Being Strong

By Jayne M Simon

After the death of her parents and grandfather, nine-year-old Rose Jones builds an impenetrable fortress around her wounded heart. Convinced she can protect herself from further heartache, she refuses to love or be loved. She will go through life alone. She will heed her mother's dying words...be strong.

But Rose begins to question the true meaning of her mother's message when the kindness of strangers, a foundling's need for emotional attachment and a man's tender love cause the fortress to crumble.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Feb 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781509229826

Jayne M Simon

Jayne Simon is a life-long learner and lover of great stories. She draws inspiration from her family's personal history and develops characters based on real-life experience. Having retired from over twenty years of nonprofit management, Jayne is excited to embark on her second career - writing novels. She lives in Erie, PA with her husband, three children and four grandsons.

Book preview

Inc.

Rose listened to the wind as it rattled the windows of the drafty old building. She lay on the rough sheets that smelled of disinfectant. The mattress underneath was hard and thin. She heard a cacophony of sounds in the huge children’s ward; heavy breathing of someone deep in sleep, gentle snoring, coughing…even the stifled sob from one of the girls several beds away. It was so foreign to her. She usually fell asleep to the sound of her grandfather’s rhythmic breathing—something between a whistle and long, gentle breath; or her mother’s soft giggle, and her father’s deep quiet laugh. She was used to falling asleep to these sounds as she nestled safe and warm in the little Murphy bed she shared with her sisters. Now, here she was in a large, drafty hospital ward with fifty other nine-year-old girls.

From her earliest memories, every night she was snuggled close to her older sister, Vera. Then when the little ones came, first Marie and then Ruth, Vera snuggled close to Ruth as Rose wrapped her arms around Marie. One bed; Vera on one side, Ruth and Marie in the middle, and Rose on the other side, the two older girls protecting their little sisters even as they slept. These were the sleeping arrangements—this was normal for them.

Then suddenly, they were wrenched away from all that was familiar and taken to this foreign place—Rose heard one of the nurses call it a holding site for children awaiting placement in orphan asylums. Her mind drifted back to happier days, before her father died so unexpectedly and her mother got sick. She and her three sisters were once part of a loving family—now they were orphans.

Being Strong

by

Jayne M. Simon

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Being Strong

COPYRIGHT © 2020 by Jayne M. Simon

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Tina Lynn Stout.

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Mainstream Historical Edition, 2020

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2981-9

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2982-6

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

I am dedicating this, my first book, in memory of

my mother, from whom I learned the power of faith,

the power of friendship, and the power of love.

My mother saw goodness in everything

and judged no one.

Thank you, Mumma, for teaching us to love rain,

to love reading, and to love one another.

Thank you for your love, your laughter, your strength.

Acknowledgements

When one of my sisters invited me to join her at a writing class three years ago, I never imagined it would take me to where I am today—realizing a life-long dream of having a book published. A journey like this is not made alone. From the moment I started my quest, I have been surrounded by the constant support and encouragement of my family and friends.

It is with profound thanks that I acknowledge all the people who helped to make my dream come true: my patient and loving husband, Steven; my wonderful children—Daria, John, Catherine, Neal and Jennifer; my incredible grandsons—Nicholas, Nathaniel, Alexander and Joshua; my five siblings and my dear friends. Very special thanks to Gene Ware, my writing guru; Cyndie Zahner, author and friend; Jane McCartney, poet and friend; as well as all of the members of our writing class.

And last, but not least, I want to thank my editor, Melanie Billings, and the staff of The Wild Rose Press, for their never-ending patience and support.

~

A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.

~ Maya Angelou

Chapter One

1929

Rose listened to the wind as it rattled the windows of the drafty old building. She lay on the rough sheets that smelled of disinfectant. The mattress underneath was hard and thin. She heard a cacophony of sounds in the huge children’s ward; heavy breathing of someone deep in sleep, gentle snoring, coughing…even the stifled sob from one of the girls several beds away. It was so foreign to her. She usually fell asleep to the sound of her grandfather’s rhythmic breathing—something between a whistle and long, gentle breath; or her mother’s soft giggle, and her father’s deep quiet laugh. She was used to falling asleep to these sounds as she nestled safe and warm in the little Murphy bed she shared with her sisters. Now, here she was in a large, drafty hospital ward with fifty other nine-year-old girls.

