Orphans and Inmates

By Rosanne Higgins

In the spring of 1835, at the pier of Buffalo's Canal District, the most dangerous square mile in developing America, 17 year old Ciara Sloane steps onto land, alone, save for her younger sisters, orphaned at sea on the voyage from Ireland. Turned away by her only family on this side of the Atlantic, Ciara is admitted to the almshouse, along with her younger sisters, as the nursemaid, charged with bringing order to the chaos that is the children's ward. With the help of the Christian Ladies Charitable Society, led by the formidable Mrs. Farrell, and the compassionate and charming Dr. Michael Nolan, Ciara is able to transform the children's ward from a place of loneliness and despair to one of optimism and hope.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosanne Higgins
• Release date: Apr 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310524257

Rosanne Higgins

Rosanne Higgins was born in Enfield Connecticut, however spent her youth in Buffalo, New York. Her experiences traveling in both the United States and in Europe as a child resulted in a love of history from an early age. She knew from the time she was in fourth grade that she wanted to be an Anthropologist and went on after earning her BA to graduate school at the University at Buffalo. Combining her two interests she studied the Asylum Movement in the nineteenth century and its impact on disease specific mortality. This research focused on the Erie, Niagara, and Monroe County Poorhouses in Western New York and earned her a Ph.D. in Anthropology in 1998 and several scholarly publications.After six years as an assistant professor, Rosanne focused on her family, husband Bob Higgins, and sons, Max and Charlie. She also opened a successful business, tapping into her love for animals with a doggy daycare. This led to charitable efforts in animal rescue. During this time, she also turned her attentions to a more personal fundraising effort following the tragic death of her older son, Max, from a rare pediatric cancer at age 11. This event inspired in her the ability to imagine the previously untold stories of personal and private sufferings.In the Spring of 2012, she was invited to join the Erie County Poorhouse Cemetery Project, undertaken by the Department of Anthropology at the University at Buffalo. While writing her dissertation in the mid 90's, Rosanne had gotten to know many of the inmates of the institutions mentioned above as she pieced together what little could be told of their lives while researching their deaths. For over 20 years, she had a desire to tell the other side of the story in a way that would be accessible to more than just the scholarly community. Rosanne's need to tell their tale has resulted in her first novel, Orphans and Inmates, which is the first in a series chronicling fictional accounts of Poorhouse residents inspired by the historical data.

Book preview

Part One

Chapter One

April 1835, Buffalo, NY

Two big maple trees provided shade in the front of the house through late morning and into the afternoon. Located on fashionable Pearl Street, the brick edifice was large enough to be considered a mansion, although its residents simply considered it home. Despite the gentle morning breeze weaving its way through the lilacs, carrying their sweet scent into the study of Cain Farrell, the man, himself, was hot. Even with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up, seated behind a grand mahogany desk, he looked every inch the powerful and influential man he was. Farrell was deep in an argument with Sean, his only son, and heir to the Farrell Seed fortune.

My hands are tied Pa, can ye not see that? standing in front of his father’s desk like a child who had been called up by the teacher, a bit of the old country brogue coming out in both men in the heat of the argument. The ship is stuck in New York Harbor, quarantined! Most of the passengers and half the crew dead from ship fever. They’ll no' unload the cargo until the harbor master has cleared the remaining crew and passengers to disembark. It could take weeks for that damn fever to run its course!

Ye watch yer mouth in yer mother's house, Sean Farrell! Perhaps ye should have considered as much and done as I told ye when ye were given the money. And just how do ye intend to run a seed company without any seeds? This was yer big plan, importing flower seeds and bulbs from Europe and the old country! We make our livin', and a damn fine one at that, sellin' seed for crops.

The elder Farrell was a large man and like his father before him, Cain had done his share of hard work. He spent his childhood and the early part of his adult life in a small croft in Ireland, tending the land like his father and his father's father. However, at 42 years old he had grown accustomed to his ornately carved mahogany desk and the elegant study in which it sat. He had earned all of the trappings of wealth and power and was looking forward to the day when he could enjoy them.

Sean, at 19, was of a size with his father. Tall and lean, young Sean knew little of hard work. The Farrell Seed Company was built on the blood and sweat of the elder Farrell. It was well established and quite profitable by the time Sean was born. The chores associated with life on Pearl Street were done by servants. Boys like Sean were given a formal education, the one thing he possessed that his father did not. He could read, write and do sums at an early age. When he got older, he studied philosophy and Latin, as all gentlemen did. He was a young man eager to make his own contribution to the success of the Farrell Seed Company.

