Muldoon’s Minnesota Darling

By E.V. Sparrow

A heartsore widower with hidden fears and little faith...
The naïve daughter of a farmer guarding a repulsive secret...
A township unaware of the hidden menace amongst them...

Heartbroken from losing his family and his farm, Mick Muldoon is hopeful as he emigrates to America with his siblings. All he finds is despair and no work. Were America's rumored promises of plenty all lies? Would God ever hear and answer his prayers?

Seventeen-year-old Shauna McGann is determined to marry Mick Muldoon despite her mother's objections. His past and his limp might repulse others, but not her. What burdens Shauna is her terrible secret – a secret she promised her friends she would keep. Now Shauna needs help and protection. Could she trust Mick, or will she lose everything by telling him?

Will Mick finally be free of loss and find success in America? Will Shauna overcome her fears and finally feel safe?

In this Muldoon's Misfortunes prelude novella, author E.V. Sparrow creates a provoking tale of flickering faith and enduring hope through an emigrant's efforts to adapt, and a young woman's unprejudiced love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.V. Sparrow
• Release date: May 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9781955309516

E.V. Sparrow

A short story writer turned novelist Sparrow signed a three-book contract with Celebrate Lit Publishing. She served on missions, worship team, prayer teams, Single’s Ministry, and in the Divorce Care program. Sparrow enjoys leading readers to encounter God’s unexpected presence.

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Acknowledgements

With dedicated research from my niece, Aerie Sandusky, and my daughter, Hannah Hagen, a candlelight gleams upon my resilient, great grandfather’s life. Forever grateful for my critique partners who edited and refined the story until God’s message shines for readers.

Chapter 1

Brothers and Hoodlums

He’s something like Brendan but worse

Mick

New York City, McGinty’s Pub

Friday, May 3rd, 1867

Mick Muldoon plucked one dark auburn hair from inside his tattered tam and rolled the tweed fabric against his thigh. His cheek, ribs, and leg throbbed from his beating at the docks on the Lower East Side. Beating a man for his limp. He stroked his sore jaw with his fingertips and stared into the amber liquid at the bottom of his glass. Thank God in Heaven for Ed’s unexpected rescue. He never should have left Ireland; no matter he’d lost all his wives and children to disease again. His farm was a sheltered place. Mick swigged his last gulp and glanced around McGinty’s pub.

At midday, it was dim inside, with only one window for light. A few glasses clinked, and three patrons chatted together at the nearby bar.

Mick’s distraction made him miss much of the conversation between his brother, Ed, and Ed’s old chum, Charlie Gilhooley. But Mick had no difficulty in understanding Charlie’s character. Thinking he’s a hoodlum.

Gilhooley’s largest muscled man leaned down and murmured into Gilhooley’s ear.

Mick quickly turned to his brother. Listen, Ed. You freed me from those ruffians at the docks, but you landed us here before another, I’m thinking. He’s a giant with dark, dead eyes. He shuddered. What were you discussing? I—

Charlie Gilhooley blew smoke into Mick’s face, and addressed Ed. Did you have difficulty following me, old chum, or did you take me meaning of what I’m offering to you?

Aye, and ’tis a generous offer to join your gang, me chum. Ed wagged his head.

Gang? Chill bumps slithered up Mick’s arms.

I came to New York City from Canada to search for Mick. Got me gambling earnings and heading out west to purchase farmland. Think I’ll stick to me plan.

Mick gasped. Glory be. Getting out of this stifling city? Open sky. Luscious earth.

Gilhooley chuckled. The world needs you, Mick. Your innocent hopes remind those of us jaded men of our boyhood dreams. He stubbed out his cigar inside his empty glass. Get away, whilst your heart yet desires wholesome things. Get out before city life sucks out your soul. He curled his hands into fists on the tabletop. Beware, if you ever rat on me, I’ll hear ’bout it. I’ll find you. I will.

Mick flinched at the man’s harshness.

Ed stood and offered his hand to shake. Charlie, ’twas fine to see you. I’ll be telling me mam to tell your aunt I delivered her letter. May take time whilst the letter gets to Ireland, but there’ll be a celebration, ’tis sure, for I’ve found you. Do you have a word for her?

Mick tucked in his split lip and licked the metallic taste.

Nah, just tell them I’m well. Gilhooley sliced the air with his hand. Aye, ’twas grand honoring our friendship for old time’s sake. Now, get. He stiffened his shoulders like a bull. And don’t share a word of me offer. If you do, you might find a devil with a blade at your neck.

Aye, no doubt to your meaning. Ed lifted his knapsack from the floor by his chair.

Mick scrambled to his feet, using the brick wall behind him for support. He gawked at Gilhooley as he slid the chair beneath the table.

