Falling Springs; A novel based on a true story

By Marylee Jackson

Keely Marie McLaughlin felt there was a secret surrounding her birth. She was keeping a secret from her momma, and she'd told a whopper of a lie, too. She was also about to have the encounter of her lifetime. Keely's story unfolds in the summertime of 1929 in Southern Illinois, in the tiny rural town of Dupo. Her father works for the railroad, and her mother runs a small café and confectionary. Keely is the oldest child of four, all born into a loving, hardworking Irish family. The Great Depression is looming, which is guaranteed to make their lives worse, but they make the best of bad situations by calling on their love for one another, their faith, and their many skills to overcome what they'll need to survive. Although the family lives in poverty, they have a rich life knowing they are blessed no matter their hardships. Keely has also recently bloomed from a child mature beyond her years into a colorful young woman who unexpectedly meets a handsome, naïve boy from the city when he enters the café. The young man, William Benjamin O'Malley, finds sanctuary among the McLaughlins. Keely and Will cannot deny their immediate attraction to one another, which is obvious to all. Her father deems Keely and Will's young love forbidden. An act of Will's tenderness toward her family cements Keely's love for him, which also turns her father's fears and dislike for Will into admiration and acceptance. He ultimately approves of Keely's relationship with Will, especially since it was revealed that Will too, has a secret of his own, which will take him far away from Keely. Each time Will leaves Keely to travel home to St. Louis, he promises that he will come back to her. Keely in return, promises she'll wait for him without question. Full of love and coupled with unfulfilled desires as teenagers when they bid each other their final farewells; they vow to reunite one day. Years later, Will surprises Keely with a visit. The sparks continue to fly between them. Their ensuing love story will come at a huge price that neither of them could have ever imagined. Their adult love story continues in the upcoming sequel, Following Seas.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781640036260

Book preview

Prologue

My daddy worked for the Cotton Belt Railroad in our tiny town, and Momma ran a confectionary.

People referred to my Momma Hedy’s business by a few names, such as Momma’s Café and Momma’s Sweets and Meats, but most of the local townsfolk referenced the café by calling it Momma’s out of their love and friendship for my dear mother.

Momma’s Café’s large black-and-gold block lettering in the window read: McLaughlin’s Sweets and Meats Café and Confectionary. The State of Illinois had legally documented the café under the most formal name she presented to them. It also tickled her because she thought the name sounded fancy.

The café, located in a tiny village in the Missouri River Bottom of Southern Illinois was originally named Prairie du Pont by the French who settled her in 1750.

The hamlet grew into a small town due to the influx of people needed to build and run the railroad. Over time, the town’s name was shortened to Dupo just the same as Momma’s café was.

The railroad trains that ran through town came together at the switching yard where Daddy was the yardmaster, and it was less than a mile down the road from Momma’s Café.

The crest of the levee stood behind and dwarfed the café, which sat at the foot of the hills, which were built to protect us from heavy rains and flood waters. The levee ran the length behind Momma’s Café and continued all through town.

The tracks banking north from the switching yard traveled the thick wooden beams and steel-constructed trestle. It climbed above the trees and ran alongside the east side of the café, rising above it by thirty feet or so.

The train cars transported passengers, hauled coal and freight north to Wisconsin, south to Kentucky, and west across the Mississippi River into Saint Louis, Missouri.

When the trains rumbled by on the trestle above, the engineers would sound two long blasts on their whistles as a hello to our family because all of the railroad men who came through the hub knew of or had visited the café at one time or another.

But railroad men and locals weren’t Momma’s only customers. Unexpected people occasionally walked through the café’s door too. Some of our visitors even had the power to change the course of our lives.

Sepia Photos Painted the Past

August 15, 1929

My daddy’s parents booked passage from Cook County, Ireland, to the port of New Brunswick, Canada. They trekked across into America a decade before he was born. He was born amongst a sea of immigrants who settled in the tiny town of Keokuk, Iowa. Although Germans dominated the town, the second largest population came from Ireland. Little more than five years later, Daddy’s family moved to Saint Claire County, Illinois.

Having grown up with the poetic language spoken by his family during his youth, Daddy tended to speak with a thick Irish brogue sometimes. He slipped with little effort into his lyrical native tongue of the past. It would rise to the surface and slide from his lips as creamy as warm melted butter dripping from a hot cob of corn. Daddy would slow down his cadence; his vowels became softer, and his consonants sharper than normal, and I could picture Daddy in a small cottage across the sea.

