair?

On hectic days, the shared experience between young Maggie and the innkeeper was more clairaudient. A cacophony of music would drift through the air. Dr. Ann knew that Maggie journeyed to America in the steerage section of the Ship Calhoun when she and her family came over from Ireland. Brief glimpses from the distant past tickled Dr. Anne’s mindscape and tiptoed into a brief, but ethereal shared consciousness.

In the blink of an eye, Dr. Ann felt she was there with Maggie during her transatlantic expedition. Even without direct knowledge of the events, for Maggie did not keep a diary since she could not read nor write, Dr. Ann sensed that nights on the ship were particularly exciting for the Irish maiden. In the evening the dining area transformed into a lively dance hall where men, women and children from an array of countries would romp, whirl and twirl to lively tunes. Irish musicians played the tin whistle, Celtic flute, Uileann pipes and button accordion. They were joined by fellow immigrants from other countries who played the fiddle and drums. Everyone clapped in rhythm as a variety of shoes, boots and bare feet stomped and clacked on the wooden floor. The celebratory beat of the music was like a shared heartbeat. Young and old joined arms and circled in step dances, jigs and reels. The voyagers were separated by a variety of languages, dialects, customs and cloth-

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ing styles, but were bonded in their shared dream of a better life in America. The music and dancing had accelerated to a fevered pitch when a young man about Maggie’s age, held out his hand for a dance. The colors and design of his garments were unfamiliar, his words lilted and guttural. But his bright blue eyes and shy smile were engaging. She hesitated a moment, but thought it would be rude to refuse, and soon she was spinning around the dance floor. It was dizzying fun.

When the music stopped, the young man bowed his thanks to her. She nodded in response and before she could look up he quickly leaned in and kissed her cheek. It was her first kiss from a boy. At first she wasn’t sure if she should be offended or excited, but ever the optimist, Maggie chose the latter. The next morning the ship sailed into the Port of New York harbor. She looked out over the sea of immigrants as they disembarked, but she never saw the lad again. However, sometimes a song, a smell, or a light touch of a breeze would flit across her cheek and the memories would come flooding back to Maggie. And even now, by some unexplained enchanted ethos, it is said that the precious memory has filtered into the very fabric of the Groveland Inn, waiting to be felt by those open to experiencing it.

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Part IV Margaret Gets a Job

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The Magical Spell of the Enchanted Inn March 1867 4 - Margaret Coyle Gets a Job Kate Carlon sat at the kitchen table while Margaret served her friend a cup of Irish tea. Margaret Coyle’s baby, Kitty, played under the table under the watchful eye of her older sister Mary Ann. The Coyle brothers, Walter, followed by a toddling Thomas, brought in armfuls of wood for the stove.

“How are the little ones taking the loss of der da?” Kate asked softly. “May his soul be on God’s right hand,” she added quickly.

“Dey miss him, as do I,” Margaret answered as she offered Kate a small jar of honey for the steaming beverage. “The money from me baking win’t be enough I fear,” Margaret added with resignation.

A widow at 28 with four young children to care for, Kate knew her friend’s situation was dire. Margaret’s husband, Matthew, worked hard as a miner and had staked a claim in Moccasin Creek. He survived the journey from Ireland, and the more arduous trip from Staten Island, New York to the gold fields of California, only to die from miner’s lung before his 30th birthday. “John tells me that Farmer Simmons over in Deer Flat is looking for a housekeeper. It pays handsomely,” Kate said hopefully. “And why would dat be paying so well?” Margaret asked suspiciously.

“It’s not like when you first arrived and dey were paying housekeepers a penny for der hard work. Der be so few of us women here. Men ache for the comfort a woman can bring…” Margaret shot up from her chair in indignation.

“Kate Carlon How can you even tink such a thing! I’m a good Christian woman, and poor Matthew in the ground only a few months.”

