by Carol Henry
He watched as Michael joined the others. They filed down the stairs and left the building, Seamus right behind them. Charley shook his head, lit the cigarette, and sat back down.
An eerie quiet hung in the air.
Charley finished his smoke, then made his way to Aderley’s office. The boss man sat behind his desk looking dazed. His face was drained, pinched, and defeated. He lowered his head in his hands—drops of sweat dripped between his fingers
Or were they tears?
Scott was no longer in the room.
Charley dragged his feet as he walked into his manager’s office. The silence was as heavy as a train car full of coal. He had no idea what Mason Aderley had in mind. But one thing was for sure, he was going to find out. Charley approached the desk and sat in the chair across from Aderley.
“I can’t go back on my word, Charles.” A deep sigh escaped the harried manager. “Scott agreed to this cut along with everyone else. I stand behind him. But, I’m afraid. I’m afraid for all those dirty slobs down there. They have no idea what’s to come if they strike. There will be bloodshed before this is over, I tell you. Maybe even yours and mine. I don’t know. But what I do know...” Aderley peered into Charley’s eyes, a determined, almost threatening stare. He shook his fist in the air, then jabbed his finger at Charley. “…I can count on you to be by my side. Help pacify the men.”
Charley sat riveted to his chair. He wasn’t given a chance in hell of refusing.
And that rankled. He sympathized with the workers—he didn’t want a cut in pay, either.
For the second time in days, Aderley questioned his loyalty. No. He demanded it.
Charley hesitated, trying to think how best to respond. He was caught between a rock and the damnedest hard place he’d ever been in. And he’d sure been in a few.
“I can count on you can’t I, Charles?” Aderley slapped his large, firm hand down on the desk.
Charley jumped. There it was. The question he didn’t want to answer.
“I need you to talk to them, to help mediate, and to explain to them exactly what’s going to happen and why, if they go on strike. I want you to keep me informed as to what they’re saying, what they’re doing, what they’re planning. I need you to report to me as soon as you learn anything. Everything.”
The man’s eyebrows rose to his thinning hairline, and his eyes bulged to near popping. “I expect you to be here for the company. I need you here.”
Once again the decision had been made for him. Come hell or high water or bloodshed, which was surely on the way, Charley was on the company’s side. He’d stay and try to make it a bit easier for the men.
Did that make him the turncoat the men had called him?
“I’ve made the necessary arrangements with my family, so I’m here for the duration,” Charley said, defeated. May God forgive him, he wanted to walk out on Aderley right now. He wanted to side with the workers—where his heart said he should be.
Where Emily would say he should be, too.
****
Donahue was nowhere to be seen when Charley walked out of the building. The weasel was no doubt on his way to report to the leader of the Mollies.
The Mollies had increased in strength and power along with the population in the coal mining areas over the past ten years. They were a rugged bunch originating from the Ancient Order of Hibernians and had come to work the coal fields of Pennsylvania. The Mollies controlled the Order. As far as Charley could tell, their main reason for banding together was to shoot up agents of the Irish landlords, especially in the Schuylkill and Carbon areas. The secret organization of these buckshots was no real secret. If there was violence involved, the Molly McGuire’s were involved.
Charley didn’t believe all the rubbish about the Mollies having been cowered into non-existence. Donahue was a Molly sure as Charley had any breath left in him.
A bitter taste swirled in his mouth.
He headed for the Blue Bottle Pub where the men congregated at the end of the work day to let off steam before they went home to their families.
Charley walked in and gave Mac a holler. Michael Mackenzie was a tall, burly man with raven hair waxed and parted in the middle. He wore his mustache greased into rounded handlebars within an inch of touching his ears. He resembled an Italian rather than an Irishman, which made him the butt-end of many jokes on a regular basis.
Mac held up a tankard in greeting as Charley wormed his way through the tight group of angry, boisterous men. Mac’s large black eyes rolled in chagrin at the frenzied atmosphere. He glanced around the room then nodded for Charley to proceed to the bar.
