The Daughters of Jim Farrell

by Sylvia Bambola

  “How dare you come in and question me like this! What business is it of yours, anyway?” Sweat beaded his forehead.

  “What were you going to do with them? Sell them to the Company Store? Let the poor unsuspecting miners buy them? After all, what difference would it make? The Company Store would never refund their money even if the barrels were defective.”

  “Why . . . I had no such thought. I was just trying to help a friend. Drum up business for him, as it were. If the barrels were going to be inferior how is that my fault? Besides, they could still be used for grain and such.”

  “Yes, but for greatly inflated prices.”

  “Samuel never finished my order so why are we even discussing this?”

  “And wasn’t that convenient for you? Him leaving town like that? And you must admit you got off pretty cheap with Mr. Baxter. Two collieries and a few barrels. Not like my father and Mr. Blakely.”

  Martin Roach pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat and began dabbing his forehead. “I insist you leave now or I’ll remove you by force.”

  “You knew you couldn’t bribe them. And you knew that sooner or later they would get the evidence they needed to prove you were swindling the railroad.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about! I could have the law on you for such slander!” His hand trembled as he raised a bolt of cloth into the air.

  “You plan to kill me, too, like you did Mr. Blakely?”

  “What?”

  “That would be foolish. Right here in your stockroom. You could hardly entrap someone else then, the way you did my father.”

  Martin threw the blot, hitting Kate’s shoulder. “Get out! Get out, you brazen little trollop! I’ve heard the stories about you and that cousin of yours. Don’t think I’m unaware of your character! And I’ll ruin you in this town. See if I don’t!”

  Kate shook her head. “You are the one who will be ruined. Even if I never prove you killed Mr. Blakely, you will be going to jail when the railroad finds out how you’ve swindled them.”

  “I never killed anyone. I swear!” Martin said, flailing his arms in the air like a drowning man. “I never killed anyone!”

  And even as Kate left the stockroom and flew past the counter and Hester and the three customers who all stared with open mouths, she could still hear Martin Roach screaming, “I never killed anyone!”

  Charlotte’s white-gloved hand clutched the brass ring of the knocker. Her mouth felt like chalk. It wasn’t too late. She could still change her mind. But that would be cowardly. She took a deep breath and tapped. When a servant came and opened the ornate mahogany and stain-glass door, Charlotte told him hers was a brief “dinner call”. Without a word, he escorted her to the front parlor, and there invited her to take one of the many seats. She chose, instead, to remain standing.

  Etiquette had brought her here. Protocol demanded that within a week of attending a dinner party the guest return to the host’s house to convey his gratitude and to enumerate the joys of the said evening. And the week was up. There could be no more procrastinating. She needed to stay at least ten minutes but no longer than twenty, and wondered how she was going to manage ten minutes of benign conversation considering there were so few joys about that night to enumerate. And then there was Virginia’s latest article, and of course Kate’s behavior yesterday when she made a spectacle of herself by accusing Martin Roach of murdering Mr. Blakely. The whole town was talking about both sisters, and the gossip had certainly reached Pottsville by now, and the ears of Benjamin Gaylord.

  It had become clear to Charlotte that marriage to Benjamin was impossible. Her family would never please him or his mother. And no matter how much she might wish it, she was never going to change her family. She was weary of having to defend them to Benjamin and of having to defend Benjamin to them. And since she couldn’t control the behavior of her sisters, nor the prejudices of the Gaylords, there was little to do but sever her ties with Benjamin once and for all.

  She walked to the fireplace and studied the scrolled marble mantel, studied the delicate carved leaves decorating the solid lintel over the hearth; studied the lion heads on each side atop wide elaborately carved posts that ended up as lion’s paws at the bottom. It spoke of the ambiance of a privileged and cultured life, a life she had no chance of being part of now. But she would do this last required act, to show a character better than Benjamin undoubtedly ascribed to her. And then she would carry on with her life, a life without the Gaylords.

  “Charlotte, how . . . pleasant to see you.”