“Settle be with ya. I’m not talking ‘boot them kind of shenanigans. With so few women in these parts, and fortunes to be made in the gold mining and all the supplying that goes with it, men kin finally appreciate all the offerings women make like good food, mended clothing and a clean place to lie their weary heads. We women are finally getting’ our proper due. Aboot time too. Jest the other day my John said he was talking to Robert Simmons. They’re tick as tieves dos two. Anyway, Robert shared a tale and I’ll be sharing it now wit yer. Said he never knowed the use of females until his dear sister married and moved away from him and da farm. Place is running with lizards crawling about the cabin. Living on slapjacks and molasses for every meal.” Lizards were a bother, but it was the idea of living on slapjacks and molasses that made Margaret shake her head in dismay. Running a farm and orchard was back-break-

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ing labor and a man needed proper nourishment. A successful and organized man liked Robert Simmons, would do best in an orderly home. “Why does he not marry?” Margaret asked.

“Oh, his family has been pushing him in dat very direction. Tried to match him with Matilda O’ Sullivan of all people. He flatly refused. Said a sow dressed in a straw hat and a bit of rouge would suit him better than that ole shrew. Anyway, the compromise he made wit his family was ta get a housekeeper ta help look after him and dat big rambling hoose.” Margaret looked up from her tea and thought back to a few words Madame Theresa had foretold in Ireland years before. “Remember child, nairy a good change comes from saying no. Take yer chances when yer young enough to enjoy, or mend, from the outcome of yer actions.” “I tell you what. Go to the Simmons place and tell him yer interested in the position. Deer Flat be on yer way to town. I can watch the little ones until you return.” Margaret considered the option only briefly before replying. “Well, Katie, dey say a friend’s eye is a good mirror, so I’ll be takin’ you up on yer offer and tanking you in advance.” With renewed determination Margaret quickly changed into a clean, grey, floral dress, white apron and sun-bonnet. She briskly loaded three of her home-baked pies in a basket, hitched up the wagon and headed for the Simmons’ farm. It was a beautiful, but bumpy ride to Deer Flat as she and her mule, Millie, rumbled along the rugged, oak-lined road. Within minutes she spied Robert Simmons in his neatly maintained fields. He walked over to greet her. They knew of one another, but hadn’t formally met. “How can I help you, Mrs. Coyle?” he said wiping the sweat from his brow. Margaret jumped down from the wagon and tied Millie to a nearby tree. She looked up at Robert Simmons. He was a handsome man and a good two heads taller than her. She extended her hand and offered a firm handshake. This was not the time for weakness. “It is I t’would be coming ta help yoo,” Margaret declared with a smile. Robert’s eyes sparkled as he looked at the petite Irish woman with bemusement. “I’ve come aboot your position of housekeeper.” Robert nodded and tilted his head toward the rambling house. “Come have a seat inside,” he offered. Margaret reached into the back of her wagon and pulled out a basket of freshly-baked

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apple pies. “I hope you don’t mind, I was takin’’ dese pies to town to sell fer da men in de camp. I need to keep dem away from foxes and such.” “Of course,” he muttered as he took in the aroma. He hadn’t had a home-baked pie in months and his mouth watered at the thought of eating something more than flapjacks, fried eggs and corn mush. Unlike the neat farm and nearby orchards, the home was a mess with stacks of dishes piled high, lizards scampering across the floor and the sweet stench of molasses. “Kate Carlon is a friend. Said you were a decent and honest man in need of a good housekeeper,” said Margaret trying to not look at this filthy mess surrounding her. “I’m an organized man and a busy one. I know farming and business, but I fear the upkeep in here is too much. It’s a big house.” “Aye, but not anything I kin not handle,” Margaret replied trying to show more confidence than she felt. She walked over to the sink and wiped off two sticky plates and forks. “Sorry about the mess. I’m in the field much of the day. Daylight’s a premium this time of year.” “No need to apologize. Flapjacks and molasses be a hearty breakfast,” she said scrubbing the tarry crust from the plate. “That was dinner. And lunch. I’m not much of a cook,” he said a bit sheepishly. He couldn’t help a quick glance at the basket of pies. “Would you fancy a slice of apple pie? I take them to town and they sell them at the camps for $2 each,” she said proudly. “Two dollars?” he asked incredulously. “Sometimes $2.50.” she countered as she put a healthy slice of pie before him. “Whatever do you put in them to make them cost…” he let his statement wait as he took a bite. He couldn’t contain his satisfied moan as he bit into the warm, flaky brown crust and savored the apple filling, a scrumptious blend of sweet and tart. “I use the usual ingredients, but I do have a secret.” Robert glanced up from his plate to hear the answer to the gastronomical mystery. “I bake them with lohve.” Robert scraped the last morsel from his dish. “Can you start on Monday?” he asked. Enchanted Inn • Page 15