“Trouble’s a’brew’en, Charles. Everyone’s all a’buzz.”
Mac’s white bib apron stretched taut but still didn’t cover his large middle. The apron showed signs of use, either from Mac wiping his wet hands or from splatters of ale.
Charley rubbed his forehead where Donahue had hit him. Hopefully, a pint of ale would ease the pain. If nothing else, it would help him sleep better tonight.
The pub was loud, smoky, and crowded. It was a small place where men didn’t worry about sitting on doily-covered furniture or walking on waxed and polished floors. A place where they could wash away their cares and concerns after working the hot, steamy, oily rails. A place to ponder the strike and whether they would have a job at the end of the day. Today, they discussed the meeting which had just taken place.
The odor of coal, engine grease, beer, and tobacco filled the air. In the corner, two rotund, burly Irishmen covered in dust and grease argued with a German, both accents so heavy it was hard to understand what they were saying. They bumped shoulders, just short of knocking each other over. The room was asses-to-elbows full, preventing the men from falling to the floor; otherwise, it would have been a free-for-all. As it was, the three men turned back to guzzling beer as if they’d been involved in nothing more than telling a funny joke.
Charley turned away.
The strike was no joke.
Charley squinted, searching for Seamus who stood with his arms wrapped around a large pitcher of ale, his head bent over with long strands of reddish-blonde hair hanging over his half empty glass. Charley edged his way through the crowd, slid up next to him, and ordered another pint. He clasped his hand on the small Irishman’s shoulder, startling him.
“Let’s find someplace to sit and talk, Seamus. Those men fighting over there don’t need their corner anymore.”
Seamus nodded and followed Charley. They made their way to the corner where they dragged small wooden chairs from under a rough table splattered with beer from the scuffle of the previous occupants, who were working their way out the door and into the street.
“So, Charley. Whose side ya on?” Seamus didn’t look at him.
Charley figured his friend already knew. “I haven’t a choice. Aderley made the decision for me. I’ve got to tell you, though, I don’t like it.”
“I see ya got a shiner. How’d that come about?”
“Donahue gave me one hell-of-a-wallop. Knocked me down.” He put his hand to the side of his head where a small lump had formed. “It’s Donahue we need to fight against. Aderley may be the one going along with this cut in pay, but it’s people like Donahue that keep things agitated. They’re the ones who rile up all the workers with half-truths.”
Charley took a long swallow of his beer, then swiped his shirt sleeve across his mouth with a loud sigh.
“They do make sense, Charley. I got to say, if we don’t fight for our rights and better pay, our families are gonna starve to death before the year is out.”
Seamus offered Charley a cigarette, even though the man couldn’t afford them, let alone afford food to feed his family. As bad as he wanted a smoke, Charley refused.
“I know, Seamus. I know. My sympathies are with you, but my loyalties are with Aderley. The way I figure it, if I can work both sides maybe things won’t be so bad.”
“You’re only fooling yourself, ya are. There
’s no middle ground here, I’m sorry to say. You’re gonna have to choose.”
Seamus stroked a dry match along the table twice before the tip ignited and he was able to light his cigarette. His hands shook. He drew in a deep breath, then exhaled when the tobacco caught hold. Charley waited until he had Seamus’ attention again. His friend dipped his forefinger in his beer then pinched the end of the lit match ’til the small flame extinguished.
“Choosing isn’t an easy thing to do,” Charley said. “If I can get someone on your side to keep me posted, someone who I can funnel information to in order to make sure everyone hears the truth, not half lies like Donahue’s been spewing, we just might be able to stop things from going all to hell.”
“Good luck, to ya, friend. Once they find out you’re siding with Aderley, there ain’t no one gonna even want to talk to ya.” Seamus looked around the room. “’Specially if this strike happens on the twenty-seventh like everyone’s been saying.”
The smoke from Seamus’ cigarette hung in the air around Charley’s head, then mingled with the rest of the blue smoke in the room.