  She turned to face Benjamin who remained standing in the doorway like a listing ship. He wiped his open palms down the sides of his trousers, then entered the room. “Please sit.” He gestured toward the chair nearest her, then took the one beside hers.

  “I’ve come to thank you for the lovely evening at your house. Naturally, I speak on behalf of my mother and sisters, as well.”

  “The pleasure was mine,” he said stiffly.

  “The food was superb, especially the green goose. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted better or one with such delicate flavors. Its almond and date sauce was a triumph.”

  “Yes, one of cook’s specialties.”

  Charlotte lowered her eyes. “Naturally, the games you had planned would have made a perfect ending to a perfect evening. I only regret that the unfortunate incident with Mr. Hill had to spoil it. And I deeply regret my family’s part in it.”

  “Yes . . . yes . . . . But that’s all past now.”

  “All past,” Charlotte repeated as she looked him in the eye, daring him to say the obvious—that more than his party had past.

  Benjamin picked at his beard and looked away. “Perhaps you haven’t heard, but I’ve decided to join Mother in England. Though the social season is over, I crave a holiday. I leave for New York the end of next week.”

  “Your mother will be pleased.”

  “Yes . . . well . . . I suppose, since there’s no more to be done here. But I had . . . hoped . . . .”

  “Did you see Virginia’s recent article in the Monitor? The one about the sink holes in the patches caused by all the tunneling in the mines, and how sometimes an entire house disappears when the ground shifts? I especially liked how she made it symbolic for the way the railroad is swallowing up the lower anthracite region.” Charlotte fingered the cream broach at her throat. “Did you have occasion to read it?” she repeated.

  Benjamin’s face clouded. “I did.”

  “Kate has been reading all of Virginia’s articles to us. I think they are rather clever.”

  “Yes . . . well, Mr. Gowen didn’t think so. He was extremely displeased.”

  “And I suppose you’ve heard about Kate’s performance yesterday, at Martin’s Dry Goods Store?”

  Benjamin didn’t respond, but the look on his face and how he cleared his throat, told Charlotte he had. She smiled and rose to her feet, hoping the appropriate ten minutes had past. “There’s no use in pretending any longer, Benjamin. It simply won’t work between us. I’m happy you’re going to England. We both need to move on. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for there.”

  Benjamin was also on his feet, and when Charlotte turned to leave, he took hold of her arm. “I’ve always had my mind set on you, Charlotte. From the very first, you were the one I chose. It’s not easy for a man like me to alter a decision once made, but in this case I believe I must. I’m a thoughtful, cautious man in search of a thoughtful, cautious wife. I still care for you, Charlotte. You are the wife I would prefer above all others, but the obstacles are too many. I must consider my family’s reputation and standing. I had hoped we could resolve our differences, but it has become all too clear that this is impossible. The task is too daunting with your family’s daily displays of shameless behavior. I hope you can see the necessity of my looking for someone more suitable.”

&n
bsp; Charlotte’s heart pounded as anger rose and filled her mouth with what she had not planned to say, with what she had not wanted to say. “You are very smug in your declaration. Perhaps if you had been less so I would have spared you this, but the truth is, Benjamin, I understand your feelings perfectly for you are not suitable enough for me. I don’t believe I want the grandson of a slaver for a husband, and have decided to find someone more fitting to be my companion in life.”

  “Grandson of a slaver? Whatever are you talking about? My father was well respected, a captain of industry, internationally known.”

  “Your father, your father, your father, yes, but what of your grandfather? Perhaps you should learn more about your family history.”

  Benjamin released her. “I never knew my grandfather. And I was told little about him.”

  The look on his face was so utterly desolate that Charlotte felt compassion. “I wish you no ill will, truly I don’t. Let us part in peace and friendship, and go our separate ways. Life will go on for both of us. It just wouldn’t be as we imagined, that’s all. Good-bye, Benjamin. God speed.” With that, she quickly exited the house.

