March 6, 1845, Thursday.

There was a heavy snowfall all day, with a strong wind, and most stage passengers decided not to go on until the weather broke. As a result, the Peace and Poverty was full, as well as the other hotels in town. Jim and the Gallaghers kept busy feeding guests and attending to their needs, including fires in rooms and extra blankets, along with other special requests. Kate came over to practise her piano: some of the guests stayed to listen, and she and Jim played a couple of duets they'd worked out. Then Jim walked her back home, and returned to see to horses, feed animals, and make sure barn and shed doors were bolted against the wind.

Jim and the Gallaghers sat by the kitchen fire, half-dozing, while the wind howled outside. It almost sounded like the drone of a bagpipe, thought Jim, who sang a song he'd learned growing up.

Báidín Fheilimí d’imigh go Toraí,

Báidín Fheilimí is Feilimí ann.

Báidín Fheilimí d’imigh go Toraí,

Báidín Fheilimí is Feilimí ann.


Báidín bídeach, báidín beosach,

Báidín bóidheach, báidín Fheilimí.

Báidín díreach, báidín deontach,

Báidín Fheilimí is Feilimí ann.


Báidín Fheilimí briseadh i dToraí,

Báidin Fheilimí is Feilimi ann.

Báidín Fheilimí briseadh i dToraí,

Báidin Fheilimí is Feilimi ann.

The Gallaghers sang along. Afterwards, Mr Gallagher asked Jim, 'How did you come to know that song, and you not speaking the Irish?'

Jim laughed. 'I like to learn songs. I heard that one from Mrs Dougherty when I first came here. She sang it to Kate when she was just a tiny thing. It's such a pretty song.'

Jim added, 'I'm really grateful to the Doughertys. When my mother died, I had nowhere to go. Punxsutawney was an awful small place. Nobody had room for one more orphan.'

'John Dougherty would never have done different,' said Mr Gallagher. 'He knows what it's like to be alone and have to make your way in the world. He told me that when he arrived in Baltimore from Donegal in '23, he had but 25 cents in his pocket. He came over with Mr McIntosh from over in Beechwoods. That's why they've always been friends.'

'Mr McIntosh from the Presbyterian church?' asked Jim, and Mr Gallagher nodded.

'Neither one will say a word against the other's religion, neither. That's as it should be. Dougherty went right to work on the Erie Canal, should have made some money. But the scoundrel who hired him ran off and never paid him. So he went from Buffalo to Freeport. He worked there and got a little schoolin' – all the schoolin' he's ever had, I reckon.'

Jim said, 'He's made good use of all he had.' Mrs Gallagher agreed.

'Then he became a peddler,' went on Mr Gallagher. 'He bought a horse and cart and sold all around. He was known as "Cheap John". Then he opened a store in Armstrong County.' He chuckled. 'The man he stayed with was a Protestant. When John wouldn't eat meat on a Friday, the man asked him if he was a Jew. "Worse than that," Dougherty said. "A Catholic.'

They all laughed.

'He moved here in '31 and opened the Peace and Poverty.' Jim began to see more of the wit in that name. 'And he brought Mrs Grace Dougherty with him. In '40, they made him postmaster, though he didn't want it. In '36, we came, and he left the runnin' of the hotel to me and moved into his new house. John's been successful, but never a man deserved it better or earned it more honestly.'

Jim agreed wholeheartedly that Mr Dougherty was a fine man. 'You know those two song-and-dance men George and I played with last fall? They're back in town, stayin' at the Red Lion till the weather clears. They've taken up singin' Temperance songs. Knowin' how Mr Dougherty has always been strong for Temperance, I would've introduced them, but…' he hesitated. 'I'm not entirely sure their objection to the demon rum is more than a business decision. They nipped into the tavern as soon as they could.'

Mr Gallagher chuckled. 'Maybe Temperance will be the coming thing, and John Dougherty will be vindicated in his beliefs. I wish him well of it. For myself, neither too much nor too little is my motto.' Mrs Gallagher nodded at her husband tolerantly.

'Did you hear about Dr Bishop?' asked Jim. 'He says he's goin' to give up preachin'. He wants to take up medicine full-time now.'

Mr Gallagher chuckled. 'He wants a rest, then.' When Jim looked puzzled, Mr Gallagher asked, 'You don't know why?' Jim shook his head.

'About, oh, six year or so ago, Mr Bishop was preaching here in the Presbyterian church on Sundays. But Brookville only wanted him for half the time. Beechwood wanted him for one-fourth.' He laughed at Jim's confused expression. 'Yep, that's what he thought, too. That meant that three weeks out of four, he had to preach two sermons of a Sunday. I strongly suspect that, given the length of a Protestant sermon, and the distance between here and Beechwoods, he's had enough Presbyterianism to last him many a year.'

The evening got late, with Jim learning bits of lore about this one and that one, until he nearly nodded off. Finally, the Gallaghers took themselves off to bed, leaving Jim to bank the fire and bed down in the kitchen, which was a more inviting place to sleep than the barn on such a night.

Dmitri Gheorgheni