Seamus was right. None of them had wanted to have anything to do with him outside Aderley’s office just a bit ago. It didn’t bode well.
“I know, Seamus. I know. Listen, friend, you’re the person I’m talking about.” Charley drew closer to Seamus so his friend could hear without others listening. “You’re the one who can keep me informed. You’re a good fella; the men listen to you. I need your help.”
God help him, he sounded like Mason Aderley. But Seamus was a good man and was well respected.
“I ain’t no informant. If the boys ever found out, they’d lynch me. I can’t do it. If I did, Maggie’s life would be in danger.”
“Maggie and Madeline can move to the country with Seth and the children. Emily’s real sick. She’s going out west to be with her cousin Marybelle. There is plenty of room at the homestead. And your wife will be doing me a favor. Catherine could use some help around the place. At least for the summer. Just until this mess is taken care of.”
“You’ve put me in a situation, ya have. I don’t think my life is going to be worth a damn if word gets out.” Seamus shook his head, looked down at his beer, then back up at Charley.
“I’ll see what the Missus says and let you know.”
“There isn’t time.” Charley met Seamus’ gaze. “Get them out on the next train tomorrow. You can always pack up their things later. Say they’re to visit family. By the time they come back the strike will be over, and no one will be the wiser.”
“I won’t put her on a train. She don’t much like riding the rails, ya know.” He shook his head again, then drank from his tankard. “This strike is gonna be worse than you or me could ever imagine.”
“The stage coach runs up the Montrose Turnpike into Owego. They can switch coaches there and take one into Candor. No matter what you decide, the best thing you can do for your family right now is to get them out of Philadelphia.”
Chapter Five
The wooded hillside behind the depot and the rolling hills opposite the valley cocooned the sleepy village of Candor. The echo of the loud clanging of metal on metal as the coal cars were being uncoupled and the screeching and hissing of iron wheels on iron tracks as the cars were transferred onto the side tracks announced the day had begun.
Shopkeepers threw open their doors and closed them based on the coming and going of the train. And already this morning, the 7:45 had arrived from Ithaca, having made stops at Slaterville and Smith Valley, with coal, cattle, sheep, produce, and passengers who planned to shop, open shop, conduct business, or visit friends and relatives for the day.
A hushed chaos filled the early morning as fog lifted from the thick forested countryside. People milled around in slow motion. Emily was glad of Seth’s help down from the wagon. The powder Doc Wooster had given her had helped keep the fever down yesterday, and the small dose of opium helped her sleep most of the night. This morning, however, her brain was a bit addled and lethargic.
Charley had made the necessary arrangements for her travels to the California Territory before he’d left for Philadelphia. She hadn’t had time to contemplate how the decision would affect her family, but this morning her mind had settled on the situation. How would they survive without her? She was their mother. What if they got hurt? Who would tend to them? Love them? Cuddle them? They needed her.
She needed them.
The air was still chilled from the cool morning hours. The sun drew moisture from the earth. Emily tugged her white crocheted shawl around her shoulders to ward off the slight breeze tossing the morning air around. Walking the platform like a mother hen with her brood of six following behind, she wished she had the strength to gather them under her wings and whisk them off to Marybelle’s right along with her on the train.
She held back tears. No use upsetting the children anymore than they were already.
As one, they entered the station.
“Wait right here, Ma.” Seth pointed to an empty bench in the middle of the room. “I’ll get your ticket.” He waited until she was seated, then turned to Catherine.
“You make sure she’s okay while I stand in line.”
“You don’t have to be so bossy, Seth Carmichael. I know how to take care of people.” Catherine hitched baby Sarah up on her hip.
Emily observed the interaction between her two oldest children. She had raised them to be responsible. Thank God for them, otherwise there was no way on God’s green earth she would ever have consented to leave them behind. Her only saving grace was she’d recuperate faster at Marybelle’s so she could come back home to be with her family.
