Peace In My Heart

By Ann Pestotnik

Based on a treasure of real-life letters, this nostalgic reflection of a past generation is woven around those firsthand glimpses into the small town lives of a family in northwest Iowa at the turn of the last century. Founded by immigrants escaping the potato famine of Ireland, hard work, faith, and a little luck turns the town into a prosperou

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Mar 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685157364

Ann Pestotnik

Ann Pestotnik is a native of Colorado, and she lives with her husband in the Denver area. She loves to walk in the early morning and look for wildlife. She also enjoys reading, watching football, playing cribbage, bowling, and putting together jigsaw puzzles. Now retired from her position as a legal assistant, she has travelled the world and been to 89 countries. She started writing travel journals, and has volumes of over 50 trips. She was inspired to write this book after coming across a bundle of letters written by her grandmother over 80 years ago.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Prior to the settlement of northwest Iowa in the 1800s, many had traversed westward through this area to the territories beyond, and a number of wandering trappers and hunters profitably pursued their trade. But the rich soil, growing families, and pursuit of a fruitful and stable life drew the McCarthy and McMahon clans to seek a permanent settlement. After fleeing the potato famine in their homeland of Ireland and enduring the burdens of establishing life in a new country, they moved forward and vowed to maintain their sense of humor, their love of music and dancing, their storytelling, and their slow and easygoing way of life. History would say they did all right for themselves.

It's perfect. Hugh McCarthy could smell it. Like home.

Paddy McMahon agreed but with a wee bit of sadness he chose not to share with Hugh. Like home, but not home. Home now, Paddy conceded.

With some grit, we can have at least a couple cabins built by the time the rest arrive. Despite hardships, Hugh always saw the best in life.

How will we tell them how to find us? Paddy wondered out loud.

Same way we got here, I reckon. Cross the Mississippi at Dubuque, and head west for several days. Finally, veer slightly north after crossing the Des Moines River, and start looking for a small creek. I hear the Indians call it Lizard Creek. That's good enough for me.

As Paddy spent a few minutes absorbing their new surroundings, he had a feeling of familiarity that was just out of reach. How does that song go my mam used to sing? Something about ‘peace in my heart’? Paddy asked, more to himself than to Hugh. He couldn’t remember the words, but he could remember the feeling he had when he heard his mother singing softly to herself. Despite his hint of melancholy, he felt the same way now: at peace.

The two lifelong friends took a deep breath. Welcome to Lizard Creek. Welcome to…home.

The rest of the kinfolk did, indeed, make it to Lizard Creek. Selected claims were sorted out, and houses, a church, and a school were built. Hugh's ambition and general good cheer were contagious. Before anyone could blink their Irish eyes, the beginnings of a township were developing. By late 1854 a land office in neighboring Fort Dodge required registration of their land claims.

It's a day's journey, at least. We’ll need to pack enough food and wear plenty of warm clothing. Hugh was preparing for the jaunt to make their homestead official. Praise be, the group's claims were all located prior to the United States Land Office opening, and thus no price or fees needed to be paid for the land. That made Hugh doubly delighted to be the first settler in Lizard Creek Township. His smile widened at the thought of being part of this fortunate community. From the time he harvested that first acre of corn to the 250 acres he tilled until the time of his death, Hugh was rarely seen without a smile on his face. Those that witnessed his last breath swear he was smiling then too.

The days turned into weeks, months, and years. As the fields were being plowed, as cows were lowing, as lessons were being taught, and as thanks was being given, the McCarthys and the McMahons were enthusiastically growing their farms and families. Word had spread, and other Irish families in search of a plot of soil were guided to Lizard Creek and promptly welcomed. As the colony continued to swell and a more formal organization was established, Hugh was the obvious choice for clerk of Lizard Creek Township. He guided their hamlet with a caring and fair hand.

By the time the country was a few years removed from World War I, life was not particularly difficult, but everyone worked hard. After all, those who’d founded the Lizard Creek Township continued to embrace their ancestors’ sense of Irish pride and learned early on that if you prayed for potatoes, you’d best grab a hoe.

The original cabins were no longer occupied by the start of the 1920s, and homes reflecting the prosperity of the area were evident. With struggles seemingly behind them, the McCarthy and the McMahon families were a generation larger and celebrating sixty-five years of life in Lizard Creek.

CHAPTER 1

Destiny was at work when the son and the daughter of the founding fathers of Lizard Creek fell in love. Little Michael (Micky to his friends) McCarthy and little Bitsy McMahon were introduced early in life, grew up together, and shared the same character as their papas. The wedding ceremony was a traditional Mass. When the time came, Micky surprised Bitsy with a very special gift—an Irish Claddagh ring that he’d inherited from his mother. When Micky slipped that classic band of hands, heart, and crown on her finger, Bitsy felt such incredible love for the man that was now her husband. For an instant, she was taken away from the sounds of St. Patrick Church and distinctly heard angels singing. The only thing she recalled before Father Molony startled her back to the present was the short lyric I have peace in my heart. Had she ever heard that hymn before? It was so fleeting that she forgot about it as her attention returned to the day's festivities. The feeling of peace and joy, however, remained. Once the church emptied, the real celebration began. The Irish might have had their troubles, but if there was a reason for a party, they made it worth their while. The whole of Lizard Creek was in attendance to wish the couple well. The hoopla lasted for hours!

