Theirs was a small town filled with good people. It was not that most of the incomers weren’t good at heart, but some of these cowboys were looking for entertainment of a sort that the townsfolk of Green River, Kansas, would not abide.
~~~
The good father had the door open before Reverend Richardson had finished raising his hand to knock.
“I could hear those boots of yours clomping up the walk. Come on in!”
Changing his motion, the pastor moved his hand out to shake and it was heartily grasped as an arm swept around him, ushering him into the parsonage of St. Mary’s on the Hill.
Settled in the parlor with coffee and sandwiches, Father Flanagan brought up the topic they’d met to discuss.
“Based on the confessions I’m hearing from these young cowboys Charles Barnett’s been bringing in, it’s about high time some of them were married.”
“I agree with you, Francis! Even with all the widows and daughters in town, I don’t think there are enough females in the area of marriageable age to cope with this expansion.”
“And I’m agreeing with you one hundred percent, Joseph. But let me share with you a letter from my sister Amelia.”
“That’s the one who’s a nun back east?”
“Yes, goes by Sister Evangeline—no, wait, that would be Mother Evangeline! She’s now head of the convent.”
“I’m impressed, Francis! So what does she have to say?”
“Here, read it for yourself.” Father Francis reached into his pocket and withdrew an envelope which he handed to Pastor Joe, who unfolded the letter within and began to read:
Dearest Francis,
I trust this finds you well. Our parents send their love and hope you may have heard from Ignatius, who has been dilatory in writing them. And we both know he hasn’t written me since I joined the convent. But you two were always partners in crime and despite your calling he has always looked up to you (heaven knows why).
The Reverend Joe looked up. “Is your sister implying you had a less than saintly youth?”
Francis grinned unrepentantly. “Probably much the same as yours, Joe.”
Smiling, Joe continued his reading.
I have been concerned of late for several of our older girls. As you know it has always been our policy to keep the girls here until they found employment or were married. Since the young women mature at different rates, while most are employed by the age of sixteen, some have not left our house until they were eighteen. Some have never left, but stayed on as staff to help the younger children.
Now, however, we have a new Board of Governors which, in its “wisdom,” has decided her sixteenth birthday marks the final day a girl may remain with us. While I have done my best to argue against this policy, we have a small group who may find themselves out on the street if another plan is not put in place.
You mentioned in your last letter that your town was expanding rapidly. Most of these young ladies would make competent shopkeepers’ assistants or mothers’ helpers. Of course we hope to place them here locally, where they would be comfortable and familiar, but there are more of them than available positions at the moment. Might there be some job openings in your Green River?
I am open to any other suggestions you might have regarding opportunities for my girls.
“It looks as if the rest of this is talking of your family again.”
“Yes,” Father Francis wrinkled his face wryly, “she is convinced I want to know every last detail of each of the offspring of our siblings, especially our sisters. Needless to say, I scarcely know the younger ones, who were toddlers when I went to seminary.”
“You know you are fortunate so many of your siblings survived to become adults! There were nine of us but only four still above the ground.”
Although the war had brought some medical advances, the idea of washing hands still didn’t prevent scarlet fever or any number of other diseases and plagues that felled healthy folks. And accidents and fires claimed victims as well. Rare, in most families, the members that lived to old age.
“Yes, we seem to be blessed with robust health,” Father Francis agreed. “But we have gotten off topic. I wanted to discuss Amelia’s idea of bringing some of the girls west.”
“Like the mail-order brides one sees advertised for in the papers?”
“Yes, exactly!” Father Francis nodded his head vigorously. “We have a crop of young men; she has a herd of young women. And I suspect some of our shop owners could use a hand. Mrs. O’Keefe could certainly use a nanny to help with her flock of children.”
“Are all the girls Catholic? You know that would, unfortunately, matter to some of our congregation.”
“Surprisingly, no! The Sisters of Mercy have long provided a safe haven for any female in need. I am not sure what the church is about putting such a Board of Governors in charge of what has been a neighborhood sanctuary.
“I must say there are times I am rather grateful myself that it takes so long for information to travel from Rome to the individual parishes. But allowing secular hands to rule an institution of charity is simply wrong!”
Although his was an independent church, Reverend Joe agreed wholeheartedly. Hadn’t Christ driven the moneylenders from the temples?
Francis’ housekeeper poked her head in at that point with a plate of freshly baked cookies. She cleared away the now empty dish
