by Ginny Dye
A shocked silence fell over the room. The only sounds were the clattering of wagon wheels, the shouts of men, and the laughter of playing children drifting in through the open windows.
Carrie stared at the swaying curtains, trying to make sense of what she had heard. Lord Oliver Cromwell had been an almost mythical person in her household. She had grown up hearing his name — Lord Cromwell, the Lord Protector of England who became the effective leader of England from 1653 to 1658. Her thoughts froze once more when she realized there were actually no stories. She knew nothing about him except that he was extremely influential in England for many years. She had heard over and over that she had a heritage she should be proud of.
“Carrie?” Janie moved her chair closer and put an arm around her shoulder.
Carrie leaned into her for a long moment, closing her eyes to savor the closeness. Why did she suddenly feel her whole world had been ripped out from beneath her? Why was she consumed with a sick shame? Why did she suddenly wish she was anything but a Cromwell?
“Oliver Cromwell lived two hundred years ago,” Florence said, confusion evident in her voice. “His life had nothing to do with you now.”
Carrie desperately wanted to believe her, but somehow she knew that wasn’t true. She opened her eyes and stared straight into Biddy’s penetrating blue eyes. The truth was staring back at her. Two hundred years may have passed, but the legacy bequeathed to her by Oliver Cromwell was still alive. She struggled to make sense of the feelings rampaging through her. “How do you know so much about my ancestor?” she asked.
Biddy smiled. “Those books in the study aren’t just for looks, my girl. Most of them are history books. I’ve been collecting and reading them for a very long time.”
“Why?” Elizabeth asked. “My grandmother told me it was best to just let history be history. She told me there was no reason to drag the past into the present.”
Biddy turned to gaze at Elizabeth but didn’t loosen her grip on Carrie’s hand. “And you think she’s right?” Her earlier fatigue seemed to have melted away.
Elizabeth hesitated, and then her eyes dropped. “I did,” she confessed. “Until right now.”
“Why?” Biddy pressed.
Elizabeth shrugged. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” she responded honestly. “There is a very uncomfortable feeling I have that things in the past aren’t really just in the past.”
Biddy nodded with satisfaction. “I call it the Bregdan Principle.”
Carrie was intrigued. “The Bregdan Principle?” Biddy settled back in her chair, but still held Carrie’s hand. Carrie appreciated the strength she felt flowing from the old woman. “How old are you?” she asked suddenly. She wasn’t sure why it mattered, but she wanted to know.
Biddy’s eyes glinted with humor. “I turned ninety-seven last month.”
Carrie gaped with disbelief.
Janie was the first to find her voice. “Ninety-seven? I don’t believe it! You can’t possibly be.”
“Mother told me you were quite old, but I had no idea…” Elizabeth sputtered.
Biddy laughed loudly. “People have been waiting for years for me to crawl into a grave, but I reckon they will be waiting a while longer. I’m fit as a fiddle!”
Carrie smiled as she squeezed Biddy’s hand. “I hope I’m just like you when I’m your age,” she said fervently.
Biddy turned to her, gazing deeply into her eyes. “I have a feeling you will be, my girl. Yes, indeed… I have a feeling you will be.”
“Tell us about the Bregdan Principle,” Carrie urged, sensing it held the key to her turmoil.
“It’s simple, really,” Biddy replied. “Bregdan is the Gaelic and Old English term for weaving and braiding. I realized long ago that every life that has been lived until today is a part of the woven braid of life.”
Faith smiled as she broke in. “It takes every person’s story to create history.” She caught each eye around the table. “Your life will help determine the course of history.”
Biddy picked it up again. “You may think you don’t have much of an impact. You do,” she said, pausing while she let her words sink in. “Every action you take will reflect in someone else’s life. Someone else’s decisions.”
“Someone else’s future,” Faith said solemnly. “Both good and bad.”
Silence fell over the table again while the words hung in the air.
“That’s beautiful,” Alice breathed. “The Bregdan Principle… It should be hanging on your wall somewhere.”
Faith chuckled and then stood up to pull down a framed scroll from the wall. “It just so happens that it is.”
Carrie reached for the frame and read the words again slowly. “Everything we do matters,” she murmured, looking up to see Biddy watching her closely. “Oliver Cromwell’s decisions are part of my history. They are…part…of what makes me…who I am.” The halting words that seemed to be pulled from her heart filled her with an illuminating certainty.
Biddy nodded. “Just as his decisions are a part of what makes me who I am.”
Carrie sensed a great truth rising inside her. Right on its heels was a sense of shame. Biddy’s probing eyes demanded she reveal what she was thinking. She suddenly felt as if only the two of them were in the room together. Everyone else, including all the noises from the outside world, seemed to melt away. “I can’t believe this is my heritage,” she murmured. The last six years seemed to roll before her eyes, scene after scene flashing in front of her. “I’ve tried so hard to fight prejudice. I thought I was doing good things...” Her voice faltered. “To discover the truth about Oliver Cromwell mocks everything I have done.” Her voice cracked as she acknowledged what was really bothering her. “I feel so responsible...”
