by Ginny Dye
“And now we have a new Congress. Would it be crass to say that perhaps the riots were not in vain?”
“I suspect it would be to those who lost loved ones and have seen no justice,” Matthew said, “but I am objective enough to acknowledge that President Johnson may have succeeded if the riots had not jolted the American public awake.” He continued to gaze at the Capitol. “It was a terrible price to pay, but I am doing my best to focus on the possibility of change, because I know it’s impossible to rewrite the past.” He was grateful for Peter’s silence. It was taking every bit of his mental energy not to fall back into the horrors of that day in New Orleans.
Peter finally broke the silence. “Things will be different now. The South may have attempted to restore slavery in substance, if not in name, but everything has changed. This election has ensured Congress can override any vetoes that Johnson might impose. I have spoken with many Congress members. They are moving forward with the Reconstruction Acts that will bring control back to the government. The South is to be divided into five military districts. Each state will be required to accept the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Amendments.”
Matthew nodded. He was thrilled the South would be forced to grant freedom and political rights to the blacks, but he had seen too much during the riots to believe it would be a simple process. The government could force a political mandate, but they could not change attitudes. His earlier exhilaration had been swallowed by searing memories of the unreasoning hatred he had seen on white faces during the riots.
“What are you thinking?” Peter finally asked after it became obvious Matthew wasn’t going to respond.
“I’m thinking,” Matthew said, “that things will not change as long as people don’t have to bear the consequences of their actions. The country can pass laws, but they can’t change hearts.” He continued to speak slowly, his words taking shape as he spoke. “The police in both Memphis and New Orleans have faced no consequences for what they did. That reality is going to embolden others who want to use their same tactics. The government has practically said that they will squawk about the riots, but they will take no action to punish those who participated.” He shrugged. “If every one of those police who murdered blacks was sitting in jail, others would at least stop to think before doing the same thing.”
“It’s going to be different,” Peter insisted. “The new Reconstruction Acts will ensure that.”
Matthew wished he could be as certain as his friend, but he knew how difficult it was to mitigate hatred. Still, he would allow Peter his hope. Maybe someday he would share it.
“Can I change the subject?” Peter asked.
“Please,” Matthew said, eager to think of something else.
“When are you going to marry Janie?”
Matthew stiffened. He didn’t really want to talk about that either, but he had opened the door to the conversation. “When she’ll have me,” he finally said. He could tell Peter was staring at him, but he didn’t take his gaze away from Lady Liberty.
“Is there a problem?” Peter pressed after a long silence.
Matthew sighed and forced himself to relax. Peter knew about the abuse Janie had suffered during her marriage to Clifford. “No,” he said. “She just isn’t ready.” Most of the time he understood that, but there were moments when his loneliness was so intense he didn’t think he could stand it. Being out of town was almost easier than being two doors down from her. The realization she was so close, but still not his, was sometimes more than he could bear. He knew they had only been engaged for less than three months, but he had waited so long for the right woman that he was impatient to have her by his side all the time. By his side, and in his bed.
“Living through the war and surviving prison makes you long for the nicer things in life,” Peter murmured.
“Yes.” Matthew was grateful for Peter’s understanding. His friend was the only one who could come close to comprehending what he had endured during his two stays in Libby Prison. “I promised her I would be patient,” he muttered. “I will continue to try—however much I am failing.”
Carrie couldn’t resist bouncing on the seat as the carriage navigated the heavy traffic clogging the streets leading to Moyamensing. “We’re almost there!”
Michael glanced back at her with an indulgent smile. “Let me guess. You would rather get out and walk.”
Carrie grinned back at her friend. She had been so happy to discover Michael was free for the two weeks she and Abby were in town. They had hired him to be their driver during the whole period. Long conversations between the three of them had deepened their friendship, and helped Abby gain a greater understanding of the neighborhood they were about to enter.
Michael looked to Abby for help. “Has she always been like this?”