There was always a tiny hint of Daddy’s brogue, but it became much thicker when he was happy, flustered, or mad as hell, which, being madder than a wet hornet most times, was not uncommon.

I tagged alongside him on his way to the train yard where he worked the early shift this morning. The gravel crunched beneath our feet filling up the silence between us as we walked along the tracks. I mustered up my nerve and broached the subject of Momma’s long departed sister and asked, Daddy, how is it that you married Momma after Aunt Linara died?

Daddy’s eyes grew large, and I could tell he was a bit shocked by my question, but without skipping a beat, he cleared his throat and answered, "Well, Keely, I enjoyed havin’ yer momma there at the house with meself and yer Aunt Linara. Linnie told me jest before we wed, she and yer momma were not only inseparable but that she was unable ta run a household without young Hedy by her side. Linnie made me promise ta look after her baby sister, and I always have."

Oh, was all that came out of my mouth in the sweetest tone I could muster. I nodded my head, but I was trying my best to hide my disappointment with Daddy’s answer. I wanted more. I thought from what little Daddy had just said, out of a need to make his young wife happy, and the fact his affection for Momma was genuine, he had had little choice but to agree to the arrangement. I assumed the three of them were happy living under the same roof with one another, and he’d also made a promise to Aunt Linara, which kept him bound to keep his word. But then, Daddy surprised me because he had more to say.

Daddy’s long pause ended with, "Yer momma seemed eager ta attend both of our needs, Keely. She took care of damn near everythin’ ’round the house and property. Yer momma saw ta it that the household always ran smooth as a ribbon. He seemed thoughtful and added, Jest took a liken’ ta her is all, and after yer Aunt Linara had died, jest seemed like marryin’ yer momma was the right thing ta do."

With that, he finished. I smiled up at him. We continued to walk along the rails in silence, making our way toward the switching yard. After a few seconds had passed, Daddy smiled down at me looking uneasy.

I smiled back, but I was trying to piece Momma and Daddy’s story together again, and my mind raced backward. I always hung onto bits and pieces of information rarely bandied about, but I knew someday they would share their story with me. I just didn’t know how much longer I could wait for them to bring up the subject.

I always felt their story was a sensitive one, so I never asked Momma about her and Daddy’s life before they were married. I figured when the time was right, Momma would tell me their tale because my teenaged female intuition told me their story had to be a complicated dance when it came to the details of their somewhat odd relationship.

I did feel too, I was mature enough to understand whatever it was that needed telling, and I also knew I was just a few years younger than Momma was when she and Daddy tied the knot. I’m fifteen after all, and I’m almost grown.

I was pretty certain I was at the center of some deep-kept family secret too. I wanted to blurt out my suspicions, but I never wanted to confront my momma, if she wasn’t ready to break my heart when it came to my birth, so I waited.

When we reached the hub, I smiled up at my father and said, Well, Daddy, here’s your lunch pail, and I packed an extra piece of apple pie in there for you too. I’ll see you after your shift.

Right-O, Keely, I’ll see ya tanight when I get home, he said, taking the heavy metal pail from my hand.

Okay, Daddy, see you then.

I turned around to make my way back down the tracks toward home when Daddy hollered out, Thanks fer the extra pie, me gurl! It was mighty thoughtful of ya, and don’t mention our talk ta yer dear momma. Okay, daughter?

Okay, Daddy, I yelled back with a wave.

I spun around on my heels and skipped along the rock-filled tracks back to the café. I slowed down to a walk when my mind wandered to the peculiar coupling of my folks.

Daddy was a gruff old man except when he wasn’t. He didn’t speak all that much, but when he did, he barked like an old junkyard dog rather than speak in a kind or sweet-natured tone. It was hard for him to show outward affection too, especially when it came to Momma.

Momma, on the other hand, was as sweet as a ripe, juicy pear in the summertime. She spoke in a singsong tone of voice, and although she was of Irish decent too, Momma talked in her country slang. She was born and raised just a few miles from where we lived, and her ancestors had settled in our town, almost two hundred years before Daddy’s.

I walked along picking wildflowers to bring to Momma, and my mind wandered to her photo box. Every once in a while, I would slip into Momma and Daddy’s tiny bedroom and haul down the discolored hat box that Momma kept out of harm’s way on the top shelf of their armoire.