For three years now he had worked side by side with his father, familiarizing himself with every supplier, client and employee in the company. He had done everything from sweeping the greenhouse floor to closing the deal with clients large and small. When he felt he was ready, he asked for some capitol to invest in the company's future. Although he had learned a great deal, Sean still lacked the experience of a seasoned businessman. He found himself on the other side of the mahogany desk that bright spring morning becoming painfully aware of that reality.

I’ve been telling ye, Pa, that we need to expand. The city is growin' every day. People are building grand homes with grand gardens. Master gardeners are comin' in from all over the country to design them. The same is happening in New York and Boston. We would be the only company in the entire northeast selling flower seeds. We’d make a fortune! He was leaning forward over the desk with all the enthusiasm of a young man determined to make his mark in the world.

Cain pushed back his chair and stood, with one hand resting on the smooth polished finish of the desk, and the other pointing directly at his son. It was a good idea. Cain could not deny that. Still, the boy had seriously miscalculated the timing, and as a result would not see a return on his investment until next season. What else could he say, but the obvious? We would if we had the seeds at planting time! Assuming no storms on the Hudson and that the canal boats are running on schedule, you’ll be lucky if they arrive in a month's time. I’m no' sayin' it was a bad idea lad, but ye needed to make inquiries at least a year ago to arrange for a shipment at the first sign of spring. Ye‘ve been talkin' about it for at least that long. Ye should'na‘ave delayed.

With a note of defiance mixed ever so slightly with desperation, Sean replied, Seeds will keep. Ship fever only delays my plan. Ye’ll see Pa.

"Aye well, ye can'na grow flowers without seeds is all I’m sayin'! Now yer tellin' me we’re to wait a year to see a return on this folly of yers? To be sure, ye’ll no' see another penny of Ferrell Seed money until somebody buys yer blasted flower seeds!"

The wind taken out of his sails by his father’s remarks, Sean left the study nearly stumbling into his mother on the way out the door. Colleen Farrell was dressed for a luncheon meeting with the Christian Ladies Charitable Society. At 35 years old, she had retained her sense of humor after having raised three children and losing two. Her violet dress flattered her fair complexion, showing off the figure of a woman ten years younger. This was the result of a life filled with love and happiness, she maintained. Not quite five feet tall, she stood on her tiptoes to give her husband an affectionate peck on the cheek. Why must ye be so hard on him? she asked.

He needs it! replied Cain. He’ll have nothin' handed to him. If he intends to take over the business in a few years he must learn every bit of it, including unexpected delays like disease and weather. I built this company when I was Sean’s age and today we are the largest seed company in the entire Northeastern United States. I’ll not have him runnin' it into the ground with flowers and fever.

In her sternest voice, she replied, You know as well as I do, Cain Michael Farrell, that these few flower seeds will not run Farrell Seed into the ground!

Smiling, he replied Ah, I could never resist ye when you’ve a temper! Taking her in his arms, he gave her a kiss that, in her younger days, would have made her forget all about the Christian Ladies. Now where are ye off to lookin' so fine?

Reluctant to leave his arms, and a bit flustered from his kiss, she replied, Ye know very well I am off to nowhere. The ladies are coming here for lunch. We’re to discuss the building of an orphan asylum.

Aye, yer a good Christian woman, Mrs. Farrell.

I just can’t bear to think of the wee ones all alone, without a soul to look after them and livin' at the poor farm side by side with beggars and drunks. Just the other day I was walkin' up the drive for my weekly visit to check on the children and one of the young lads came runnin' out the front door without a stitch! The poor waif nearly knocked me over. I got out of the way just as that Rowan woman, reekin' o’ whiskey, came roarin' after him promisin' to tan his wee hide once she caught him. I’m telling ye, I’ll not rest until they’ve a safe haven of their own, out of that place and away from that woman. Even if she really had a mind to watch over the children, which she does not, she's enough to do keeping house for all those poor souls. With no real supervision the children are runnin' wild, but not for much longer if I have a say about it! With that she kissed her husband. Now ye just stay put in here and see to yer papers and such. Mrs. Donavan will bring ye yer meal, and see that ye make things right with young Sean.