“Ever since I’ve known her,” Abby replied, “and her father assures me she was always this impulsive, and impatient, and wonderful,” she said warmly.
Carrie stuck her tongue out at Michael. “Can’t you drive this thing any faster?”
Michael laughed. “Sure, I can drive it as fast as you would like, but first you’ll have to get out and make all the traffic and people disappear.”
Carrie heaved a heavy sigh and sank back against the cushions. She knew Michael was right. They had been in Philadelphia a week. This had been their first opportunity to drive into Moyamensing.
While Abby had taken care of business in her factories, Carrie had met with Dr. Strikener, who had asked her why she chose not to simply send a letter explaining the circumstances. He had laughed heartily when she shared Abby’s challenge, and told her she had a very wise stepmother—something she couldn’t agree with more. He understood her decision completely and had loaded her down with books and materials she could study over the winter, teasing her that she might be ready to be on the faculty when she returned. Her situation treating Morah with arnica was discussed at length, and Dr. Strikener took pages of notes while they talked, explaining he would use the experience in one of his classes that winter. He had also written her a letter of introduction to Dr. Hobson, the homeopathic physician in Richmond, assuring her Dr. Hobson would be honored to offer any assistance he could. The two men had been friends for years.
When Carrie had returned to the house, she thanked Abby profusely for challenging her to come back to Philadelphia. Staying on the plantation would not have harmed her application to the homeopathic college, but she certainly would have missed out on so many opportunities, and she sensed she had gained a deeper respect from Dr. Strikener.
Meanwhile, Carolyn Blakely and two other homeopathic students had eagerly accepted Janie’s offer of housing. They had moved in the night before. It was wonderful to have the house full of laughter and talk again, and knowing Janie would not be alone in the house had done much to ease Carrie’s mind about her decision to stay on the plantation.
“Mrs. Carrie! Mrs. Carrie!”
Carrie, deep in her own thoughts, had not even realized they had entered Moyamensing. She laughed as two children ran up to the carriage, their faces split with wide grins. “Sonya! Collin! How are you?”
“We’re doing real good,” Sonya cried. “There ain’t anybody sick from cholera at all!”
Carrie felt a surge of satisfaction. “I’m so glad,” she said. She quickly introduced Abby to the children. “Sonya and Collin were among my first patients,” she explained before she turned back to them. “Are you two in school?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Collin answered proudly. “We been studying hard just like you told us to.”
Sonya’s eyes narrowed. “Does Miss Biddy and Miss Faith know you’re coming? They ain’t said nothing about it. I was real surprised to see you.”
Carrie shook her head, giving them a conspiratorial wink. “It’s a surprise,” she said as she put a finger to her lips. “Can you keep it for me?”
Collin chuckled. “Sure, we can keep it, but I don’t know about everybody else.”
“Everybody else?
” Carrie asked as she gazed around. For the first time she noticed the group of children clustered on the side of the road keeping pace with the wagon as it inched forward. She waved, laughing with joy when they erupted into wild waving of their own. She was so glad she had come.
“There was a whole bunch of us seen you drive in,” Collin confessed. “Sonya and I drew the long straws for the right to come welcome you back. Miss Biddy would have had our hides if we had all run out into the street at the same time.” He looked over his shoulder, his brown eyes dancing with mischief. “I don’t reckon I know what the others are doing. There is some of them that aren’t on the side of the road anymore, though…”
Carrie laughed, certain their arrival was no longer a secret, but she didn’t care. Just being back there was enough joy. “I’ve missed you all.”
“We’ve missed you, too,” Sonya said shyly, her blue eyes peering up through a curly mop of red hair. “Miss Carolyn comes to check on us, but she’s not as pretty as you are.”
“Thank you, Sonya.” Carrie’s heart melted. Sonya’s father had died in the cholera hospital before she had arrived to help. She had saved Sonya’s mother and brother, but she knew things must be especially difficult for them. The girl’s father had not made much money at the docks, but at least it had been something. Carrie could hardly imagine how they would manage through the cold winter that was about to take Philadelphia in its grip. Her determination to make sure the factory was built was stronger than ever. A glance at Abby’s face told her she felt the same way.