I thought about how Daddy had collected washed-up wood planks from the banks of the Mississippi to build the armoire for her. Momma said he’d come and honk the horn until she came out to the truck to witness the beauty of each weathered piece he’d found. Then, he’d dry it out and stack it in the barn. Momma told me he collected the wood for quite some time until he’d had enough to build the large piece of furniture.

I’d chuckle to myself each time I pulled the heavy doors open. In my head, I could hear Momma say with pride, "Lordy, Keely, this here arm-ee-wa ain’t nothin’ short of a fine work of art because not only did yer Daddy build it with his own two hands, but he built it fer me. Then, she’d finish in a whisper, It’s also a miracle from Sweet Jesus hisself that yer Daddy finished this here cupboard at all," and we would giggle at her joke.

As soon as I’d open the doors and bring down the box, I’d set it on their bed, remove the lid, and retrieve the handful of faded sepia photographs, which seemed as delicate as the wings on a butterfly and just as interesting.

I would study the photos hoping to find a clue to my parents’ past. It didn’t hurt that Momma never seemed to mind either. I guessed it was because she knew those photos were like Michelangelo’s masterpiece on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel because they were brush strokes of hers and Daddy’s past she couldn’t put together or paint for me with words alone.

I became riveted to the photographs of Daddy. Although all of her sepia photos were void of color, I could see his coloration in my mind. I would fill in the blanks adding blue-green to his wide, round eyes; a light brown to his thick, wavy hair; and a dash of pink to his cheeks and lips, which were always chapped. Looking at Daddy’s stance and dress, he looked to be quite a dapper, handsome fellow in his youth.

It was a shame the same could not be said for the photographs of Momma when she was young. I was fascinated by those in a much different way.

I’d envision her eyes painted a bright shade of blue, rosy pink on her lips and plump cheeks, and her perfect small teeth were as white as bleached cotton, but there was nothing extraordinary about her looks, whether in sepia tones or with her true colors added from my imagination.

Her eyes and smile were her only exceptional features, and somehow, they always leaped from the photos. The pictures were printed in many shades of browns and tans, but the lens of the camera was always able to catch the essence of her sweet and confident personality.

Momma wasn’t the storybook ugly duckling who turned into a beautiful swan as she matured either. Due to her changing very little throughout the years, Momma just grew into a much rounder duck.

She was short in stature, standing a tad over five feet. Her body seemed as round as it was tall, and she was never vain when it came to her appearance. Her mousy brown hair was most often in a disheveled comb-up twisted upon the top of her head and pinned in a loose, messy pile. Her nose was bulbous, and her wide eyebrows met in the center of her brow. She had large jowls, and it was a rare occasion when she wore any face powder or rouge to enhance her looks. Momma’s simple cotton dresses were few and seemed only to tent her large body. Embroidered aprons were her most prized and girlish possessions. Her ill-fitting shoes always seemed much too small for her thick, swollen feet, so Momma shuffled rather than walked. If judged on the photos alone, it would be obvious that Momma appeared to be a jolly but homely woman wearing ill-fitting clothes at best.

Daddy didn’t seem to mind her lack of physical good looks or manner of dress, which always seemed strange to me given he was a rather handsome man in his youth. But Momma’s true beauty shone outwardly from within, and I knew he loved her for that because he’d said so.

I’m hard-pressed to think of anyone who’s not drawn to Momma’s genuine kindness, humor, and caring, including Daddy.

I smiled to myself because every once in a great while, Daddy would whisper something endearing to me like, "Daughter, see yer momma’s chapped red hands? Now, those are from an honest hard-day’s work, gurl. Think about how they feel though when she brushes yer hair or strokes yer cheek. She’s a gentle, tender woman with dancin’, lovin’ eyes, that one."

There had been many times too, when I heard Daddy talk about Momma to his buddies when they were hanging around outside. I pretended to be invisible while I hovered within earshot of Daddy, and I soaked up his every word.

One time, I heard Daddy say, "I’m afraid if I boast too much about her, she’ll overstep her role as me wife, so I’m careful not ta be too damn sweet toward her or complimentary ’bout her neither. I never let her know how thankful I am ta her, fer everythin’ she does ’round me home and with the kiddos. He ended the conversation with, Me old gurl is quick with a hearty laugh, and she’s lovin’ ta everyone ’round her…but especially ta me." Then, he beamed and puffed out his chest.

