The second chapter in Nadine’s Northeast, historical fiction written by Betsy Cochran

June 8, 1921 – continued
Kansas City, MO

Dorothy headed from the apartment on Park Avenue down to Independence Avenue to catch the 53 Streetcar Line, westbound toward downtown Kansas City. Even at just six years old, she was already an experienced rider. When Ma was home with only Dorothy and baby Regina, she often sent Dorothy on errands. Quick on her feet and careful with money, Dorothy loved the role.

Ma taught her to sit just behind the driver. “Keep your eyes open and your head down, and be good” she’d say. 

Dorothy liked to imagine herself one of the ladies bound for work downtown—hair pinned, handbag tucked, perfume trailing. She planned to be one of them someday, a fancy lady with gloves of her own.

That morning she got off near 12th and Baltimore, by the grand Hotel Baltimore, in the heart of the hotel and theater district. Her sister Marie, eighteen, worked breakfast and lunch shifts in the hotel restaurant. Dorothy stepped down, smoothed her skirt, and lifted her chin like Marie had taught her.

She passed the Hotel Baltimore’s entrance and slipped into the alley between it and the Kansas City Club. Laughter floated down from open windows above, bouncing between the brick walls. Dorothy paused near the kitchen door until Marie appeared, her uniform neat but her face worried.

“The Sisters from St. Aloysius came after you left,” Dorothy blurted. “They took Ma to St. Mary’s. She didn’t look good.”

Marie’s brow furrowed. “I’ll get Anna to cover me,” she decided quickly. “Stay near Charlie out front.”

Dorothy darted toward the corner of 12th and Baltimore where Charlie O’Malley worked one of his family’s pretzel and popcorn carts. His hair was flaming red, his sleeves rolled up, a towel at his belt. “Hey kid! What’s shakin’?” he teased, slipping into a mix of Irish lilt and Kansas City twang.

“Ma had the baby last night,” Dorothy said. “But she got real sick. So I’m waiting for Marie.”

Charlie took it in quietly. He had been smitten with Marie for months. Being the eldest daughter left at home, he understood Marie carried much of the family’s burden, especially since their mother’s health had begun to fail after during her last pregnancy.

Charlie’s parents, Irish immigrants who had arrived in Kansas City after years of hardship, had built a modest livelihood with their food carts. Charlie now worked downtown, proud to help. He remembered one winter when Marie came out from her double shift, pale and tired. He couldn’t leave her sitting on the stoop, so he handed her a warm pretzel. That simple kindness became the start of something steady between them.

Now, as Dorothy spoke, Charlie decided: someday he would marry Marie. He didn’t yet know how, but his mother had a Claddagh ring tucked in her jewelry box—two hands clasping a crowned heart—that might serve as a start.

Soon Marie emerged from the hotel, her urgency giving way to relief at seeing Charlie. Dorothy munched happily on a paper cone of popcorn. “Thanks for watching her,” Marie told Charlie softly. “We’ll take the Main Street line to St. Mary’s.”

Charlie offered to check on the younger children at home. Marie, touched by his kindness, agreed. For the first time in days she felt a flicker of hope.

She and Dorothy boarded the streetcar, standing shoulder to shoulder among the midday crowd. When they arrived at St. Mary’s, the marble staircase was crowded with anxious families, cigarette smoke curling out the windows. Upstairs, Sister Agnes met them with a grave face.

Their mother lay behind thin partitions, pale and still. “She’s alive,” the Sister said gently, “but very weak. It will take time.”

Marie steadied herself. In that instant, she understood she was now responsible for everything. Their father had been gone for months—more a burden than a help even when he was there. She drew a slow breath, swallowed the weight of it, and offered a silent prayer while Dorothy fidgeted at her side.

Later, as they walked home in the heat of the afternoon, Marie’s mind swirled with the burden before her. When they climbed the creaking stairs to the Park Avenue apartment, a glow met them—every votive candle lit like some kind of shrine.

Inside, Charlie O’Malley knelt, hair combed, wearing his best shirt. In his hand was the Claddagh ring. “If you wear it with the heart outward, it means we’re engaged,” he said gently. “When we’re married, it turns inward. But first, you have to say yes.”

Marie glanced at her sisters standing around our cramped apartment on Park Avenue, all wide-eyed. For the first time that day, she smiled.

Marie turned back to Charlie, raising a brow. “You sure you know what you’re signing up for?”

“Absolutely,” Charlie said, nodding with all the certainty he could muster.

“Well, okay then,” Marie replied, smiling.

Nadine’s Northeast follows the life of Nadine Burnett (née Pulliam), who was born in 1921 and spent most of her life in Northeast Kansas City, where she raised ten children amid the city’s rapid changes in the 20th century. Written by her granddaughter, Betsy Cochran, these historical fiction stories draw from Nadine’s lived experiences, local history, and a little family lore. Each installment stands alone while weaving into a larger portrait of Nadine’s past. For a deeper dive, visit betsycochran.substack.com, where you can subscribe for free or choose a paid plan for extended content.