Carrie motioned for Michael to stop the carriage that had been barely inching forward. She patted the seat next to her. “Why don’t you and Collin join us for the last part of the ride?”
“Really?” Collin cried, scrambling up as soon as she issued the invitation. Sonya stared at her wide-eyed for a long moment and then climbed up just as quickly, snuggling next to Carrie as soon as she reached her.
Carrie pulled Sonya close and tucked the blanket around her, appalled by how little protection the little girl’s flimsy coat must offer. Suddenly she knew how she was going to spend her last week in Philadelphia.
The traffic cleared for a few minutes, allowing Michael the chance to navigate the last few blocks. Carrie was not surprised when she saw both Biddy and Faith peering out the windows. She waved wildly, climbing down after Sonya and Collin leapt to the street flashing triumphant grins as they ran over to join their friends.
“They are going to be the heroes today,” Abby said with a chuckle. She stepped down from the carriage with Michael’s assistance. “I’m sure every one of them would have given up all their marbles to ride in the carriage with you.”
“That they would,” Michael agreed. “Almost all of them had someone in their family who would have died without Carrie or Carolyn.”
Carrie glowed with satisfaction, but she was eager to get inside and visit with Biddy and Faith. “Will you be down at the pub?”
“Aye, that I will,” Michael answered. “I’ll be keeping warm until you’re ready to be going home. Send someone down to get me.”
Carrie nodded, tucked her hand in Abby’s arm, and walked up the steps. The door opened almost immediately, a warm blast of air reaching out to grab them. She knew Biddy must pay dearly for wood and oil to keep the house warm. She was glad it was not a problem.
Faith stood in the doorway, a wide smile on her face as she reached out to grab Carrie’s hand, and then reached over to grip one of Abby’s. “If the two of you aren’t a sight for sore eyes!” she exclaimed. She pulled both of them into the foyer and quickly closed the door to shut out the chilling cold.
“Don’t you say another word until you have those two women back in this parlor,” Biddy called.
Faith shrugged her shoulders as she lifted her eyebrows. “She made me promise.”
Carrie laughed and hurried down the hallway. She felt a surge of relief as she took in the woman grinning up at her, her snapping blue eyes as alert as ever. “Biddy!”
“It’s about time you got back here,” Biddy said, her voice gruff with emotion as she grasped Carrie’s hands.
Carrie felt another surge of gratitude for Abby urging her to return. It was important she explain her reasons for staying on the plantation in person—at least as much as she understood them. “I missed you, Biddy,” she said as she encircled the tiny lady with her arms.
“I missed you too, girl,” Biddy murmured as she patted Carrie’s shoulder. “Now, am I really seeing Abby Livingston in my parlor? I mean Abby Cromwell,” she corrected. “I was certain I would never see you again.”
“I was so excited when Carrie told me who her new friends were,” Abby said as she moved forward to take Biddy’s hand, her other hand reaching out to grasp Faith’s. “I’ve never forgotten you and Faith. How are you?”
“Better than most ninety-seven-year-olds can say,” Biddy quipped.
“That’s because most ninety-seven-year-olds are in the grave,” Faith observed.
Carrie grinned as laughter rang through the parlor.
“So you’re a Rebel now, are you?” Biddy asked Abby.
“I prefer to say I’m a transplanted liberal woman,” Abby responded. “I’ve learned it’s better not to apply labels like ‘Rebel’ and ‘Yankee’ to people.”
Faith snorted. “Calling yourself a liberal woman might just be the most dangerous label of them all.”
Abby nodded. “Perhaps, but at least it doesn’t bring up discussions of the war. Most of my neighbors seem to have either forgotten where I’ve come from, or they have simply chosen to forgive me for my Yankee ways.”