With a sigh of resignation he replied, That I will, sweet Colleen. That I will.

Chapter Two

May 3rd, 1835

With two feet safely on land again after months at sea, Ciara (pronounced Kira) Sloane walked slowly toward the city of Buffalo’s bustling Central Wharf. She had taken each of her younger sisters by the hand as much to keep them close by in the unfamiliar place as to anchor herself and dispel that feeling of the ground moving beneath her feet as she became accustomed to walking on land again. The late afternoon sun shining down did little to ease her disorientation. At the age of seventeen she was in a strange place and now the sole guardian of her two younger sisters, Patricia and Martha. Stunned at the events of the last few months she had no choice but to keep moving forward.

In March she had boarded the ship in Galway with her three younger sisters and her parents headed for America. Ciara’s parents, Mary and Ian Sloane, were eager to start a new life in Buffalo, New York. It was arranged for Ian to work at his cousin's printing business, a vastly different life than that of the farmer he’d been. It was a chance to learn a trade and maybe open his own shop one day. Ciara would help her mother keep house and look after her younger sisters until such time as a suitable husband could be found. In America, her parents had hoped, there would be no shortage of potential suitors. While prepared for this eventuality, Ciara was completely unprepared for what happened next.

The White Heather Princess, the ship on which they’d sailed, fell victim to typhus fever. It was called ship fever for its common occurrence on ocean voyages, where quarters were typically cramped and sanitation was lacking. This was an ideal breeding ground for typhus, an acute infection spread by lice, the constant, if unwanted, companions of the rodents that managed to find their way on board ships. At the height of the outbreak what few healthy adult passengers remained sidestepped over bodies as they carefully made their way from one patient to another trying to ease the discomfort from high fever and severe headache. Seldom seeing daylight, Ciara and her parents spent most of their time below deck, clutching a candle in one hand and a small bucket of fresh water in the other as they made their way from hammock to hammock tending the sick. A week into the outbreak Ciara’s youngest sister, Katherine, fell ill. At just two years old, the fever attacked wee Katie with a vengeance. She was dead within two days. Ciara barely had time to register the loss of her baby sister when symptoms appeared in both her parents, keeping her in a constant state of motion. Between tending the sick and looking after her remaining two sisters, she hardly registered the passing of each day.

When they finally reached New York, the White Heather Princess was quarantined by the harbor master. No one left the ship until the fever had run its course. Nearly all passenger belongings were burned, standard procedure to ensure the sickness was eradicated before passengers were finally permitted to disembark. The Sloane girls had only the clothes on their back and a silver pocket watch that had belonged to their father. Shortly after her father took sick he told Ciara to retrieve the watch and keep it in the pocket sewn on the inside of her skirt. The small purse of coin their father always carried was stolen before he, their mother and their baby sister were unceremoniously buried at sea.

Upon retrieving the pocket watch, Ciara went through their belongings and removed their remaining valuables before they were rummaged through and burned by what was left of the crew. Most of the valuables had personal rather than monetary value. Tears rolled silently down her face as she removed her father’s clay pipe from the pocket of his jacket. Clinging to it was the faint, sweet smell of pipe tobacco which reminded her of that quiet time right after supper when the family sat around the hearth. Her father would smoke his pipe while her mother read from the Bible when Ciara was just a child. As she got older, Ciara would read passages herself and she and her mother would teach the younger girls to read.

She unwrapped a small linen cloth to find her mother’s hair combs and a rosary made of tiny wooden beads. The hair combs had been carved by her father from wood, a present given on their wedding day. She ran her fingers across the tiny roses etched on the top of the combs. Her mother only wore those on special occasions. The rosary had been a gift from her grandparents when her mother was a girl. She gave the hair combs to Patricia and the rosary to Martha so that each would have something of their mother’s to remember her by. She kept her father’s pipe.

Stung by the loss of both parents and their baby sister, both Patricia and Martha had shutdown, as children often do in the face of tragedy. No longer running and shouting along the deck of the great ship, their days were often spent in silent prayer by their parent’s side. Patricia was ten years old, but was always so much older than her years. She kept Martha, five, and wee Tommy MacIntyre, whose ma was also down with the fever, occupied and out of harm’s way while Ciara cared for their parents and helped with the other sick passengers. At times, when Ciara thought she would collapse with fatigue, Patricia would take over. After seemingly endless days and nights of sickness and death, the fever had finally run its course and the surviving twenty passengers and crew were allowed to leave the ship. Mr. MacIntyre, who had lost both his wife and wee Tommy, was kind enough to help Ciara sell her father’s pocket watch and book passage to Albany, where she and the girls could continue on one of the many boats traveling the Erie Canal to Buffalo.