  Charlotte hadn’t meant to come, but here she was smoothing down the skirt of her day dress, then adjusting her Lamballe bonnet. She wouldn’t have come so finely dressed if this were a planned visit, but after her confrontation with Benjamin Gaylord she was too upset to return home, and somehow ended up here. Now she felt embarrassed as she sat beside the plainly dressed Betsy Mills, though she was pleased to see her hair so well appointed and skillfully arrayed in multiple plaits.

  “I hope my visit isn’t an inconvenience,” Charlotte muttered.

  “Oh, no! I’m delighted to see you. And I have so enjoyed your gift.”

  “Your hair looks lovely. It seems you are quite proficient in replicating the latest fashion.”

  “Yes . . . I almost forgot how much I used to enjoy such endeavors. Your gift has meant a great deal. And this may sound silly, but it’s given me hope . . . hope for a better future. And because of that I’d like to give you a gift, as well.”

  “That’s not necessary. My gesture was not meant to garner anything from you, only to . . . .”

  “I quite understand.” Betsy placed her rough hand over Charlotte’s. “But please allow me this.”

  “Well . . . all right . . . if it’s that important to you.”

  “Can we take a walk? I believe I’m strong enough, and the fresh air will be welcome.”

  “I suppose . . . if it’s allowed. I mean, will the matron permit it?”

  Betsy laughed a light girlish laugh. “Yes, if the request comes from you. She wouldn’t dare refuse a Society lady.”

  “Then I shall speak to her.” Charlotte rose to her feet, “But you must promise not to overtax yourself.”

  As soon as Charlotte obtained the matron’s consent, she and Betsy were out standing on the dirt path that ran along the side of the Home. Charlotte slipped her arm through Betsy’s after seeing, in the bright sun light, how frail Betsy actually looked. “We will only walk a little way, then return.”

  Betsy didn’t answer. Her eyes were closed, her face tilted toward the sun, her chest moving rhythmically in slow, deep breaths. “I’d almost forgotten how pleasant the outdoors can be. The matron would never have allowed me to come out on my own. That’s two gifts you have given me.” Betsy opened her eyes. “And now for my gift to you—it is the gift of candor. Your demeanor tells me you are a fearful and burdened woman.”

  Charlotte frowned. “Is this your gift? To insult me?”

  “Hear me out, Charlotte, and be at peace. My intentions are good.”

  Charlotte felt uneasy. What did she know about this woman, really? She could be anyone—a prostitute, a thief, a liar. But when she saw the earnest look on Betsy’s face, Charlotte led her through the garden to a marble bench beneath an arbor of unruly wisteria.

  “We’ll rest here awhile,” she said, helping Betsy onto the bench before sitting beside her.

  “I once had a garden as large as this. And a big house, too, with many servants.”

  “I . . . I never imagined such a thing. What happened? What . . . brought you to . . . this?”

  Betsy’s face darkened. “My husband was . . . is two people. Publically, he is a wealthy and influential Philadelphia banker; a deacon at our church; a pillar of Philadelphia society. He knows the best families, moves in the best circles. Privately he is a cruel and brutal man, prone to excessive drinking. And when he drank, he’d beat me so badly I’d often lose consciousness or pray I would. But he never touched my face. Never my face. So no one would know what he did behind closed doors.”

  Charlotte’s hand trembled as she placed it over Betsy’s. She had heard such stories from Elmira Crump and Hester Roach, but they were always about a farmer or common laborer or one of the miners, never about someone of the upper class.

  “For years I stood it, because of the children. We have two children. Did I tell you that?” Betsy’s eyes misted. “Two wonderful sons, one twelve, the other fourteen. Old enough where they don’t need a mother so much. At least that’s what I told myself when I decided to run away. I just couldn’t take the beatings any longer. They were becoming more frequent, more violent, and I feared for my life. I was convinced it was only a matter of time before my husband ended up killing me. I ran three times. But each time, my husband hired a Pinkerton to track me down and bring me back. The last time, my husband told me if I ran again he’d have me committed.

