“Aye, sir, I certainly can. But, ye see …”

 The door slammed in his face. He expelled a frustrated sigh, shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, and trudged down the street. After walking a few blocks, he arrived at his destination and entered a two-story brick building. He slowly climbed the wooden steps to the top floor. Making his way down the dark, narrow hallway, he walked past several closed doors until he found the one numbered 12 and went inside. The door’s hinges creaked.

 A woman seated on the double bed looked up, her opaline face dewy from lack of ventilation and the warm May air. The room’s single window was partially open, allowing a slight breeze to waft in.

 “Well, there ye be, Patrick,” she said with a smile as she set down her darning and stood. Her long, bright red hair was tied up in a bun. She withdrew a handkerchief from her dress pocket and dabbed at her forehead. “How did it go?”

 “No luck again today, me dear,” he said. “I’ll try again tomorrow.” He pulled off his boots, doffed his flat cap, tossed it onto the bed, and sat beside it. “Where be the wee ones?”

 “I sent them to the bakery on the corner to fetch us a loaf fer supper,” she replied. Seeing the exhausted anguish in his eyes, she sat beside him and softly ran her hand through his thick, dark brown hair. He gently took her hand, kissed the back of it, and then kissed her lips.

 She pulled away and smiled. “It will all work out, me dear,” she said. “Sure’n me name ain’t Briana Mulligan.”

 He smiled back. The name sang to him, stirring his emotions. He knew she had only just acquired his name two years ago and was still trying it out whenever she had the chance. “Aye, Briana, I know. ‘Tis just that we’re only paid up fer this hotel room until the end of the week, and our time is near its end.”

 She stood and said, “I spoke with another hotel guest today, and she told me of a boardin’ house a few blocks down run by an Irish widow. Sure’n she’d be more hospitable and sympathetic to our plight, I would think.”

 He nodded. “I never thought it would be so difficult to find work in Denver City. I saw sign after sign tellin’ me not to apply. ‘Tis a shameful thing to treat young lads and lasses in such a way as this.”

 The door burst open. In ran two small children with hair as crimson as their mother’s. A beagle ran in at their heels. Eager to see Patrick, the dog jumped onto the bed and licked his face.

“Down, Shannon!” he exclaimed.

 “Dad! Dad!” The two children ran across the small room and hugged him.

     “Hello, ye two scamps!” He chuckled and gave them each a squeeze.

     Briana took the loaf of bread from her daughter and placed it on the plain wooden table. “Keegan and Kathleen, go wash up at the basin. Supper’s nearly ready.”

     They did as they were told. Taking turns, one poured a small amount of water into the porcelain bowl while the other washed with castile soap. When they were finished, they went over to the small table and sat on two of the four wooden chairs.

     Briana sliced the bread, placed it on the table, and filled four bowls with watery vegetable soup. After carrying each bowl over, she seated herself. “Let us give thanks to the good Lord fer what he has provided us,” she said, reaching out to her children and taking their small hands in hers.

     Patrick joined hands as well. “Dear Heavenly Father, thank ye fer this food which we are about to receive. Amen.”

     “Amen,” the family echoed.

     The children began consuming their food ravenously.

     “Slow down, ye two,” Briana scolded, “or you’ll eat so fast that it won’t have time to stick, and t’will run right through.”

     Keenan and Kathleen giggled.

     Once the meal was consumed, the family retired early. Briana and her two children lay on the bed while Patrick was assigned the comfort of an overstuffed chair. He didn’t mind since his exhaustion soon overtook him.

     When he awoke the following morning, he discovered that Briana and the children had already risen and were gone. He slowly straightened and stretched, forcing the stiffness from his back. Noticing a piece of paper on the table, he walked over to read it.

Gone to visit the Irish widow. Will return with good news.

     He grinned at the note. Deciding it was time to start once more, he washed up and departed the hotel. The bright morning sun rejuvenated him, giving him hope. He looked to the west and saw the Rockies shimmering in the sunlight. Snow was visible on the peaks. The fresh air, although thin from the altitude, invigorated him. However, after a few hours of visiting various shops and places of business and receiving the same reply, he grew discouraged. As he passed a bordello on Holladay Street, he overheard laughter, and a piano playing the tune “No Irish Need Apply.” Frowning, he returned to the hotel, where he found Briana waiting for him.

     “I spoke with the widow who owns that room and board I told ye about,” she said with a smile. “And she said she’d be happy to take us in.”

     “‘Tis good news,” said Patrick.

     “That is, after she interviews ye, of course.”

     He shrugged. “Of course.”

     “In fact, she offered to watch after the wee ones while I came to collect ye.”

     Patrick nodded. He glanced over at Shannon, who was curled up on a rug in the corner, sleeping.

     “Come with me.” Briana took his hand and led him outside. “‘Tis down this street.”

     After walking several blocks, Briana informed him that they had arrived at their destination. Patrick followed her to the door. She rapped on it, and soon, an elderly woman answered.

     “Good afternoon, Mrs. O’Neill. I’ve found me husband,” Briana announced. “Patrick,” she introduced, “‘tis Mrs. O’Neill.”

     “Pleased to make yer acquaintance, mum,” Patrick said.

     “Likewise, Mr. Mulligan,” she replied. “Please do come in.”

     Patrick followed his wife into the dark parlor. Mrs. O’Neill pulled open the heavy red velvet drapes and, with a wave of her hand, directed them to sit at a small, intricately carved mahogany table.

     “Yer wife says ye’re newly arrived here and in need of refuge,” she said, sitting beside them.

    “Aye, mum, ‘tis correct,” he responded. “We’ve only been here less than a week.”

     “What’re yer intentions while ye’re here, young man?”

     Patrick glanced at his wife. “Well, mum, I’ve heard tell there’s plenty of gold in the hills, and I’d like to try me luck and stake me claim.”

     “Oh, ye would, would ye?” she asked, raising a gray brow.

     Patrick nervously threw his wife another glance. “Aye, mum,” he sheepishly replied. “‘Tis better to be lucky than wise.”

     Mrs. O’Neill nodded. “Well, there’s a rumor of gold bein’ discovered west of here,” she said, “but as far as where it is exactly, that ye’d have to find out from some of the patrons who frequent the market two blocks down.”

     “I will indeed do that,” Patrick said with a smile. “I’ve been searchin’ fer work but haven’t found any just yet.”

     She nodded. “Try the livery across the street. Tell him I sent ye.”

     “Aye, mum. Thank ye.”

     “And I’ll be happy to take ye in as borders. Even the little dog yer missus told me about.”

     “That’s very generous of ye, mum. I’ll go check out of the hotel and return shortly.”

     “Splendid. Mrs. Mulligan, ye’re welcome to stay here until he returns. The children are with me sister upstairs.”

     Briana smiled graciously. “Thank ye very much, Mrs. O’Neill.”

     The three stood, and Patrick started for the door.

     “I’ll be waitin’ to hear more about ye when ye return,” Mrs. O’Neill called after him.

About Author J.D.R. Hawkins…