The Boarding House
Kathleen Ford Bonnie
She grew up in Saint Joseph's parish, in the still-respectable part of the city, where houses were set off from the street by steep steps leading to large porches. In summer, geranium-filled planters lined the steps, and green pots overflowing with petunias swung from the railings. In winter, glass enclosures were put onto the porches making shiny rooms for boots and mufflers. The small vestibules provided passageways between the piercing iciness of the outside and the warm inside smells of cabbage and bacon.
Katherine's house was on a corner lot facing Broad Street. It was a green clapboard house filled with unrelated adults. The neighbors' houses were painted white; relatives of every kind lived in them. In addition to parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, there were servants and visiting Irish clergy. Mainly, there were tremendous numbers of children. On Katherine's street alone there were more than 50 children. The Fitzgibbons, the McDonoughs, and the O'Briens had seven kids apiece. The Farrells, the O'Rourkes, and the Malloys had nine.
Katherine, an only child, had spent months of her life in the upstairs rooms of these neighbors' houses. There, she'd played with dolls, cards, jacks, and board games of every description. As a teen-ager she'd dressed in the clothes of her friends, putting on and taking off their sweaters, blouses, dresses, and skirts until her arms ached. In many of the homes she'd been less a guest than a daughter. She often stayed for dinner, and on those nights she forgot her own house where the table was lined with oilcloth and where large black pots were put directly onto the table. At her friends' homes she tried to appear nonchalant while unfolding