  “To explain my running away, he began telling our friends and associates I was mad; that I had gone insane, making everyone feel sorry for him. ‘How tragic to be saddled with a mad wife who needs fetching every few months,’ they’d say. Some even suggested he put me away in a home for the incurably insane. So I knew he’d make good his threat because he had already set the stage.”

  Charlotte withdrew her hand. Lucinda Wells had often talked about the improvements made to places like the Women’s Home. How they now separated the mentally ill from those only physically infirm or indigent. She studied Betsy. Was she insane? Had she slipped past the doctors who determined such things?

  “I know that you’re thinking. You’re thinking perhaps this woman is crazy after all. I took a chance telling you my story. But you’ve been so kind I thought I owed it to you. I was once like you, Charlotte. Timid and frightened. But you can change. You can be strong. Though we live in a man’s world we need not be helpless or useless. We have worth. And with the right man, we can be a great asset. With the wrong man . . . well . . . it’s better to be alone than be with the wrong man.”

  Charlotte folded her hands. “I . . . I’m afraid of being alone. And I’m afraid of becoming like . . . .”

  “Me?”

  “Yes . . . and I’m ashamed. I don’t mean to be so shallow. I try to fight it.” Charlotte shrugged. “But what will you do? Has your husband sent someone after you, do you think? Oh, why did you go and tell everyone your name?”

  Betsy laughed. “I didn’t. Mills isn’t my real name. And yes, I believe my husband did send someone. But unlike the other times, this time I didn’t stay in Philadelphia. It took me four months to get here, where my husband doesn’t have any contacts or influence. I managed to make a little money along the way by cooking for various taverns or scrubbing floors. But I was afraid to stay in one place too long, so most of the time I kept moving, eating out of garbage pails and sleeping in the rain. By the time I got here I was nearly dead. The doctor said I had an abscess on one of my lungs and wouldn’t live beyond a week, but here I am, three months later, and getting stronger every day. I’ll give myself just a little more time before moving on.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “Out West. I’ll be harder to find there. The land is so large a person can disappear. And I’ll walk all the way if I have to. You see, the thing is
, Charlotte, I’m not afraid anymore. And that’s why I’ve told you all this. You needn’t be afraid, either. We women are resilient and resourceful. Whatever your future is, you will find the strength to meet it.”

  Charlotte’s eyes brimmed with tears. How could this woman, who had lost everything, be so brave? She rose, then helped Betsy up, all the while thinking what a pleasant thing it would have been to be married to Benjamin Gaylord and able to help women like Betsy. “I just wish there was something I could do, but the truth is I have little money.”

  “Oh, Charlotte, you’ve helped more than you know. Your mirror and comb, your gift, well . . . it reminded me there are still kind people in the world. And beauty and goodness, too. And when I get stronger, I plan to go out and find more of them all. I have some useful skills. I sew and bake and play three instruments. I’ll find honest employment somewhere. But whatever I end up doing, I can do it with kindness and love. And so can you.”

  Charlotte put her arms around the frail woman. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Hearing your story makes me think that maybe . . . maybe I can face my own future with courage, too.”

  Virginia dropped one of her mother’s good English tea cups when the noise of the breaker whistle came shrieking through the open kitchen window. The broken cup was quickly forgotten as she and her sisters rushed to the front parlor.

  “No smoke,” Virginia said, reaching the window first. “Must be a cave-in.” She tried to sound calm, but her heart pounded in her chest. Oh, God, don’t let it be Patrick!

  Charlotte’s shiny blonde curls bounced as she craned her neck to look out the window. “I suppose Mother and Kate will be going, and leave us with the task of getting lunch for the boarders.”

  Virginia glanced at Kate who stood nearby peering at the unchanged landscape. The sun streaming over the tree tops, the green rolling hills in the distance, the cloudless blue sky all made it seem as though it was just another beautiful late summer day.

  “I pray it’s no one we know.” Kate squeezed Virginia’s arm.