She nodded. He went to the cupboard and pulled out a jar, emptied it and counted out $6 and placed it in front of her. “You can save yourself a trip to town. I’d like to purchase all of your delicious pies,” he said with a smile. “They are indeed the finest I’ve ever tasted.” Maggie smiled back. “Alright den. I’ll be back on Monday. And I’ll be here in time to cook you a proper lunch.” Margaret grabbed the empty pie basket and swung it cheerfully as she climbed aboard the wagon. Between her new position as a housekeeper and her pie and egg sales, she and her children would be alright. She allowed herself a satisfied smile as she looked back at the house. Through the open door she spied her new employer as he eagerly helped himself to another thick wedge of apple pie.

The next section should transition to present day preparation of breakfast at the inn.

NOTE FROM MIGUEL: Is this section – Breakfast – replacing part V?

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Part V Arriving in America

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The Magical Spell of the Enchanted Inn New York City 1857 5 - Arriving in America The first thing Maggie noticed about the streets of New York was the bustling activity. A cacophony of sounds reverberated off the streets. The clacking of horse hooves on the cobblestone street mixed with peddlers loudly hawking their wares. Adding to the racket was the mournful “ah-oo-gah” sound blasts from the boats echoing in the harbor. The noise created an odd, yet exciting, urban symphony. Shouts from police officers trying to maintain a sense of order were nearly indistinguishable from the men waiting on the shore who taunted the international travelers as they disembarked. The insults were mostly hurled at the Irish who were called bog trotters, micks and biddies. The bullies deluged the beleaguered immigrants with taunts and vicious threats to go back to where they came from. Maggie was so distracted by the sights that she did not pay a lot of attention to the insults, nor did she really understand what they were saying. She briefly surmised that the hecklers were clearly angry and probably drunk.

The Lenon family trudged away from the rowdy harbor carrying all their earthly belongings with them. Maggie’s father, Daniel, maneuvered the family to a less traveled alleyway. The family deposited their trunks and baskets at their feet and were told to wait while Daniel, and his friend, Fergus, surveyed their options. America could not be more different than their homeland in Ireland. Maggie had never seen so many tall buildings, some as high as eight stories high, squished together like pigs at a trough. Many of the red-brick structures sported red and green striped awnings. Lined up in front of the shops were rows of wooden tables filled with fruits, vegetables, seafood and household items.

Maggie’s mother, Agnes, pulled some stale black break from her pocket and tore off a piece for Maggie and each of her siblings. Unlike many of the other Irish immigrants, the Lenon family had a small amount of money with them, but they took nothing for granted and carefully rationed their food.

Father returned an hour later with salted fish, pears, and good news. He and Fergus found temporary shelter for their families in lean-to shanties that had only recently been deserted. Maggie would later learn the former tenants had died of typhus fever– a deadly result of living in crowded conditions with no running water or toilets. But at the time, it was a godsend. Many other Irish immigrants shared the alleyway neighborhood, and although the accommodations were worse than the cottage they lived in in Ireland, it was an improvement from the crowded bunks they shared on Ship Calhoun.

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roundings. She took a bite from her pear. During the six-week voyage they had mostly existed on salted meat and black bread. Fruits and vegetables were a treat, and because there was no way to keep it from spoiling, were consumed early in their trip. The sticky juice from the pear trickled down Maggie’s chin. She looked up and was greeted by Elizabeth, a red-haired girl of 13 years of age. She was taller than Maggie, but much thinner. “Yoo fresh off the boat are ya?” she asked. Margaret nodded.

“Been here a month. I’m Lizzy. Who might you be?”

“Me given name is Margaret. Most call me Maggie.” “How old are ya, Maggie?” “Twelve, nearly thirteen.”

“Best to go by Margaret. You’ll be better able to get yerself a job. Yer short for 12.”