Biddy nodded. “I felt the same way for a long time. I felt I was responsible for making right all the things that happened in my family.”
“But everything was done to your family,” Carrie objected. “Not by your family.” Her head reeled with images of the devastation Biddy had described.
Biddy chuckled. “I’m quite sure there were ancestors who weren’t just victims,” she said. “But that’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?” Carrie asked desperately.
Biddy’s eyes softened. “While it’s true that we carry some part of every generation inside us, it does not have to become a burdensome responsibility. I see it more as a privilege.”
Carrie listened quietly, but she couldn’t stop the reel of horrible images in her mind. “A privilege? I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t,” Biddy responded. “You’re still trying to deal with what you have just learned.”
Carrie nodded. She no longer tried to understand how Biddy knew what she was thinking. The old lady just did.
“You can either consider this information a burdensome responsibility, or you can see it as a unique privilege to right some of the wrongs of what your”—Biddy hesitated, and then continued with a smile—“your ancestor did. I’m sorry, but I can’t remember how many greats were in there.”
Carrie managed to smile in return, but her insides were still clenched. Biddy reached forward to pat her cheek but remained silent, giving Carrie time to process what she was hearing. Carrie was amazed how soft her hands were.
After a long silence, Biddy continued. “Didn’t you tell me you helped Rose and Moses escape?”
“Yes,” Carrie whispered.
“What about the other slaves?”
“I gave them all their freedom,” she admitted.
“Your father agreed with that?”
Carrie smiled at the memory. “No. Definitely not. He changed with time,” she said fondly.
“No,” Biddy said. “He changed because of you. Do you think he would have suddenly set all his slaves free before the defeat of the South made all of them automatically free?”
“No,” Carrie said slowly. She was able to acknowledge it was her forcing the issue that had made her father chan
ge his beliefs and actions. “I don’t think he would have.”
“So you had the privilege of redeeming the past,” Biddy said. “Are you fighting for equal rights for blacks and women now?” She waited for Carrie’s nod and then continued. “You are having the privilege to redeem what happened in the past.”
“But why me?” Carrie asked. That, perhaps, was the greatest mystery of all. There had been seven generations of Cromwells who had seemed very comfortable with slavery in all its forms. Why was she so different?
Biddy shrugged. “That I can’t know any more than I know why I am the one who seems to have been chosen to redeem some of what has happened in my past. People think I’m crazy to still live here in Moyamensing.” She glanced over at Elizabeth. “Including your mama,” she said. “I know how much pain is trapped in the people around me. There are days I’m able to help people release that pain so they can move forward in their lives.” A deeply sad expression filled her eyes. “And then there are times like last night when there is nothing I can do. All the pain just explodes out.”
“You saved us,” Florence reminded her. “You sent Ardan out for us. There’s no telling what would have happened if you hadn’t.”
Biddy rewarded her with a bright smile. “That is the truth,” she said with satisfaction. She turned back to Carrie. “Have you always felt different from everyone else in your family?”
Carrie thought back to her conclusion long ago that she was simply a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. “Always,” she agreed.
“I did too,” Biddy said. “Have you quit fighting it?” she pressed.
Carrie smiled. “I rather like being a square peg. Round pegs seem boring.”
Biddy threw back her head and laughed. “Exactly.” She reached forward and took Carrie’s face in her hands. “We are very much alike, Carrie Borden. We carry a lot of dark things in our past. We have been chosen, through no effort of our own, to make some of them right.” She cocked her head but didn’t let go of Carrie’s face. “Is your daddy a different man now?”
Carrie smiled when she thought of how much her father had changed. Images of black and white workers in the factory flashed through her mind. She thought of Moses running the plantation as co-owner. “Completely.”
“That change will reverberate through all of history,” Biddy replied. “Whole generations will be changed because you were willing to step out of the normal behavior for Southern women.”
Carrie stared at her as images of Rose teaching a room full of eager children swarmed through her mind. She thought of Matthew writing articles that were literally changing the course of history. Would he have survived to write them if she hadn’t intervened and helped him escape? How many black families would be forever changed because they were now being treated with equality on Cromwell Plantation? How many generations would be impacted because little Amber had given Robert the will to live? Understanding flooded into her. “We can change the course of history with every action we take,” she said, the truth expanding inside her as she spoke.
“Yes!” Biddy said excitedly. Only then did she let go of Carrie’s face and stare around the table. “Carrie may have the most famous person in her heritage, but every single one of us has people who have helped create who we are. Some of them contributed bad things, some contributed good things. We can’t change the past. What we can do is acknowledge it, and then decide to make sure the heritage we pass down to generations to come is one we will feel good about.”
“But it’s even more than that,” Faith added. “It’s not just about the heritage of our families. Every single life you touch is important. A smile…a kind word…can change someone’s life, altering history at the same time. Likewise, a harsh word or an unkind deed can set something in motion that will cause horrible consequences.” She let her words hang in the air and looked at Carrie. “You said a minute ago that we can change the course of history with every action we take.”
Carrie gazed at her, knowing that whatever she was going to say next was very important. “Yes,” she acknowledged.
“Take out the word can,” Faith said. “The truth is…we change the course of history with every action we take.”