One frigid winter night, the embers burned red and orange from behind the grate of our pot-bellied stove, casting a warm glow on Momma and my youngest sister, Gert. Daddy leaned over and whispered to me and my younger sister, Linnie, Yer momma’s light, bright Irish eyes seem ta be expressions of the love she’s got stored in her soul fer every man and almost all ‘cratures,’ daughters. Always remember that, me gurls.

And with his thick brogue of old, he’d said those words with such a tender tone; I couldn’t take the way he’d said it as anything less than his feelings of true love for my momma.

We smiled at him and nodded in agreement.

But I never heard him say any of those kind words to Momma. It was obvious to me and most likely to the men he spoke to that Momma made him feel respected, appreciated, and adored.

In all truth, Daddy hollered and squawked at Momma more than he talked to her in a calm or kind voice. So, when he spoke random sweet phrases, they made my mind and heart soar like birds gliding on a breeze.

But the most endearing of all compliments when it came to Momma, which I could think to applaud Daddy for, were the words he didn’t speak. I never heard Daddy say one mean word about Momma, not ever.

Momma in turn never seemed to get riled at Daddy or take offense to his thunderous outbursts or distant behavior toward her either. I decided at a very early age ~ my momma was a saint.

But when they were together, it was obvious how much they adored each other. Most times, she would give him a look only he seemed to understand, and I would witness him looking back at her the same way. It was as if they could read each other’s minds without speaking at all. I was fascinated by their relationship, to say the least. I was certain most people had a hard time putting their finger on the how and why of their endearing love, but anyone who spent time with them could feel a loving connection between my parents.

My folks kept a small framed photograph of Aunt Linara on the nightstand beside their bed. Daddy’s dear departed wife stood beside a spotted pony, and her slender gloved hands held onto its reins. She wore a frilly blouse with a high neck and long sleeves tucked into a floor-length skirt. A wide belt cinched her tiny waist; polished boots peeked out below the hem, and atop her coiffed hair sat a hat adorned with feathers.

However, she seemed to have a sadness about her despite her lovely smile. Her eyes didn’t shine with warmth from the photo like Momma’s eyes always did.

But each time I looked at the photo, I was mesmerized by the woman who stared back at me. She bared little resemblance, if any, to my momma.

I could never understand why the photo remained within Momma and Daddy’s view. I felt it must have been torture for Momma to be reminded each and every day of their blatant overall differences, because it was obvious that Momma was pretty much the exact opposite of her sister.

None of that seemed to matter to Daddy at all, because with Momma, I supposed she was the one who pampered him rather than the other way around, as it had been with his lovely but frail wife, Linara.

Although Daddy was a test to her patience at times, Momma never shied away from a person she felt needed mending. I think she saw Daddy as a tortured soul, due to Aunt Linara’s untimely death and the loss of his firstborn child, and in turn, he may have felt Momma was the only woman who could keep him from pulling apart at the seams.

Fate brought Momma and Daddy together, and I hoped one day, I would find out what secret glue bound them together.

I also knew, I wanted to find true love like they had someday. I just prayed the man of my dreams, for the most part, wasn’t as loud and cantankerous as Daddy!

Izzy-iphany

I made my way home, pushed the screen door open, and said, Look what I found today, Momma.

Momma brightened and said, Oh honey, jest look at the faces on them Black-eyed Susans, they always looks so happy. And the Lilly of the Valley, I do believe them are my favorites. Grab that jar and put ’em in there. Those little flowers sure brighten up the kitchen. Don’t they, Keely?

They sure do, I agreed while filling the jar with water and the handful of flowers.

Thank you, Keely. I jest love it when ya bring ’em home.

You’re welcome, Momma, I said, beginning my chores.

After a few hours had passed, and while Effie was out front taking orders, Momma whispered, Effie isn’t feelin’ all that well with the ‘monthlies,’ so I’m gonna send her on home ta rest.

Poor Effie, she sure has looked puny lately, I agreed in a quiet voice.

I’ll need ya ta run the counter and take care of our guests fer the rest of the day. Are ya game?

Sure, Momma. I’ll have Linnie run down to Granny’s to get Gert. She’s a good little helper too.

"That’s a grand idea, Keely, but first off, would ya please take Isabelle outside ta play before I lose my ever-lovin’ mind?"

I giggled at her while crossing the kitchen, walking toward Isabelle and saying, I hope Effie feels better after she gets off of her feet. She hasn’t been herself lately.