The hard work and good fortunes of the McCarthys and the McMahons helped the couple get started with their own herd of purebred Hereford cattle. The beasts kept him busy, but Micky was becoming every bit his father's son by making the time to serve as county treasurer and even a couple of years as sheriff.

The stork arrived early and often for Micky and Bitsy. Maddie was the first, followed by Fannie, Michael Junior, Kitty, and Winnie. Bitsy was ever so glad to have her sister, Josie, living with them. Josie, bless her heart, was always a bit of a kook, but with specific guidance was adequate help with the necessary household chores and such.

Every Sunday morning, the McCarthy clan crossed the bridge over Lizard Creek and walked the short distance to Webster Street to attend Mass at St. Patrick Church. Bitsy loved the tradition. Truth be told, Bitsy loved all sorts of tradition. She often pictured her parents and aunts and uncles not only attending Mass in this church but building the structure itself. It was always a place of comfort and gathering for the residents of the township, many of whom were related one way or another. It was like seeing their large, extended families every week. Having attended for as long as they could remember, Bitsy and Micky were especially grateful to see the next generation growing up among kith and kin.

Winnie was just learning to walk, so it was easier to push her in a carriage than take the time for her short legs to traverse the path to the church entrance—probably best to get to the pew before Communion commenced. Besides, Maddie rather enjoyed taking charge of the buggy for the weekly trek. That's not to say the cavalcade of McCarthys was particularly quick. Fannie had been born with hip dysplasia and walked with a limp. Michael Junior, now answering to MJ, took his typical circuitous route in order to look for lizards in the creek. And with Micky's progressively labored gait, it was a somewhat sluggish procession.

Bitsy was increasingly concerned about Micky's rheumatism. She’d been noticing him slowing and often grimacing in pain. The heat packs she made for him some evenings gave limited relief to his aching knee joints. But Micky could no longer ignore the obvious. He could not endure the difficult task of tending to what was now a rather large horde of bovines. The pain was just too great. It was with this poignant reality that Micky and Bitsy had recently talked of selling the cattle. This weighed heavily on Micky's mind. He had a large family to support, and he’d always been a successful provider raising livestock. What would he do? How could he continue to make a living? Always the optimist, Bitsy was sure that something would present itself. In addition to his public service, Micky had been heavily involved in the agricultural community in various leadership positions and garnered some attention from the local businessmen.

It was usually a more leisurely hike home, so Bitsy took the opportunity to see how Micky was feeling that morning. Visually they were an unusual couple, the barely five-foot Bitsy holding the hand of her much taller husband. Micky stood at over six feet. It was obvious to anyone who looked that the height difference was of no concern to them. It was as though there was room for their guardian angel to travel in the space between Bitsy's head and Micky's shoulder. That was certainly how it felt to them.

Have you given any more thought to liquidating our herd? Bitsy asked.

I have. I’d been thinking our best chance would be to see if one of the other ranchers is interested in expanding operations. While you were talking with Father Molony, I ran into Bob Buckley. Oddly enough, he mentioned he was looking to acquire a larger herd. We agreed to meet for coffee at Oscar's Café on Monday.

Oddly? Bitsy queried her husband with raised eyebrows.

Micky shrugged his shoulders a bit. Yes, I know. Probably not peculiar at all. Neither one ignored the possibility of divine intervention.

Bitsy was thrilled with the possibility. However, she kept most of her cautious enthusiasm to herself. She knew in her heart what Micky would not verbalize. He loved being outside and taking care of the animals and wanted to carry on the McCarthy tradition. Not tending to livestock was unfathomable for Micky. She knew this would be a difficult transition for him. Well, it's a step, Micky. We’ll see where this leads us. You might say we’re mooooooving right along. They both laughed at her pun. She was especially proud of her joke and giggled the rest of the way home.

Sunday dinner was an affair full of fun and laughter. Most weeks after church, the midday meal was bountiful and the crowd big and exuberant. Those squeezed around the McCarthy dining table also included the Healys, the McCartans, the Kanes, and occasionally Father Molony. Micky's sister and brother-in-law, Caroline and Frank Healy, usually arrived first with their kids, David and Jane. Next at the door was Bitsy and Josie's cousin, Maude, and her husband, Al McCartan. Their parade took a bit longer to march in, as it included four little ones—Jimmy, Dicky, Nancy, and Carol. Last to arrive were Dr. and Mrs. Kane. Mary Kane and Bitsy had become fast friends when the Kanes moved from Ames to set up practice shortly after Micky and Bitsy were married. The couple did not have children but cherished like their own each and every one of the babies Dr. Kane delivered.