“Do you have a job?” Margaret asked, refraining from taking another bite of her pear, now conscious of how hungry Lizzie looked.

“I’m training fer service wit da Sisters of Mercy. Dey be helping girls like us get good jobs as hoosekeepers. Tis a job that will pay decent, aboot $4 a month, and includes yer food and lodging. You kin save all you earn and help yer family. Dat is what I’ll be doing. Me pa is feeling poorly. I’m praying tis not what took me baby brother. Lots of sickness here.” Margaret considered this.

“Be there a Catholic church nearby?” Margaret asked. “Of course. Why?” Lizzy asked.

“We can say a rosary for your brother, and fer your pa too.”

Lizzie took Margaret by the elbow as they walked toward the street. Margaret fingered the twine holding her gift from Madame Theresa. The metal pendant momentarily felt warm on her cold skin. “Want the rest of me pear?” Margaret offered.

Lizzie was not used to this type of kindness from strangers, but was nearly faint from hunger.

“Wouldn’t want it to go to waste…” Margaret added with more nonchalance than she felt.

Margaret was barely a woman, yet her intuition told her Lizzie was near starving. Even so, she didn’t want to lord it over her. She was in the land of opportunity and it was time to share. Lizzy took the pear and bit into it twice before putting it in her pocket. “I’ll save the rest for me ma,” Lizzie said with a smile.

For a moment Margaret reflected on how her act of kindness quickly gave birth to another. The girls smiled at one another and at that moment became fast friends. To Enchanted Inn • Page 19

mark the occasion the sun briefly poked out from a thick blanket of grey clouds and cast beams of light on the girls as they joined arms and headed off to St. Mary’s Church.

Original image is on a rectangular shape

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Part VI Margaret’s Training

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Margaret’s Training Content

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Margaret’s Training Content

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Part VII Team of Housekeepers

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The Magical Spell of the Enchanted Inn New York City 1857 The New Housekeeping Team Margaret and Lizzie excitedly put the finishing touches on the dishes and tableware they were cleaning. It was part of their last “service” class at the Sisters of Mercy. One month before they had never even seen china plates and real silverware. Now they were expertly polishing each piece, holding it to the light and inspecting every item for a speck of dirt or undesirable smudge. They had learned their lessons well and would soon be working as housekeepers – earning anywhere from $4 to $7 a month. “T’would be grand if we could be in service together at the same hoose,” Margaret said wistfully.

“Aye,” Lizzie replied. “But no matter what, we will be visiting our families and sitting together at mass on Sunday.”

“Oh absolutely, Miss Kelly,” Margaret said in her affected interpretation of an aristocratic accent. The exaggerated rendition had both girls doubled over in a fit of giggles.

The pair expected they would soon be enduring long, exhausting days of labor and providing needed funds for their struggling families, but for the moment they were two lasses from Ireland having a bit of fun. A resounding knock on the door grabbed their attention. Margaret and Lizzie cautiously peaked their heads around the corner in time to see a distinguished-looking gentleman in a black top hat and tail coat being ushered inside by Mother ? Lizzie grabbed Margaret by the arm and pulled her back into the kitchen.

“Faith and begorrah if dat isn’t Charles Dayton from Dayton Carriage Works,” Lizzie exclaimed. Margaret looked back at her friend in confusion.

“A wealthy man he is. And his fine house is close by. If we could work for the likes of him we’d be near our families. Maybe a good word could help our dahs get good jobs at the factory,” Lizzie said clutching Margaret’s hands. “We must get hired together. We need something quite clever. A plan. A scheme…” “A prayer,” Margaret added humbly.

“Aye, you be doing dat while I tink of something.”

Mr. Daytton followed Mother ? into the small office adjacent to the kitchen. Margaret bowed her head and closed her eyes in a moment of earnest prayer. Lizzie picked up a glass and cupped it over her ear and pressed it against the thin wall. It worked as a great amplifier. She could hear everything. Meanwhile, in Mother ? office the kindly nun poured water into the kettle and placed it on the stove to boil. “How can the Sisters of Mercy be of service to you Mr. Dayton?” Mother ? asked.