I’m gettin’ kinda worried ’bout her too, Momma agreed.

I felt like I’d been punched in the belly when the pangs of guilt hit me hard, and I felt the timing was just about right to spill my guts about Effie.

But instead, I looked down at Isabelle and chided, "Come on, Miss Busy Izzy. You know no kids are allowed in the kitchen." Then, I laughed popping her on the butt while sticking my other hand in the slop bucket sitting atop the washbasin. I grabbed a handful of apple peelings, tempted her with them, and then guided her through the door and back outside toward her pen.

I led Izzy toward the rear of the barn while I thought about Effie Tipker and her husband, Ronnie. They were married for three years before they moved down from Minnesota to Dupo. Ronnie signed on to work at the hub. Effie and Ronnie were young and in love, and my folks adopted them because what little family they had remained in Minnesota.

When Ronnie and Effie couldn’t find a place to live in the railroad’s housing, they stayed with Granny for a time. It wasn’t long before Effie began helping Granny take care of chores down at her place. Her good works and cheerful disposition led to her helping Momma run the café too.

The fact Daddy had a soft spot in his heart for them made him more than determined to put a roof over their heads. Daddy and Ronnie ended up building a one-room shack on Granny’s property for them to call their own.

Minutes later, I returned without Isabelle. Momma said with a laugh, Thanks, honey. That damn little goat is gettin’ bolder and bolder. She jest kicks the door open and comes right on inta the kitchen. I’m afraid if I throw the latch ta lock her out, she’ll jest eat through the screen and make herself ta home anyways. Ya know, I think maybe she’s a bit confused and thinks she’s a hound dog instead of a nanny ’cause she sure does hound me ’round here!

I giggled and offered up my advice, Well, Momma, if you’d quit giving her scraps to eat every time she comes in, she just might stop it.

"Oh Keely, I can’t help myself. That blessed creature is so tiny and sweet. The other goats jest move her right out of the trough. I even hung the jingle bell ’round her neck, so they’d be ’fraid of the noise she makes when she comes a runnin’, but that didn’t help none. I’ve seen em tryin’ ta pull that bell right off her scrawny neck. They looked like they was gonna eat that too!" Momma chuckled.

I wouldn’t be surprised at all, seeing how they’ll eat anything, Momma, but you need to send Izzy right out the door and drop the scraps on the porch instead. Daddy’d be mad as a hornet if he saw her walking around the kitchen begging for food. So far, you’ve been lucky not to get caught, I scolded her.

I know. I know. Maybe ya’ve got an idea that jest might work too. Lord knows, I’ve jest got ta do sumpthin’. When she comes in bawlin’ like a baby, I’ll tease her with them peelins’ and take her right outside. Good thinkin’, Keely. She nodded her approval.

Well, it’s sure worth a try, Momma.

Then, all of a sudden, it was if the light bulb of the obvious flashed quick and bright in her head. That flash was the most simple of all solutions to her Izzy problem she never quite thought of on her own.

It was if she hadn’t just agreed to the solution of sending Izzy outside because she squealed, clapped her round hands on her thick thighs, and screamed at me and then cursed at herself, Feed her outside, ya said? Oh Lordy, Hedy, yer one stupid arse! Her thick body convulsed, rocking her with laughter.

I cracked up too and shrieked, Momma, I think you just had an epiphany!

"Oh Lordy, darlin’, ya can say that fer sure, ’cept I had an Izzy-iphany!" She howled again, dragging me right along with her into her latest bout of hysteria.

When we calmed down and gathered our senses, she turned to me with a contrived look on her face and spoke up in a mocked serious tone, "Keely, one more thing, dear, have Linnie watch Sean when Granny brings him home. I don’t want ya ta be workin’ the front room, ’specially with the real ‘kid’ underfoot!" Momma squealed, continuing to giggle.

Momma sent Effie home before noon. It wasn’t long before the twelve-o’clock train whistle blew, signaling the locomotive’s greeting as the train passed by overhead. On cue, the café shuddered, and the glasses and glassware tinkled when they shook too.

Effie’s Possible Disgrace and Fritz Schulty’s Face

While we were alone in the kitchen, I figured it was time to tell Momma what Granny and I had kept quiet from her. I knew I had to tell Effie’s secret, and I was certain I was about to spoil Momma’s sunny disposition just like a dead crappie stinking up the bank will ruin