Bitsy got the majority of the food prepared and onto the table but always had help from the other women. Josie was probably more of a hinderance than a help, but her heart was in the right place. Among Josie's many eccentricities, her use of salt was legendary. To her, salt was not a mere seasoning but should actually be tasted. Even in a cake. The family joke was that Josie would salt ham and bacon if left to her own devices. Thus, they rarely left her to her own devices.

Opinions were never lacking among the posse. Talk of the town and country were always lively topics for debate. Frank was first to bring up the local news. I see The Arrow Man reported on our new service station out at Four Corners. You did fine work, Micky, getting that accomplished for the farmers’ co-op. We’ll all be glad to have it.

It moved along easily enough. Bud Wilson will make a good manager.

Can I have more potatoes, Ma?

Me too!

Me too!

Who's The Arrow Man? MJ wanted to know.

The newspaper editor, Caroline said as she passed the bowl of spuds to her son David, who then passed them to Jimmy, who then passed them to Dicky.

Why's he called The Arrow Man? Is he an Indian? A reasonable inference, the adults silently concluded and explained the name of the local paper was The Arrow, and the editor was fondly referred to as The Arrow Man. MJ was more and more interested in what he considered to be adult topics of conversation. He was still young, but being the only male in a gaggle of sisters, he liked to think he had a place among the men.

Staying away from the political announcements, Frank? Maude teased across the table. I see we have a female running for county recorder. Give women the right to vote and look what happens!

Hey, Micky, any thoughts on the sheriff's race?

And so the conversation went, in between bites of beef roast, mashed potatoes, beets, and rolls. But when the pie was sliced and served, the kids were always eager to hear a story. Tell us again, Pops, about Grandpa Hugh, Maddie begged. She never tired of hearing the lore of her family and the tales from the past. Bitsy was always pleased when Maddie expressed this interest, since she herself loved to hear the stories and tell a few too. Thus, with a bite of pie washed down with a sip of coffee, Micky told the story of his kids’ grandpa Hugh spending the night in a teepee.

Not long after the Lizard Creek Township started to settle and more Irish farmers made their way to the creek banks and fertile soil, they drew the attention of the Sioux in the area. Hugh had a healthy respect for their way of life and believed the two groups could live in the area harmoniously. He’d never had any direct interaction with the tribe but often saw their members from a distance while out surveying his fields. One evening after Hugh had finished his work for the day and was heading back to his cabin, without anyone the wiser, a band of warriors surrounded him. He was quite literally lifted off his feet and dragged away on horseback to their encampment. No words were spoken by either Hugh or his captors. Hugh was put into a teepee, not knowing at all if he’d survive the night. He was scared out of his wits and prayed that his wife and family and the other settlers in the township would be safe. Hugh spent hours sitting on the buffalo-hide blankets, waiting his fate. It was the middle of the night, but sleep was out of the question. Hugh imagined the worst, but nothing ever happened. Come sunrise, the flap on the tent was opened, and Hugh was allowed to walk out and walk home unscathed. He never knew why he was taken, and he never had any further contact with the Sioux again.

It was hard to say whether the tale was enjoyed more by the children or the adults.

By late afternoon, the household said their good-byes to their guests, and Bitsy redonned her pin-on apron to start the task of cleaning up her kitchen. While it was her least favorite part of Sunday, it gave her a chance to reflect on the day. As she washed dishes, cups, pots, and pans, she didn’t even realize she was humming a hymnlike song she’d learned from her mother. Was that where she’d heard it? Strangely, she didn’t recall her mother ever singing any words. Just humming. And yet, here she was, repeating the tune. She couldn’t help but think there were lines to the song, but she just couldn’t place them at that time. Either way, she was comforted by the piece.

That elusive hymn and the story about Grandpa Hugh got Bitsy to thinking about her ancestors and how difficult it must have been to leave their homeland and everything they knew behind—just to survive. She wondered if Hugh had ever considered that starving during the famine would be better than dying at the hands of Indians in America. She often thought about visiting County Cork. Her mother, who was born and raised in Ireland, represented the place as the one perfect spot on earth. No extreme heat or cold. No snakes. Just green fields and running brooks. Was that true? she wondered.

CHAPTER 2

The meeting with Bob Buckley was remarkably productive. Bob and Micky agreed upon a price for Micky's cattle, and it was much more than Micky anticipated. Between that and the good prices for meat during the war, the McCarthys were quite comfortable. You’d not necessarily know it, however. They did not flaunt their wealth. They were frugal and lived simply.

After their last swig of coffee, Bob headed out to attend to ranch business, and Micky dawdled around chatting with Oscar. Oscar McDermott had opened his café on the corner of Main and Third Streets about the time Micky started rounding up his own herd of heifers. Like Micky, Oscar was from one of the original families to establish roots in Lizard Creek.