Carrie suddenly laughed. The burden lifted from her and flew away like a monarch butterfly taking wing on a summer day. “I’m glad I know,” she said. “I have been passionate for many years about equality for all people, but now that I know the truth of my past I am going to be more passionate than ever.” She jumped up and walked over to Faith, taking the scroll from her again. “The Bregdan Principle,” she murmured. “What an incredible privilege I have to redeem what has been done in the past.”
“I know just how you feel, Carrie,” Faith said, a broad smile making her face radiant.
“And what are you redeeming?” Carrie was just as eager to know her story as she was to know the rest of Biddy’s.
Faith smiled. “My fifth great-grandfather came to America as an indentured servant in 1619.” She took a deep breath. “He was also one of the first men to actually own a black slave.”
Carrie gasped. “But…”
Faith smiled. “Yes, he was black.”
Carrie stared at her, once again at a complete loss for words. Everyone except Biddy was staring at Faith with wide, shocked eyes.
Chapter Four
A firm knock broke the spell in the dining room.
“Evidently the next story will have to wait,” Faith said as she stood and walked to the front door. In moments she was back, flanked by two stocky gentlemen dressed in rough workmen’s clothing. Their faces were flushed with heat.
Biddy waved them into the room. “Hello, Seamus. Top of the morning to you, Connor. What are you doing here this fine day?”
Carrie took note of their presence, but her mind was still whirling with Faith’s revelation.
“We came to take your guests back to their home in the city. We understand they had a bit of trouble last night. We’re real sorry about that.”
Biddy stared at the dark haired man who was speaking. “You know who set that fire, Seamus?”
Seamus shuffled his feet but met her gaze. “I’d rather not be saying, Mrs. Flannagan.”
Biddy sniffed. “What? You think I wouldn’t be already knowing it was McMullin?”
Seamus looked away. “He was thinking he was doing the right thing,” he muttered. “You know he always looks after the neighborhood.”
Biddy snorted openly, her blue eyes piercing his. “You tell McMullin he doesn’t own Moyamensing. I was playing in these streets when they were still open pastures on my mama and daddy’s farm. He could have burnt down the whole place, including the people he is supposedly taking care of.”
“He was real careful, Mrs. Flannagan,” Connor protested.
“And which of the lads threatened to harm these young women?” Biddy demanded.
Both men looked away now. “We made sure they escaped,” Connor said weakly, obviously cowed by the old woman.
“That’s pure nonsense,” Biddy shot back. “Ardan saved these two. And when they walked through the doors of my house all you louts knew better than to trifle with them.”
“That would be right, for sure,” Seamus said, a smile touching his lips. “We’re not fools.”
Carrie was no longer thinking about Faith’s ancestors. She was fascinated by the power Biddy seemed to have over these two intimidating men. She tried to remember if she had seen either of them the night before, but the darkness and chaos had made everything a blurry mystery.
Biddy eyed them sternly but her lips twitched. She glanced around the table. “I’ve been knowing both of these boys since they were in knickers playing in the streets with marbles. Marbles that I gave you,” she reminded them sternly. “You still have those jobs I helped you get?” she asked suddenly. “You haven’t messed it up, have you?”
Connor and Seamus both shook their heads, obviously relieved to be on a different topic. “We haven’t messed
it up,” Connor said quickly. “We both got work down at the docks.” His look of pride morphed into a scowl. “They still treat us like we’re vermin, but they seem glad enough for our strong backs.”
“You keep working hard,” Biddy said, her eyes soft with understanding. “It won’t always be like this. The Irish are going to prove themselves in this country. The day will come when the Irish will be seen as equals,” she said. “It begins with each of us doing the right thing.”
Carrie smiled. “The Bregdan Principle,” she murmured.
Biddy heard her softly spoken words. “I teach it to everyone who walks through my doors,” she confirmed. “If every single person in the world embraced it and lived by it, we would live in a world we could all be proud of.”
Connor and Seamus nodded but were clearly impatient to be on their way.
“The doctors who came down to inspect the hospital this morning asked us to take the women back to their home. We have a wagon out front,” Seamus said.
Carrie bit back her protest when she saw relief fill her friends’ faces. She knew they’d probably had visions of walking back home in the searing heat. Whatever relief the evening had brought had long since disappeared. She could see heat shimmering in the air. Biddy’s thick walls offered some relief, but she knew the other flimsy buildings must be like ovens by ten o’clock in the morning.
Biddy nodded. “Then you must take them home,” she said instantly.
Carrie thought about the study lined with history books just above her head. She spoke quickly. “Could I stay one more day?”
Biddy studied her for a moment. “You still have questions.”
“More than you can imagine,” Carrie agreed.
“You might be surprised,” Biddy responded. “Questions have driven me all my life.” She looked at the two men with raised brows.
Connor shook his head. “We only got the wagon for today. The doctors gave us the money.”
“I’ll be happy to pay for another day,” Carrie said quickly.
Seamus shook his head regretfully, his eyes saying he wished he could agree. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we have to work tomorrow. If we’re going to take you, we need to take you today.”