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“I’m in a bit of a bind, Sister. My last Biddy was scarcely with us a month and ran off and married some bloke. No notice. Just up and left. And my wife, Alice, well she’s not been in a good way since our baby perished.…” Mother ? reverently made the sign of the cross as Mr. Dayton continued. Rich or poor, the loss of a beloved child was a heavy burden for any parent. Too often she had seen the bereaved mothers lose affection for their husbands – and in some instances – their own will to live.

Mother ? knew it was more than housekeeping that was needed to make the Dayton household whole again. She offered her inspired proposal.

“I have two lassies who have completed their training and they are young enough that they’ll not be marrying anytime soon,” Mother ? said. “They make a powerful team and can do the work of three. And please correct me if I’m wrong sir, but is it safe to say your last Biddie did not come to you from the Sisters of Mercy?” Mr. Dayton cleared his throat and nodded. The Sisters of Mercy had higher expectations of how their charges were paid and treated, and frankly his business associates assured him a better deal could be struck outside the sister’s system. Obviously it had not worked out well. Still he felt an urge to protest and gain an upper hand. “I’m not sure I can afford two,” he countered, hoping for a bargain.

The nun gave Mr. Dayton a curious stare. It was like a laser beam that penetrated and exposed duplicity. He immediately became self-conscious of his expensive tailored jacket, crimson vest, silk tie and handsome leather boots. She smiled and carefully poured each of them a cup of tea. Once she returned to her seat she looked at him kindly. “I am not a business woman, nor am I a wife, at least not in the secular sense. But when one far exceeds expectations, does that not often prompt a benevolent, and dare I say it, a loving response in others?”

Mr. Dayton thought about his dear Alice and how they had drifted apart after the death of their son. Alice would be expecting him to bring one Biddy to help in the household. Perhaps two would show his beloved his generosity as well as his concern for her suffering. Although he would not admit it to others, he longed to be in his wife’s arms again. “I’d like to meet both of the girls before making a decision,” he said trying to muster a business-like tone and restore a bit of his lost pride. “Absolutely,” Mother said as she got up to open her door and summon Margaret and Lizzie into the room. Mr. Dayton had money, power and influence, but it was no match for the nun’s ardent desire to serve as many of the poor as possible. “Margaret? Lizzie? Can you please step into my office?”

Both girls were startled by the nun’s directive. The goblet fell from Lizzie’s eavesdropping hand, but in a quick, sweeping motion the limber lass caught the glass before it hit the floor. Margaret was roused from her prayer, her head snapping alert from its bowed position. Both girls swiftly straightened their aprons and tucked fallen strands Page 26 • Enchanted Inn

of hair back into their white caps. They stood erect, took a deep breath and prepared to meet with their future employer.

Photo from Teri Metz. To be used with permission from her husband Gary (requested by Miguel when needed) Original image in a rectangular shape

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Graphics Content to be Separate and Embedded Throughout See samples below

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The Magical Spell of the Enchanted Inn 2 - Saying Goodbye Maggie scampered up the soggy hillside, muddy grass squeezing between her toes as she ran. Madame Theresa’s vardo looped around the corner. Maggie spied a flash of blue fluttering toward the ground. One of the grazing sheep ambled over. Maggie scooped up the delicate silk scarf from the earth before it was soiled. “Don’t even tink about it. Amn’t for the likes of yer belly,” she said to the wooly creature as she stuffed the scarf into her waistband. Maggie gave the disappointed ewe a quick pat on its head. Maggie gazed into the nearby forest and darted up the hidden path where she knew of a short cut. With a bit of hustle and luck she could gain some ground and reach Madame Theresa’s wagon before it traveled too far to catch. In a few quick minutes Maggie emerged from the trees and onto the road that was headed out of town. She spied Madame Theresa’s horse and wagon approaching. Maggie stood in the middle of the bumpy thoroughfare and waved to the approaching vardo. Madame Theresa pulled back on the reins and brought her lumbering mare to a halt.

“Madame Theresa, I just wanted to bid yah a safe journey and say we will be going to America – just like yah said.”

Margaret’s dress replica

“I found dis on the path. Knew it kin only belong to ye. Ah it is so grand.”

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