Walking slowly down the pier away from the Onondaga, the canal boat they boarded two weeks earlier in Albany, Ciara scanned the crowd looking for her father’s cousin, Alexander Sloane. She searched the unfamiliar faces with only a description her father had given her. Alec resembled her father, with fair skin and red hair.

Ciara was not yet born when the whole family lived together in three cottages in Oughill on Inis Mor. Her grandfather, William, had a brother, Patrick, and each man had two sons. Options were limited on the Isles of Aran. Those who were not farmers were fisherman. Either way, it was a hard life. Ian’s older brother, young William, chose the sea. When Ian’s pa (Ciara’s grandfather) died, Ian continued the laborious effort of trying to coax life out of the rocky terrain on Inis Mor. He married Mary at the age of 17.

Alexander, the second son of Ian’s uncle Patrick, having no interest in the land or the sea, came to America. Whenever a letter came from Cousin Alec the entire family would gather to read it. About a year earlier he sent word that business was doing well and he invited Ian to come and join him. The life of a farmer on Aran was a hard one with few opportunities. With four daughters to find husbands for, Ian and Mary believed prospects would greatly improve in America. So they arranged for Ian’s nephew (young William’s second son) to work their land, and made plans to relocate to Buffalo, New York.

Ciara continued to walk, lost in thoughts of seeing family and enjoying the comfort and safety of their cousin's hospitality. She was brought out of her thoughts at the sound of a woman yelling. Sloane! I’m lookin' for Mr. Ian Sloane. Ciara’s heart leaped; finally they would find some peace. A hot meal, some clean clothes and the love of family is all ye need to get ye through, her mother used to say with a jab of her elbow toward her pa who always added, That, and a wee dram!

Beggin' your pardon, Ma’am, she called as she and the girls approached a rather round woman with plain brown hair and a plain face to match. Mrs. Pauline Sloane was not a large woman, but there was something intimidating about her nonetheless. Her clothes were made of quality material, not the homespun Ciara and the girls were wearing (their good dresses having been burned in the purge on the White Heather Princess). The woman had a stern look about her, which did not soften as the girls approached.

And who might you be? she asked suspiciously.

I am Ciara Sloane and these are my sisters, Martha and Patricia.

With only a cursory glance toward the younger girls she asked gruffly, "Where’s your Pa, then?

It’ll be breakin’ my heart to tell ye, but we lost Ma and Pa and wee Katie to the ship fever. It's just us now...

Mrs. Sloane took a rather large step backwards, able to fully take in the appearance of the three all but identical girls. They looked every bit as wretched as they felt after months of traveling, tragedy and loss, but not at all like her husband. For all she knew, they might not even be kin to her Alec. For all she knew they were beggars looking for someone to take them in. Having survived the cholera epidemic that raged through Buffalo just three years earlier, Pauline was terrified that the girls, kin or not, brought with them a life-threatening sickness. In a tone mixed with equal parts fear and disgust, she interrupted Ciara, Ship fever is it? Keep back. You’ll no' be bringin' the fever into my house. Mr. Sloane has no intention of takin' in paupers. Be off and don’t darken our doorstep, for if ye do I’ll call the constable. With that she turned abruptly and was instantly swallowed up by the crowd.

Ciara stood at the end of the pier, too stunned to even call after her cousin’s wife, desperately trying to understand what had just happened. The only family they had in America had just refused to take them in. Whatever would they do? Where would they go? They’d spent nearly every bit of the money from their father’s watch on food and lodging in New York City and passage to Buffalo. They had only a few coins left. She only realized she was shaking with tears rolling down her face when she was brought out of her panic by the small voice of Martha.

The few simple words from that tiny voice brought Ciara back from her thoughts, Ciara, I’m hungry.

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and straightening her skirt she turned to Martha and took her hand. Yes, love, let’s find something to eat.

