various large corporations.
It was really a big enterprise—and it was astonishing the way that it was run.
People of every religion, ethnicity, color, creed, sex—whatever!—seemed to get along and pull together, and do it well.
Those working the food bank seemed to come from all walks of life: there were businessmen and -women, nuns, fathers, rabbis and imams, young and old, every color of humanity.
Kieran had come to give herself something to do. She discovered, instead, that she was in awe of Mary Kathleen and all that the volunteers tried to do at Soup du Jour.
“This is truly just incredible,” she told Mary Kathleen. “You’ve been doing this and I didn’t even know. It’s wonderful.”
“Oh, I do a day a week. That’s the great power of the place—they literally have hundreds of people who can come a day or two a week and we’ll do our best to cover for each other and that kind of thing,” Mary Kathleen said. “I was lucky. I had friends to help me when I arrived here in the city. My family in Ireland knew your family here. I’m actually doing well. But I am an immigrant, and I was able to see how hard life could be for others who didn’t have family and friends in the US—especially those fleeing poverty or war-torn countries. Anyway, I’m glad you like it!”
“Like it? I’m amazed. We get so much bad news—this is great!”
“People actually can get along working together,” Mary Kathleen agreed. She laughed softly. “Okay, so we have police officers among our friends here, too. If anything were to ever get rough or violent in any way, whoever caused trouble would be out on their ears in a flash! But I’ve been at this about a year and a half. So far, nothing bad has ever happened. People are really just trying to help each other.”
Within an hour, Kieran had come to know a ninety-six-year-old nun with a quick wit, salty tongue and empathy that brought people sweeping around her; a striking dancer from a Broadway play—who happened to know Kevin; a Wall Street broker; a stage designer; and a Penobscot Indigenous American girl with the most gentle voice she’d ever heard.
Kieran completely forgot she was there merely to keep herself occupied. She felt honored to be helping out in such a tangible way, and she was fascinated with the people she met working the food bank—and with those who came for food.
They were from the Middle East and the Far East, Russia, the Ukraine, Poland, England, France, Nigeria, Ethiopia, Argentina, Haiti and more. She realized that she was quickly learning a smattering of words—mainly please and thank you—in French, Creole, Spanish and what she was pretty sure was Russian.
People were grateful—so grateful. She was almost embarrassed; she had done so little.
The shepherd’s pie from Finnegan’s had disappeared in the first fifteen minutes, but many chefs and cooks volunteered their time, and there was a constant flow of food.
There were a few unwashed bodies, but Sister Teresa—Kieran’s newfound feisty friend—was quick to point out where showers and clothing could—and not should but must—be found. Sister Teresa fed everyone—they could bathe after they ate, but if they expected to find friends with whom to dine in the future, they had best do so!
Kieran was on her way to the kitchen for a refill on the actual soup pot when she realized that a group of young women was watching her.
Talking about her? They definitely looked at her—and went silent—as she walked by.
They seemed to be of different nationalities—two of the women appeared to be East Indian, three were black, and two were blue-eyed blondes, possibly of Nordic descent. Or Russian. She was friends with some really beautiful light-haired and light-eyed Russian women. Then, of course, the world was a wonderfully mixed-up place, so anyone could be from just about anywhere and have any combination of features: light hair, dark hair, skin, and so on.
She walked by, and then became curious, hurrying back to find them.
At first, she couldn’t see them at all. The group had dispersed.
And then she saw one woman moving through a crowd, but turning back now and then to see what was behind her.
Yes, it was one of the women who had been in the group—and now she was watching rather warily for just where Kieran might be.
Kieran was certain then that they had realized she’d noticed them as they had been watching her.
The woman stood still for a moment; she was tall, ebony and regal in her bearing. She made eye contact with Kieran, and then turned away quickly.
“Hey!”
Kieran raced after her, but the woman slipped into the crowd. As Kieran made her way through people, excusing herself, she simply disappeared.
“What the heck?” she murmured.
“Kieran!”
She turned around quickly, aware that Mary Kathleen was calling to her.
“The soup—did you get the soup?”
“No! I’m so sorry. I—”
“They call it a soup kitchen because we hand out soup. Rich, delicious soup, full of beef and vegetables and good things to help people make it through the day.”
“Yes, yes, I know! I will get it, right away. Honestly. Mary Kathleen, do you know that group of young women who were over there?”
“What group?”
“The group that was standing over there.”
“Where are they now?” Mary Kathleen asked. “And you didn’t get the soup because a group of women was standing over there?”
Mary Kathleen was looking at her with perplexity.
“Sorry, sorry, I told you, I promise—I’ll get the soup. Mary Kathleen, I need to know who they were. They were staring at me.”
Mary Kathleen looked at Kieran, and then looked down. She was silent for a minute before she met Kieran’s eyes again. “Kieran, I’m not meaning to be cruel or rude with these words, but...it’s just not always about you.”
Kieran let out a sigh. “No, no...they were really looking at me, talking about me.”
“But you don’t know where they are now?”
“They scattered.”
“Maybe they just left,” Mary Kathleen said softly. “Maybe they actually managed to have some soup—and then they left. It’s what people do. We have showers here, but no beds. It’s not a hostel. People come, dine, sometimes bathe—and then leave.”
“But...”
Kieran’s voice trailed. Mary Kathleen was staring at her sorrowfully—and worriedly.
“Oh, Kieran!” Mary Kathleen said softly. “Aye, indeed, that woman last night came to you—used your name. But that does not mean that the rest of the world is watching you or whispering about you. You have to know that,