From her earliest memories, every night she was snuggled close to her older sister, Vera. Then when the little ones came, first Marie and then Ruth, Vera snuggled close to Ruth as Rose wrapped her arms around Marie. One bed; Vera on one side, Ruth and Marie in the middle, and Rose on the other side, the two older girls protecting their little sisters even as they slept. These were the sleeping arrangements—this was normal for them.

Then suddenly, they were wrenched away from all that was familiar and taken to this foreign place—Rose heard one of the nurses call it a holding site for children awaiting placement in orphan asylums. Her mind drifted back to happier days, before her father died so unexpectedly and her mother got sick. She and her three sisters were once part of a loving family—now they were orphans. The only living relative was their grandfather, and he had such a weak heart, he couldn’t care for them. There were some distant cousins, but they had enough mouths to feed without adding four more children to their households. No…they were all alone in the world—orphans!

The last time she had seen her sisters, two women in white uniforms were taking the little ones away; nurses, Rose thought. Marie was smiling and waving, but Ruth’s eyes were like huge saucers focusing on Rose as one of the women carried her down the long hallway and out of sight. As Rose was being taken to an examination room, she saw Vera being directed to another room at the opposite end of the long, dreary hall. She knew they would all be subjected to a thorough medical examination because of Mama’s illness—Tuberculosis!

Where were her sisters now? She and Vera had been inseparable. With only eleven months between them, the two sisters always functioned as two halves of the same whole. They barely had to verbalize their thoughts; the one always knew what the other was thinking, was feeling. So Rose knew that Vera must be unsettled, too.

How was Marie faring? Dear Marie, always so trusting, ever searching for affection. It was nothing for the four-year-old child to approach a total stranger and offer her arms in a hug.

Was little Ruth crying? She was only two years old and so abruptly separated from everything that was familiar to her. Did she have her ragged piece of blanket so she could breathe in the familiar smell of their little apartment? The scent of Mama’s soap or Grandpa’s hair tonic would soothe her.

Rose lay quietly in her new surroundings, shutting out the foreign sounds as she concentrated on the events of that day and on the words her mother voiced to her and Vera only last Christmas. Her eyelids grew heavy with sleep as she heard her mother’s voice…Remember, my loves, take care of the little ones, and do not let them separate you. Always stay together, trust in God and…be strong.

As she finally gave in to her exhaustion, Rose faced her new reality. Mama and Papa are gone. But we have each other. Vera and I will take care of the little ones.

I promise, Mama, Rose whispered. I’ll take care of them. I’ll be strong. I’ll be strong for all of us.

****

Spring 1933

Rose stood at the edge of the playground watching her youngest sister’s attempt to reach the sky. As she watched little Ruthie’s efforts to soar among the clouds, her heart skipped a beat. Oh, my little ones, how am I going to tell you? Dear Lord, please give me the right words.

****

Ruth closed her eyes as the swing flew higher and higher. The wind tore through her lank brown hair. She lifted her waif-like face to the sun and thought this must be how birds feel when they soar through the air…free and brave. Ruth threw her chest forward then backward, pumping her spindly legs harder, trying to go even higher; her knobby knees working double time to achieve more height. She was so intent on reaching the billowing clouds above. She didn’t even notice Rose until she saw their sister, Marie, running across the playground toward the stand of trees. Ruth slowed her swing enough so that she could safely jump off in mid-flight.

****

Marie recently finished her chores when she saw Rose standing in the shade of the old elm tree that bordered the yard.

She bounded across the dusty yard, waving her arms and yelling to get Rose’s attention. Sissy. Sissy.

****

Rose was in the senior girls’ section at St. Anne’s Orphan Asylum. Both Marie and Ruth were housed in the intermediate unit. Although the three sisters always spent Sunday afternoons together, it was a rare treat to see their big sister in the middle of the week. She threw her arms wide as Marie flew into her embrace.

Ruth was close behind, her face shining as she giggled with absolute joy. Oh, Sissy, Ruth squealed. Can you stay long? Did you bring us a treat? Can you play with us?

Holding her at arms’ length, Rose’s eyes widened in surprise as she noticed the gaping space in her sister’s smile. Ruthie, did you swallow your teeth? Where did they go?