***

Walking briskly down Commercial Street toward the general store where Pauline agreed to meet her husband once she had collected the newly arrived Sloanes, she muttered to herself, Three more mouths to feed, and lookin' like beggars, no less. I’ll not have them carrying the filth and fever into my house. I’ll not have it! Having only one child of her own, young Alec, ten, Pauline had no intention of taking on three more, even if they were her husband's family. She was less than thrilled at the idea of having the six members of the Sloane family in her home while they got settled, but taking on three additional people indefinitely, two of them small children, and all three of them girls eventually needing husbands, she could not possibly do such a thing. The Sloanes made a decent living, but surely their resources would be taxed with the addition of three young girls, all needing shoes and clothes. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of her husband Alec coming out of the store. She hurried to whisk him off in the direction of their wagon lest those filthy girls catch up and cause a scene. As he approached his wide grin faded and a look of curiosity crossed his freckled face.

Did ye not find them?

Reaching for his hands and turning his attention away from the main thrust of the hustle and bustle, she arranged her features to reflect a grief and concern she did not feel. 'Tis a tragedy, Alec, I waited and waited, callin' his name. Finally, a young gentleman came runnin' over to me and said, ‘Beggin' your pardon ma’am, is it Mr. Ian Sloane you’ll be lookin' for’? ‘'Tis, I said. ‘Mr. Ian Sloane and his family were all taken by the ship fever just before we arrived in New York. 'Twas a burial at sea for them. A fine man, a fine family.’ ‘The whole lot of them?’ I asked. ‘Aye’ he said. ‘I am sorry to be the one to have to tell you. God bless, ma’am and God bless the Sloane family.’

Alec Sloane’s face turned from confusion to surprise and then became altogether expressionless. For a time he said nothing. Not sure how to read his silence, Pauline continued in the direction of their wagon. Aye, I'm that sorry Alec. T'would ‘ave been such a blessing to have a sister and the joy of lasses about the house, and to be sure we could have used Ian’s help at the shop. 'Tis a tragedy, I say.

He stopped for just a moment, All of them? All dead?

Pulling him forward, Aye, love, all dead. 'Tis a tragedy.

After loading a few things on the wagon, he helped his wife in without a word. Settling himself in, he gave the reins a slight snap and the horses began to move toward home. Finally, as they were rolling away from the pier he said, mostly to himself, 'Tis, indeed, a tragedy.

***

Ciara, having composed herself, lead the girls further away from the pier in search of something to eat. The foul stench of rotting garbage and human waste was their constant companion as they made their way through the Canal District. Without warning a man pushed her aside pointing up as a woman from a second story tenement emptied the contents of her chamber pot into the street. Careful, lass, he said as he continued on about his business. Holding her sisters closer, Ciara continued on, looking up as they moved down the street.

They found a street vendor selling loaves of bread. Taking a penny from her pocket, she paid the man for a loaf for the three girls to split. Seeing nowhere to sit, the girls continued walking as they ate. Out of nowhere a small boy appeared in front of them. Looking up at Ciara with crusty eyes, he held out filthy hands and said please. She broke her portion of bread in half and handed it to the boy, who then disappeared into the crowd as fast as he had emerged.

It was getting late and they would need a place to stay. They had passed a few taverns along the way but Ciara was afraid to go inside with the girls. She had been told by an elderly lady aboard the Onondaga to mind her young sisters and keep them close in the Canal District. Ciara took this advice to heart, clutching each of the girls’ hands as they walked along Commercial Street. She ignored the shouts coming from the saloons, and the pleas of hungry children, unsure if they were directed at her and praying to herself that they were not. She wanted to get off this wretched street, filled with strange noises and smells, and find a quiet place for herself and the girls to rest for the night. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand touched her shoulder from behind.

Beggin' yer pardon, Miss, but do I not know ye from the boat? My name’s John Riley. I was on the Onondaga comin' from Albany, same as yourself. Pardon me for bein' so forward, it's just that ye look lost, and if ye don’t mind me sayin', a bit scairt as well.

Wary of strangers in a strange place, Ciara was careful not to relay too much information. We’ll be meetin' up with our cousin Mr. Alexander Sloane, but I would like to find a place for the wee girls to rest for the night.

Something about how Ciara was holding the girls close, but slightly behind her told him there was more to her story than she was telling. Thinking of his wife and daughters back home in Albany he felt compelled to help these young girls. "Let me