“That would be wise,” Biddy said. “Carrie has told us your factory is the most successful in Richmond. I imagine most of your neighbors have someone in their family benefitting from the factory. That seems to promote forgiveness,” she added.
“There is that,” Abby agreed, smiling when laughter erupted again.
Carrie caught her eye, but Abby shook her head slightly. Obviously, she wasn’t yet ready to talk about the other reason for their visit. Carrie was happy to allow her to decide the timing. She was impatient to tell Biddy, but she had to give Abby the lead in the conversation since it was her factory that was being built. There were plenty of other things to talk about.
“So you’re going to keep it to yourself for now?” Biddy asked, her eyes glinting with humor.
Carrie was not surprised Biddy had noticed their exchange. Her eyes didn’t miss much.
“If you don’t mind,” Abby replied.
Biddy nodded. “It’s not a problem. Michael is probably down at the pub, but I figure I won’t be sending one of the children down to call for him until I know all the reasons for your visit.”
Abby laughed. “That’s a deal.” She lifted her nose. “I do believe I smell oatmeal cookies,” she said hopefully. “Annie and May have learned to make them since Carrie sent the recipe home, but I suspect yours are even better, Faith.”
“They’d better be,” Faith sniffed. “I don’t believe it’s possible for a southerner to cook Irish oatmeal cookies as well as I do.”
“Sometimes she forgets she’s black,” Biddy whispered dramatically. “I’ve decided it’s best not to remind her if I want the cookies to keep coming.”
Faith laughed along with them before she disappeared into the kitchen. She returned moments later with a large platter that held a basket of warm cookies and tea service for four. “It helped that the children provided advance notice of your arrival,” she said. “I had everything ready before you got here.”
Carrie sighed happily as she bit into the cookie. “I’ll never tell Annie your cookies are better than hers, but…”
“It’s best not to compare one woman’s cooking to another,” Faith agreed. “It will be our little secret.”
Carrie grinned and sipped her tea, relishing the companionable silence that fell over the room for a few minutes. Then she decided that if they weren’t going to talk
about the factory, it was high time she heard the rest of Faith’s story. “Faith, in the midst of the cholera epidemic, we never had a chance to talk about your story. I’ve wanted to hear it so badly. Abby knows Biddy’s story because I told her about it, but I would dearly love for us to hear yours.”
“I guess since you saved my life, the least I can do is tell you my story. It’s not one I’m proud of, but all of us have learned we are given the privilege of knowing so that we can make a difference with the knowledge. I’ve made peace with it.”
Biddy smiled. “Ardan came in and added wood to the fire right before you arrived. We’re good for a while.” She settled back against her chair and pulled the thick quilt wrapped around her a little closer. “It’s time you learned some more of the truth about what has happened in this country.”
Faith poured herself another cup of tea and took a bite of her cookie, chewing thoughtfully as she sat back and gazed at the flickering flames. When she had swallowed her bite, she began. “Sometime back in 1619, the Portuguese ship Sao Jogo Bautista set sail from the colony of Angola with three hundred fifty African slaves destined for Veracruz, New Spain.”
Carrie had no idea what she was talking about. “I’m lost already. New Spain? Slaves in 1619?”
“New Spain gained its independence in 1821. It is now known as Mexico,” Faith explained.
“But slaves?” Carrie asked.
“Slavery did not originate in America,” Faith said. “Let me tell my story. I believe it will answer your questions.”
“Of course,” Carrie said quickly. “I promise to not interrupt again.”
Biddy snorted. “I think you told me the same thing.”
“It didn’t work out that way?” Abby guessed.
Carrie laughed when Biddy shrugged. “I’m not old enough to have learned all the patience the rest of you have.”
Abby raised a brow. “I do believe Carrie just called us all old.”
Carrie held up her hands in defeat as Biddy and Faith nodded solemn agreement. “Not another word, I promise. I don’t stand a chance against the three of you.”