She turned and cupped her hands lovingly around Marie’s face. And Marie, I think you grew another inch just since Sunday. What have you two big girls done with my baby sisters? Rose gathered them to her again, their thin little arms wrapped tightly around her neck and waist. Let’s go sit under the tree. I want to tell you something really important. The three Jones girls walked hand in hand, Rose in the middle.

****

Marie clung tightly to Rose’s hand. She remembered the day that Rose told them Vera had died. She came to them like this. Had someone else died? Was Rose going to die? Marie moved closer to her sister. Her eyes welled up as her voice came out in a soft whisper. Sissy, are you going to die, too?

****

Ruth was busy picking the buttercups growing in tiny groups under the tree. As she heard Marie’s question, her head swiveled to meet Rose’s gaze. Rose’s heart ached as she heard the panic in Ruthie’s voice. Die? Who’s going to die? Sissy, are you going to die?

Rose paused and uttered another silent prayer. No, no, my darlings. I’m not going to die. I’m not dying, but I am going away. Please kiddos, listen to me. You know I have to leave to go to high school.

Dropping her head to her chin, Ruthie’s voice trembled as she spoke. Why can’t you stay here for school?

I can’t stay because the teachers here only know how to teach kids up to eighth grade. I finished that grade last month. So now, I have to go somewhere where they teach high school, that’s ninth, tenth, eleventh, and twelfth grade.

Marie let go of Rose’s hand and quickly turned away. Are you going far away? Will you still be in this country? Will we ever see you again?

Rose brushed her hand lovingly across her sister’s cheek. Honey, of course I’m staying in this country; why, I’m even staying in this state. And guess what? I’m going to go to a school not far from where we used to live. It’s called Cathedral High School, and it’s in Manhattan—which is right next to Brooklyn. I promise I will take a bus out here every Sunday, and we can spend the day together just like we do now. And I’ll bring you treats every week. I double promise. Kiddos, you know I always keep my promises, right?

In the four years they had been at the orphanage, Rose had been their mother, their guide, their defender, their strength. She never let them down. The promise of the Sunday visits, along with a double promise of treats, soothed the little girls. After all, a promise from Rose was a solemn vow.

Chapter Two

Robert Forey made a half-hearted attempt to placate his hosts. Please accept my most sincere apologies for not staying for the ball. I’m sailing tomorrow and still have some last minute details I must attend to.

Making his getaway with that rather lame excuse, Robert sighed in relief as he slid into the back seat of the limousine, eliciting a quiet chuckle from his long-time chauffeur, Tommy Mahoney.

Well, I think that was the last of them, Mr. Robert. Tomorrow you sail to see Miss Betsy and her family. You relax now, Mr. Robert, you just relax. Tommy will take care of ya.

As the chauffeur turned onto 97th Street toward the Park Avenue townhouse, he glanced in the mirror as Robert rested his head against the soft leather seat of the Bentley, closed his eyes, and smiled. Tommy returned the smile as he pulled up to the townhouse.

****

Tommy Mahoney had watched Robert grow from a gentle boy of sixteen to the honorable man he was today.

It would be odd to say that Tommy pitied his employer, but he did have great sympathy for all that Robert endured, tragically losing his young wife and their unborn child. Robert Forey was a good man, just like his father, Jonas. Tommy hoped that someday Robert would find a good woman to love him and make a new family. Maybe he would find some peace over there in England with his sister, Miss Betsy.

Robert’s father hired Tommy shortly after Tommy returned from the Great War. As a member of the Harlem Hellfighters, he had suffered the loss of his left eye during the bloody Meuse-Argonne offensive in September of 1918.

****

On a frigid Monday in February, 1919, sixteen-year-old Robert stood next to his father at the corner of Fifth Avenue and 23rd St. and watched as three thousand veterans of the 369th Infantry, formerly known as the 15th New York (Colored) Regiment, marched up Fifth Avenue during a parade to honor the few black combat regiments to serve in World War 1.

Jonas Forey explained to his son it was only fitting that the brave men were shown this outpouring of honor because of their loyalty to their country. They fought so valiantly that their German foes nicknamed them hellfighters. They had even earned the prestigious Croix de Guerre for the brave and bitter fighting they endured while serving under the French army for six months. Since over seventy percent of these young men were from Harlem, they became known as the Harlem Hellfighters.