The station filled with passengers coming and going, but the background chatter and shuffling of feet was just that. Emily only had eyes and ears for her family. She would miss baby Sarah’s first steps, her first words, her baby antics. Her youngest boys were at the age where they almost grew right before her eyes. And Catherine needed to study for her teaching exams.
When would she see them again?
Emily’s eyes misted. She held back the tears threatening to overflow and looked up at her youngest. Catherine cooed to her darling baby, Sarah. She should be the one doing the cooing. She should be the one holding Sarah, cuddling her and loving her. Would Sarah forget she was her mother, not Catherine?
Tears pooled in the corner of her eyes.
The boys sat still beside her, a sure sign they had something on their minds. Although well behaved for the most part, boys their age weren’t known for sitting still and being quiet. She would miss their antics as well. Would they be a big help to Seth? Would they listen well to Catherine? Would they turn out to be outlaws without her steady hand?
Emily rubbed her temples and hung her head. Her shawl slipped, and she wrapped it around her middle, then clasped her hands in the lap of her gray gingham dress. She hoped the children didn’t notice her distress and the tears she had a hard time holding back.
“What did they do to upset Ma?” Seth asked Catherine when he returned with her ticket. “You were supposed to keep an eye on them.”
“Nothing. I swear, Seth, you’re like an old mother hen.”
“Children, please. No one has done anything. We’re all a little tense this morning, is all.” Emily couldn’t help smile at the mother hen reference. “I’m okay. Honest, you don’t have to worry about me. Once I get aboard I’ll be fine. I’ll take the powder Doc Wooster gave me and get some rest.”
As if on cue the conductor bellowed “all aboard” over the clanging of the new cars being coupled together. The engine churned to life as side-car doors were slammed shut and passengers rushed about to say their final goodbyes to loved ones.
Emily gathered her own six children to her side. Timothy, fourteen, hung back, but she stepped around Michael, eight, and led him with shaking hands into the fold. “I will miss you all,” she said, her voice just as shaky as her hands. After only one day of bed res
t, she was still weak. She hadn’t counted on saying goodbye to her children being this hard. Thankfully, Seth stood beside her so she could lean on him, otherwise her quivering legs would give out, and she’d fall over. She couldn’t let her children see how frail she was. They didn’t need the worry.
Emily turned to Catherine and baby Sarah. Catherine was a responsible young lady and would do a fine job taking care of everything while she was away—as would Seth. Between the two of them, they had already shouldered the majority of the responsibilities of the family the past few months. Nothing would change. Except she wouldn’t be there to help.
“Take good care of them, Catherine. I want them in fine shape when I return. You’re their momma for now.” Emily turned to the boys, dabbing her eyes with an already soaked hanky. “I’ll see you all in a couple of months. Be good for Seth and Catherine,” she said to Michael and Robert who were now clinging to her in tears, her own tears flowing unchecked.
Reluctant to go, she took Sarah from Catherine and cradled her to her bosom and nuzzled her one last time.
The train whistle shrilled. No time for a second embrace. Catherine took Sarah, and Seth untangled the two boys from her legs, then handed her the small grip she’d borrowed from their nearest neighbor, Lizzy Hayland. She’d packed a change of clothes and sleepwear, plus the necessary toiletries needed during the week-long journey. The rest of her belongings were already aboard in the baggage compartment.
“Take care of everything for me, Seth. I’ll wire you as soon as I arrive at Marybelle’s.”
“I will, Ma, just don’t you worry. We’ll be fine. You take care of yourself.”
“I’ll still worry, son.”
The rest of her words were drowned out as the whistle sounded two long blasts, and steam from the engine covered the entire area, competing with the heavy fog rising over the mountainside. Emily lifted her long skirt and stepped up onto the cold metal stairs with the help of the conductor and entered the coach filled with an assortment of passengers. She made her way along the rose-patterned aisle runner toward her seat. Overhead, the lamps suspended from the center of the ceiling following the length of the car emitted a faint scent of kerosene. The narrow cushioned seats, although straight back, were colorful and inviting.