Charlie’s two guards stepped in unison toward Mick and Ed, with their right hands inside their vests.

Ed said, Farewell, Charlie. He slid a glance to Mick and jerked his head toward the door.

Aye. Mick scooted along the wall to the door and hobbled forward as the space opened. His bruised torso and leg now throbbed in earnest. But his fear of wicked Gilhooley helped him squelch any groans. Mick tugged his tam over his hair and reached for the door handle. The door narrowly missed his nose when it opened inward. He stepped back.

Ed bumped into him from behind, shoving Mick into the path of two policemen. "Oof."

Steady there, fella. Imbibed a bit much? The tallest policeman leaned closer to Mick.

No, sir, said Ed. He was born with a limp. ’Tis a problem that’s always with him.

The shorter officer scowled. And what’s happened to him, then? You don’t get to be looking that way from birth, aye?

Mick chuckled. God loves the Irish wit.

That He does. The tallest policeman grinned. You alright there, fella? Anything you wish to tell us?

Mick shuffled his feet and gazed back at Gilhooley. Not a thing. Tripped and fell earlier all by meself is all.

Happens. Poor soul. Ed clapped Mick on the shoulder. We appreciate you asking ’bout him, officers. I’ll be getting him on home and into a good soak.

The policemen scrutinized Mick from his scruffy boots to his battered cap, wished him good luck and the Saints to preserve him, then headed for Charlie’s table.

Ed grabbed Mick’s arm. Make haste. Let’s get to your lodgings whilst the police occupy Charlie’s men, for I don’t trust me chum Charlie one whit.

We’re in agreement.

The brothers rounded the corner of McGinty’s, and Ed drew Mick to a stop. Ed shifted his bag and glanced back the way they’d come.

Mick copied him. What’s wrong?

Realized I don’t know which way to turn. Where do you live, me boy-o? Be quick. Charlie gave me the willies.

Mick tugged Ed left. This way. Living on Rose Street and on our sister’s goodwill. She’s paying for me rent and for me food. ’Tis why I’m so desperate for work as to go to the docks. Eight months here in the land of plenty and none will hire me because of this limp.

’Tis a bad lot you’ve been dealt, brother.

Sunset dulled the city’s filth, adding golden hues for sparkle and shine on anything metal, stone, or wood. It haloed the people in a rush to get home. ’Tis the only time of day I think the city is nigh pretty. Mayhap a glimpse of heaven, aye? If Fiona and the children appeared, I’d believe it. Mick blinked back tears, as he stepped onto the street between carts and pedestrians. This way.

No one’s been trailing us. Thinking we’ll be fine. Ed kept up with Mick’s uneven pace. Sure and hoping we don’t catch sight of your Mister Death.

No one sees Mister Death, but me. Ed, what did Gilhooley mean by offering you a spot in his gang?

He’s an American version of the Irish Republican Guard in Ireland.

Mick froze, stared at Ed, and huffed. Your old chum is a hoodlum.

Ed glowered. Depends on your viewpoint. The IRG are patriots to many.

But we have our freedoms here. No need for gangs. Turn in here. Mick headed down an alleyway. ’Tis a shortcut from the pub I’ve discovered for getting home.

Aye, not the time to argue our politics. Best be on our guard in this dark and narrow place. Ed surveyed the several storied buildings, doorways, and any openings they passed. Ah, but the farmer has naught for street smarts. Keep to the middle, me brother. Gives us time to react to an unpleasant creature waiting to waylay us.

A gigantic man stomped toward them from the end of the alley, his face downturned.

Ed yanked Mick back and stopped. Don’t you see him?

Mick wrenched his arm out of Ed’s grasp. ’Tis Brendan. He’s me chum of a sort. See him most nights. He cupped his hands around his mouth. Ho, Brendan, returning from Maeve’s?

Brendan started, then gave Mick a lopsided grin. Yeah, saw Orla. Be careful, Mick. I put Digger on a rampage. Thinks I was sniffing after Maeve. Don’t fancy her. Only fancy Orla—

Our Orla? Our sister, Orla? Ed balled his fists.

Mick stepped between the two men. Orla invites him to visit her. Ed, get a grip on yourself, man. We must have a chat.

Is something wrong? Brendan leaned down into Ed’s face. His crooked nostrils twitched. Who’s this fella? Is he cross at me? I don’t like it.

Me brother, Ed. Mick grinned. He came to get me. ’Twas a grand surprise, aye? Ed, here’s Brendan, a chum to me and Orla. He’s a winner at boxing. You two have that in common, boxing. Good evening, Brendan, for we must be away to home for supper.

Brothers. Brendan blinked, then smiled, revealing two missing front teeth. ’Tis alright, then. He shuffled his