Two days after the parade, nineteen-year-old Tommy Mahoney, formerly PFC 1st Class Thomas Mahoney of the Harlem Hellfighters, applied for a job at Forey Manufacturing. Although the personnel office had been directed to give priority to veterans applying for jobs, the company was hesitant to employ a young man who had suffered the loss of an eye. To work on the manufacturing line, it was imperative that an employee have good peripheral vision to operate the machinery.

The dejected and battle-weary nineteen-year-old exited the building, so deep in thought he didn’t notice the smartly dressed businessman hurrying past him in the opposite direction, nor did he notice the man stop abruptly and turn around. Tommy wasn’t aware of anything except the need to find work. The only thing that kept him going when he was oversees was the knowledge that when he got back—if he got back—Euzee would be waiting for him. They wanted to get married, but he needed a good job. He wouldn’t marry her if he couldn’t provide a decent life for her. Forey Manufacturing had been his last hope. Now, even that was gone. He wasn’t going to marry Euzee if all he could find was a menial job sweeping floors or stocking shelves.

He heard a voice, deep and commanding, yet kind.

Excuse me, young man. May I have a word? Young man?

Tommy jerked his head up and turned around.

Yes, sir? Did I do something?

The man slowly walked back. No, no, not at all. I couldn’t help but notice that you look rather down. Are you all right? Are you looking for employment?

Tommy offered a sad smile. I am, sir, yes. I guess I didn’t realize you need both eyes to do any decent-paying job. I guess that’s why the Lord made us the way He did.

Do you drive, lad? Do you know how to drive? the man asked, a curious gleam in his eyes.

"Yes, sir, I learned to drive over there, in France. We drove general purpose vehicles—we called them GPs. They could go anywhere…and they were faster than horses, that’s for sure!

The stranger smiled with understanding. Well, it just so happens that yesterday, my chauffeur moved to Pennsylvania to live with his son, which leaves me in a bit of a pickle, you see, but I might have a solution to both of our problems. I’m in need of a chauffeur, and you’re in need of a job. How about we help each other out? Will you come and work for me, as my driver?

Shock and disbelief froze Tommy in place. He felt his jaw drop as he arched his brows. He inhaled deeply to slow his racing heart.

The man extended his hand. "Lad? Shall we shake on it then?

Tommy heard the man’s words and struggled to recover his voice. Yasssir. I mean, yes, sir. Thank you, sir. He firmly grasped the outstretched hand. Thank you very much. I’m Thomas Mahoney, by the way, but my friends call me Tommy.

Tommy, it is then. And I’m Jonas Forey. If it’s convenient for you, come by my home this evening and we can discuss the details. Here’s my card with my address. See you this evening, around seven?

Yas…Yes, sir, Mr. Forey. I’ll be there. And again, thank you, sir.

Jonas Forey smiled, nodded his head, and turned to enter the building behind them.

Tommy looked up at the name over the entranceway, and then glanced down at the card he clutched in his hand. He shook his head in disbelief. God is good. Mama always said God is good.

From that day forward, Tommy Mahoney pledged unwavering devotion to Jonas Forey and his family.

****

It had been two years since Robert had seen his sister. Elizabeth was enjoying life as a titled English lady, having married Henry Teague, the Twelfth Earl of Cornwall.

Robert met the future Earl of Cornwall in his last year of college at Cambridge. The two young men of privilege became fast friends. This was due, in part, to Robert’s total disregard for Henry’s slight impediment.

As a young child, Henry suffered a broken leg when he fell from a horse during his riding lessons. The break was so severe it damaged the growth plates in his left leg, leaving him with a slight limp. Robert found out that Henry endured much teasing in his youth and consequently was extremely self-conscious about meeting new people. But Robert saw beyond outward appearance and valued Henry’s personal character.

Henry and Robert shared a mutual admiration, which soon developed into a brotherly love. Henry’s parents were eager to meet this young American, so Robert and his family were invited to spend the Christmas of 1927 at Henry’s home in Land’s End, Cornwall. When Elizabeth Forey was introduced to Henry Teague, it was love at first sight. Like her brother, Elizabeth didn’t notice Henry’s uneven gait. She looked into his heart. There she found a friend, a lover, a soulmate.

It had long been the fashion for wealthy American manufacturing families as well as cash-poor English gentry to arrange marriages for their children. The union of American money and British peerage was immensely attractive